Nightfall Toronto

Jason Andrews

 

Clan:  Daeva

Covenant:  Unknown

Titles:  "A Gentleman in the Guise of a Thug"

Physical Description:  Jason is a ganger, through and through. Though he was 21 at the time of his Embrace, many would swear that isn't a day over 17. Short, messy black hair is often hidden under a backward Baltimore Raven's baseball cap, and dark green eyes betray his tough facade, shining with more wisdom than should be allowed.

Jason looks vaguely Japanese, though if asked, he'd state that he has no idea who his father was. He doesn't hide where he came from, seeming somehow proud that he'd dug himself out of the poverty he grew up in, to become the poised and elegant Kindred he is today.

Recently, he's taken playing the part of a chameleon--his clothing and demeanor befitting the situation he is in, and who he is in it with. When around his "friends" and The Family, Jason dresses comfortably and to suit his mood, which can take the tone of anything from urban-thug to gothic-punk.

When in Court or another formal situation, Jason is instantly the poised, confident, and well-bred Kindred. While he refuses to wear anything with a tie, he is always in the height of mortal fashion, as a Daeva should be.

Regardless of his attire, everything is perfectly tailored.

Lineage:   Jason Andrews de Melange,Childe of Alder Lord Justinian Santa Cruz de Melange, Perfumer of the First Estate; Childe of Alder Lord Councilor Liam Ramone, Speaker and Master Perfumer of the First Estate in Buenos Aires; Childe of Alder Lord Councilor Kouji Toyagawa, Sheriff and Bloodhound of Kyoto, Japan; Childe of Alder Countess Aya Mizuhara, Empress and Master Perfumer of Tokyo, Japan; Childe of The Right Honorable Alder Lord Jonathan Maynard, Former Prince and Master Perfumer of London; Childe of Masih Badr al Din; Master Perfumer of Istanbul;  Childe of Eumathius; Founder of the Legendary Line Gulikan

Born in Baltimore, Jason was raised by the streets. His mother was a drug addict, barely paying enough attention to him to get him to go to school, and his stepfather was an abusive SOB who hated Jason for his rebellious streak and his too wise eyes. His family was very relgious, however, a trait that he carries until this day.

When Jason was old enough, he began hanging out on the streets. He joined a gang at age 13, and stayed there...even after his Embrace.

The Daeva who Embraced him was testing him,leaving him alone in Baltimore to see if he could survive--a trait that their particular line of Daeva believe is essential in childer. Alone and confused, Jason was never-the-less a survivor, and he stayed with his gang as a protector of sorts, being left alone by the local heirarchy because he didn't cause any undue problems.

When his sire stated that he was returning for him, Jason did what any survivor would do when faced with the bogeyman from their nightmares once again...he ran,and had been running for five years before finally settling in St. Louis.

He had planned to make his final stand there, but when his cotorie was threatened, Jason went willingly with Justinian, his sire, and was pleasantly surprised to find a patient teacher, who let him go when he felt Jason was ready.

11/20/2006: Jason has returned to St. Louis, even quieter than before. He now knows his lineage, and seems to be a bit more poised and confident, and yet still has that savage, urban beauty that attracted his sire nine years ago.

He killed her.

The motherfucker killed her.

He was shaking, looking down at his mother, at least two days dead. His stepfather had killed her. The gun in his hand was shaking, and he quickly put it back into his shoulder holster. He’d come here planning on getting him the fuck out of the house.

He was too late to save her.

Granted, she hadn’t been mother of the year. She was an alcoholic, a heroin addict, and hadn’t really given a shit about him. She didn’t even know who is father was.. Ma didn’t even know his name. All Jason knew was that he was Asian or something, because of his own feathery black hair and shorter stature. Ma was blond…with green eyes, and was tall. She could have been a model, had she not gotten in with the wrong crowd

She’d been whoring herself for drugs.

The room had started to smell. The scent of rotting flesh was sickening, and his stomach turned. It was a cloying thing, attaching itself to his skin like a bad E trip, and part of him wanted to run.

