Littermates

Littermates, 36/?
by Scribe (Fannie Feazell)

Several months later, 1966--Progress

There was a tap at her door. Nareesha turned a page of Vogue and called, "Enter freely, and of your own will." It didn't matter how many times she used that invitation--it made Clyde crack up. But it wasn't Clyde who came in--it was Joel.

Joel took note of the magazine the girl was reading and said, "Hello, Nareesha."

"Hello, pretty boy." Nareesha had been lounging on her bed. Now she tossed aside the magazine and sat up. "Come to see Kitten?"

"Um... if she wants to. It's just that Dr. Clyde wants to see one of you in the cafeteria."

"Really? Why?" Joel lifted one shoulder. "Right. Clyde has his secrets. Very well."

Nareesha had never been one for automatically obeying a summons, but a summons from Clyde was, of course, a different matter--he was working for freedom for the sisters. Joel walked with her toward the cafeteria, and she watched him with curious amusement. "You're in a good mood today, sweetheart," she commented. "You're almost dancing." Joel froze. "No, no. You're not actually dancing, that isn't what I meant. I just meant that you seem excited. What is it?" He giggled, and she smiled indulgently. "Yes, I'll see."

She stepped through the door into the cafeteria and was nearly deafened by the shout of, "SURPRISE!"

And she WAS surprised. It wasn't easy to disconcert Nareesha, but the abruptness made her flinch and gasp. Then she took in the scene before her. Two of the longer tables had been pushed together, and they held a very large cake, and a punch bowl at each end--one containing luridly green punch and the other filled with equally gawdy red punch. Standing behind the cake, grinning, was Dr. Clyde, with most of the night staff and all the patients not on lock-up ranged at his side.

"Doctor," said Nareesha, hand on her chest. "I know that you DO have a medical degree, but do you really want to treat me for a heart attack?"

He wrinkled his nose at her. "Any numbness in the left arm?"

"No."

"Then don't worry about it. We HAD to have some sort of special do for you..." he smiled sharply, "'Kathleen'. After all--this is a momentous occasion." He pointed at the flickering candles on the cake. "If you'll count those you'll see that you're eighteen, and that means that you're legally an adult."

"Really? Yes, you DID mention that it was eighteen in this state instead of twenty-one." She returned his smile. "How very, very convenient."

"Get over here and cut the cake, and remember that Joel wants either one of the corner pieces or a rose." Nareesha went over and examined the cake. It was as big as a tray, chocolate frosted, and lavishly decorated with white roses. "I knew that pink would make you break out in hives," he said, "and if you go for red you have to use so much food dye in the frosting that it gives it a bitter taste."

"White is lovely," said Nareesha, picking up a knife. "Perfect for a wedding, OR a funeral." She glanced at the knife, then held it up reproachfully. "Really."

It was a blunt edged butter knife. Clyde shrugged unapologetically. "You know how careful we have to be about sharp edged objects around here, missy."

Nareesha started to cut the cake. "I swear. I think that one of the first things I'll do when I get out of here is order a steak and tell them to make it tough, so that I'll have the pleasure of sawing it apart with a steak knife."

Soon the party guests were scattered at the tables, chattering and gobbling cake. They were also spilling punch, but housekeeping was there also, so there'd be no bitching about sticky puddles and oddly stained clothes. Clyde, Joel, and Nareesha shared a table--alone. They didn't actively discourage the others from joining them. The patients, though they might not be in close contact with the 'real world', were adept at sensing Dr. Clyde's moods and desires. They realized that the vampire physician wanted some private time with the guest of honor, and they had no problems with that.

Clyde, carefully picking the icing off his cake in a solid sheet, was speaking to Nareesha in a low voice. "As you know, I've been filing those fanciful records of our 'sessions' for some time now. Are you ready to go before the committee for the first time?"

"First time?" said Nareesha.

"Well, of course it's going to take more than one try. Even if you were as sane as buttermilk they'd feel obligated to say no the first time around. The only time they've ever let someone out on their first application they came right back after tying a neighbor to the bed, painting them with runic symbols, and setting their house on fire." Clyde smiled. "He was a Malkavian, and he just decided that he prefered it in here to out there. Anyway, that was, oh, twenty years ago, and they haven't let anyone out on the first interview since then. It isn't actually written down anywhere, but it's one of those rules that everyone knows."

"I see. Certainly, any time you're ready."

"Fine. You're going to have to go it alone, you know."

Nareesha frowned. "I don't like that. I'd much rather have you there, for moral support, if not for coaching."

"I know, but it takes an act of God to have these people do anything after five o'clock, and as much as I care for you, I'm not getting fried to provide you with prompts."

Nareesha smiled. "No, I suppose not. Very well, then. Any pointers?"

"Yes. They're going to ask you a lot of questions about what brought you here. As far as they know you still have amnesia, and there's no reason why that should change. It makes perfect sense for you to surpress the sort of trauma you must've been through. If you want to you can give them vague, confused bits and pieces. We can keep whatever seems to work and build on it for next time. I'd also suggest a general air of anxiety and guilt."

Nareesha gave him a flat look. "Guilt?"

"Don't look at me like that. I know very well that they deserved worse than what they got, but the committee is going to expect guilt, so you give them guilt. Otherwise they're going to think that you've disassociated from your emotions. No guilt, no real incentive to remain non-violent. See?"

"Makes sense when you put it that way." She watched as Clyde used his fork to push aside his denuded cake and began to eat the icing. "You're channelling Kitten."

