Deirdre sighs, realizing how much this must be overwhelming Harry.  She knows she's going to have a long job ahead of her, trying to teacher him all of this, things which even she is not sure she truly understands.  "There is a prince, here in the city.  As I said, we have our societies.  Each city has a prince who tries to..." her voice trails into a sneer as her throat tightens.  "Tries to keep order, and peace.  And one of the laws is that we can't make another vampire without his permission.  But, no, I don't think there is a king exactly.  At least not one who rules over all of us.  I don't know...I don't understand all of it myself."

This is unreal, Harry thinks to himself.  He's not sure he believes all this, despite what he just saw.  Sure it was certainly unexplained...but is vampirism the explanation?  But with little else to go on, he's half-humoring, half-believing the girl.  

"So...if you can't make me one of you...and if you're not supposed to tell me you exist...what's your plan?"

"There is another way," Deirdre says, looking at Harry rather sadly.  She's sorry to have to drag him into this world of darkness and melancholy.  But he is the only ally she has, and this night has made it all too apparent that she needs all that she can get.  "I...I can make you...I can give you some of my blood.  It won't make you a vampire.  But it will change you...how exactly, I'm not sure.  I've just heard bits and pieces.  But you'll have some of my powers:  greater resiliency, ability to heal some of your wounds.  I'm not sure what else."  She turns down her eyes and then looks back up at him.  "I'm sorry Harry.  But there's shit that's going down.  I think I made a big mistake tonight...I'm not sure what all the repercussions are.  But I need someone.  Someone to help me, to...to protect me.  You're the only thing I've got."

Harry meant what he said earlier.  Deirdre, for the short time he's known her, has been as much a daughter to him than he's ever had.  He is still unsure of all she's telling him.  But he also meant what he said when he'd do anything to help her.

Harry runs his fingers through his thinning hair.  "Christ, this is some weird-ass shit.  You have a hell of a lot of explaining to do about all this, if it's as real as you say."  He shakes his head.  So...so what do I need to do here?"

"Drink my blood...I am not sure how much.  I don't imagine a whole lot is needed.  Again, I'm only going on what I've been told...I've...I've never done this before."  Deirdre is suddenly hit with the immensity of what she is about to do, what she is bringing Harry in to.  She may not be making him Kindred, but she might as well be, for the impact that it will have on the poor aging barkeep.  

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?  I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you this.  But it was the only thing I could think to do.  You can still back out, I'm sure no one will know I told you."  

"Hey, what's a little blood between friends?" Harry chuckles nervously, though he isn't feeling particularly humrous.  He sobers up instantly.  "Listen, I didn't say it meaninglessly:  I'll do whatever it is to help you.  If this is..." he shrugs and spread his arms.  "Then this is it apparently.  God knows you've saved my bar from going belly-up.  Time to return the favor I guess."

Deirdre straightens up.  "I'm not quite sure exactly how I go about this...I suppose one way is as good as another."  She takes the knife Harry dropped on the counter and walks behind the bar.  She pulls out one of the newly-washed shot glasses.  Her motions are methodical and almost mechanical.  There is no real solemnity or embellishment with this.  It is simply another moment in the unfurling spool of her strange and macabre life.  She looks up at Harry again.  "Are you sure?"

She takes the switchblade and makes a slow, straight cut diagonally across her left wrist.  She hisses a little in pain.  Amazing how all her biological organs have ceased functioning, and yet she can still feel pain.  Dropping the knife she holds her wrist over the shot glass, and squeezes out the droplets of blood.  It forms into a thick pool in the glass.  Once the shot glass is full she pushes it to Harry.  "You don't have to do this, you know."

Harry nods, but doesn't say anything.  He takes the shot glass, staring at it for a few moments.  It's not like he's never drank a little blood before.  One doesn't spend thirty-some years in the goth-punk scene without experimenting in a little sanguinary kink.  You do a lot of weird things when you're hopped up on designer drugs.  But if what she says about this is right...Christ, what the hell is he doing?