But Ma…she needed justice. That sonofabitch would die for this. His stepfather had forgotten that though Jessica Andrews was just another crack whore, her baby boy was a gang member--a feared one. You didn’t fuck with a ganger’s family. Especially his Ma.

The light from the street was suddenly cut off, and Jason’s hand went back to the gun under his jacket as he turned. In one movement, he had the Browning pointed at whoever it was in the doorway.

It wasn’t his stepfather. His stepfather was huge. This person was lithe, slender, and he leaned in the doorway, completely unmoved by the gun pointed at his chest. He smiled….were those fangs?

“Was wonderin’ when you’d show up, pretty.”

Jason couldn’t see his face, but something set him on edge. “Who the fuck’re you?”

The man stood upright, and it was graceful. He was taller than Jason, but that wasn’t anything new. Most other guys were taller than he was. “You’re stepfather…he killed her. I killed him. For both of them, it was a mercy…They were useless wastes of space. They smelled of death, and that is a smell that I can not abide.”

He started walking forward, and Jason was still shaking. He seriously wanted to shoot him…so why wasn’t his finger on the trigger. Why couldn’t he do it?

“You, on the other hand…” the man came close, walking past Jason’s gun arm. He bent forward, inhaling the air around Jason’s neck--as though he were scenting him. “You smell divine. Like a survivor.”

A hand came to rest on the side of his face, turning it away from the man so that his neck was stretched taut. “So…alive. I’ve wanted you ever since…since I saw you. Smelled you. You smell of gunpowder, violence…and under it all, faith. The faithful have their own, unique perfume, and you…yours is more pure than any other I’ve had in a long time.”

Jason’s gun arm lowered, and from far away he heard the gun drop to the dirty carpet. Thankfully, the safety was still on. A hand on his shoulder pushed him backward into the bedroom, and he was suddenly laying on his mother’s bed, on top of dirty sheets that were in disarray.

Not that he cared, because this person—this incredible person—was with him, pushing his gang colors off his shoulders, his baseball cap from his head. Fingers were tangling in his hair, pulling his head to the side. The scenting thing was a little weird, and just as there was an intake of air near his neck again, he tried to pull away.

The fact that this was a guy was weirding him out too. He didn’t like being touched—touch was pain. Hurt.

Strong hands held him immobile, and as he started to panic, he felt that wave of calm wash over him. “Easy, pretty. No harm. No pain.” The voice crooned, the fingers gently combing through his hair. “Just…nice. I’m going to make you feel wonderful.”

Jason whimpered. He had never really liked being touched, but this …this was nice. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. “…No.”

“No pain.” Was whispered again, and he stiffened as he felt pressure at his neck.

Nothing anyone had ever done for him had felt this good. From far away he felt fingers kneading his arm, his own body responding to how wonderful this all felt. Strong hands were holding him in place, and he heard a soft chuckle from where this man’s face was buried in his neck.

It was getting harder and harder to focus. Harder and harder to remain conscious. It just felt so good. So incredible. His eyelids, which were getting heavier as time went by, began fluttering closed. His hands, buried in the dark strands of the man’s hair, were becoming numb.

The pleasure was gone.

He whimpered, weak, gasping for breath. It was too hard to breathe.

Something was being dribbled into his mouth, and he looked up, seeing a bleeding wrist being held above his mouth. A soft laugh escaped the man as Jason hungrily grasped it, pulling it to his mouth and suckling it as though he were a starving child. A part of him, the sane part, was screaming at him. Terrified. Something was happening inside of him. Something inside of him was waking up.

Something growled. Hungry. Ravenous.

It was him.

He grasped for what was put in front of him, fumbling for a hold as his face buried itself in the warm…so warm skin of this person. He moaned as blood flooded his mouth, and he

"Was wondering when you'd show up, pretty."
 
The nightmare woke Jason from a sound day-sleep, and he sat up, eyes wide, searching the darkened room frantically for any sign of intruders.  He had almost felt the soft, intake of breath as he scented along Jason's neck, and the fear that raced through his bloodless veins was a near-tangible thing.  If he were a being who required breath, he'd have been panting, he knew.
 
