Velma Star Glimpses

[Velma]

The needle dropped mercilessly over the black surface of the vinyl.

For what seemed like an eternity there was only the sound of it scratching empty tracks as the obsidian disk turned around itself. It was almost hypnotizing, a blank symphony of emptiness that invaded her ears.

She was still lying in her bed, as if intent on staying there for the entire night, lulled to complacency by the sound until it started…

Suddenly and unexpectedly a puissant voice appeared, uninvited, it broke the monotony of her hypnosis with a crystalline vibrato. She knew this voice. She didn’t dare open her eyes, her breath had been taken away.

But then her eyes opened and there were two voices, singing in unison, two voices, the same color and tone only separated by a century of that dark and languid symphony of emptiness from before.

It was beautiful.

When the song came to an end there were only blood red tears of joy and celebration and the certainty of having taken the best from mortality with her!

[Velma]

Velma had spent the last few months away from Sacramento.

She had been summoned to her hometown, Chicago, by someone she believed dead and buried a long time ago.

The foretold meeting happened downtown, during the freezing arctic winds that swept the town and sent its buzzing daily life to a cold white stall.

Her sire appeared to her, the summonses were his. Velma listened to how he had always known about her intents to murder him, how he used her to disappear from existence for a few decades and how he had managed to keep her in check with mind probing and mind altering blood disciplines…

Both Ravagers stood still, an otherwise downtown street crowded with life served as the chilling background for the earthshattering revelations. Her world had once again been torn apart, all she had been she had been because HE had wanted her to be like that? Her beast was strangely mute through the one sided exchange.

What could his purpose be? Why now?

“The sleep of ages is upon me, but before I fall to the long sleep you shall prove to me you are capable of taking my place in our house.”

The freezing memento shattered as he turned around and left. Velma knew all too well what his words meant. Ancillae.

The next few months the songstress roamed the streets of Chicago, clueless and lacking destination, lacking her own sense of self. Trying to find herself by stealing the alcoholic stupor from others like her… she slowly descended into the abyss of self loathe, depression and madness.

But madness isn’t something the Ravager is unfamiliar with, she lives with it side by side, hearing it whispering in her hear at every action she takes, it is that bilious tinge in the tip of her tongue that makes her be who she really is, the poison in her words and the narcissistic way she has of doing things.

This time she didn’t rose like a phoenix wreath in flames… no. She sunk and drank from the darkest waters from the darkest pits, and it filled her heart and lungs once again with poison, desperation, and a morbid sense of ennui.

“The die has been cast.”

It was all she had left.

The next day she returned to Sacramento.

[Velma]

Velma’s body had given up standing and laid lazily over the large red sofa.
The sofa, it was a suitable throne for her she thought. Italian design, voluptuous curves, the touch was agreeable, almost addictive, and most importantly, it was the deep ruby of passion and life.

The palm of her hand caressed the fabrics once more as if to remember how they felt.
Momentarily pleased, her hand searched blindly for the solitary book under the large red sofa. Its cover was white and the title was written in large black letters.

Much Ado About Nothing

Her curiosity was peaked.
Almost absent mindedly she called for him without saying a word.

He passed by the door and his eyes fell immediately on her, drinking on her shape.

She picked the book and hit the large round glasses whose protest was immediately felt as they were casually pushed against one another.
”You were reading me this yesterday?” It was her time to protest.

There were only naked footsteps kissing the floor. Still standing, he picked the book and read the cover to confirm.

Understanding the futility in the exercise of trying to denying her small pleasure he took a sit in the floor, by the large red sofa. His head resting backwards near hers, his eyes locking onto hers for a moment.

He sighed.

And opened the book and begun:

"I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a rose in his grace, and it better fits my blood to be disdained of all than to fashion a carriage to rob love from any: in this, though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied but I am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with a muzzle and enfranchised with a clog; therefore I have decreed not to sing in my cage. If I had my mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I would do my liking: in the meantime let me be that I am and seek not to alter me."

”All this talk of villainy makes me hungry.” she interrupted, mildly amused by her own thoughts and how much they mirrored the words he spoke.

“You want me to go cook something?” he offered.

”No! No! Keep reading.” She smiled and allowed him to rest his head close to hers…

[Velma]

…somewhere in the Rack.



Tonight there is no club Ember, no waiting in the office at the Nox for someone to arrive.

I’m alone by myself exploring my new condition as frequenter of The Rack.

So I park my car at the front door of the club… I confess, it’s not about the car but the look they give me when I actually leave it. I guess I’m narcissistic like that. But today I’m not so special. The front door is taken. White Lambo.

I park mine next to it. The second best place… you know what they say about the second best? The first of the last.

