Diary entries from Special Agent H. Justin 'Vampire Wrangler' Pierce - New Orleans - Christmas 2008

December 24, 2008

I feel oddly relaxed. Come to think of it, this is the first downtime I've had since arriving in New Orleans. Hell, even Frost has had a couple of weeks to go on his walkabout to Tibet, India, wherever. Six days of kicking back a little bit. Of course, this is now two weeks since we have gone off the grid. Incidentally, it's also six days since Devlin - may the devil make a handome necklace out of his small intestine - has probably put an APB out on me, and perhaps the others. This is going to require some fancy fast-talk. If Stenneau succeeds in his plans, it's not going to be high on my priority list, but right now I guess my best bet is to try and get Anderson involved. Ah... Anderson. I sort of think of myself as the last of the class of the Shredder. Damn it. Special Operations Group has been shredded pretty badly itself. Krueger - vanished. Winchester - dead. Martikian - vanished, officially, at least. Parisi - dead. Sommers - in coma, in a hospital. And let's not forget Hamblin.

Equally incidentally, it's also been weeks since I've had sign of life from A-cell. They might come in handy. I wonder if Ranger Pigeon managed to get my letter to them?

I think Wilmot said it best - "this is the nicest prison we have been in." It stings a little less six days later. We managed to get to Mama's cabin. Of course, this involved dumping Hamblin's car (a dead man, lest we forget), and getting a naked, comatose woman and a clothed, dead man past the fishermen. We crossed a couple of hicks, and Chief managed to bungle his spiel. So we simply had to stare them down. The second we entered Mama's cabin, we found Deveraux, Jeanette LeFavre, as well as (a couple of seconds later) a bomba latina, a dreadlocked brotha, and, I suppose, an Asian American. They were after Jeanette. Of course, I was carrying an M4 with grenade launcher attached, so I did not feel like being left out of the conversation. Next thing, the chica speaka to me-a, and I drop my hardware. And so does everyone else. Once again, someone's gotten the drop on us.

And then I regained consciousness. The cell was a bit spartan - retro-Gothic, with a solid wooden door. Still, it has some of the mod cons. Sink, toilet, hard bed, but clean sheets and blankets. Wilmot, Chief, and Frostie are in the neighborhood, too. No sign of Sommers, though. To sum it all up - we're being held by vampires. I knew they were here of course. We got wind of their existence two months ago. Seems like longer, though. And now we're being held. Not as prisoners, of course. More a bit of a witness protection program. Jeannette has apparently offended the bloodsuckers, something about using magic that is their special prerogative only. A copyright violation, I suppose. We're the star witnesses. I'd be honored, if not for the fact that "getting the truth" was handled by a club-footed, fanged freak called "Hedges". Some form of mind reading, which left me and the boys with a colossal migraine. Like the worst hangover I ever had, times twenty. But we've been vetted apparently.

Another blast from the past - Tabitha Locke, in all her teen Gothic glory. She's grown up a bit, though. Still as skinny as ever, but a bit more wise, and a strength that belies her little frame. She dodged and weaved to avoid answering my queries on that particular subject. It's endearing, how she so desperately wanted to avoid having to lie to me. But the answer came along, in the form of Madame Ysabeau. Redhead, and would be called fiery, if she were not a cold-blooded vampire. I am not sure how their chain of command works, but she seems to be outside and very much on top, all at the same time. She had the other vamps scared out of their doom-and-gloom too-tight trousers. I gather that Ysabeau is a sorceress, as well as a vampire, and that Tabitha is continuing her education. Not sure if I like the idea, but for the time being, we're in Madame Ysabeau's good books.

So - bottom line, we've been fed, we've been entertained (longest stretch of DVD watching I've ever done), and provided with the trappings of civilisation. Well, not quite the laptop with mobile broadband or a satellite connection, but paper and pen. Old-fashioned, but what do you expect? And tonight is showtime - The Creatures of the Night of the District of New Orleans vs. Jeanette. I'd hate for anything to happen to her, but my testimony is about all the support I'm going to give her. There is no way that I am going to piss off the bloodsuckers. We'll all just have to make very convincing witnesses, won't we?