As it was, his hand had come up to wrap itself around the ever present crucifix around his neck, grasping it as though it were a lifeline, a handhold of sanity, in his existence, which had become anything but.  When the vice-grip the terror had on his heart finally loosened, he released the necklace, his hand falling into his lap limply.  He pulled his knees to his chest, burying his face in the white cotton sheets.
 
Fuck.
 
At least he hadn't screamed this time.  He had a habit of screaming when he had that dream.  It was always a hoot, explaining to the neighbors the reason for your "night-terrors".  He'd adopted the lie of an abusive father, hoping that the neighbors would feel sorry for him and leave him alone about it.
 
A part of Jason knew, without a doubt, that his sire planned on coming for him at some point.  Regardless of the abandonment, there had been too much time taken, too much care, for him to be just another cast-off.  Something in the possessiveness the other had acted on that night had shaken him to the core, and he knew, without a doubt, that whoever had done this to him would be looking for him eventually.
 
And that terrified the living fuck out of him.
 
He never actually met his sire, but he knew that the sonofabitch couldn't be stable.  He'd kept talking about how "wonderful" and "divine" Jason smelled.  "Like gunpowder, violence, and faith." he'd said.  He'd spent half the night unable to move due to the other's inhuman strength.  The Kindred's face was buried in his neck, and he kept just....inhaling, like he couldn't get enough of the smell.  Jason had only been able to lay there, prone, and hope that this wasn't some kind of freak who wanted to kill him in painful, horrible ways.  
 
He hadn't tasted Jason's blood until the very end of it all, tenderly sinking fangs into Jason's neck and drinking slowly, gently, revelling in the soft sounds Jason had been making.
 
Jason took a useless, shuddering breath.  He'd been so afraid to wake up to himself burning in the days light, and he'd scrambled over the side of his dead mother's dirty bed, crawling toward the walk-in closet and shutting the door.  Apparently, someone had been tipped off, because Jason remained huddled there until later that night, when another Kindred found him.  
 
Jason was a survivor.  He knew that.  He could get through this.  He wasn't running really, just keeping himself one step ahead of that...freak that had done this to him.  
 
He'd come to realize, however, that he couldn't run forever.  Eventually, he had to stop.  Had to find a place to buckle down and fight.  St. Louis was that place.  Hopefully, he could find support here--Kindred who would stand with him when his sire finally arrived to claim him.  
 
It was times like this that he missed being mortal.  When he'd been one of the kine, he'd had his gang.  Regardless of the trouble they'd gotten into, they stuck together, and he wouldn't have to worry about finding those that he could trust.  They'd already be there.
 
 
God help him, he needed someone like that right about now.
 
He climbed out of bed, going to the black-out curtains and opening them.  You could see the "Gateway to the West" from his bedroom window, and he loved that.  Being able to look out and see the city at night reminded him of home.   He missed home, but it was the first place his sire would look for him, and if your enemy knew where you were, it was best not to be there.
 
He leaned his forehead against the glass of the window, just looking out.  He needed to get out tonight, to talk to others of his kind, find a cotorie perhaps.  He'd have to be completely honest with them though--or that failing, become too valuable to St. Louis to lose.  
 
He smiled a little sadly.  "I can do this.  I just have to have faith."  That mantra, as hokey and human as it was, had always helped in things like this.
 
"I just have to have faith."

 Jason shoved his hands into his pockets, smile still playing on his lips as he left Seneschal Ai.  She'd been nicer than he'd thought, and she hadn't demanded that he leave when he'd accidently let his...situation slip out. Everybody else had.  
 
     He'd been getting pretty distracted of late, and really couldn't trust himself to keep his mouth shut about it.  Madame Ai had asked about it, listened, and then hadn't judged.  In fact, she'd even offered to find him a "teacher".  Apparently, she thought he was a rank neonate, and that he had no clue about Kindred society.
 
     He was a survivor though.  Had to be.  When you're pretty much left to your own devices, you learn right quick what you need to do to survive.  He'd been given the basics by the Sheriff of Baltimore, but had been pretty much allowed to do what he wanted...as long as he didn't upset the status quo.  It seemed to be the same here.  Don't disturb the peace, respect territories, and respect the heirarchy, and you'll be left alone.
 
