Problem Child : Daddy's Little Nightmare

And all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy grey eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams--
In what ethereal dances,
By what eternal streams.

The women each lay in their beds, bodies locked in rapturous slumber. The starlight and ebony silk drifted through each of their windows, one by one creeping in crevices and cracks until a body finally took form standing over them. Eyes a triad of hues, twilight purple outer, then the midnight blue before finally the true black that would have made the River Styx green with envy. Frosted gold and moonbeam spikes protruded in roguish array from perfectly sculpted skull. Black on black attire began to shimmer and fade, flickering in and out of place as lips curved up in the Devil's own grin. Lips that many a woman would have died to kiss, a faint divet in the lower that just begged to be licked, bit, tugged, assaulted in a multitude of ways. He knew it too as the softest of touches had rapture turning to agony that went pushed pleasure to unbearable limits without giving any sign of release.

One by one, he went to them, gracing each with his presence, boredom after only moments causing him to go onto the next. It was a play of sorts, and he the Master orchestrator of it all.

Letting himself get caught by a weary husband coming home in the wee hours of the night, the man had seen his hands touching his wife. Evoking those scrams, more torture than pleasure. Rage had lit the Male's eyes, sending him after the shadow in a protective fit, only to have the darkness come apart like the stars themselves and go rushing out. Reshaping upon the Tower of London, a riot of laughter turned free from those lips, posture both elegant ad lazed as he leaned against empty air as if it were all the support in the world. Looking out over the city that he had claimed as his newest playground since Daddy Dearest had made it known in no uncertain terms that he wouldn't be receptive any longer to the havoc being wrought in his realm, eyes danced with ideas for new schemes. new games. new dreams to bring about to the unknowing, unprepared minds.

His laughter echoed high overhead. Below, just above sea level and on the bridge itself, a far less imposing figure made her way casually along. Waist length hair, wild and tumbling was the color of beach sand. A kalidiscope of strands that varied from pale ash blonde, all the way to dark strands of golden brown. It billowed around her like a cloud, caught up in the almost constant wind off the river thames. Impossibly curious jade green eyes were open wide, taking in the sea of reflected stars below her and turning to follow the occasional steam powered car as it rumbled past.

The figure wore a pair of leather pants that blossomed out around her knees and flowed around soft black bucket top boots. Her small, but perfectly proportionate form, stood a towering fivefoot-two. Her upper torso was clad in a black short sleeved shirt, with a half corset that wrapped around just beneath her breasts. Slender leather suspenders arched up over each shoulder. Long artistic hands were wrapped in black fingerless gloves. A wide leather band wrapped around each wrist and bicep, their shiny silver buckles catching the street lamps.

She walked along the stone wall that acted as the guard rail for the sightseers, standing as the promise of safety between them and the couple hundred foot drop into the river. Her gait was smooth, balance catlike despite the high winds as she went. The few passerby's did initially notice her, but as soon as their gazes trailed away she seemed to be immediately forgotten.

Those eyes didn't turn in his direction, but her progress left her about halfway across the great stone bridge. Arms occasionally held out like she was walking a tightrope. More then easy for a pair of keen eyes to spot from above.

As she went she whispered to herself, words coming along in cadence with the age old poem.

"From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were — I have not seen
As others saw — I could not bring
My passions from a common spring —
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow — I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone —
And all I lov'd — I lov'd alone —
Then — in my childhood — in the dawn
Of a most stormy life — was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still —
From the torrent, or the fountain —
From the red cliff of the mountain —
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold —
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by —
From the thunder, and the storm —
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view —"

What to do, what to do ? Home he could not go, for while not truly banished nor exiled, what point would there be in returning when it was already known that the fun times would end ? Or that he would end, so clear it had been made. Dawn would be arising soon, and with it the promise of light and liveliness, the disappearance of shadow to all but the best of them. While he was second best only to his father, it was an achievement he intended, a goal that was there needing to be reached. Not now, not today though. For now there was to wait. The time when the Golden star would rise and the game would become all the trickier, the challenge all the more potent in the claiming.

