N.I.P.--Part Three

From Nocturnal International Pact, human ed. Pp.213-214

Rising is different for every infected human, although there are some standard reactions well documented over the last two hundred years. Most newly transformed vampires suffer briefly from short term memory loss. Three out of five have temporarily blurred vision. Almost all will need their first feeding within six hours of Rising. It is important to keep a calm environment for those first critical hours. Many fledgling vampires die True Death as the result of carelessness or ignorance of their new limitations, so keeping them in a dark, quiet room is essential as they adjust to their new frame of existence.

Basic care includes but is not limited to the following:

Keep the fledglings from daylight, or any strong light.

Keep them quiet and if necessary, restrained if they show severe agitation.

Speak calmly and slowly to them, reassuring them as much as possible.

Encourage them to describe their newly altered sensory perceptions and feelings.

Offer them a first feeding of between six and ten ounces of blood, the fresher and warmer the better. Many brands of pre-drawn blood are currently on the market, some now especially formulated for the best nutrition in a first feeding, and come in wax boxes with foil puncture holes for fangs. Given the sometimes emotional overtones of the early stages of Rising, it’s best to use pre-packaged blood rather than try and have fledglings learn to feed directly off a living source.

Keep in mind that the first few hours of a fledgling’s changed existence are the most critical. It takes nearly a full year for all of the physical changes to take place, with another seventy-five for the vampire to reach reproductive maturity. Should the fledgling show any signs of rejecting the Rising--vomiting blood, self-mutilation either by biting or clawing themselves or attempts at suicide--an older vampire or counselor may need to step in and offer a direct infusion of matured blood to help stabilize the younger one.



Sara opened her eyes, taking in the room at once although the only light source was her fat pineapple candle over by the window. She’d bought it at the Honolulu airport on her last vacation and the fruity scent of it filled her bedroom. Two people were here; Grissom and a smaller lady. Someone familiar. Sara moved to sit up.

She felt light-headed and cold. The candle seemed very bright, the flame a white-hot laser to the eye. Blinking, she turned her head away from it and swallowed. Her mouth felt dry, and her tongue raspy. The little woman watched her closely.

“Night daughter. How is Sara now? Who is Sara now?” came the gentle murmur.

“Thirsty,” came the soft croak. She watched Grissom approach her, and something in the dark wonder of his eyes in the candlelight made her shrink back a little. She tried to smile, but it felt odd. The mattress by her hip dipped down as Grissom sat next to her, looking at her with an intensity that made her . . .

Sara tensed. She heard the faintest of pulses riding on the air, an undertone just on the edge of her hearing. Sara knew it was his lifebeat, slowing a little now, but there. Now she did smile.

Grissom didn’t flinch, but his eyes flickered a little. Sara’s hand flew to her mouth, feeling the awkward pull of her lip over her big teeth.

Bigger teeth.

Sara ran her tongue over the pinprick of her fangs, noting them almost absently. Grissom’s lifebeat sped up a tiny bit, she noticed sadly.

“I came back.” She finally blurted. Grissom gave a slow nod, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Yes you did.” After a second he added, “Thank you.”

She couldn’t help but grin for that remark, feeling her lips slide up and reveal her fangs. This time Grissom held her gaze, and she sensed the full weight of his acknowledgment.

His acceptance.

Sara coughed. Carefully, Cassie came forward and took Sara’s thin wrist, turning it over. All three of them looked down at it, and Sara realized for the first time that the faint blue tracery of her veins was gone; only the tendons and thin skin stretched along the join of her arm and hand now. Fascinated, she pulled her wrist closer to her face, trying to focus on it. Grissom kept watching her, his eyes taking her in with a stunned guardedness; as if she might suddenly vanish after all.

Sara looked around, noting that her bedroom could use a new coat of paint, and that there was a lingering scent under the waxy pineapple perfume; the sweat-tinged odor of fear.