     She could have told him to get the fuck out, but instead had made him welcome.  For that, he'd respect her wishes and meet with this "Bishop Santana."  It couldn't be so bad.  At worst, he'd get a lecture and a sermon.  At best, he'd make a few new friends, have a nice religious chat, and maybe get to know a few people in the city he'd need to know.
 
     He, like all Kindred who had been somewhat religious in life, had initially been attracted to the Lancea Sanctum.  He'd gone to Midnight Mass regularly, and had even been looking for a sponsor to help him join the covenant.
 
     And then he'd actually listened to the Testament.
 
     He wasn't Damned.  He couldn't believe that.  Unlike the Sanctified, who believed that they were "Damned, but with a purpose." He had trouble reconciling an all-forgiving God with a God who would abandon him because some reject from Sheppard Pratt decided that he'd make a good snack.  It was tantamount to blaming a rape victim because he or she hadn "asked for it."
 
     Jason remembered quite clearly...he hadn't "asked" for anything.  The actions of a random psychopath should have no bearing on God's will.
 
     And his sire was most definitely a psychopath.
 
     He felt bad about lying to Antonio.  Guy was cool, and he didn't deserve that.  The state of affairs wasn't so bad in Baltimore.  True, the Lancea Sanctum had taken control there, but that was more like 7 years ago as opposed to 7 days.  They hadn't really outlawed the Unbound, but they hadn't made any secret of trying to push them into a covenant.   He'd resisted, and after about six months they'd just left him alone about it.
 
     No, he'd left Baltimore for more personal reasons.
 
     "I am coming back for you, pretty." His voice mail had taunted at him.  He'd remembered that voice, and how he'd gotten Jason's cell phone number was still a mystery.  That voice would slide over him in his dreams like an unwanted caress. It was a good voice, and if he hadn't been so terrified, he might have admitted that he liked it. "Make yourself ready for me.  I will see you soon."
 
     He'd made himself ready alright.  Ready for the freaking train at Penn Station.  He had packed what he could into a small duffle bag, his hands shaking, and he'd bolted, not a word to anyone.
 
     That was five years ago.
 
     Six cities.  Five years.  He'd get settled, get established, and just when he thought he'd shaken the sonofabitch, he'd have a voice-mail on his new cell phone, or a message on his answering machine, with that same, possessive, creepy, and seductive voice telling him that it was time to stop running.  Time to give in and admit that he belonged to another.  Not himself.
 
     He'd run every time.
 
     The last city he'd been in--Chicago--the phone call hadn't been what he was used to.  There was none of that sweet, pleading innuendo.  None of that possessive, obsessive, caressing voice.  This time, his sire's voice had been icy.  Cold.  
 
     Angry.
 
     "The game has been amusing, pretty, but I am tiring of it." Usually, he'd have hung up by now, but that voice--cold now--held him captive. "You will wait for me in Chicago. I know where to find you.  If I am forced to hunt you again, there will be no warning.  I will come, I will take you, and Kindred law will allow it.  You are mine."
 
     The coldness in that voice scared him more thoroughly than the insanity of the past, and he'd once again found himself, almost mechanically, packing what little he owned into his worn backpack and heading out of town.  St. Louis was the closest city to him with a large Kindred population.  Maybe he could disappear there.
 
     Now, he was through running.  He wanted this to be over and done with. He didn't know if Kindred Law would support his sire or not, but either way, this would all be over.  He'd either come out on top and the fleeing would stop, or his sire would win, and he'd be enslaved to the other's every whim.  He was just so tired...
 
     Maybe...it would be best to join a covenant.  He was sure he could pay enough lip service to the Lancea Sanctum for them to leave him be.  Or the Carthians...they were all about freedom.  They would probably help him....
 
     But his own code of honor wouldn't allow it.  It was as bad as lying, and he hated it when he had to lie.  Better to find a group of Unbound and make himself so valuable to them that when the time came, they'd fight along side him for his freedom.  His sanity depended on it.  He'd see the sun before he allowed himself to become some Elder's boytoy.
 
