((Note to ST, players, readers, etc:  This scene takes place directly after “To Hop a Bar” and before “Private Party/The Turning Point.”  I had been planning on writing it up, but the storyline seems to have jumped ahead of me.  So, for a little “rewind.”))

Deirdre and Harry remain relatively silent throughout the night.  For one, Harry, as the sole bartender of the place, has his work cut out for him filling drink orders, chatting up with other patrons, and generally keeping an eye on the place.  For her part, Deirdre sits at the bar, plotting out her plans for the coming nights, and gently deflecting drunk patrons’ attempts at hitting on her.  The past few nights have made it abundantly clear to her that she can no longer keep her head down the way she has in the past, no matter what she said to Sebastion tonight.  If anything, her words to him were a delaying tactic.  Truth be told, she hasn’t come up with much of an idea.  She couldn’t give two shakes of a rat’s tail to those poseur clanmates of hers and their ritzy moneytrap of a casino.  But she’s gotten a taste firsthand of the way Kindred politics works.  And even if she doesn’t step up and embroil herself in them, she at least has to make some sort of name for herself.  No, she definitely doesn’t want to step into their game.  But what Harry said the other night was right:  she has been squandering her opportunities in the mortal world.

She’d tried the fame and fortune thing once, back in her homeland in Ireland.  She’d had potential, they all said.  It was just a matter of time before the right people took notice.  And then her sire had swooped in and given her his “gift”…and then he had wanted his just due…and then…

Best not to think of those times.  He was gone, far as she was concerned.  Left back in the UK to fawn over another potential gem, most likely.  But here she was in the US, another continent and another life away.  This place had become her haven – not simply the little apartment she slept in during the day, but a safe zone, a place of belonging and even marginally of comfort.  Harry was the first real friend she’d had since her Embrace…since that night the gun rang out in the back alley and Erin hit the pavement.  She was thankful for having him, and for having this seedy little bar.  Yes, this place was home, more so than her father’s liquor-reeking flat ever was.

The night winds down, the crowd gradually filters down to the last few drunks and die-hards, and Harry begins his nightly routine of shuffling them out of the place, and then cleaning up.  He occasionally glances at Deirdre, who really hasn’t moved much since she plopped herself in front of the bar at the beginning of the night.  She’s appeared deep in thought the entire night, and aside from that, he hasn’t really thought of anything intelligent to say.  After the previous night and the shot of her blood he downed, everything seems just about moot.  But finally, he clears his throat.

“So, what’re you thinking about?”

Deirdre taps her black nails on the bar counter.  “Music,” she says.  Then she sighs.  She promised Harry to educate him on this strange new world she’d brought him into.  The immensity of the task seems daunting to her.  She looks over at him.  “So, I guess now is as good a time as any to start fillin you in on this whole vampire thing.”  She doesn’t sound quite enthusiastic about it.  But she figures that it has to be done.  She can’t leave him in the dark.

“Vampires, far as I know, have existed since the beginning of human civilization.  Maybe earlier than that.  There’s a whole legend my sire – the vampire who made me – told me about, but I don’t believe it really.  Something to do with Caine and Abel, and God’s curse.  But that doesn’t really matter.

“In any case…we’ve been around for awhile, hiding and acting.  Supposedly we pull the strings of human society, least that’s the myth and legend.  Undoubtedly we have our influence, and there are certainly some powerful ones of us, but I’m not sure how much I believe of that either.  With me so far?”

Harry nods, leaning on the bar, in rapt attention.  He’s not sure how much of this he believes either…he’s still trying to let the previous night sink in…but he’s trying to keep an open mind about it all.  He’ll give her the benefit of a doubt.

“So, we’ve been around for centuries, millennia.  We’re divided into clans – bloodlines, families, clubs of a sort.  According to that old legend or something, the first vampire made children, who made children, and down the line the clans evolved or something.  Each clan is supposed to have specific inborn powers, and a specific weakness which is passed down.  They’re also supposed to have a specific kind of predilection or interest, but most of that I think is just kind of socially ingrained, and not something inherent in the blood.  The members of the clan perpetuate it themselves, and pick those who fit into it best, I guess.  There’s supposed to be fourteen clans or so, but I’ve only come across about half a dozen, and can’t really remember the names of most of the rest.”