Hers. Someone else’s too, a man’s but not that of Grissom. Someone younger. Sara blinked again.

“Somebody got scared for me.” She commented. The little woman nodded and moved closer.

“More than one. Your head is singing?”

Sara thought about that a second and nodded. The mild tone in her ears, yeah, that sort of covered it. She stared at the woman.

“I should know you.”

“Shoulds will come back. Grissom goes deep, he never left your head.” The little woman observed with a flicker of a smile. Sara let her gaze turn to the doorway, where a nervous man stood waiting.

“D—“ she began, hesitantly. The man swallowed hard, watching her. “D-Daniel?”

“David, actually. I’m glad to see you, Sara.” He murmured, pushing up his glasses. She tipped her head, wondering why he was so nervous, and it dawned on her that she wasn’t wearing—

--A lot. A pink slip, with the strap sliding down one bony shoulder. His lifebeat was faster and Sara felt both sorry for his embarrassment and faintly hungry at his flush. She heard Grissom’s speeding up as well, and turned to look at him, catching his eyes with hers.

Oh! The black of his pupils were so wide they nearly obscured the blue, and his mouth was slightly open. She could see her own reflection in Grissom’s eyes, tiny and enticing, a sultry siren. The warm red beat pulsed in him, calling to her, beckoning her . . . rising for her . . .

Suddenly a cool hand slid over her shoulder.

“Close your eyes, night daughter. The first glamour’s p-p-pretty strong. Gotta slow go, gotta hold back. How do you feel?”

Sara blinked, and looked at the hand on her shoulder; Cassie’s fingers were delicate but strong, the nails pressing in the faintest of warnings into her skin. Grissom blinked and shook his head, looking confused. David called to him from the doorway.

“Sir? Maybe we ought to give them some time alone—“

Reluctantly, Grissom rose from the edge of the bed and followed David to the living room.



From the Diary of David Phillips

Oct 25th

Sara has Risen. It’s a pretty amazing process, and not one any church would sanction I suppose, even if it’s merely a viral mutation, but at the moment I’m not concerned about that. She’s back, and seems to be all right. The handbook warned about potential problems, but Grissom, Doc Robbins, Miss James and I seem to have a handle on it so far. Sara has the memory loss, but it’s starting to come back to her, little by little.

It’s probably not a politically correct thing to say, but she’s also, somehow—prettier. Not that she wasn’t before of course. Sara was always very pretty to my way of thinking. But now she’s got something else to her that I can’t define; an unearthly quality that on someone else would be eerie, but for her, it’s sort of glamorous.

It will be interesting to see if anyone else notices or comments on it.

Doc Robbins has begun to make arrangements for her at the lab—a special cooler drawer set aside for emergency sleepovers, a little refrigerator under the counter for packs of blood. He told me Sara wasn’t the first vampire he’d ever worked with, and that once she adjusted herself to her new life she’d be one of the best CSIs out there. I asked if anyone one else at the lab was already a vampire, but Robbins said no, that Nicholas had moved on years before my time.

The new shutters are going up in her apartment today, so Grissom is taking Sara to his place while the workmen put them in. Miss James is trying to get Sara to take a first feeding before they go, but it’s proving difficult, and I feel it’s probably better if I leave the persuasion to beings much better at it than myself.


Added note: Miss James tells me that the NIP Magistrate for the greater Las Vegas Area is searching for Señor Gomez to bring him to trial.  I'm damned glad to hear that.  



Nocturnal International Pact, vampire ed. Pp 21-24

Chapter Three: Once You Have Risen

Welcome to you new state of existence. Although you may be disoriented and fearful, take a moment to read through this section carefully. Whatever your preconceptions of vampiric existence may have been prior to this moment, rest assured that most of them are false exaggerations generated by historical inaccuracy and terrible media exploitation. You are not a monster, nor are you some depraved, soulless fiend--in truth, you are merely a mutated version of your former self, with a change in dietary and lifestyle needs. It may help to think of it as a chronic condition, like diabetes, or a severe food allergy.