For now, let it be for him to walk the dreadfully empty streets. The few minds that would be on them now would be most receptive to the proposed bumps, the shadows that crept and followed them as they scurried about their business. These would be the minds to pilfer and prod, from which to pull and manifest....The glee within him was so overwhelming that one moment he was a figure amid-st the skies and the next there was a burst of star-beam and midnight mist shooting around buildings, ducking in and pout of windows before refor...

Wait. Words. Insubstantial head would tilt, the shadow moving closer to this graceful figure that prattled about in whispers while moving like a tight rope walker. He could make that comparison as he had known quite a few of them in his day, and to his mind she did indeed fit them. They were crazy, the vast lot of them which meant fuel for the fire in his book, and oh what a grand book it was. Now for this one. A woman alone at this hour had to be madness, especially with actions like she had been making. Moving closer the breeze carried her words, ones that caused tri-ringed eyes to twinkle mercilessly.

So it was that he came to form solidly once more behind her. Close enough to touch, but never meeting. Far enough to not be within range of a blow, but intimate enough to be able to ascertain whether or not she carried a scent. Vaguely flowing black shirt that buttoned from neck to navel. Trimly tailored black pants that accentuated the length and musculature of his legs. A top-hat, black as well was situated atop his crown, tipped just enough to give a jaunty air when combined with the dark lensed spectacles that seemed to be of a purpose for other then assisting his sight. Listening in until the words were finished, he would finally lean in, his own voice dancing, sing song where hers left off.

Arousing from the most profound of slumbers, we break the gossamer web of some dream. Yet in a second afterward, (so frail may that web have been) we remember not that we have dreamed.

Thoughts had been turned outward, still taking in all the curious things that made up London. She hadn't been in the city long, but now that she was here she loved almost everything about it. The thing that bothered her was not unique to this ancient vast city of gears and steam, but it was still a problem. In the ally ways, on the roof tops, keen ears could pick out the whispers from the street kids, the cast offs, the forgotten, about the figure that had ever so recently begun to come to their defense. A bit of food here, a child saved from a nasty fall there. It was enough to inspire quite the story in an imaginative mind.

Currently she was just wandering, no particular destination in mind, but attentive to the many many things that London offered to someone attentive enough to look. So many things, but the voice at her back somehow still surprised her. She didn't stumble, but she did lower her head a touch, and tilt it to the side expression inquisitive but amused. If she didn't know better she would have to say that the owner of those lines was up on the wall behind her. How terribly courageous of them.

Her scent was unique, and belonged in landscapes far more exotic then London town. She smelled of spicy incense, of sunlit sand, and crystalline waters that dwelled impossibly far from the dark waters of the river below them. "Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before."

Now look at this would you Alice ? What a conundrum he had before him. Not human, but what exactly was she ? In closer he moved, body a languorous line of grace and sheer sensuality. Were moonlight and stardust able to take corporeal form, here he stood. Where she was a concoction of day, of warmth and glowing gold, he was the counterpart. Silver and whistling chill. The breezes that screamed of nightmares and fantasies, horrors and pleasure that roamed where people refused to look. Warmth and living, the subtle paint of flesh that many a Man would lust over to have warm his bed. Some of us preferred, lusted after the colder things.

Yet she was a brave soul, to stand there and not run screaming at a strange Male suddenly appearing behind her. Nor to lash out as he so brazenly encroached upon her personal space. As her head would tilt, an arm would come up to wrap around feminine curvature before chin would rest upon her shoulder. Nudging aside the strap of aforementioned suspender, fingers bared would brush idly across her abdomen while words were once more imparted to meet with hers.

"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
'Tis some visitor, I muttered, tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more"

She had never imagined what it would be like for midnight itself to wrap around her, cool as the wind that wound off the Thames. He also had about as much concern for personal boundaries as the breeze, a cold line along her spine, soaking up the warmth she offered no matter the chill in the air that caressed her skin. Her slender frame operated at a temperature that would indicate sever illness in any mortal, several degrees above a hundred.

