Chapter Six

Disclaimer: I do not own VTMB nor do I earn any form of financial gain from this work of fiction.

Boh awoke with feathers in her hair, the taste of blood lingering on her tongue, and sharp nails lightly trailing up and down her stomach beneath her blouse.

As she stirred the hand grew bolder and ghosted just above the waistband of her trousers, the muscles rippling in response.

"Jeanette…" Boh's voice was low, more warning than seductive.

Jeanette drew her hand back with a near-audible pout, although her body remained pressed up hard against Boh with her face buried in the curve of her neck. Nuzzling into her hair like a kitten, nose cold against her skin.

"I was just trying to make it a good evening, Duckling."

Boh had forgotten how good it felt to be touched and knew that in her sleep-soaked state she had to stop before she crossed a boundary she wanted firmly in place when it came to Jeanette. Being lovers with the troubled Kindred would only lead to complications, the events of the previous evening with Therese blatant evidence towards this conclusion.

"It's already a good evening," Boh stretched, subtly putting space between their bodies. Sitting up she looked down at Jeanette with a soft smile, "I'm with my sister, aren't I?"

Jeanette was sprawled beside her stark naked with her hair a puffy cloud of gold around her head, makeup washed off the previous night when Boh had cleaned the blood off her cheeks. She was, Boh decided, ridiculously pretty without the gothic stripper act she insisted on maintaining.

Locating her boots, Boh sat on the edge of the bed as she pulled them on. "I'm going to see Tung tonight," she informed Jeanette over her shoulder, "Is there anything you need me to get you before I go?" She paused, looking pointedly at the dried blood covering smooth skin no longer marred by a bullet-wound before adding, "Should I grab you some blood-packs to avoid another incident like last night? I don't know how long this job of Prince LaCroix's is going to take."

Shaking the feathers out of her hair and combing her bangs into place Boh looked up again to find Jeanette staring at her deep in thought.

"You're different from everyone else," Jeanette stated, "You don't want to fuck me like they all do. Just what is it that you want from me?"

Smiling, Boh answered truthfully, "I want a friend. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I'm a little short on people I can trust at the moment."

"Is that why you offered to help me?" Jeanette seemed confused, and from what she had seen of Kindred society so far Boh could understand why. There was no such thing as a good samaritan Kindred, there were only favours, debts, and power-plays. No friends, just tenuous alliances.

"Partly," Boh replied, now dealing in half-truths, "It's also because you needed help. I also liked you a lot more than Therese," she added almost like an after-thought.

"That's it?" Jeanette asked in disbelief.

"That's it," Boh confirmed, flashing a cheerful grin, "Now, am I getting you blood-packs or not? I've got to go see Vandal anyways to get my own since I don't know what Tung's gonna have me doing for the Prince."

Frowning Jeanette questioned, "Why? I'm sure whatever our oh so fair Prince has in store for you won't be lacking in Happy Meals."

Making a face Boh answered with her nose still wrinkled in distaste, "I'm, uh, not that into...feeding...from people. Er, Kine, I mean."

Mismatched eyes stared at her unnervingly until Jeanette erupted into giggles. "You're so precious!" Her voice high and clear in the dimness of the trashed office. "No wonder you're brimming with humanity, I thought it was just because you were so fresh and shiny."

Raising her eyebrows Boh replied, "Thanks?"

Rising from the bed in one fluid motion Jeanette stretched, "It's sweet of you to offer, Duckling, but there's a scrumptious little brunette downstairs that I've been dying to taste."

"I'll visit you when I'm finished," Boh promised as she moved towards the door.

A pale hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist. Turning to look at Jeanette, Boh found her face oddly blank.

"Caution, sweet paper doll, that you too are not consumed in the flame. Though the Big Bad Wolf is no danger to Red Riding-Hood, he is no saviour as well."

Jeanette was in the same trance-like state as the other night, except this time she shook it off without a physical altercation courtesy of Boh's right hand.

Smirking, Jeanette released her arm, "Have fun with Bertie, Duckling. Remember to play nice."

Nodding through her confusion at Jeanette's cryptic words, Boh left The Asylum and skirted around the side of the building towards the alley beside it. The medical centre was just a block over and there was access to the blood-bank via a side door that led out into the alley.

Boh's plan was to allow Vandal - the attendant at the blood-bank who happened to be Therese's Ghoul, now Jeanette's? - rob her blind for a few bags of blood, swing by her Haven and clean up, then finally see Bertram Tung about this Top Secret job for LaCroix and get it over and done with.

Maybe once I'm allowed back downtown I can stay in my own apartment instead of being exiled to the slums of Santa Monica.

Boh had rapidly come to the decision that Santa Monica was much more appealing when drenched in sunlight. An occurrence she was still coming to terms with never seeing again.

Maybe it would be worth it, she mused as she moved down the dank poorly-lit alley. Of course, it wouldn't be here. I'd go back home, watch the sunrise from mom's rooftop garden. At least my last sigh would be the Manhattan skyline bathed in pinks and oranges.

Absorbed in these rather melancholic thoughts, Boh didn't realise she wasn't alone in the alley until her shoulder brushed against a dark denim-clad arm.

