from the nanowrimo novel
Here's an excerpt that I wrote tonight that I had more than a little fun writing. I LOVE CARMEN. SO MUCH. It's a really long piece, so if you get to the end...umm congrats? Cheers ^_^
Carmen hadn’t expected to find her. She had gone out to Burt’s Tiki Lounge out of sheer boredom. When you’ve lived more than 80 years, finding something--or someone--to remember got a hell of a lot harder. But Carmen knew what she was looking for when she saw it. And tonight she saw it.
She’d found it in Britain, on the stage of an underground bar full of writhing bodies, made more ethereal with the smoke that hung over like a mist. The woman on the stage, petite with a shock of black hair and pale skin and macabre lyrics stood out from everyone in the bar, her power and sheer artistic talent dominated, even in the rough stages of her career. It was only then that Carmen remembered that humans were useful for more than the occasional meal.
Carmen’s lips curved into a small smile. Humans in general were utterly oblivious to the greater darkness that surrounded them. They were so caught up in thinking that they were at the very top of the food chain, that it never occured to them to question whether they truly were. The existence of vampires, much like the monsters that lived under beds and in closets were ficticious. Used as stories to scare children into complicity. Only those of weak constititutions believed in beings like vampires. Or the people that knew better. Carmen watched the band onstage, lost in the reflection. It was exactly the overconfident, egotistical attitude that drove idiot humans straight to Carmen, where she waited for them in the dark. They had no idea what was coming to them until it was too late.
It was rare for Carmen to find herself intrigued by humans. But it happened. She watched as the lead singer and bassist for the band onstage played. The woman shared something with the first woman that ignited Carmen’s interest. There was a sense of sacrifice to the music that a keen observer could see, the thing that idiots who weren’t paying attention would call ‘stage presence.’ It was written over her like the words lining the pages of books, it was in the way she held herself, as if the stage was the only world she knew, it was in the way she held the bass and played it as if it was an extension of herself. It was in the way that she belted out the words of the songs, in a way that suggested that she was lost in the song and lyrics, and that the world outside didn’t matter at all. Real musicians were rare. Most of them thought too much. They were too aware. True musicians were a seperate entity. They had as much control onstage as a possessed person might.
The band that supported her complemented her well. The guitarist played his part, though his presence was too deliberate and too aware. The drummer seemed at home and in her element, it was as if nothing outside her kit and drumsticks existed. Her furious curls matched her playing, and it was clear that she was a natural drummer, and not too big on overdramatic flair, though she timed the showing off points well, and when it didn’t take away from the rest of the band. Their music was the kind that featured heavy bass and drum rock rhythms, reminiscent of heartbeats and old school lo-fi but well produced rock. The guitar distorted and accented the base rhythms.
Carmen had become used to long nights and had nearly given up on the modern music scene. She couldn’t help her attachment to music--it had been such a huge part of her life when she’d been human and had continued on after her transition--but musicians of real caliber were getting harder and harder to find. And Carmen had tried. Many of her nights were spent at venues were music was center stage, and while she went home with some of the musicians to help appease her taste for them, she hadn’t seen anyone like the lead singer of Fire Highway.
She focused her gaze on the lead singer, whose blonde hair fell loosely down her shoulders. She played her bass and sang into the microphone like it was the lifeblood flowing through her veins and her eyes matched in intensity, a violent blue so alive and bursting with energy that Carmen was again reminded at the inability of humans to truly see what was right in front of them. Carmen recognized a power in the woman and she knew what she had to do. She kept her eyes trained on the woman, with a smile barely touching the corner of her mouth. Carmen had an insatiable taste for women with musical talent that had nothing to do with their ability to write lyrics and everything to do with the way their internal rhythm manifested physically. And Carmen had a way with those women. She hadn’t found one that could say no yet.