I get out, I know I’m fast with my hands, I use my key and scratch the white paint next to the window… I think one of the guys at the door noticed but I smile and he smiles in turn. A small satisfaction.



Once inside the club is like hundreds of others. Ask for the hottest place and this is what you will find. Loud music pumping, reverberating, lights flickering in spasms and a sweaty mass of kine drinking Vodka with Redbull or whatever the latest fad is to make them fuck and forget.

Tonight I will be popping bottles in the Ice. I wave the bartender with a few hundreds in my hand… much to my chagrin he shakes his head. The table I want is already taken…

The white Lambo.

Instead I ask for a Vodka with Redbull… I paint a lazy smile on my face and stumble over to the VIP table. Two persons and the rest. She is probably in her late forties, vanning beauty, rich trophy wife or heiress, he is young (expensive) and good looking. My eyes linger on them for longer than they should as my stomach begins to ache. She looks at me with her nose pointing upwards and smiles – that smile – and then just ignores and moves her eyes to someplace else while grabbing his leg like she owned him.



Small gestures. You either lived by them or died by them.

I get in line for the bathroom and I call him. Not like calling him by his name but calling him to me!
He shows up and we talk. I notice the wedding ring and wonder… Here are some of the words that precluded my amuse bouche.

”Oh you are so hot…”

"Thank you! I like your eyes to..."

” A Lamborghini! My! Really!? That’s soooo impressive…”

”She really doesn’t mind!? Well, if you say so…”

Insert some giggling and dry humps as I pull myself closer to his body.


Suffice to say I don’t stay in the line too long. I get my fix for the evening and then send the pictures to the woman that calls him twenty times a day when I'm throwing up over her car... suppose I should send her a pic of it to...

[Velma]

The sound of the door closing behind the last employee leaving the Lily for the night precluded the sepulchral silence that invaded the Succubus’ ears.

All lights were off except for the one at her table, everywhere around her, shadows played tricks with the single source of light. The silence was still there, trying to reach her from beyond to pull her and to abduct her into oblivion.

The room was too large to be fully illuminated by the lonely lamp, Velma felt like navigating in an ocean of darkness… when had she felt like this?

The staking.

But she wasn’t immobilized, she had the deed of the place in her lap, her eyes reading its words one by one. Making sure. She never trusted.

What else? Why was the Succubus feeling so? Powerless?

The Ravager stopped and produced a muttering sound with her mouth.

”Hmmm.” The songstress was fooling her own senses with her voice. She wasn’t able to see beyond the light, she didn’t trust her senses… she never trusted.

She never trusted others to do what she needed to see done.

The Daeva had never needed to trust but when she learned the reach, his reach, she knew she had to learn how to? How to trust?

No.

Find a proxy… exert your control over the proxy so that it can continue your work. That’s how things worked, how reach was obtained. She knew that but she also knew herself too well. Sooner or later she would break one of her arms because it looked prettier than the other. Gauge her left eye because it was brighter than the right…

Even so, she would have to trust at least in her ability to see things through.

And if Velma never trusted she could never be betrayed, if she never trusted she could survive! Had the need to change into something more changed her priorities? Become great or die trying? Or live to try another night?

Time to pick one.

[Velma]

to change the natural, normal, or original shape, appearance, or sound of (something) in a way that is usually not attractive or pleasing

That’s how she felt as she lay on her bed, black silken sheets wrapped around her as she woke up from her daymares into the night. She took a few naked steps to the large window and unobscured it. The cityscape spread until where her eyes could reach, bright lights flaring and dying, the risky appeal of the night engulfing the city in its cradle.

She stood there indulging her time and then begun, afraid, it was not the first time. Humming slowly, tapping her feet, and then finally words. A century of songs and you ought to reach perfection. Words turned into lyrics, perfect timbre, pitch and loudness. She hadn’t forgot, how could she? Controlled breath, vibrations and fluctuations. The rhythm picked up! It was all she had ever been, a soundwave echoing through life and now in the collective memory of most!

But then she stopped.
Empty silence. Absence of sound.

She peered through the window again, the cityscape still spread until where her eyes could reach, there were still bright lights flaring and dying, the risky appeal of the night engulfing the city in its cradle was still there. Only her heart was missing, hollow, not even melancholy. The Requiem had distorted Velma Star in incredible ways... subtle but incredible.

She stopped focusing on the night streets and for a split moment her eyes picked it up in the glass. Her distorted shape mocking at her, reminding her of her condition and its unyielding limitations.

She threw a punch at it with strength laced with vitae and she felt it shattering in front of her. Into a thousand pieces… broken, passionless and without soul.