December 25, 2008

Merry fucking Christmas, Mister Pierce. Things come back full circle, it would seem. First Tabitha shows up, a reminder of the days when Pierce did not look like the Joker (actually, it's not that bad - maybe I should grow a beard, and screw Bureau policy). Then it turns out that all this time we have been lodged in the catacombs of the Jackson Square Cathedral, which is about where our little romp in the Big Easy started. Second circle. And, last but not least, another Christmas, another trip to the Dreamlands. Just like last year. Third circle.

A brief summary of the proceedings, perhaps? The trial was more interesting for the sideshows than anything else. Vampiric society (at least in New Orleans) seems to be hierarchical. You got "clans", with groups of vampires of similar traits. For instance, our friend Hedges seems to be called a "Nosferatu", while Ysabeau seems to be a "Tremere". The Nosferatus are freaks, the Tremeres are sorcerers. There's others - the Brujah seems to be the warriors (mr. Dreadlock and the Hispanic delight - Bianca Sabina and Yune, respectively, seem to be of that persuasion). Then there seem to be political factions, which seem to cut across clan lines, which, I think, they call "covenants". The vamps seemed to congregate in covenants in the cathedral. And they do not seem to get along. From what I understand, the NOVAs (my acronym for New Orleans Vampire Association) seem to be under the nominal rule of a Prince. In this case: Prince Vidal, who looks like Fabio after taking an extended dip in a bath full of bleach and a a botox treatment. He seems to have a deputy prince, one Lord Savoy, a tall, thing, neatly bearded older looking fellow. And the two do not seem to see eye to eye. They refer to themselves as "kindred", and to us, mere mortals, as "kine." I looked it up. It means "cattle." Nice.

As it turns out, Jeannette has caused interference between Delta Green's war efforts and the NOVA war efforts. Her spell had some unintended consequences - it has the effect of swapping Deveraux. That's multiple, in case you're wondering. It pushed out Cecile, and brought in Rachel. Rachel is a vampire, who was on a mission, along with some other vamps, in the struggle against the Iron Army. My ears perked up when I heard that moniker. Cecile was landed in Rachel's body, and Rachel was landed (by her design, it seems) in Cecile's body. Oh, and Rachel is Cecile's mother. Thought I should mention that. And Rachel's body is in the Dreamlands. See, there's your third circle. Net result of the proceedings - a bit of a moist petard, from a courtroom drama point of view. Lord Savoy stood up and declared that Jeannette was his creature, and that he should be responsible for her. I am not certain what that means, but it would seem that Jeannie baby might not get executed. Or eaten.

At one point during the proceedings, one faction stormed out. This was after Ysabeau made a spectacular appearance. She was referred to as "Regent", and even the dandy Prince seemed to be on his guard around her. It's a good thing she likes Tabitha, and it's a good thing Tabitha likes us. Well, me and Frostie, at least. Wilmot and Chief were muttering base insinuations that I should put a bit more efforts into making friends, but what do they know? Ysabeau took us aside, and basically filled in some blanks. The quitters-in-protest she referred to as the Ordo Dracul. She looked at me and stated blankly that they were involved with the Iron Army, and that I needed no explanation on that point. At which point, the others gave me dirty looks that clearly conveyed the message that, once more, I was holding out on them. She intimated that our struggle against Stenneau, and the NOVA's involvement with the Iron Army might open possibilities, and that she was about to talk to the Prince about a proposal of mutual interest to the Novas as well as to us.

At which point, we were escorted back to our cells, for a gloomy Christmas meal (breaded turkey escalope, fries, and caesar salad, if you must know). During which I tried to gain some trust with my fearless troops by telling them what I remembered about the Dreamlands. Chief is still sulking, probably because I was ready to drop Jeanette into it, all for the Cause. Don't even pretend to judge me until you've walked a couple of feet in my shoes, Chief.