“And what about you?  What clan are you?  What sort of powers do you have?”  Harry asks, genuinely intrigued now about this whole thing.  It’s like someone took an Anne Rice book and made it come alive…only more real, and more complex.  He can’t help but smirk at the irony of the whole thing:  sitting in a goth club talking about real vampires, with a real vampire sitting right there in front of him.

“I’m part of clan Toreador.  Don’t laugh, I didn’t make up the name.  We’re supposed to be the artists and socialites – painters, musicians, clubbies, the like.  I guess I kind of fit into that mold, though I also suppose I’m more outside it than most.  We’re all supposed to be about decorum, and aesthetics, and ‘what’s proper,’ all things I don’t give one hell about.

“As far as powers go…we have the ability to move supernaturally fast, and to expand our natural charisma to entice and enthrall.  On top of that, we also have some psychic powers…ESP and such, but I haven’t really tapped into all that yet.”

She shifts topics then.  “Aside from the clans, we’re also divided into sects, which comprise a number of clans.  Some clans are ‘officially’ part of a sect, others have renegade members who join a rival sect.  The two big ones are the Camarilla and the Sabbat.  I suppose by default I’m kind of Camarilla, not that I find any real connection with it.  It claims to be the largest sect, and the most organized.  It has all sorts of stations, and rules and laws we call Traditions.  The biggest one is what we call the Masquerade, what I was telling you about last night:  we’re not allowed to show our true nature to humans, except in certain circumstances.  I can’t remember all the others.  Generally speaking, we’re supposed to listen to the Prince of the city, obey his laws, and neither destroy nor create other vampires without his permission.”  As she speaks about the prince and his authority, her voice gathers a sort of sneer…nothing too noticeable, but it’s clear that she doesn’t think much of him or his authority.  “Just because you’re part of a sect doesn’t mean that everyone is your friend though,” she says with grimness.  “They like to keep everyone on edge, in some eternal state of war.  Just because we’re all ‘supposed’ to be working together doesn’t mean we actually are.  There are plenty who will screw you over for no more of a reason than because they can.”

She looks at Harry, trying to judge his reaction to this all.  “We’re ruthless creatures, honestly.  Some of us try to be more human, but we’re not all like that.  Some of us don’t care, really.  I want to warn you, and apologize too.  I’ve pulled you into something dangerous, and I’m sorry.”

Harry shrugs.  “Listen, you’re a great kid…no matter what you are.  And, well, I’m honored in a way, strange as that sounds.  Not everyday a simple bartender like me can be part of some big supernatural world.”  He chuckles to hide his own nervousness.  She still hasn’t filled him on the details of her particular situation, but he’s sure it’s something grim, or the normally self-reliant girl wouldn’t have turned to him like this.  While his own safety and well-being certainly nag at his mind, he won’t admit that to himself.  He’s worried about her, primarily.  His life comes secondary.

“Other than the Camarilla, there’s the Sabbat.  We’re supposed to be at war with them, but mostly my experience with them is bogeymen in the shadows.  I’ve never seen one, never encountered one.  Not that I don’t believe they exist, but I have to wonder how much of a threat they really are.  Seems to me the greater danger is our own kind, our supposed allies and comrades.  The prince of the city recently announced though that we’re directly under attack; again I’m not so sure of that.  That just might be his way of keeping us in line, and justifying his own brand of oppression.”  As Deirdre talks, she expresses opinions she’d never even voiced to herself before, thoughts she never even knew she had.

“The Sabbat are supposed to be monsters who would kill us all, and regard humanity as mere food.  And from what I hear, they’re cannibals too, or something.  Feeding off of other vampires.  

“Then of course there are a bunch of independents who don’t belong to either of those sects, and your fair share of rebels and anarchists, those who want to stay out of the fight, or who want to wage war on everyone.  I don’t really know where I fall into that…really I just want to be left alone with it all.”

