November 11th, 2002 - Jump
Jaxon wants to kill Alix to please me. Bukowski told him it was just another test, to see if he could do it. He's so wrong. Killing is easy. The lowest forms of life kill. That's all an ameba really does: kill and reproduce. What is supposed to separate humanity from these lesser life-forms is the sentience associated with making that choice, not to kill, not to reproduce. Where Vampires fall into this philosophical continuum, I am not sure, but it doesn't seem like murder is an amazing feat, or particularly impressive.
I was locked in a small room, the walls were metal and rusted, starved to the point of frenzy, alternately in and out of the state, nails bloodied and broken against the rusted metal. A body was tossed in, still warm, but no longer alive, the blood was sour and congealed. I didn't want to drink it, but in the end, you can't really win. Afterwards, a good twenty minutes or so vomitting, not that time really mattered, the whole thing was like an eternity. Self control, discipline. When I was finally able to manage some control, I would do recitations. Just another test, one designed to determine the endurance of the subject, to train her in self control, and to teach her the lesson of restraint.
Dominique has begun his exercises in undermining my position, what an ambitious little fuck. I can't even get mad, its in the blood, in the training, in the hardwiring of this amebic brain we all come equipped with. Eat, murder, reproduce. He moves through my retainer, Jaxon. Pushing him to do things that would displease me, things that would in turn, undermine my overall authority in the city. I can't even manage my own retainers, how can I manage an entire city. Right on cue, Devin returns, he always wanted to be primogen, so the peices fall into place.
I was auctioned off at 12 years old. It was very festive. White sunday school dress, white shoes, white sheets and all the food and drink you could want to fill your belly. I thought I was special.
Eva asked me why I kept Bukowski, shortly after confessing that she had killed her own retainer, failure to thrive. Nathan was just too rebellious, and no where near the lengths Bukowski goes to satisfy his needs. I already knew the answer, that of all the people in the city, Bukowski is the only one that I believe would stand by me no matter what. He has his faults, we all do. This is not blind loyalty, nor the side-effects of a bond. Bukowski is aware of my faults, accepts them to some degree, and keeps the faith.
My father was on the steps, a tiny stream of blood pouring down like a waterful. I remember thinking he looked like a smashed pumpkin, all twisted and mangled. Just another "jumper" they said. He made the paper, front page news, except the list contained close to fifty names. All were just "jumpers".
"But what about Arkady" Eva asked. I was careful with my reply: Arkady is loyal to the Camarilla. The standards set are ones that I'll never be able to live up to. I wouldnt want his blind loyalty anyway, I am not without sin. His loyalty to the ideal is his strength, and there is no room for a mistress. In the end, there has to be someone to judge my sins, I don't want to be above the law, or above condemnation. To believe in such a thing is a sure and fast track to corruption.
The sun through the pinholes in the metal cell burned, leaving a patchwork of ashen polka dots on my skin. I stopped trying to escape, recognizing the futility in the effort. Night would eventually fall, and the tests began again. Residual resistance, motivation inexistant. Monotone recitals of the Constitution, the treaties, the history. Sun rises, I never sleep.