He doesn't give himself a chance to answer.  In one swift motion he downs the glass.  The blood burns as it runs down his throat -- not painful, but like the kind of satisfying burn of stretching out your muscles, or of a good whiskey going down.  For a moment there is little more, and then suddenly that burning sensation spreads through his veins.  He can feel it running down his core, spreading out into his limbs, branching out at fingers and toes:  filling him, suffusing him.  He cries out, a short gasp of surprise and pleasure.  And then, just as quickly as it came, the feeling is gone.  In its wake is a tingling sensation throughout his entire body, and a feeling like his consciousness, like every sense, has been brought to its limit.  The house lights of the after-hour bar are unimaginably bright and clear, and yet he feels no need to blink.  The clothes on his skin, the long limp hair hanging down his neck, he is preternaturally aware of it all.  It feels like a fire has been lit inside him and is now animating his limbs.

"Good God" he hisses.

Deirdre stares at him, unsure of what exactly is going on in his body, or how this is supposed to work.  She can only remember that her own sire had several ghouled minions, and he had once told her how to go about it.  But she'd never tried this before herself, and she isn't quite sure what to expect.  Is there supposed to be a physical change?  For all she knows, she might have done something wrong, left out some crucial step, and the blood could be poison to him.

"How...how do you feel?" she asks Harry tentatively.

"Alive..." he gasps.  He brushes his fingers down his arm, feeling the sensation.  Everything seems so much clearer, so much sharper.  It's not just heightening of the senses, but something else entirely.  He feels decades younger.  "It's...It's like nothing else I've ever felt."  And it isn't.  It's like no drug he's ever hit, it's something else entirely.  Whatever Deirdre had said about vampires and whatnot, this at least, was real.  He straights his back, opening his arms and stretching.  He hasn't felt this loose and limbre in ages.  And it's not just like his muscles have suddenly regained lost vitality, but that the very weights of his consciousness has been lifted.  "By God, this is amazing."

Deirdre watches as Harry stretches and flexes.  She mentally breathes a sigh of relief...so far so good.  She was afraid that she might have killed him, that the blood would have been like poison.  But if anything, he seems healthier and more vigorous than she's ever seen him.

"Harry, listen, I wouldn't have asked this of you if I didn't need you real bad.  I'm not sure what's going on, but I...but I did something tonight which may cost me my life.  At least, I'm in bad ways with a lot of people.  And I need you.  I need your help.  You can go places I can't go, do things I can't do."  Deirdre is suddenly feeling very weary.  It's been a long night, so much has happened, and her entire life has turned once again, like that night twenty-one years ago when that tall grey-eyed man had sunk his teeth into her.  She feels as if she can barely stand now.  And she's pretty sure that sunrise isn't too far away.  "Harry, I need some place to stay for today.  I don't want to go back to my place, I'm not sure if it's safe.  Do you have a closet or something, somewhere away from the sunlight that I can sleep in for today?"

Harry's mood sobers as Deirdre begins talking seriously once again.  He stands and listens to her, finding it incredibly difficult to stay still with all this energy flowing through him.

"Yeah, I've got a hall closet that doesn't get any light when you close the door.  I don't use it for anything, except storing old blankets and junk.  Sure you'll be comfortable?"

"I'll be fine.  I've slept in a hell of a lot worse than a closet.  Tomorrow night...tomorrow I can tell you all about this life I've led, and what I need of you. Right now, I just need to rest someplace safe."  

Deirdre waits patiently for Harry to finish locking down the bar.  They don't say much else, both of them mulling over the night's events.  When Harry is done he leads Deirdre out back to the beat-up old car of his, and they drive off to his place.

Not knowing where to search for Deidre. I start by heading over to where I originally met hers. I head to a close bar I see a car and some light on  so I walk up to the door and give a Loud knock.  

((I think we should move this to "tomorrow night," so to speak.  I basically used the last post to wrap this thread up.  And in any case, as far as game time goes, it's almost 5 am.  Sun will be coming up, and Deirdre's not much in the mood for talking))