     Though...it couldn't hurt to have friends in high places, so he'd make Madame Eden happy by meeting with the Bishop, have a nice visit, and perhaps ingratiate himself enough to become valuable as an out-of-covenant ally.  He did have faith, after all.  Just not the same kind.
 
     Yeah...that could work.

   While Phedre and Micha were talking about finding Christian, Jason was in his room, having a crisis of his own.  He'd come out of the shower to see his phone vibrating across his nightstand.  He'd quickly thrown on a shirt, pulling out a pair of black bondage pants before he'd answered it. He was so preoccupied with his current issue--finding his best friend--, he hadn't thought to look at the number.  Could be someone he didn't know...who knew where Christian was.
 
     "Hello?"
 
     A soft, purring laugh.  "Well....Hello, pretty."
 
     Jason froze, eyes just a little wide.  "How did you get this number?"
 
     "I have my ways, pretty." The voice suddenly became cold.  "You ran again.  I specifically told you to stay put...and you ran.  You are not your own person, Jason.  You are mine.  You would do well to remember that."
 
     Jason took a useless, shuddering breath.  He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes.  This was not the best time for this.  "Just...Why can't you just leave me alone?  I don't...please.  Just find someone else."
 
     "But I don't want anyone else." The voice was once again soft, purring.  Seductive.  "I want you."
 
     Jason was suddenly rather...pissed off.  He didn't have time for this bullshit.  Christian needed him.  His problems were secondary right now.  "Look.  I got shit to do and I don't have time....."
 
     "I know of your plight." The voice was once again serious.  This guy was a total nutjob.  "This is important to you, and thus...I give you your freedom just long enough to find your friend and deliver him to your cotorie."
 
     Jason was floored.  "How do you...."
 
     "I have my ways.  They are not for you to question."
 
     Jason closed his eyes, running a hand through still damp black hair.  "What do you want?" he asked, already knowing the answer to the question, even as he asked it.  
 
     "When it is over, you meet me.  You come with me, and you do not fight.  It will be easier on you that way." His sire's voice was a whisper. "I shall give you the location later.  You call me at this number.  I will tell you where.  If I can not be there immediately, you will wait.  I assure you, it is a safe place."      
 
     Jason could feel tears in his eyes, and his vision was tinged red.  This wasn't something he could refuse.  The fucker had his phone number, which meant he could find his location.  He knew that Jason was in St. Louis.  Worse, he probably knew who Jason's friends were.  He sighed, closing his eyes.  "Fine."
 
     And in that one word...he'd given up his freedom.  
 
     There was a soft sound of acknowledgment from the other end.  "I am glad, pretty." He whispered.  "I assure you that your fear is unfounded.  I will treat you very well."
 
     Jason shivered, pulling his knees to his chest and burying his face in them.  "Can I go now?"
 
     "Of course." Jason took another shuddering breath.  It did nothing to soothe him.  "And Jason...
 
     "Yeah?"  Why couldn't he just hang up....?
 
     "I've learned you care little for yourself...but you will die for your friends." There was a moment of silence, and then the voice came again.  "I will kill them, should you run again. They will die weeping, my love.  And you will have to live with that.  Fair warning."
 
     Jason closed his eyes, red tears making little rivers on his face.  "I won't run."
 
     "Very good." The voice was content, and it sounded if he were rewarding a child.  "And we will have to work on this martyr complex you have.  It is charming...but not conclusive to your place in my UnLife.  Sadly, it will have to be sacrificed.  The first of many sacrifices, I'm afraid, but we will endure."
 
     And the line went dead.
_________________________________________
 
     It took Jason a few minutes to pull himself together.  He cleaned himself up, changed his shirt, and headed downstairs with a determination that he hadn't had in a long time.  If this was to be his last act of freedom...his last act as himself...he was going to do it right.
 
     Phedre was standing with someone he didn't know, and they seemed to be discussing methods of finding Christian.  Jason straightened his baseball cap, then shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants. His fingers curled around his switchblade, more of a comfort to himself than anything else.    
 
