FIC - that was your fair warning.
Mar. 31st, 2003 03:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aruanI'd blame the song (looping for the past four hours), but the first three paragraphs were written last night and so, it's just me. Alternate Universe, Lance was world-renown famous but not as part of *NSYNC, which was never formed. He left the scene three years ago and now works as a talent agent in New York.
*
I tried hard to mend my wicked ways
Acted like a lunatic for years
Lance was shopping blindly. He only vaguely needed to be at the store with an even fainter idea of what he'd really come for besides shaving cream and beer. His eyes were already straining under the fluorescent glare, and he could feel the headache building behind them. He heard a photographer describe this light as unforgiving once, knew that without a tan it made his skin opalescent and his eyes dully evil so that mothers with small children actually walked a circle around him.
He briefly considered if vampires needed to shave. If they could even drink beer. If in an alternate universe he wouldn't need to be here at all, could just find the next convenient passer-by and follow them down the next dark sidestreet. All it would take is a blown bulb in a single, already-rare lamppost; the sun began to set without much fanfare around early November. No one would notice, not in time to do anything if he could claim to know New York, and Lance would be free to drift through life from person to person, each with their use, business, pleasure, or both if he wanted it, on his own terms. Never another poorly-lit 7-Eleven, no more loneliness because he remembered reading somewhere that with a person's blood, vampires also absorbed their essence. Like the labrats that were fed the brains of other labrats that had already run a maze and did better without their ever having run it before.
He knew most people weren't worth the trouble it would take to get at their brain.
What did taking in their essence mean exactly, he wondered, examining the nutrition label on some obscure organic brand of cottage cheese. Would he be able to sense their feelings? Maybe different emotions altered their body's chemistry accordingly and he'd be able to taste the variations of coppery tang on different parts of his tongue: the bitterness of someone welcoming death versus the sweet fear of one who had bigger goals than meeting their maker in his arms.
Or perhaps their dreams, and Lance could only laugh because he knew what people wanted, didn't need to open a vein in their arm because he could see it naked and plain on their faces. The very same thing everywhere he went. Love. Success. Belonging. Big city or small town, every night for seven years he saw a sea of faces who loved and envied what he now watched parade through his offices as talentless hacks, made over and tuned up for a few blowjobs and happily taking it up the ass in contracts besides if it meant their picture on glossy cover paper.
They didn't know how to ask though. Lance hadn't known, and now he was at a convenience store at two in the morning because three years ago he couldn't get a hundred feet from his hotel at any other time of day and old sleep habits died hard. They didn't know that there was a catch, a clause, some small print they wouldn't care about anyway because the first word out of the devil's mouth was always yes. Make me beautiful, they'd say. He saw himself smile and transform them into butterflies, welcoming them with equal grace when they came back to him to die with the sunset.
Maybe he should lay off the David Fincher movies, no matter what Freddy liked to fall asleep watching. Fucker needed to find his own couch already anyway. The purple cow stared back at him from the label of the tub with the most insipid grin Lance'd ever seen. He idly hoped he wasn't affiliated with anyone who had anything to do with its design. Cottage cheese not being something he'd be well-advised to take chances with, he set it back and walked to the front of the store, rubbing his temple with the hand not holding his basket. Twelve-hour relief his ass.
How hard could it be to find a vampire in this town, he wondered, looking a little forlornly at the counter display of Weekly World News. Probably as easy as finding sex or drugs, and even easier than LA because there was too much sun for anyone undead or averse to skin cancer in southern California. Too bright, everything polished, gleaming bright and ready for scrutiny; not the scene of a creature that necessarily thrived in darkness and secrecy. Lance had always burned after half an hour in the sun, even after his mother practically bathed him in SPF 50 sunscreen.
The girl in the line next over looked up, catching his eye, and smiled. Not an evaluating once-over at some industry party, not the newest little Midwest tart to step off the subway thinking he would turn her into the next Britney Spears if she leered suggestively enough. Acknowledgement not recognition, and Lance felt like a tool at the immediate rush of blood to his groin. Because getting laid by models and aspiring actresses all the time was such a curse.
The guy in line behind him huffed a laugh, flipping a page in the magazine he held.
She paid and left before Lance though, so instead, he told the cashier to add a pack of cigarettes to his purchase and listened to the tinny sounds as he rung it up. A swipe of his platinum American Express card later he was back out on the street, the chill in the air biting into his lungs on the first inhale. It didn't feel too different from the smoke-sting of Camels and he breathed the late cold snap deeply. Probably the last of the season before spring and summer arrived to make the city properly reek of all the dirty little secrets it tried to keep hidden. Lance jogged lightly across the almost-empty street, raising his hand to hail the next available cab.
The last thing he would recall was the clang and roll of Gillette hitting the pavement before his world bloomed in crimson flares of pain, then faded to black.
