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964. wabbit - 3/14/2009 5:04:28 PM I'm following along, AC, though I confess that I'm a bit lost at this point. I've got a page up with the story not in posts, but maybe someone could put it into chapters or organize it? 965. magoseph - 3/14/2009 7:35:01 PM Have you received my E-mail, Wabbit? 966. wabbit - 3/14/2009 8:25:33 PM Just checked the spam folder and found it. Stupid Yahoo. Will reply right now. 967. alistairConnor - 3/16/2009 12:02:33 AM Lost! Well, that's useful feedback...
All you need to know about The Story So Far : (my version!)
A corporation of high-tech Californian vampires is plotting to take over the world, by controlling world leaders. Meanwhile, a scientific team is being assembled in Geneva to study vampires and associated phenomena of mind control and teleportation. They don't yet know about the plot, but logically they are going to thwart it.
Or not. We'll see when we get there. Logically the key is Iancu the assassin, he will have to decide where his loyalties lie. 968. alistairConnor - 3/16/2009 12:12:25 AM Kronen's phone vibrated. Damn, I should have switched it off, he thought. Seven minutes to go. He saw it was Albu, and decided to take the call.
"Albu, I can't talk, I'm about to go on air."
"You must not go on the show, Gustav! Your life is in danger! Errin Davidson's also!"
Albu quickly outlined what Hank had told Halima about his mission. "So if you draw attention to yourself and your work, you will naturally become a target too."
The continuity man signaled to him : two minutes. He thanked Albu and hung up. Well, he thought, they say that ridicule doesn't kill. We'll see if that's true. They think I am vain, pretentious, publicity-seeking? Let them watch this. They'll see that I know how to take one for the team. 969. wabbit - 3/16/2009 12:19:18 AM Sorry for not being more useful, AC. 970. alistairConnor - 3/16/2009 1:45:35 AM Sue had still not decided on how to handle this segment. She was intrigued by Kronen's positioning, mixing nuclear physics, biology and the occult; she would enjoy the challenge of bringing some understanding of these subjects to a wider audience. But she knew that only one in a hundred among her breakfast audience would have the interest or patience to follow her in picking her way through a difficult subject. Let's be generous : three or four in a hundred. Could she afford to bore the others? It would be so much easier to patronize him, cut off his laborious explanations, make him look a fool. Better ratings. Unless he was a really talented communicator, he wouldn't stand a chance with her. She got so sick of
serving up patsy questions to untouchable celebrities; she was legendary for being really savage, on occasion, with unknowns.
Still hesitating, she welcomed Kronen onto the show, getting up to reach over the coffee table to shake his hand. Taking care to lean forward, she made sure he got a good eyeful of her lace bra. Not so much for the effect it would have on him; it was more for the TV audience. That was one dirty little secret of her success; the audience didn't get to peek over Kronen's shoulder and leer at her tits, but they loved to watch her do that. Bless their perverted little hearts.
But actually, he didn't sneak a peek at all. They locked eyes during the handshake. And Sue knew instantly : Dr Gustav Kronen, I am going to fuck you. This was no theoretical or long-term intention; it was direct and immediate, and, she instinctively knew, shared; they would fuck that very morning. Or die in the attempt.
She felt a surge of exhilaration; an erotic charge, certainly, but intensified by joyful relief. It had been so long since she'd experienced that moment of truth. Not since, goodness, well before the baby. She had feared that that part of her was gone forever, a page turned. She felt tenderly grateful to this geeky German for bringing her back from the half-dead.
She could tell by the way he was squirming in his seat that he was getting an erection. And then, as he shifted position, God, did he flash it at her deliberately, or was he really as clumsy and awkward as he looks? That's quite some chubby... she instinctively calculated the angles; no, none of the cameras would have picked it up. But certainly, some of the ladies in the studio audience will have got a look. She herself was thoroughly wet. 971. alistairConnor - 3/16/2009 2:09:42 AM All of this was occupying only one minor channel of her multitasking mind. Meanwhile, the interview was going wildly off the rails. She fed him his cues, about vampires and nuclear physics, and he responded with hammed-up vampire impersonations from horror movies. In a cavernous Boris Karloff voice: "Come here my darlink, I vant to zuck your blood!"
There were isolated giggles and stifled shrieks of laughter from the studio audience. The floor manager and the warm-up guy were staring at each other in horror. There was not supposed to be any comedy segment in today's program; the audience was not cued up for it, and it could turn to chaos very quickly.
Sue made one last attempt to bring him back on track : Tell us about your theory of teleportation? "No no, wampires haff no need of zat : zey can fly!" and he got to his feet, wafting his arms up and down. The studio audience erupted in laughter; the floor manager was obliged to adapt, conducting without a score, indicating to the audience when to turn up the volume of laughter and when to cut it off.