     Phedre turned to look at him as he came down the stairs, her eyes dark green, her fingers wrapped around her cell phone as though it were a lifeline.  Christian meant alot to her too...more than he ever would, and that was part of why he was willing to do this.  
 
     For them.  For what they'd given him.  For a few short weeks, he'd had a family, and that was something he'd hold on to for as long as he could.  He'd find Christian, bring him home, and slip out before they were none the wiser.  He'd go, give himself up, and hopefluly some small part of him would survive.  He could come back, and they could fix him.  He had no doubt that they would.
 
     Hope...Faith...were all he had left to him now.
 
     He closed his eyes against the onslaught of a waking nightmare.  Phedre, her beautiful eyes pleading for death.  Christian, his laughing smile gone...replaced with something broken.  Both of them bleeding, shattered, and knowing that it was all because he was a coward.
 
     He opened his eyes again, looking at Phedre's beautiful face.  Remembering Christian's brotherly teasing, the arm carelessly slung across his shoulders.  Those stupid fucking skate-shoes that Christian loved so much. Phedre's beautiful paintings and her playful flirting....
 
     Never.  For as long as Jason was himself...he'd never let that psycho have them.  
 
     He looked at both of the women standing there, though his eyes fell on Phedre, his cotorie-mate, at last.  He gave her a watery smile that was meant to be reassuring, meant to put her at ease.  Meant to tell her that he would bring Christian back to her, and everything would be alright.
 
     Because it was all he had to offer now.

Phedre,
 
     I hate to do this to you.   I have to leave.  I know...we haven't found Christian yet, but someone's come for me, and he's given me more time already than I could have hoped for.  Now, he's demanding that I go with him.  I'm leaving tonight.  Keep anything in my room.  It's your's; all of it.  I have an apartment--keys are on the nightstand.  Anything there is your's too.
 
     You and Christian were the only family I've ever had, and I thank you both for that.  Please believe that I have to do this.  I can't put you in danger anymore.  
 
     Tell Prince Kent I'm sorry.
 
     All my Love and God Bless,
           Jason
 
     The letter was written in inelegant script, obviously hurriedly.  He put it on one of the tables in the main area of the warehouse, propping it on his baseball cap.  His St. Christopher's medal, the one he always wore around his wrist, is coiled in front of the letter.
 
     Jason stops in the doorway, turning.  This was the last place he'd been free....the only place he'd ever been happy.  He wanted to remember it so that if things got too bad he could come back here, in his mind, and hear Phedre and Christian's laughter, feel Christian playfully ruffling his hair, hear Phe's music blasting from the radio in her studio.
 
     So that if he were ever set free, he would remember that he had someplace to come home to.
 
************************************
 
     He looked down at the white towel he held in his hands.  He'd used it to dry his face after he'd gotten out of the shower, and was just a little shocked to see that there were small blotches of red on it.  When had he cried?  How had he missed that?
 
     He'd been here for two nights, waiting.  He hadn't left.  He'd hadn't needed to.  Everything had been provided for him.  The penthouse was in Kansas City.  Far away from any help he could count on.  Far away from anyone he cared about.  Far enough so that they weren't in danger.
 
     Thank God for that.
 
     He jumped when he heard the door to the penthouse open, then close.  Footsteps.  Closer.  Jason's hand wrapped around his crucifix and he closed his eyes in silent prayer. ~God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change....~
 
     He felt strong hands wrap themselves around his upper arms, and the person behind him took a deep breath, inhaling.  He stiffened, wanting desperately to lash out against the hold.  Touch was pain.  Hurt.  
 
     He flashed to Christian's brotherly arm across his shoulders.  Phedre's hand squeezing his shoulder in support.  These thoughts...they would keep him sane.  Keep him warm.  Be his saving grace...  
 
     He was doing this to protect that.  Doing this for them.  Jason kept his eyes closed. ~...the strength to change the things I can...~
 
     The person behind him exhaled with a sigh.  "Welcome home, pretty."
 
     ~And the wisdom to know the difference.~