*
I have another couple of chapters vaguely outlined and know what I'd like to see as part of this plot. We'll see though, that came from quite the dark side of the Zone.
I tried hard to mend my wicked ways
Acted like a lunatic for years
Lance was shopping blindly. He only vaguely needed to be at the store with an even fainter idea of what he'd really come for besides shaving cream and beer. His eyes were already straining under the fluorescent glare, and he could feel the headache building behind them. He heard a photographer describe this light as unforgiving once, knew that without a tan it made his skin opalescent and his eyes dully evil so that mothers with small children actually walked a circle around him.
He briefly considered if vampires needed to shave. If they could even drink beer. If in an alternate universe he wouldn't need to be here at all, could just find the next convenient passer-by and follow them down the next dark sidestreet. All it would take is a blown bulb in a single, already-rare lamppost; the sun began to set without much fanfare around early November. No one would notice, not in time to do anything if he could claim to know New York, and Lance would be free to drift through life from person to person, each with their use, business, pleasure, or both if he wanted it, on his own terms. Never another poorly-lit 7-Eleven, no more loneliness because he remembered reading somewhere that with a person's blood, vampires also absorbed their essence. Like the labrats that were fed the brains of other labrats that had already run a maze and did better without their ever having run it before.
He knew most people weren't worth the trouble it would take to get at their brain.
What did taking in their essence mean exactly, he wondered, examining the nutrition label on some obscure organic brand of cottage cheese. Would he be able to sense their feelings? Maybe different emotions altered their body's chemistry accordingly and he'd be able to taste the variations of coppery tang on different parts of his tongue: the bitterness of someone welcoming death versus the sweet fear of one who had bigger goals than meeting their maker in his arms.
Or perhaps their dreams, and Lance could only laugh because he knew what people wanted, didn't need to open a vein in their arm because he could see it naked and plain on their faces. The very same thing everywhere he went. Love. Success. Belonging. Big city or small town, every night for seven years he saw a sea of faces who loved and envied what he now watched parade through his offices as talentless hacks, made over and tuned up for a few blowjobs and happily taking it up the ass in contracts besides if it meant their picture on glossy cover paper.
They didn't know how to ask though. Lance hadn't known, and now he was at a convenience store at two in the morning because three years ago he couldn't get a hundred feet from his hotel at any other time of day and old sleep habits died hard. They didn't know that there was a catch, a clause, some small print they wouldn't care about anyway because the first word out of the devil's mouth was always yes. Make me beautiful, they'd say. He saw himself smile and transform them into butterflies, welcoming them with equal grace when they came back to him to die with the sunset.
Maybe he should lay off the David Fincher movies, no matter what Freddy liked to fall asleep watching. Fucker needed to find his own couch already anyway. The purple cow stared back at him from the label of the tub with the most insipid grin Lance'd ever seen. He idly hoped he wasn't affiliated with anyone who had anything to do with its design. Cottage cheese not being something he'd be well-advised to take chances with, he set it back and walked to the front of the store, rubbing his temple with the hand not holding his basket. Twelve-hour relief his ass.
How hard could it be to find a vampire in this town, he wondered, looking a little forlornly at the counter display of Weekly World News. Probably as easy as finding sex or drugs, and even easier than LA because there was too much sun for anyone undead or averse to skin cancer in southern California. Too bright, everything polished, gleaming bright and ready for scrutiny; not the scene of a creature that necessarily thrived in darkness and secrecy. Lance had always burned after half an hour in the sun, even after his mother practically bathed him in SPF 50 sunscreen.
The girl in the line next over looked up, catching his eye, and smiled. Not an evaluating once-over at some industry party, not the newest little Midwest tart to step off the subway thinking he would turn her into the next Britney Spears if she leered suggestively enough. Acknowledgement not recognition, and Lance felt like a tool at the immediate rush of blood to his groin. Because getting laid by models and aspiring actresses all the time was such a curse.
The guy in line behind him huffed a laugh, flipping a page in the magazine he held.
She paid and left before Lance though, so instead, he told the cashier to add a pack of cigarettes to his purchase and listened to the tinny sounds as he rung it up. A swipe of his platinum American Express card later he was back out on the street, the chill in the air biting into his lungs on the first inhale. It didn't feel too different from the smoke-sting of Camels and he breathed the late cold snap deeply. Probably the last of the season before spring and summer arrived to make the city properly reek of all the dirty little secrets it tried to keep hidden. Lance jogged lightly across the almost-empty street, raising his hand to hail the next available cab.
The last thing he would recall was the clang and roll of Gillette hitting the pavement before his world bloomed in crimson flares of pain, then faded to black.
I have another couple of chapters vaguely outlined and know what I'd like to see as part of this plot. We'll see though, that came from quite the dark side of the Zone.
