This isn't happening ...
I'm standing in the living room of Alexis Brinker and I'm drowning in white.
I'm surrounded by useless noise.
It's like a wave washing me out to sea, that noise, a riptide sucking me into a mindless void. I'm surrounded by siphons who are trying so hard to be hip and fabulous. I'm watching them slurp martinis and chew appetizers. And they are all invisible to me.
I'm out in space. I'm drowning in an abyss, riding a cold tide, a passenger of the depths.
What's going on here?
There are vampires in the world ... who aren't us.
This thought is a hammer. It shatters my complacency.
We are not alone.
We were late to the gig.
The noise crashes over me, and I am lost inside of it. I can't escape it. My head is buzzing until it's hard for me to think, let alone give true contemplation to the lack of my uniqueness, my utter, hopeless mundanity. Here I thought Diana had put us onto something new and different, but no ... she couldn't even manage that. She just stole my mortality and forced me to drink blood while these circus freaks are out there in the world, making a mockery of my very existence.
I mean ... look at them! These fucking posers! They're so garish and awful, especially the freak in the steampunk goggles with the pink hair and feathery earring. He's obviously trying way too hard. What the fuck is he trying to be? Why does he exist? And why has someone decreed he gets to live forever, technically one of my peers? It's awful!
And yet I can't really hate fuck him properly with my mind because of all the noise. The goddamned noise. It's these siphons! They're all around me, trying too hard, working so hard.
A blonde in a mint-green dress has a diamond bracelet that blazes like a Grizwold Christmas display when light catches it. She's standing next to me, twisting it, making rainbows leap across the ceiling as she says to someone, "Isn't sperm a funny word?"
She's talking to a siphon in Warby Parker glasses who has his hair teased up in a sleekly pomaded wave. It's like a pillar of plastic standing on his head.
"If you think about it," Bracelet Girl says, "it's a funny word. Sounds so weird. Isn't it weird how we all came from something that sounds so funny?"
She puts heavy emphasis on the P as she says, "SP-erm. See? Sperm. If you say it enough times, you start to think maybe you're saying the wrong word."
I'm tempted to make her throw herself in the pool. Because what the fuck is she talking about? Why is she filling my head with these useless words when there are monsters afoot, true monsters?
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(Completed) Chester is savage, stylish, beautiful ... and bored out of his mind. It isn't enough to party with movie stars. It isn't enough to eat at the best restaurants or live in a mansion or drive sports cars or control people's minds. He wants...