It got better. Sue and Gustav were adapting too, improvising some genuinely witty banter. As she steered the segment to a close, she heard herself saying "Thank you Dr Kronen for a fascinating insight into your work. Please stick around, I'd like to talk to you after the show."
He got a huge round of applause as he left the set, and Sue welcomed the following guest : a famous dame patroness of the arts, whose financier husband had just declared bankruptcy. She had consented to discuss the issue of the coming crisis in arts funding, but was visibly brimming with self-pity as she reached the end of her hour in the sun.
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Oh fun. Here was Ken, the show's director, come to tear strips off her. "Jesus Christ, Sue, what the hell possessed you to pull a stunt like that without telling anyone? Bringing in a comedian disguised as a scientist. You realise it could have turned to shit in a hundred different ways?"
They had never liked each other. He had been on the show forever, had disdained her in her years in menial tasks, had been a hard taskmaster when she had started hosting the show. It was only in recent months that she had unequivocally gained the upper hand, and she had not yet had the occasion to make him really feel it. She replied to him so quietly that none of the eager ears around them could make out the words, in a tone that sounded apologetic and conciliatory. "Listen, you little wanker, if I want to take risks on my show then I'll take them. The audience loved it, the ratings will be good. If you want to make a fuss about it, then I suggest that you will soon have the opportunity to expand your career horizons in a new environment. Clear?" 972. alistairConnor - 3/16/2009 2:31:46 AM She found Kronen, dazed and haggard, in front of a coffee at a table in the cafeteria. His face lit up when she arrived. She sat beside him and immediately put her hand on his cock. "Dr Kronen..."
"Please - call me Gustav", he said in a strangled voice.
"I'd like to invite you to brunch. Do you know New York well? I know a charming little restaurant in Brooklyn Heights."
She whistled up the car. He shuffled out of the studio in her wake, hunched over, clutching his clipboard in front of him.
As they settled into the back seat, the Chechnyan torturer looked at her enquiringly. "To Denny's", she said, dismissively. She was already busy with Kronen's flies. He bent across to kiss her, but she averted her face, obliging him to kiss her neck, which he did very competently, progressing to her shoulder. To avoid any awkward fumbling, she unhooked her bra herself. He rapidly unbuttoned her blouse and smoothly pushed the cups up, his hands barely touching her skin. Oh good, she thought, he's not a squeezer. And suddenly she had a violent need to have her breasts sucked. That was something she strictly forbade Jonas to do; they were the exclusive domain of Maximus, for as long as he needed them. And now, she was going to be unfaithful to both of them...
She laughed suddenly. These are my tits, this is my cunt. I will do what I want with them. 973. alistairConnor - 3/16/2009 3:47:30 AM But Gustav was no sucker, it seemed. He kissed the underside of her breasts in a rather perfunctory manner, and started working lower. Sue was carefully controlling her breathing to avoid any gasping or panting effect. Among the many vulgar behaviours she despised, noisy sex ranked highly.
Gustav removed her (shamefully humid) panties rather expertly, and peeled back her silk stockings to the knees. Quick, moist kisses of her abdomen and thighs made his intentions clear, and she opened her legs to allow his tongue to reach its goal.
A broad lengthwise sweep of the tongue forced an involuntary yelp out of Sue. Vexed with herself, she clenched her teeth and whimpered as he took the long, engorged lips into his mouth and sucked. She felt the orgasm rising and fought it. Too soon; everything must be under control, on schedule, on cue. But to her horror, she found that she could not prevent it, barely delay it. As it washed over her, she sought at least plausible deniability in silence, but made little sobbing noises in her throat.
Seizing the initiative, she sat up and pushed him backwards, bending over him to remove his trousers and underpants completely, so that she could fuss over his penis. That was a lesson she had learned early and had always served her well : you can make a man do anything you want, just take control of his joystick.
She nibbled at his testicles and licked the shaft a little bit, then took the head gently between her teeth and ... did nothing with it. She moved upwards, sweeping her breasts over his abdomen. Now it was Gustav's turn to sigh and moan. Her breasts had been oozing all morning, they were dribbling now. Climbing over him, she swung them up into his face. He nibbled and licked politely, but still did not suck. Well, she certainly wasn't going to beg him.
She sat on his balls, her vulva pressed against the base of his shaft. Who's in the driver's seat now honey? she thought. But despite her rich interior dialogue, they hadn't exchanged a word since the cafeteria. 974. alistairConnor - 3/16/2009 4:15:43 AM Gyrating from the hips, she started inching slowly forward, sliding up the shaft towards the head. At a snail's pace. She became aware of the driver's eyes in the mirror, watching her glistening breasts, dripping their milk onto Gustav's belly as they swayed rhythmically.