Her focus was paying off. The singer finally looked over and Carmen saw the spark of recognition in her eyes that she’d seen Carmen watching her and she also saw what the rest of the mostly intoxicated audience probably missed; the woman onstage faltered, just for a second. The hands that had held onto and played her bass with such confidence fell, like they’d forgotten their purpose, and her eyes had focused onto the spot in the audience where Carmen stood, their eyes locked. It was a mark of her willpower that she only faltered for a second. The audience wouldn’t have noticed unless they were really paying attention, it happened in the blink of an eye. Her hands quickly righted and her eyes returned to the rest of the venue, to the rest of the audience, and away from the woman who had payed her such close attention. Carmen was impressed. Not only was she talented and charismatic, but this human was worth playing for.
Carmen knew then that she would have her. She licked her lips, reveling in the promise the night had given her.
Carmen did not believe in jumping quickly. She delighted in the thrill of the chase and the anticipation, the sense of wanting but not having. And Carmen knew that her looks--tall, lithe and impossibly gorgeous thanks to the inhuman beauty that was afforded to vampires--meant that she could have this singer in the palm of her hand and hanging onto every command by the end of the night. But having her that quickly was not on Carmen’s agenda. Where was the fun in that, after all?
The band’s set was winding down so Carmen decided to find somewhere outside of the range of the stage to see if her presence had been enough to convince the singer to look for her. It would be like a game of hide and seek. The area by the bar was busy, men gathered around with cheap beers and varying degrees of facial hair and voices that were strengthened by the amount of beer they’d had, but even with the chaos, the bartender couldn’t fail to notice Carmen when she approached. He stood up straighter, and reflexively tried to fix what he could of the hair that hadn’t receded. He was pudgy and covered with tattoos, and had gauges that took up most of his earlobe and was one of those men who in the right circumstance could channel authority quite well. This was not one of those times. His focus had left the rest of his patrons and was exclusively on her. Carmen knew what he saw. She hadn’t dressed conservatively; her top was a corset that only accentuated what she already had, and while the base color was black, it had red stripes and a ribbon at the point that drew the gaze effectively to her cleavage. Her skinny jeans showed off the length of her legs and were just as capable of drawing and keeping attention. She stood tall and unreachable, the definition of the forbidden fruit--what everyone wanted and couldn’t have. Unless she allowed them to, and then the consequences were dire. For them. Her eyes sparkled as she ordered another rum and coke. The bartender seemed to think it was something he had done and smiled merrily as he went to fill her order. He focused on the process as best as he could, though his gaze wandered to her as she’d expected.
When he slid the glass over to her, she found her attention distracted. The singer onstage was announcing that this would be their last song of the night. Her voice was husky and nearly breathless with an audible excitement. Carmen turned back toward the bartender and ordered another drink. A tequilla sunrise for the lead singer.
“Who should I say it’s from?” he asked. She knew it was part of the protocol, but his eyes spoke louder than the words that it was he who wanted the information.
She smiled, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. He seemed to notice the coldness of it and shrank back a little. She answered,” Just tell her it’s from someone who loves her sound.”
She gave the man some money to cover both drinks and tips and walked off with her rum and coke in hand. The venue wasn’t packed, but the number of people had increased significantly. Since the band’s set was nearly over, the crowd’s attention had become distracted and people were everywhere. Yet Carmen managed to make her way through it uninhibited, and while she felt eyes watching her as she moved up the stairs to the second level, no one approached her.
The noise on the upper floor was muted, drowned out by the fuzzy music coming from the old jukebox that looked like it had been installed back in the late 80s early 90s and rarely touched since. The clicks of billiard balls hitting against each other and the rumbling of their journey across the table was only matched by the soft voices and laughter of the men talking amongst their groups and the soft seductive whispers of the women trying to woo their men of choice into coming home with them, in the hopes that tonight, of all nights, they wouldn’t have to go home alone.
There was a ratty couch with a table in front of it in one of the corners, a lamp nearby allowing for some light, and Carmen figured that would be as good a place as any to wait for the woman who’d so captured her attention. She sat, sinking into the old cushions and placed the rum and coke in front of her, acting as if her attention was drawn inward. Really though, she heard everything. Whispers, laughter, the clinks of glasses as toasts were made, and she heard the man coming towards her.