Her head dropped a little, turning into the cool presence of his cheek like she had expected his appearance. Like they were old friends, when neither had business being so desperately forward with the other. A far wiser woman would have kicked up a fit, sworn and hissed like a great cat. She almost seemed to welcome him. Her own arm moved, fingers sliding over his, moving up along his knuckles, the back of his hand, his wrist.

"Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.'Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, 'art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore - Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Twist and turn, every action brought about a reaction. He was a stranger, one used to getting what he wanted, exactly when he wanted it. No one to tell him no, save for Big Daddy, the King of Nightmares. So in a way, this was exactly what he expected, yet not at all. The confusion all wrapped up into one unique bundle, he found himself even further intrigued. Not screaming like a banshee or fainting had been surprising enough, yet here she was moving into him like they were partners at a grand Ball, ones that had danced together for ages past. He knew for a fact that he had never met her before, as someone with this scent, this audacity would have never been forgotten. In fact she would have become one of the kept ones, one of the cherished rare favorites that he kept secreted away until he was done with them.

He wanted to see her eyes though. See the face of this strange woman that was not human, and very possibly not sane. Could she not feel what he was ? Not feel the threat that danced along every inch of his being as it was pressed so closely to hers ? So it was when her fingers hit his wrist, his own moved once more, though this time to capture her cheek. Shifting their bodies, there on that catwalk, he turned them so that he could focus on what she would offer up. Though were she to refuse, the hint of firmness, of strength that had been there would no longer be so subtle. Upon hearing her words, even as he turned her, they were as their little game went, met with his own.

"Keeping these impressions in view, I was cautious in what I said before the young lady; for I could not be sure that she was sane; and, in fact, there was a certain restless brilliancy about her eyes which half led me to imagine she was not."

It was generous, to call the inch wide railing they stood on a catwalk. Normal people didn't end up in places like this unless they were planning on experiencing the dizzying two-hundred foot drop into the dark waters of the Thames. Still, when he urged her to turn and face him, she spin around as if they were indeed two long practiced dancers well familiar with one another. For a moment she considered attempting to defy his urging, but it was a small thing to agree to. One foot had been lifted as she moved, and was lowered again, leaving her standing like a ballerina one carefully aligned in front of the other.

Unable to put her finger on the why, she didn't immediately look up at him. Taking the seconds while sandy colored hair settled around her shoulders, only to be tossed up again in another breeze as it cut through the city.

He stood between her and the nearest gas lights, offering shadow for her to use the darkness as a temporary mask while she pondered. He reminded her of something. He was deadly, the power he radiated could have been felt by even the physically silenced. Mortals with no skill to sense the supernatural whatsoever would have scurried past him without ever knowing why the hair stood up on the back of the necks.

He seemed reminiscent of that moment when one work from a dream. That sill place where neither world has full hold on you quit yet. When the nightmare still had every possibility of pulling you back into it for another round.

Catching her lower lip with her teeth, striking jade green eyes lifted. At first her expression was hesitant, it shifted almost immediately when she took in his features. It wasn't awe however, nor rapture, or adoration. It was poorly concealed surprise. He looked just like Sebastian, but the feel of this figure was all wrong for the straight laced Ventrue.

Whoever this was, it wasn't the Prince of New York.

Even as he offered shadow in which to contemplate, the moon would choose that exact moment to pierce the vale of the darkened sky and fall down upon him, as if he were some God, or an Angel sent to earth for nefarious purposes. Parting the clouds the moon above came to it's full glory, silver rays creating a halo around that golden head as it was cast downwards to study you. So easily you capitulated to his gaze, even with that pause. So graceful your movements, so beautifully orchestrated your movements to his. Both creatures of the circumstance of this moment, a hand was lent to brush away those dastardly strands that would dare to obscure any portion of what he sought to look upon.

