on Vampires
Purely incidentally, I've been reading random posts about LARPs recently. Inspired by those... (You can probably tell that the amount of thought and editing gone into this post are approaching zero, just wanted to dump it here before I forget)
The streetlamp overhead flickered as Mike stopped his police car across the street from the abandoned warehouse. The loud buzz of conversation, laughter, and shouts from inside was clearly audible even inside the vehicle.
Mike adjusted his holster, got out of the car, walked up to the partially open and slightly sagging sheet-metal door, and looked in. The place was dark, but the streetlight provided just barely enough illumination for him to see numerous dark forms moving inside. This was one weird party.
Mike raised his fist. *BAM! BAM!* The unexpectedly loud noise as he banged on the door left his ears ringing. The cacophony inside instantly quieted.
"Hey, folks," Mike called out, pitching his voice so it carried to the shapes assembled inside. "We got some complaints about the noise levels out here. You wanna keep it down a bit?"
A wave of quiet mutterings of "sorry" and "we'll try to keep it down" washed over him. However, as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he suddenly spotted what appeared to be a large pile of firearms on the floor not too far from the entrance.
Panic seized him for a moment, but then he realized that these people weren't behaving like criminals or terrorists - more like partying college kids caught on a night out. He edged sideways to get slightly better cover from the door, just in case, and called out to the gathered crowd, "what's with the weaponry?"
One of the robed shadows glided towards him, and Mike gasped in disgusted surprise - despite the hood and sunglasses covering most of her face (sunglasses at night, in the dark?, his inner voice asked) he could see a ghastly scar that marred the girl's face, and what seemed to be pus was slowly leaking from where her left eye was, thankfully, hidden from view. Seeing his reaction, she stopped a few feet away.
However, her voice sounded normal, just like that of Mike's 16-year-old daughter. "Oh, sorry, officer, all this equipment is just toys. Look, even the knives are wooden replicas!" She pulled two vaguely knife-like shapes from folds in her robe and knocked them together, producing a distinct wooden knock. "The guns are super-soakers. You can look them over if you like, but please don't shoot them inside - you'll damage people's makeup," she indicated her scar, "and probably destroy a cell phone or two in the process".
"Why would you want to look like... like that?" Mike croaked.
"We're just in the middle of a Vampire LARP. It helps us set the mood, and remember who's who, and that sort of thing."
Mike LARPed himself, in his younger days, so while he certainly found the outfits disturbing, it was something he could identify with. He walked inside, and picked up one of the guns. Up close, it was clearly a glorified plastic water pistol, amateurishly painted to vaguely resemble an assault rifle, and he could hear the water sloshing inside. The crowd edged away from him, apparently fearing a soaking, but he was mature enough to resist the temptation.
Putting the thing back, he waved at the assembled kids and called out "do try to keep it quiet here, please!"
"We will!" promised the girl, "but please shoo now, you're kind of ruining the mood."
Mike shrugged, and left them to enjoy their game.
...
Hearing the car speed away, the Nosferatu Primogen turned to the assembled hordes and smiled, revealing a mouthful of crooked fangs: "Ok, he's gone," she said. "The masquerade is still intact. Whose bright idea was it to leave the holy water guns out in the open? But anyway, grab the stakes and let's head out - the night is young but the Camarilla won't wait..."
The streetlamp overhead flickered as Mike stopped his police car across the street from the abandoned warehouse. The loud buzz of conversation, laughter, and shouts from inside was clearly audible even inside the vehicle.
Mike adjusted his holster, got out of the car, walked up to the partially open and slightly sagging sheet-metal door, and looked in. The place was dark, but the streetlight provided just barely enough illumination for him to see numerous dark forms moving inside. This was one weird party.
Mike raised his fist. *BAM! BAM!* The unexpectedly loud noise as he banged on the door left his ears ringing. The cacophony inside instantly quieted.
"Hey, folks," Mike called out, pitching his voice so it carried to the shapes assembled inside. "We got some complaints about the noise levels out here. You wanna keep it down a bit?"
A wave of quiet mutterings of "sorry" and "we'll try to keep it down" washed over him. However, as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he suddenly spotted what appeared to be a large pile of firearms on the floor not too far from the entrance.
Panic seized him for a moment, but then he realized that these people weren't behaving like criminals or terrorists - more like partying college kids caught on a night out. He edged sideways to get slightly better cover from the door, just in case, and called out to the gathered crowd, "what's with the weaponry?"
One of the robed shadows glided towards him, and Mike gasped in disgusted surprise - despite the hood and sunglasses covering most of her face (sunglasses at night, in the dark?, his inner voice asked) he could see a ghastly scar that marred the girl's face, and what seemed to be pus was slowly leaking from where her left eye was, thankfully, hidden from view. Seeing his reaction, she stopped a few feet away.
However, her voice sounded normal, just like that of Mike's 16-year-old daughter. "Oh, sorry, officer, all this equipment is just toys. Look, even the knives are wooden replicas!" She pulled two vaguely knife-like shapes from folds in her robe and knocked them together, producing a distinct wooden knock. "The guns are super-soakers. You can look them over if you like, but please don't shoot them inside - you'll damage people's makeup," she indicated her scar, "and probably destroy a cell phone or two in the process".
"Why would you want to look like... like that?" Mike croaked.
"We're just in the middle of a Vampire LARP. It helps us set the mood, and remember who's who, and that sort of thing."
Mike LARPed himself, in his younger days, so while he certainly found the outfits disturbing, it was something he could identify with. He walked inside, and picked up one of the guns. Up close, it was clearly a glorified plastic water pistol, amateurishly painted to vaguely resemble an assault rifle, and he could hear the water sloshing inside. The crowd edged away from him, apparently fearing a soaking, but he was mature enough to resist the temptation.
Putting the thing back, he waved at the assembled kids and called out "do try to keep it quiet here, please!"
"We will!" promised the girl, "but please shoo now, you're kind of ruining the mood."
Mike shrugged, and left them to enjoy their game.
...
Hearing the car speed away, the Nosferatu Primogen turned to the assembled hordes and smiled, revealing a mouthful of crooked fangs: "Ok, he's gone," she said. "The masquerade is still intact. Whose bright idea was it to leave the holy water guns out in the open? But anyway, grab the stakes and let's head out - the night is young but the Camarilla won't wait..."