Cutscene: Red Tidings

February 21, 2015 An undead revolutionary issues a bold proclamation and public invitation as she announces the formation of new kind of society.

A housing project in Suicide Slum

A ruined unit of an abandoned housing project in the broken heart of Metropolis.



  • Mary, Queen of Blood

Mood Music:

  • None

"Is that stupid thing on?"

When Orm rendered his judgment on the surface world, Mary Seward saw opportunity lurking in the black clouds churning over the Tri-City area.

Enfolded in a scarlet cloak that shifts endlessly to provide just the right amount of cover, The Queen of Blood keeps a dubious eye on the young woman pointing a cellphone at her from the other side of a filthy living room; the young woman gives the redhead a thumbs up with her free hand. It's not the blood drying on and around her camerawoman's lips that concerns Mary; she just tends to have a hard time trusting anything made after the 19th century, placing both the woman and her phone on the Queen of Blood's shit list.

The woman, at least, has made pretty good progress towards earning her way into Mary's good graces; the phone, not so much, because she already knows that she's going to have to compromise with it.

A cracked wall with a few stubborn strips of yellowed and peeling wallpaper serves as a backdrop. Old needles, scraps of plastic, broken glass, fast food wrappers, and the other assorted detritus of wasted lives dot the ground; not all of it fits into the frame, but enough does. A bare, freshly inserted bulb harshly illuminates Mary's bone-white skin and the myriad of red curves etched into it.

The stack of cue cards beside the Queen are drawn into her lap. The camera can't see her there on that filthy, but fairly
intact sofa because the savage perfection of her form is too much for it to bear. Likely because it's really just a tool of the oppressive humanocentric establishment: thus, its lens refuses to capture the rapid bouncing of her knee, the elongated slit of her mouth twisted in distaste, or the heady mix of glee and self-satisfaction burning in her eyes as she lifts the first card with taloned fingers.

"Greetings, mortals," it says in exquisitely lettered black ink. The camera quickly zooms in so that the card fills the whole frame instead of floating over the couch like a special effect. "Are you sick of toiling your lives away to serve the needs of a society that couldn't care less about yours?"

Next card.

"Do your eyes sting from the glare of a better tomorrow filtered through the bars of your daily routines?"

"Are you tired of waiting for permission to unleash the potential simmering within?"

The third card comes down, and there isn't another to replace it; instead, the camera gets a close-up shot of a pallid body in an open dress shirt stretched across the sofa, head propped up on cue cards which are, themselves, seemingly floating above the cushions. Two neatly drilled puncture wounds in a lake of dried blood lie over his drained carotid, and his hair ruffles ever so slightly as if touseled by a breeze.

And then his eyes snap open, filled with panic, shock, pain… and most of all, hunger. A frenzied chorus of snarls, snorts, and a host of other noises barely suited to human throats spill out of his mouth as it stretches open; two of his teeth are much longer and pointier than they ought to be. Most of him isn't visible, but the sounds of his wild thrashing - from the sofa's tired supports threatening to give, to feet kicking away at the opposing arm rest - are just as loud as his feral noises, but despite all this, his arms remain pressed tightly against his chest.

Seconds later, it's like he was never there— or it would be, if the sofa weren't still creaking.

A fourth card rises.

"The nation of Sanguinaria stands ready to accept anyone whose ambitions cannot be contained to a single lifetime! To any and all fearless enough to gaze into the final mystery and embrace the power beyond it! To those who yearn to tear at the black heart of existence and savor its warmth dripping down your chins!"

A fifth card comes up with nothing but an address in Metropolis' Suicide Slum. Every nation has to start somewhere; Sanguinaria least, has a housing project at its core— not that anyone's lived there legally in a decade.

"Because what's the point of living if you're doing it for someone else?" the sixth card asks.

Another shot of the couch once that card goes down, lasting for a second or two before the seventh and final card rises. Unlike the others, which are now scattered all over the couch and ground, its carefully crafted letters are red and a little sticky.

"P.S.: Skeptics welcome! :)" is all it says; it sits there for a good ten seconds before the camera finally shuts off.

"Okay! Got it," the cameravamp announces as she slides her fingers across her phone screen to handle the next step. "Now I just need to send this over to that buddy I was telling you about, and you should be good! Youtube uploads, Facebook posts, about a billion Vines— "

"Ugh, okay, shut up, I get it," Mary snaps, the freshly turned vampire still struggling mightily - and uselessly - against her one-armed embrace. After a beat, she shifts her eyes up to the younger woman and adds, "But, hey, y'know, maybe make some gifs while you're at it. For Tumblr," in a softer voice. "I kinda like Tumblr."

Her feral spawn is released, then; almost instantly, he flails his way right off of the couch and onto the ground. Shortly after impact, he scrambles up to his feet and twists to and fro as Mary looks on adoringly.

"Also, hey, since you can do that crap from anywhere," she continues as she rises and approaches him with no fear of the predatory gleam in his eyes, "why don't you go get someone from downstairs? I think we've all earned ourselves a little snack… haven't we?" She fixes her gaze to his as and gently touches the tips of her talons to his cheek. Her touch doesn't quite banish the madness of rebirth, but it subsides long enough for him to let him see her.

"Just the first meal of many," she continues in an entrancing murmur while the mollified camerawoman darts off. "Once we finish separating the chaff from your new brothers and sisters, anyway. I bet we'll even pick up a few mutants; won't that be nice?"

Although he can't quite find the words to express how nice that would indeed be, his heart flutters with excitement one last time— but then, anything to do with satisfying the roaring hunger within would be nice right now.

"Let's just hope that whenever your idiot grandpa comes to see us, he's finally ready to see things someone else's way…"

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