He shrugged. "I don't eat much people food. When I do, I'm damn well going to eat precisely what I want." He scooped a glob of chocolate icing up on his finger and offered it to Joel, who happily licked it off. "Do you have any feelings on when you'll be ready to face them? There's no hurry, but the last time I talked to Costco he asked about that. He's been reading the reports."

Nareesha frowned. "I don't think I like that. He struck me as the sort who wouldn't pay much attention to one of his cash cows unless he felt the income was threatened. In that case I figure he'd be happier if we were never cured."

"But he can't let the other board members realize that. And believe me, sweetie--it isn't nearly as easy for him to fake ethics or concern as it is for you." He smiled. "Just doesn't have the talent." Nareesha made a small bow, acknowledgeing the compliment. Clyde said, "Have you finished your goodies? I'd like to draw you aside so that I don't have to whisper in your shell like ear. What we need to discuss is not for public consumption." They stood up, and Clyde spoke to one of the nurses. "They can have fifteen more minutes, and make sure everyone has access to the bathroom facilities. I've seen the amount of punch they've been pounding down, and if they have to wait to be escorted one by one you're going to end up changing a lot of sheets."

He led Nareesha back into the darkened, silent kitchen. It was lit only by the light in the vent hood over the big institutional sized stove. The kitchen was very well kept, and with the yards of gleaming metal counters and chilly air it reminded Nareesha of an operating room (after a few more years and some interesting experiences it would remind her of a morgue. Neither comparison bothered her.)

Leaning back against the wall Clyde said, "Reesha, I'm afraid that I haven't been completely forthcoming with you girls."

Nareesha waved negligently. "Oh, we figured that. But we also figured that if we really needed to know something, you'd tell us. So I guess we need to know this."

Clyde nodded. "It's something that touches on your release. I thought I'd better explain it to you before we started the actual release process because... Well, because you girls might decide you don't want to go through with it at that price."

"They aren't planning on selling us into white slavery, are they?" Most people would have thought that was a total joke, and there WAS a bit of sarcasm in Nareesha's voice, but there was a flat hint of challenge in it, too.

"Not as such. I've explained to you how the vampire society works. An elder vampire Embraces a chosen one, and brings them into their clan. Then that fledgling is subject to the rule of their sire, and above them the clan hierarchy. How much that resembles slavery varies wildly. I WILL tell you that Malkavians are generally considered to be the equivalent of permissive parents." He snickered. "Our fledges are universally considered to be brats. Other clans tend to keep a much tighter rein on their initiates, considering them actual property for at least the first few decades of their new life. The Ventrue are one of those--and Costas is a Ventrue."

The fact that Clyde had used the director's true name didn't escape Nareesha, and Clyde didn't have to go any further in explaining what he was getting at. "You mean to tell me that the son of a bitch is thinking about turning us? But he knows we're shapeshifters, and he HATES them. I've felt it coming off him in waves the few times I've seen him."

"He does."

"Then WHY? I thought that the Embrace was only for people you admired, cared for, or desired. I mean, that's the point of wanting to have someone live forever, isn't it?"

"There could be other reasons. For some people eternal life would mean eternal torment. I've known some vampires to turn a person, knowing that the first thing they'd do when they became aware of their new state would be to walk into the sun. But there's another reason other than love or hate, Nareesha. There's power."

"I don't understand."

"Come on, dear--you're cleverer than that. If you are pronounced cured and released, you're going to become a very, very rich, very, very influential young woman. And if Costas Embraced you..."

"Son of a bitch. It'd be like that damn Napoleonic code in A Streetcar Named Desire--what's mine would be his."

"Exactly. Or more properly his clan's but I can't begin to tell you what a boost it would give him in the ranks."

"Well, shit." Nareesha flopped back against the wall beside Clyde, scowling. "What the fuck would be the point of getting out of here if we were just put under the control of another Bastard? You're positive that's what he has in mind?"

"My dear, the idiot laid out the plan to me." He snorted. "Trusting sort."

Nareesha peered at him, then smiled slowly. "Clyde--you have a plan."

"I have an idea, and I'm glad you're the one who brought it up. Our twisty little minds run remarkably in the same routes, but go ahead and tell me what you're thinking so we can see if it's the same."

"I'm thinking what if it was YOU who embraced us instead of him?" Clyde's grin was positively unholy. "Oh, you like that idea."

"It'd be a great joke, wouldn't it? You can see that."

"You bet I can."

"But I hesitated to suggest it because, well--it DOES involve dying. Some people object to that."

"Hey, we'd still be walking, talking, and screwing with people," she chuckled, "physically and metaphorically. The fact that we wouldn't have a pulse doesn't bother me much." Her eyes were very old. "Clyde? From what I've seen of humanity, giving up membership in the mortal race doesn't seem like that big a sacrifice. You'd need to ask the others, but as for me--I'm in." Her eyes narrowed meanly. "If for no other reason than to see the look on his face when he finds out."

"You're a woman after my own cold, dead heart. You discuss it with the girls, and I'll be available to answer any questions or just talk it over. There's no rush, but you should make the decision within the next week or so. Otherwise it will get harder to put Costly off. And I wouldn't put it past him to do something stupid, like try to turn you BEFORE you're released if he thinks things are dragging."

"I'll talk to them. Personally I think that Casey will jump at the chance, and Kitten will think it's a grand adventure. The only one who might hesitate is Milda." She smiled sadly. "And she might agree because she feels it will somehow bring her closer to Colin. Now, let's go back out. Kitten and Casey will never forgive me if I don't wrap up a piece of cake for each of them, and I want to get to that last rose before Joel does."