Stumbling slightly from the contact, Boh steadied herself and spouted out an automatic, "I'm sorry."

A large hand was raised in acknowledgement as the man continued on his way, shoulders broad beneath his jacket and dark-hair barely touching the upturned collar. "Don't worry 'bout it, Kid."

Eyes widened in recognition as memories flooded Boh's mind, that rumbling cigarette-roughened drawl and the slight hint of bourbon and blood…

- "THIS IS BULLSHIT!" -

"Wait!" Boh called out, already moving to stop him.

Too late. She was just too late. He had already disappeared around the corner, blending into the crowd of drunken kine spilt across the pavement. He was gone, along with any chance Boh may have had of thanking him for saving her life.

Or asking why he had even bothered.

Bertram Tung looked like the kind of vampire you'd see in a black and white movie that was all horror and no romance.

Although feeling slightly guilty following, Boh couldn't help the way her face pinched in shock when she first laid eyes on him. Although that could have partly been from the way he loomed out at her from the shadows of the empty oil-drum he called home, gold eyes glowing in the darkness. She felt that he more than made up for her slip with his not-so-veiled insults about her clan, his attitude already based on nothing more than a first impression. It was not her fault if she enjoyed things like basic hygiene and expensive shoes.

So while she was calling it square for now, if he continued his insistence in referring to her as 'cupcake' she might have to employ a few choice nicknames of her own.

Trailing behind him with sewer water sloshing around her ankles - again with the fucking sewers - Boh listened closely as Tung spoke to her in his congested nasal drawl.

"News travels down the Kindred grapevine like wildfire. And that courtroom spat between LaCroix and Nines Rodriguez in a juicy little morsel, and you in the middle...how interesting."

Rolling her eyes, Boh skirted around what was possibly a dead rat floating downstream with her nose wrinkling in distaste. "If you're quite done with trying to make my life sound like a Spanish soap-opera, do you think you could maybe tell me why we're gallivanting through the sewers?"

"Because the sewers are your only chance of getting into the warehouse alive, cupcake. Unless you want to try the front door, but that will only get you killed. Trust me," Tung replied dryly, sharp teeth bared in a mocking grin.

"Tell me more about this warehouse." Boh was suddenly hit by the seriousness of the situation, nerves making her voice blunt and demanding. This was no ghost or lone junkie wannabe hitman. This was A Job. "Please?"

At her use of manners, Tung's eyes widened in visible surprise. Apparently, the Nosferatu were unused to society's niceties. Probably explained his aura of assholishness. A whole, get them before they get me mentality that was both exasperating and sad.

Ugh, clan politics. Jack was right - they were what would probably kill her.

"Well, I've been watching the place. The Sabbat has a bunch of low-life humans working day and night to move stuff through there. There's some major staging going on."

Sabbat. The name sounded annoyingly familiar to her, teasing on the edge of her brain, but she just couldn't place it. At the risk of Tung making her feel like an idiot, she swallowed her pride and asked, "The Sabbat, are they like a gang or something?"

A frustrated sigh whistled it's way out of Tung's nose, the vampire in question looking as though his would very much like to press his hands to his head and whisper 'why me?'. "The Sabbat - geez you are green. It's like this; we're all monsters, like it or not." He ignored Boh's flinch at the word 'monsters'. "I'm not gonna say the Sabbat are the evil vampires cuz...none of us are the good guys here. But the Sabbat, they glorify their monstrous nature. They refuse to hide it and go out of their way to show it. They're also brainless and reckless; they have the life expectancy of a vampire fruit fly."

"And these people are working for them?" Boh was gobsmacked, "Willingly?"

"As far as I can tell. The humans seem to know the score from the way they've been talking. I think most of them have aspirations of joining the next graduating class of shovelheads. Ugh, losers," Tung's contempt was almost palpable. Boh couldn't help but agree with him.

"I don't know what's more idiotic - vampires telling people they're vampires, or people wanting to become said vampires," Boh wondered aloud.

"Yeah," Tung agreed, looking mildly uncomfortable about it too, "The Sabbat like everyone to know just who they're dealing with. So if you get in there and have to bust a few heads...don't feel bad. Think about it as," Tung affected a lofty accent, "upholding the Masquerade."

At the Nosferatu's casual opinion of murder, Boh swallowed down a nervous lump in her throat. The man Therese had hired to kill her came to mind. A fleshy thump, brain-matter on dirty bricks, blood mingling with garbage. Squeezing her eyes shut she pushed the images aside - now was not the time.

"Alright cupcake," Tung said as they rounded a corner, "this is where I leave you. Remember, get into the place and plant the explosives in the middle office to take the whole structure down. See you on the other side."

"Thank you," Boh replied, turning to find that she was talking to herself as the sarcastic Nosferatu had disappeared, leaving her alone by the caved-in sewer wall. "...or not." She muttered with a roll of her eyes.

Vampires were so fucking dramatic.

Checking the straps on the leather backpack slung over her shoulders, Astrolite nestled safely inside, she steeled herself and marched into enemy territory.