December 26, 2008

After minding my own business, and trying to impart what little I know of the Dreamlands to the others, we are summoned. Let there be no doubt about things, as far as the NOVAs are concerned, they are boss. Very appropriately, as it is Boxing Day, they have a gift for us, in the form of my old friend Devlin. Wrapped up, bound tighter and gagged. Apparently my good and dear friend Mr. Devlin was skipping the country, on his way to Jamaica. After we cut off the gag, the quality of communications improved, although the level of discourse did not. The vamps basically informed us that, like any gift, we were free to do with it as we pleased. As far as I was concerned, Devlin's ticket was already punched. It was just a matter of getting all possible information out of him first. Chief objected and walked away. Frost and Wilmot started punching the living daylights out of him. And me? While in the pits, I had dreamt about this occasion, and I had all but told Devlin that I would be very creative when (not if) I ever got my hands on him. But now that he was there... I simply could not be bothered. Most of my efforts went into trying to get Tabitha out of the room.

Things were going to get ugly, and ghoul or not, there's some things a seventeen-year old does not need to see. I wanted to get things over with as cleanly and as quickly as possible. Devlin was not very talkative, verbally abusive even. Maybe that's why we never got along. Deep down inside, we're both maladjusted, profane sons-of-bitches. Except he managed to hide it better. Several of the NOVAs were around, and one of them offered his services. Called himself Poco, and was constantly playing with masks. More than a bit unhinged. Poco Loco, I thought, and I'll be damned if that did not turn out to be his full name. He's definitely mental, so I figured he has a way with other people's mind. He then put on one of his masks - a blank, faceless mask. Even as he reaches out to touch Devlin, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I get a flashback to Jackson Square... the dancers with the blank faces. Then Devlin starts twitching, and Poco gets an odd look in his eyes... and starts speaking... "I am coming..." Devlin starts speaking in tongues. Well good for you. Chief rushes to Devlin, and when he as much as touches him, he starts swaying in time and starts talking gibberish, too. The Vees swing into action, and alarms are set off - someone is calling to go and find Hedges the jailor. I remember trying to use a nearby halberd to rip Chief off Devlin, and then all goes blank.

When I come to, Devlin's on the floor, eyes wide open, but turned inwards - I can only see the white. His back is making angles that no living man's back should make. Chief confirms the obvious - Devlin bought the farm. Sang the final tune. Kicked the bucket. Was written in the dead-book. Went ad patres. Dead. RIP. The Prince takes the four of us aside. Hedges, and a lot of other Vees are circling about. His Nov-highness states, quite matter-of-factly, that Poco (what a character!) had accidentally opened a channel to the King in Yellow, who spoke to us through him. He suggests that we have a common goal, and that a joint operation (my words, not his) might be to both our groups' mutual benefit. I presume that by "my" group, he means the Boys in Green, rather than the Bureau. I decide to talk it over with the others. No sense in forcing anyone to go through with this. I am not too astonished when the three of them sign up. Of course, I'm no idiot - they're not following me, of course. They want to go after Deveraux. So it is.

We were taken downstairs, and we were given medieval gear. We're headed for the Dreamlands, just like last year. With one difference - we'd be going to the vampires' dreamlands, which are separate, where some "Red Ship" would be waiting for us. There will be the four of us. For the Novas: Tabitha, Ysabeau (although she has been off everybody's radar since yesterday - even Tabitha, who is supposed to have a special bond with her, claims that she cannot reach her. Yune (one of the heavies that apprehended us in the first place). One Pyotr Kakhovsky. Sounds Russian, but who can tell? And their merry leader (and, I suppose, the overall leader - which makes sense, and at the same time, it does not...) Sir Royston Chandler, apparently from Los Angeles. Once more my suspicions were aroused... Chandler? California? No relation, apparently. Anyway, I am stuffing this note in the lining of my trousers. You know - just in case I don't come back...