If you have managed to Rise, either alone, or in the care of a Counselor or other sympathetic party, then you are well on your way to acclimating to your new lifestyle. The limitations are few, but absolute:




IF YOU HAVE RISEN WITHOUT BENEFIT OF A COUNSELOR:

Consult your nearest Coroner or Mortician immediately. The Nocturnal International Pact will assign an older vampire to guide you through your transition. Since you are reading this, chances are good that whoever gave you the Dark Kiss cared enough to insure your survival, and we commend them for the consideration in leaving you this handbook. Please see the appendix for our 800 number and a listing of state by state N.I.P. affiliated morticians.



“I don’t WANT it. I’m a vegetarian. Grissom, tell her—“ Sara protested in a strained voice. She was eying the little plastic drink pouch in Cassie’s hands with an odd fascination, alternately leaning closer and pulling away from it. The plastic was opaque, but she could see the fluid within, squishy and tempting. Grissom shot Cassie a slightly frustrated look.

“It’s true, and partially my fault.”

“It wasn’t your FAULT, just—you sort of set events into motion that made me rethink my values concerning the sanctity of life and the options in terms of personal nutrition,” Sara huffed, buying time. Cassie frowned, puzzled.

“N-n-nutrition killed me, Sara. And my sister. Calories, fat, carbohydrates, image, weight, worry, binge, slow ugly death of soul and mind,” She held the packet up, looking at it with a simple gaze of clarity. “Now all that’s g-g-gone. The blood is the life. Not eating; communion perpetual.”

Sara’s mouth dropped open, but she found nothing to say. Cassie tipped her head in birdlike fashion, her dark eyes glittering in the candlelight as she held out the packet.

“Take, eat . . . live.”

Grissom held his breath as Sara finally reached for the packet, taking it reluctantly from Cassie’s hands. She sighed harshly, licking her lower lip. In the candlelight her fangs looked small, dainty and very sharp as she turned the packet over in her fingers.

“Damn it, this goes against everything I believe,” she moaned, “But I’m really, really hungry, and for some weird reason this looks . . . good . . .” her voice trailed off seductively. Grissom clenched his thighs at the sound of it but Cassie gave a slow nod in support. Sara brought the packet up and eyed the little foil spots on the top.

“Just . . . bite?”

“Bite.” Cassie agreed.

Sara moved, sinking her little fangs into the packet, and it made a faint popping sound as it yielded to her nip. Grissom watched, fighting the mingled impressions of revulsion and arousal coursing through him. Sara’s eyes closed in bliss, and the dark fluid in the packet began to disappear, swiftly. Cassie fished up one sleeve of her sweater, murmuring softly.

“Hard to go slow, but you should, night daughter Sara. Nearly done . . .” she held out a crumpled tissue.

Eyes closed, Sara trembled, draining the last of the packet with a breathy moan; fascinated, it took Grissom a moment to realize what he was seeing, and when recognition hit him he flushed, looking away quickly. He fought his own shockingly urgent erection and focused instead on counting the pushpins in the bulletin board on her far wall. Next to him, Cassie was reaching out for the empty packet.

Sara hissed.

Cassie snared the woman’s wrist and twisted; the packet fell to the quilt, depleted as she spoke, low but firmly.

“Shush-shush . . . r-r-relax and let it settle in your system now. You don’t want to fight me, you’ve had your yummy shiver now . . .”

A pinprick of bright red flared in Sara’s liquid dark gaze, fading down into a sloe-eyed tint again, and she began to blink, grounding herself. Grissom got the impression that she would have blushed had she the physical capacity left. Cassie didn’t let go of her wrist, and used the other hand to dab the tissue on the corners of Sara’s mouth.

“It’s okay night daughter, fine, fine. Feeding dances on the buttons; hunger and horny, presses them just right SO hard. Rewired now, it’s the way we all are. How do you feel?”