She couldn’t have missed him if she’d wanted to. His steps were heavy against the wooden floor, as if his stride had something to prove to the rest of the world. He stank of cigar smoke, the disgusting sweet smell hung over him like he’d bathed in it, and his clothes were coated in what Carmen could only assume were beer stains, they seemed fresh and dark against his flannel shirt.
“Hey,” he said, his voice rough and not far from slurring.
Carmen gave him the barest of looks and then focused on the drink in front of her. He seemed to take it as an invitation to continue.
“I couldn’t help noticing you,” he said, “and how you’re alone.”
Carmen looked over, meeting his gaze and holding it. He looked away, stepped back, but still continued talking, though this time he stumbled over the words, “I--I figured you needed company.”
Carmen stood in one smooth motion and faced him. The energy around her was dark and imposing. While he physically took more space in stature, there would be no question of who had more presence had anyone truly been watching. Her eyes were dark and stone cold. Her jaw was set and she stared him down until he found himself stepping back, and almost falling over himself. She continued to keep his gaze. “Did I ask for your company?” she asked, her voice icy and void of emotion.
His eyes widenened, as if the words had affected him somehow. She then said nothing, but her thoughts were meant only for him. She envisioned herself doing exactly what she wanted to do to cowardly pigs such as he was. She envisioned herself, with a knife because it was easier for the human mind to process than her fangs were, grabbing him by the balls, forcefully, and cutting them with no hesitation whatsoever, leaving him bloody and dripping and grotesque. The image was not lost on him. It was an image that was larger than life and way too real for comfort. He whimpered, any strength he’d had buckling like his knees. He checked to make sure he was intact and turned away, his swagger replaced by a pace that suggested he wanted nothing more than to put as much distance between the two of them as quickly as possible. He walked by the group of friends that had presumably been with him and they called after him. He didn’t stop, just went down the stairs as fast as he could. Carmen watched him leave, a smirk playing on his lips. Men were easy. She had reduced many men to blubbering idiots, and this man wouldn’t be the last. She sat back down to wait. This time she was uninterrupted.
Carmen hadn’t expected to find her. She had gone out to Burt’s Tiki Lounge out of sheer boredom. When you’ve lived more than 80 years, finding something--or someone--to remember got a hell of a lot harder. But Carmen knew what she was looking for when she saw it. And tonight she saw it.
She’d found it in Britain, on the stage of an underground bar full of writhing bodies, made more ethereal with the smoke that hung over like a mist. The woman on the stage, petite with a shock of black hair and pale skin and macabre lyrics stood out from everyone in the bar, her power and sheer artistic talent dominated, even in the rough stages of her career. It was only then that Carmen remembered that humans were useful for more than the occasional meal.
Carmen’s lips curved into a small smile. Humans in general were utterly oblivious to the greater darkness that surrounded them. They were so caught up in thinking that they were at the very top of the food chain, that it never occured to them to question whether they truly were. The existence of vampires, much like the monsters that lived under beds and in closets were ficticious. Used as stories to scare children into complicity. Only those of weak constititutions believed in beings like vampires. Or the people that knew better. Carmen watched the band onstage, lost in the reflection. It was exactly the overconfident, egotistical attitude that drove idiot humans straight to Carmen, where she waited for them in the dark. They had no idea what was coming to them until it was too late.
It was rare for Carmen to find herself intrigued by humans. But it happened. She watched as the lead singer and bassist for the band onstage played. The woman shared something with the first woman that ignited Carmen’s interest. There was a sense of sacrifice to the music that a keen observer could see, the thing that idiots who weren’t paying attention would call ‘stage presence.’ It was written over her like the words lining the pages of books, it was in the way she held herself, as if the stage was the only world she knew, it was in the way she held the bass and played it as if it was an extension of herself. It was in the way that she belted out the words of the songs, in a way that suggested that she was lost in the song and lyrics, and that the world outside didn’t matter at all. Real musicians were rare. Most of them thought too much. They were too aware. True musicians were a seperate entity. They had as much control onstage as a possessed person might.