He became impatient with her game, and pushing himself up on his elbows, he slid his hands under her thighs and lifted. He managed to free his legs, and sitting up, pressed her thighs back with his torso. She was now flat on her back with her legs around his neck, and she could see the girders of the bridge behind his head as they left Manhattan.
Grabbing his tool, he flicked the head back and forth against her clitoris for a few seconds. She was resolutely silent. He positioned the head between the lips, and paused, leaning on her thighs with all his weight. She exhaled : "ffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuu" and bit her lip, hard, to stop anything else slipping out.
He started moving rhythmically: very quick, shallow thrusts, penetrating barely an inch or two. She was making a keening noise. As the car turned off the bridge into Brooklyn, the driver half-turned to look her in the face, with an expression that was both blank and intense : lust? envy? hatred? contempt? she wondered; and came. 975. webfeet - 3/20/2009 9:27:08 PM and look what happens when I go away for a few days... 976. webfeet - 3/20/2009 9:45:33 PM One question: why Brooklyn? Why did you single out this poor burrough for this loony sex scene? 977. alistairConnor - 3/21/2009 3:52:34 PM Well thank you for breaking the embarrassed silence...
On the radio yesterday (France Culture évidemment, I bet your beau-père listens to it all day long) I heard an erudite discussion about Jean-Jacques Rousseau (surely the pioneer, or an ancestor at least, of autofiction). Was he persecuted? paranoid? did he invite it? Enjoy it? He gave public readings in Paris of his Confessions, in 1770 or thereabouts. He wanted discussion, debate, contradiction. Feedback. And all he got was embarrassed silence. In fact, one of his intimates denounced him to the police, who forbade any more public readings; apparently she feared that she would feature in future episodes...
All I can say is, it's your own fault. You and Jen. You set up your sex scenes, then you walk away from them. I need to move the story along, so against my better judgement, I had a try...
I'll tell you what. By the powers vested in me as host of the thread, I will obliterate the loony sex. On condition that you first replace it with your own, sensible version. Or anything else that deals with the characters and doesn't denature the storyline. Deal?
Same offer for Dr Davidson... 978. alistairConnor - 3/21/2009 4:11:17 PM As for Brooklyn, well, I've been there, and I thought perhaps I could do something with the bridge, symbolism or imagery. But it turned out a bit rushed. I should work more on description and atmosphere. 979. alistairConnor - 3/22/2009 6:08:57 PM Memo to Nu : If you have any idea what might happen at CERN, please take over that chapter... you've got the quantum physics angle. (I've set up the scene, now I'm walking away... yes I'm a tease too.) 980. alistairConnor - 4/9/2009 6:52:42 PM Halima had agreed with Albu that both Iancu and Dumitra should come to Geneva, where they could both be kept under surveillance. In the circumstances, that meant that she had to escort them there.
"I'm worried about Dumitra being in a big city at this stage. It's probably easier to buy meth than cigarettes in Geneva these days."
"Indeed", Albu replied. "But the physical danger to you, and to the two vampires, can be better managed here. Who knows when another assassin will turn up on your doorstep?" 981. alistairConnor - 4/9/2009 7:27:48 PM Albu pressed her, again, to accept the job of managing the Geneva team. "My administrative and organisational tasks are taking away too much time from research. And now we have security concerns, which I have no experience with. We need you here."
"I'm still thinking it over", she assured him.
They took Iancu's rental car: it was pre-paid for another four days, he assured them. The trip was uneventful. Here I am, Halima thought, chaperoning an assassin and a drug addict, both of them vampires. Oh well, I've seen worse. My ex and his family, for example.
She delivered her charges into the tender cares of Dr Ayotunde and his security staff, who had dealt with far tougher cases than these young lovers. Then she joined Alistair in his charming studio apartment, with a view of the lake. They ate the dinner Alistair had prepared, with a bottle of wine (a Seyssel, from a little vineyard halfway between Lyon and Geneva). They finished the wine in the bath, then they made love.
Afterwards, Halima started grilling Alistair about his relationship with Courtney.
"Relationship? We have no relationship. I'm her slave, that's all."
"That's what I'm concerned about", she said, smiling. "I think I'll accept the job here, so that I can keep an eye on you two. She's seventeen, she's pretty, she's adventurous : sooner or later she's likely to try a little sexual experiment."
"Oh come on, you flatter me. Why would she be interested in an old schnok like me? And what makes you think I'd play along, eh? Honest to god, I have no sexual interest in seventeen year olds."
"But you're her slave, right? She can make you do anything she wants."