Neither of you offered words though this round, as if the match had shifted terms. Surprise from both parties, yet for entirely different reasons. His was still hinging upon the fact that now, she had not only run screaming or tried to fight, but she was also not throwing herself at him like woman were wont to do upon finally looking upon his face. Hers was strange in that if he didn't know better, it was almost as if she'd seen a ghost. Yet he was positive, fool or not may it make him that they'd never met. Noting how that lip had been sunk between her teeth, a finger would cast it's touch upon her chin. The lightest of touches. Soft as a baby's stolen breath, it was almost as if midnight itself had touched her.

"You seem shocked, little cat. Were you expecting another, your lover perhaps tonight to be the one that had joined you here ? I could say I'm sorry to disappoint, but I'm not. With words alone, I could show you a world of pleasure far beyond what he could ever dare dream. Or is it a she ? Were that to be the case, I assure you I can lay to your skin touches softer then her velvet lips could think to paint."

He was painted in impossible shades of silver, like manifestation of Eros the Greek deity of desire come to earth. He was dazzling, a fact even she could not deny, his silken words an uninvited caress against her mind. He struck her as an individual that was not often refused. Especially if he could spout the words of a poet so readily. They were too smooth, to graceful, to real to be practiced. Or, perhaps he had simply uttered them so often that now they flowed like water past sinfully full lips.

she found herself wondering what other tempting words he might have to offer in his attempt at seduction. Hell she would even go so far as to bet he wasn't even lying, men like him didn't hurt for lovers, after all why would they? Watching him she could see how terribly easy it would be for him to switch between roles like the worlds greatest actor. To some women he was a rogue, a wanderer, a father whose approval was unwaveringly sought, even a lost love. To others still he was a wayward soul in such desperate need of salvation that one night of pure passion might be enough to turn him from his dastardly womanizing ways.

Ha!

Shrewd instinct told her that a team of twenty Clydesdales couldn't have budged him an inch from his nature. Whatever dark thing that it was; he hid it well. But his eyes gave him away to her, eyes that even as he whispered soundless sweet nothings and promises of pleasure, were laughing. Laughing at her, laughing the same way they would be if the world itself burned around them.

She smiled at him with a patience he hadn't earned, ribboned through with an almost empathetic kindness. Like he was an old friend who's tactics she had refused a thousand times before. She spoke again, sticking with the immortal words of mister Poe. “Believe only half of what you see and nothing that you hear.”

As quick as the seas of unexplored darkness had parted, so again did they close, as if that one glimpse was all that was to be revealed for now. It happened so quickly that by the time her words had been spilled free of her lips, he was already clothed in that darkness once again. As if he needed the help of nature to shroud himself in shadows. It was quite laughable actually. Though for a second time her words drew a pique of curiosity, one that was hidden perfectly behind those protective lenses. She was feisty, this little cat was. It was a wonder what her reaction would be were he to pull a ball of yarn from his pocket and dangle it in front of her. The words were familiar yet she had spoken nothing of touch. Or sensation. Lips that were full enough to send a saint to sin curved ever so slightly at the very corners as he took the barest step back.

"It’s a Dance. And sometimes they turn the lights off in this ballroom. But we’ll dance anyway, you and I. Even in the Dark. Especially in the Dark. May I have the pleasure?”

Hand had extended then, showing you that sometime during his words he had actually taken an extra step or two away from you, giving the room for that languid, casual reach.It was sheer madness though. What dance could he dare propose on this tight-wire of stone upon which the two of you already so precariously balanced ? As he seemed to be awaiting an actual response, free hand would drift to those lenses and remove them to be secreted away. It was now that you would be hit with the full impact of those tri-ringed eyes. Optics alone that had seduced more than their fair share of maiden and matron alike to fall into temptation and things darker still. Things that would steal the soul, swallow it whole, and if you were one of the lucky few, hand you a piece or two back before sending you on your way.