The band that supported her complemented her well. The guitarist played his part, though his presence was too deliberate and too aware. The drummer seemed at home and in her element, it was as if nothing outside her kit and drumsticks existed. Her furious curls matched her playing, and it was clear that she was a natural drummer, and not too big on overdramatic flair, though she timed the showing off points well, and when it didn’t take away from the rest of the band. Their music was the kind that featured heavy bass and drum rock rhythms, reminiscent of heartbeats and old school lo-fi but well produced rock. The guitar distorted and accented the base rhythms.
Carmen had become used to long nights and had nearly given up on the modern music scene. She couldn’t help her attachment to music--it had been such a huge part of her life when she’d been human and had continued on after her transition--but musicians of real caliber were getting harder and harder to find. And Carmen had tried. Many of her nights were spent at venues were music was center stage, and while she went home with some of the musicians to help appease her taste for them, she hadn’t seen anyone like the lead singer of Fire Highway.
She focused her gaze on the lead singer, whose blonde hair fell loosely down her shoulders. She played her bass and sang into the microphone like it was the lifeblood flowing through her veins and her eyes matched in intensity, a violent blue so alive and bursting with energy that Carmen was again reminded at the inability of humans to truly see what was right in front of them. Carmen recognized a power in the woman and she knew what she had to do. She kept her eyes trained on the woman, with a smile barely touching the corner of her mouth. Carmen had an insatiable taste for women with musical talent that had nothing to do with their ability to write lyrics and everything to do with the way their internal rhythm manifested physically. And Carmen had a way with those women. She hadn’t found one that could say no yet.
Her focus was paying off. The singer finally looked over and Carmen saw the spark of recognition in her eyes that she’d seen Carmen watching her and she also saw what the rest of the mostly intoxicated audience probably missed; the woman onstage faltered, just for a second. The hands that had held onto and played her bass with such confidence fell, like they’d forgotten their purpose, and her eyes had focused onto the spot in the audience where Carmen stood, their eyes locked. It was a mark of her willpower that she only faltered for a second. The audience wouldn’t have noticed unless they were really paying attention, it happened in the blink of an eye. Her hands quickly righted and her eyes returned to the rest of the venue, to the rest of the audience, and away from the woman who had payed her such close attention. Carmen was impressed. Not only was she talented and charismatic, but this human was worth playing for.
Carmen knew then that she would have her. She licked her lips, reveling in the promise the night had given her.
Carmen did not believe in jumping quickly. She delighted in the thrill of the chase and the anticipation, the sense of wanting but not having. And Carmen knew that her looks--tall, lithe and impossibly gorgeous thanks to the inhuman beauty that was afforded to vampires--meant that she could have this singer in the palm of her hand and hanging onto every command by the end of the night. But having her that quickly was not on Carmen’s agenda. Where was the fun in that, after all?
The band’s set was winding down so Carmen decided to find somewhere outside of the range of the stage to see if her presence had been enough to convince the singer to look for her. It would be like a game of hide and seek. The area by the bar was busy, men gathered around with cheap beers and varying degrees of facial hair and voices that were strengthened by the amount of beer they’d had, but even with the chaos, the bartender couldn’t fail to notice Carmen when she approached. He stood up straighter, and reflexively tried to fix what he could of the hair that hadn’t receded. He was pudgy and covered with tattoos, and had gauges that took up most of his earlobe and was one of those men who in the right circumstance could channel authority quite well. This was not one of those times. His focus had left the rest of his patrons and was exclusively on her. Carmen knew what he saw. She hadn’t dressed conservatively; her top was a corset that only accentuated what she already had, and while the base color was black, it had red stripes and a ribbon at the point that drew the gaze effectively to her cleavage. Her skinny jeans showed off the length of her legs and were just as capable of drawing and keeping attention. She stood tall and unreachable, the definition of the forbidden fruit--what everyone wanted and couldn’t have. Unless she allowed them to, and then the consequences were dire. For them. Her eyes sparkled as she ordered another rum and coke. The bartender seemed to think it was something he had done and smiled merrily as he went to fill her order. He focused on the process as best as he could, though his gaze wandered to her as she’d expected.