All this talk of clans, and sect, and societies is making Harry’s head hurt.  Wow, he must be getting old.  He could remember the day when he could just soak up information like this like a sponge.  “So, you’re a vampire,” he says shifting tracks a little.  “What all does that entail?  I mean all the legends – Dracula and Nosferatu.  What’s real, what’s not?”  He recalls all the folklore and pop culture he’s read over the years, the mix-and-match tales of vampires, everyone wanting to re-invent or re-invigorate the legends for a new audience.  And beneath all that, layers upon layers of ethnic tales.  All the sociologists’ explanations for the cultural “reasons” for vampire myths:  explanations for the dying process, fear and paranoia surrounding plague epidemics, and mankind’s natural inclination to dread the dark

“As with all this other stuff, I can only really tell you what I’ve been told or what I’ve learned from.  The basics of the legends are true:  we drink blood to survive, we’re destroyed by daylight.  We all have certain supernatural powers, like an increased resiliency, the ability to shrug off damage that would normally cripple a person.  We can heal ourselves, for the most part.  Fire hurts us much more, and it’s one of the ways to permanently destroy us.  Enough damage from other sources will – bullets we can easily shrug off, swords and such, I guess not.  My sire was quite the fan of fencing, himself.

“As for garlic, holy water, crosses, and that stuff – far as I can tell, complete bunk.  I hear that there are a few who can hold us off with holy objects, but for the most part it doesn’t work.  But I guess there also a few of us who are susceptible to the other stuff, from what I’ve heard.  And stakes…they kinda work.  You have to hit the heart directly, but it only sends us into a sleep-like state until the stake is removed.  Still, once you’re staked, you’re at the mercy of whoever staked you.

“But, we can’t turn into bats or wolves or smoke…least not all of us.  There are some who can, so I’ve heard.  We don’t need to be invited in order to enter a place.  Throwing salt or seeds or whatever won’t compel us to pick them up.  We can cross running water, see our reflections, and work perfectly fine with silver.

“I know that’s a lot to take in.  I’ve had to learn most of it piecemeal over the years.  But that’s the basics of it.  Do you have any other questions yourself?”

Harry shakes his head and gives a low, quick laugh.  “I think that’ll be enough for now.  I should have been taking notes, it seems.”  He turns back to closing up the bar, and a few minutes later asks again.  “So, what are your plans?  You said you’re in trouble and the like.  What are your plans for all that and where do I come in?”

“That’s a long story that I’d rather not get into tonight.  As for my plans,” she smirks.  “I think I’m finally going to take some of your advice and start getting my life on track.”  Deirdre sounds a lot more confident about that than she feels.  She’s not really sure how she can do just that.  She has some plans, but as with most everything in her life and unlife, things have a way of screwing her over.  You said you have a few contacts around the city that can help me?  People you know?”

“Aye.  I know a few of the other bar and club owners around the city.  We swap stories, tips of the trade, band and DJ references.  I can hook you up with some of them if you want some change of venue.  And one of my best friends, Jim, works for the paper.  Mostly does entertainment news and such, and a few bits of editorial.  I can get him to come to a show and right a review, get your name around some more.  I can’t promise you anything big, but you’ve got the talent to get that for yourself.”

Deirdre nods and gives Harry a weak, lopsided smile.  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.  I have some tentative ideas, nothing really formed just yet.  But I’m thinking about retiring for a little bit.  A few weeks really.  Do some more planning, really hammer out some new material.  Kind of redo my image…well, not really redo it.  But something.  Then I can come back…kind of a grand return, I don’t know.  It sounds a little pretentious, and I’ve never been one for that thing.  But it’s rock ‘n’ roll, I guess the entire point is to be flashy and pretentious, right?”

Harry chuckles.  “You’ve got that right.  Where would we be with glam and grandeur?  This entire scene is about making a show of yourself:  kids tricking themselves out in black make-up and neon Mohawks.  You’re supposed to go overboard.  But it all sounds good to me.  I’ll still be seeing you around I take it, right?”

“Definitely, I just won’t really be playing.  But I should be around the place most nights.”

Harry finishes closing up the place, locking everything down, and he and Deirdre head out.  As they walk back to the car he asks, “Hey, so, you know that whole vampire thing…drinking blood and all that.  How do you go about it?”

Deirdre can’t help but flash Harry an honest smile, a little mischief creeping in.  “Well,” she says.  “It does pay to have a few groupies.”  And with that she climbs in the car and leaves Harry to ponder the matter.