"No, she can't make me do anything I can't make myself do! And in the words of the immortal poet, Georges Brassens : La bandaison, ma foi, ne se commande pas!"
"You mean that if she made you lie down naked on the bed, and she did ... this to you, nothing would happen?"
"Have you looked at her? She's not equipped to do what you just did."
"Or ... this?"
"Oh, cut it out. On second thoughts... Carry on. But she wouldn't get ...that reaction from me."
Halima sat up in the bed. "Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much", she said, starting to poke him in the face with a pillow. "Don't you want me to take the job?"
"On the contrary, I'd be delighted if you took the job. But not out of jealousy." She was batting him around the ears with the pillow now. "You know there's only one woman in the world you Ow! have to fear on that score... Ow!" She was bashing him over the head now. "And that's Penelope Ow! Cru-u-u-uz! And the odds of that are pretty damn long."
They collapsed in a giggling heap. 982. alistairConnor - 4/9/2009 8:03:15 PM Hank and Dumitra were installed in a medicalized living space in the WHO building. Part hostel, part hospital, he thought, taking the measure of the security arrangements, the video surveillance, the orderlies who were used to dealing with the sort of borderline psychiatric cases that Ayotunde's department attracted.
Through the night, they talked and made love, talked some more and so on. Since Hank had interrupted her Coffed state the previous night, Dumitra soon showed signs of needing her coffin again, as Hank had hoped. He was not yet ready to reveal his double agent status to her; he hoped things would be clearer to him after the Davos mission.
Once Dumitra was Coffed, Hank wrote her a note, and made his way out of the building. They were under strict instructions not to go anywhere, and it had been made clear to them that if they tried to leave, they would be restrained; but it was easier than he had expected, he could probably have walked out the front door with just a little bit of stealth. But he chose to climb down from the third-floor balcony, bare handed. Nothing difficult for him, except for the weight of his backpack. To avoid the possibility of being filmed, he told himself. But for the hell of it, too.
He picked up his car and drove out of town, north around the lake, then taking the motorway east. He had a little more than an hour before dawn. Turning north at Lausanne, he got off the motorway near the lake of Neuchatel, and drove until he found some secluded park space along the lake front.
He got out of the car and assembled his coffin on the shingly beach; then stood in the cold January dawn, waiting for the sun to rise. 983. alistairConnor - 4/21/2009 10:56:13 PM Hank was gazing out over the lake when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Iancu. Good, your coffin is ready. I must use it at once, the sun is rising."
Mark Davidson climbed into the coffin. The light was already fading from his eyes, as the daylight increased. Only his exceptional mastery of vampire lore, and of his own mind and body, enabled him to function even for a minute or two after dawn. Any other ordinary vampire (Changers and Perps excepted, of course) would be in convulsions by now : the refuge of a coffin is vital to their metabolism, as soon as the sun breaks the horizon.
But Davidson was tough: lying in the coffin, he had to remain in control. "Remember, boy : we must be in Davos by 6 pm to meet Petru."
"Yes, Master Mirka. It's only three hours' drive from here", Hank replied.
"I always knew I could rely on you, Iancu", said Davidson in a whisper, with a faintly ironic smile. And then he was out.
It had been quite a shock when Peter Brown had informed Hank that Davidson would be joining him by teleportation. The implication was clear : Davidson had, at some time, unknown to Hank, infected him and brewed the Imperative serum. (Perhaps he did that systematically to all his pupils; or perhaps only to those he didn't trust?) He could therefore teleport at dawn to wherever Hank was; moreover, he could compel obedience. Hank was relieved, in retrospect, that he hadn't chosen the route of open rebellion.
Davidson's power over Hank did, however, suffer one rather obvious drawback: as a common vampire, he needed to spend his daylight hours in a coffin. As it was impossible to teleport with, or in, a coffin (it had been tried, with disastrous results), this made him entirely dependent on being well received at his arrival.
Theoretically, then, the tables were now turned, and Hank had the upper hand. Insofar as they were enemies; which he still wasn't sure of.
But what could he do with the advantage? It was all or nothing : he either had to obey Davidson, or kill him. And this was no seventeen year old girl : if he were to drive a stake through his heart, he would undoubtedly wound him mortally, but he was certain that Davidson would manage to kill his attacker before expiring himself.
Hank pondered : what if he just filled up the coffin with rocks, and sank it thirty feet deep in the lake? He decided it wouldn't make any difference to Davidson until sunset (he was, to all intents and purposes, already dead; he couldn't be drowned). Waking up at the bottom of the lake probably wouldn't faze him either; he would simply swim to the surface and start tracking Hank down.
He decided that there was really no other option, he had to see the mission through. Unless he happened to come across a building site with lots of fresh concrete.
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