When he slid the glass over to her, she found her attention distracted. The singer onstage was announcing that this would be their last song of the night. Her voice was husky and nearly breathless with an audible excitement. Carmen turned back toward the bartender and ordered another drink. A tequilla sunrise for the lead singer.
“Who should I say it’s from?” he asked. She knew it was part of the protocol, but his eyes spoke louder than the words that it was he who wanted the information.
She smiled, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. He seemed to notice the coldness of it and shrank back a little. She answered,” Just tell her it’s from someone who loves her sound.”
She gave the man some money to cover both drinks and tips and walked off with her rum and coke in hand. The venue wasn’t packed, but the number of people had increased significantly. Since the band’s set was nearly over, the crowd’s attention had become distracted and people were everywhere. Yet Carmen managed to make her way through it uninhibited, and while she felt eyes watching her as she moved up the stairs to the second level, no one approached her.
The noise on the upper floor was muted, drowned out by the fuzzy music coming from the old jukebox that looked like it had been installed back in the late 80s early 90s and rarely touched since. The clicks of billiard balls hitting against each other and the rumbling of their journey across the table was only matched by the soft voices and laughter of the men talking amongst their groups and the soft seductive whispers of the women trying to woo their men of choice into coming home with them, in the hopes that tonight, of all nights, they wouldn’t have to go home alone.
There was a ratty couch with a table in front of it in one of the corners, a lamp nearby allowing for some light, and Carmen figured that would be as good a place as any to wait for the woman who’d so captured her attention. She sat, sinking into the old cushions and placed the rum and coke in front of her, acting as if her attention was drawn inward. Really though, she heard everything. Whispers, laughter, the clinks of glasses as toasts were made, and she heard the man coming towards her.
She couldn’t have missed him if she’d wanted to. His steps were heavy against the wooden floor, as if his stride had something to prove to the rest of the world. He stank of cigar smoke, the disgusting sweet smell hung over him like he’d bathed in it, and his clothes were coated in what Carmen could only assume were beer stains, they seemed fresh and dark against his flannel shirt.
“Hey,” he said, his voice rough and not far from slurring.
Carmen gave him the barest of looks and then focused on the drink in front of her. He seemed to take it as an invitation to continue.
“I couldn’t help noticing you,” he said, “and how you’re alone.”
Carmen looked over, meeting his gaze and holding it. He looked away, stepped back, but still continued talking, though this time he stumbled over the words, “I--I figured you needed company.”
Carmen stood in one smooth motion and faced him. The energy around her was dark and imposing. While he physically took more space in stature, there would be no question of who had more presence had anyone truly been watching. Her eyes were dark and stone cold. Her jaw was set and she stared him down until he found himself stepping back, and almost falling over himself. She continued to keep his gaze. “Did I ask for your company?” she asked, her voice icy and void of emotion.
His eyes widenened, as if the words had affected him somehow. She then said nothing, but her thoughts were meant only for him. She envisioned herself doing exactly what she wanted to do to cowardly pigs such as he was. She envisioned herself, with a knife because it was easier for the human mind to process than her fangs were, grabbing him by the balls, forcefully, and cutting them with no hesitation whatsoever, leaving him bloody and dripping and grotesque. The image was not lost on him. It was an image that was larger than life and way too real for comfort. He whimpered, any strength he’d had buckling like his knees. He checked to make sure he was intact and turned away, his swagger replaced by a pace that suggested he wanted nothing more than to put as much distance between the two of them as quickly as possible. He walked by the group of friends that had presumably been with him and they called after him. He didn’t stop, just went down the stairs as fast as he could. Carmen watched him leave, a smirk playing on his lips. Men were easy. She had reduced many men to blubbering idiots, and this man wouldn’t be the last. She sat back down to wait. This time she was uninterrupted.