“Um . . . better,” came her throaty reply, and her tone echoed in Grissom’s ears as it stirred him, literally. With care, he shifted his stance against the wall, trying to keep to the background.

“Good. Now you can come with Grissom.”

The soft double entendre of the words slipped over Cassie, but both CSIs flinched a little; Sara licked her bottom lip absently and ran the edge of her hand under her nose in embarrassment as she swung her feet off the bed. She rose, the candlelight making the satin of her slip gleam a little, her actions more graceful than they had been in her previous life, and when she stood, Grissom felt his mouth go dry.

Glamour. He’d seen Sara at her prettiest, at her flirtiest most vibrant times, marveled at her lean beauty and unmatchable style, and yet here and now standing in nothing more than a pink slip, she redefined the term from the mystical connotation to the current fashionable one. As she brushed her curly hair back from her cheek, he knew he should stop staring, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it until Cassie coughed.

“Out, Grissom. The moth needs to change her wings and you need to g-g-get your head back on. She’ll need things you can pull together.” The tone was firm and held a laugh in it; Grissom felt the rebuke.



Grissom’s Journal Oct 25-26th

I can’t sleep. Not because Sara is lying in my bed, dead to the world, (which is something I never thought would happen although to be honest I’ve fantasized about it often enough) nor is it because I’m camped out on the loveseat. God knows I’ve slept on this thing more times than I can remember; habit and fatigue have often overtaken me here—no, I can’t sleep because I’m too wound up, too overwhelmed by everything that’s happened in the past seventy two hours.

So much.

In the course of three days Sara has sickened, died and risen, to put it in NIP layman terms. She’s become a mutated version of herself, dependent now on blood plasma and fatally allergic to sunlight. She has—fangs. And the darkest, deepest mahogany eyes I’ve ever fallen into. I don’t fully understand her effect on me . . . it’s as if everything I’ve ever felt or yearned for concerning her is concentrated now, condensed into a bond I don’t dare vocalize. She has so much to cope with as it is that I can’t distract her with this . . . attraction.

I’ve tried to rationalize that it’s merely a manifestation of my concern for her, and that justification seems sound in the face of the evidence, as reasonable as anything else, but deep down I know better, and I worry about my ability to stay objective, but at the moment there’s nothing I can do but remind myself that there are bigger priorities for both of us. David has been helpful in that regard, and I’m grateful for the list he’s compiled.

Currently Sara is at rest, as the handbook calls it, a state similar to sleep wherein her body is conserving energy and processing the blood she ingested earlier. Blood—the irony of her new diet isn’t lost on either of us. I took a moment to examine the packet Cassie fed her: Buddha’s Blessing brand. It’s blood donated by Buddhist monks, so indirectly Sara is still a vegetarian one step removed. The packet states that the blood is free of synthetic hormones, antibodies and vaccines and is recommended specifically for a first feeding. Amazing. The entire marketing strategy is still aimed at health issues, even for the Undead.

Tomorrow evening a doctor who specializes in care of the Undead will be here to give Sara a complete physical. She’ll have to go to the office of the Magistrate of Las Vegas to get her documentation done, and file a complaint against Señor Gomez. After that, she’ll need to activate her blood account. I plan on chauffeuring her around whether she wants it or not; this whole change of lifestyle is more than I want to see her try and handle on her own. Cassie promised to meet up with us later as well since she’s staying at Sara’s to insure the workmen do the right job with the shutters there.

I’m not sure what to do about Greg; he’s called at least once, and from the sound of it would like to check up on Sara. I don’t have an explanation for why she’s at my apartment that doesn’t sound odd or suggestive. Perhaps some white lie about a broken water main will do. In the meantime I desperately need to rest and stop from overtaxing myself. It’s going to be a long night, and I harbor a suspicion it will be the first of many for both of us.