Cage the Elephant


The party is no longer, as the kids today say, bumpin'. The people that were drinking are now drunk, those that were dancing are are now flopping to the furniture for a rest, and the ones that were kissing are now-- well, you know.

Ethan Russell sits in the middle of the couch in the living room, silent and still amidst the dwindling hubbub. In front of his right arm, which is propped along the back of the seat, Sassy Schofield still jams away to the music, but is one of the few that does. In front of his left arm, Jason Howlett plays the Xbox.

“So let me get this straight.” It's the first thing the Vampire in shades has said in an hour. There's not much effort in his deeply growling voice, but it carries easily. “You can't kill each other with a ten-gauge shotgun unless it's right in their face, and an elbow to the back of the head is just as strong...”

Jason shoots Russ a sort of disbelieving look. His only explanation on the matter is,“Dude, it's Halo.”

Sassy cackles at this, expertly imitating Jason as she leans across Russell's lap casually with one hand to shove at the gamer with the other. “It's Halo, Bro!”

“Shit, woman, you're getting me killed!”

“Oh, the humanity!”

“Ah, come on!” Jason yells at the TV, despite the fact that he isn't wearing a headset, and gives Sass a hearty shove back across the couch. She carries the momentum mockingly far over her side of the couch arm, swinging her legs around to prod at Jason with her booted feet.

Russell might well have been another piece of furniture for all the reaction he showed.

“I can see your tits when you flop over like that, Sassy.” Another girl says as she walks up to the trio. “Whassup Jay, Russ.” Francis Baker fits in with the group a lot better than the Mekhet does, with her jet black hair and eyeliner, lids shadowed with yellow and green to accent her shockingly hazel-brown eyes. Unusual for most chicks with her absurdly petite frame and bubbly demeanor, she has as many colorfully intricate tattoos peeking out from the edges of her clothing as the other two mortals here do.

“Hey Frankie.” Jason has merely trapped Sassy's prodding boot under his arm as he continues to frantically manipulate the controller in his hand. Not even the mention of exposed breasts had drawn his eyes from the screen.

“Can I hop in?” Francis asks as she squeezes in under Sassy, who is laughingly attempting to straighten her bra. Another controller is found by the slippery little woman between her spot under Sassy and Russell's thigh. She smiles coyly up to him. Francis had an obvious liking for the strong, silent bad boy type.

“Yeah, in a sec. This game only has twenty points left to win (Fucking Sniper! Somebody ice that fucking shitbag!).”

“They can't hear you, Jason,” the women chime in unison. But it goes unnoticed.

Sassy is content to play the air drums on her back across the people on the couch, using Jason for the kick bass, of course, while he and Francis play their game. Russell sits in silent vigil the whole time, acutely aware of little 'Frankie's' closing proximity to him. The night wears on this way; loud music, gunfire and explosions, Jason cursing men all over the planet who will never hear him, and Russell endures it all, unflinching.

Hours later, he is the only consistently awake being in the house. Others stumble drunkenly to the bathroom or a nearby potted plant to relieve themselves on occasion, but Russ is the only one truly aware. Francis was collapsed from her seat with her upper body across his lap, snoozing contentedly, and drooling on his knee.

Russell simply leans over. It is his first real movement since sitting down when the party started. Sinking fangs into the pale white neck of the small woman, he begins to drink. She begins to moan.

The very world around him draws to a small point in the center of his consciousness, and is gone. It is replaced by a world he'd forgotten sixty years ago. A musty basement that looks more like a dungeon, a single chair in the middle and no lights. Russell can still see in the darkness, however. At the time, this was a mystery to him. A Shadow stood in the corner farthest from him, seeming to be little more than a disembodied trench coat and fedora. In the chair, sat a small woman, quivering, naked, and pale as the full moon.

“Take her, Mister Russell.” His Sire's voice came in a chilling whisper. “Feed from her, give her your strength, toy with her as you desire. But above all: Use her. That is what they are to you, now. Instruments to be used.”

Turning on his heel, the Shadow ascended the stairs and shut the door behind him before Russ could protest. He heard the sound of the heavy door locking loudly, but he could block it out if he tried. The darkness, he did not block out. It was omnipresent, a shroud that he probed with his new found vision. The trembling mortal in front of him knew he was still there, but she looked cautiously around without seeing. Her pupils were hugely dilated, but saw nothing. Idly, Russell imagined his own eyes must look similar, though he could see everything.

As he stepped silently forward and gripped the soft, pale flesh, the tiny woman whimpered in fright. It was achingly loud, but Russell shut it out. The darkness, he did not.

Snapping suddenly back into the reality of the new millennium, with Francis Baker squirming under him in confusion, Russell releases the Kiss and licks the wound closed. The nature of feeding dulled her perception of the vision, but she was still having a troubled sleep.

The Shadow slips out from under little Frankie in the now-dark living room, deftly avoiding Jason and Sassy on the floor near his feet as he leaves her curled on the couch. A matter of curiosity, Russell, begins pulling slowly at her clothes, which she accepts in her sleeping stupor. Aside from the tattoos, which would have rendered the artist as intimately acquainted with her as Russ now was, she was a remarkable likeness for the Shadow's first tool.

“Use her. Humiliate her if necessary, but objectify your herd, Ethan Russell.”

With a smirk touching the corner of his lips, Russell silently leaves the premises for his temporary Haven. The girl's few small articles of clothing are still tucked under his meaty arm.