By Woolhat's Travelling Mood
Chapter One
sky outside his window hailed its newly crowned prince, who crept silently towards Micky with a beckoning hand. Micky swallowed hard and tried to think why he was welcoming such an event. The prince stood before him and smiled echoes of his past character still vaguely apparent. The prince was clothed in the colours of his new kingdom, which was as black as his eyes. Micky remained still and waited for him to approach. He watched as the prince hesitated slightly and waited. Micky gave a seductive smile before whispering, "Don't stop..."
The prince eyed him up and down before giving a tiny smile. He strode behind the sedated drummer and brushed away a few curls, revealing his goal. Micky's breathing grew faster as he thought of what was about to happen, and couldn't help but become aroused. He felt a cold breath on his shoulder and shuddered slightly. He closed his eyes as an icy kiss melted on his neck. He felt himself become giddy and then there was the pain. It was a stabbing feeling, which made him suck in his breath. His new master sank his teeth in a little deeper, feeling the life that was Micky. His victim suddenly wanted to break free and regretted any previous decision, but then the pleasure came. It flowed over him like a warm wave from the sea. He moaned quietly as he basked in the overwhelming glorious feeling. He felt his arms grow limp and coldness fill him, starting from his toes and working up. The prince was ready to catch him when he collapsed and laid the death-like drummer on the bed.
The moonlight caught Micky's already pale face and a tinted blue began to surround his mouth. The prince smiled and kept an unbroken gaze for a few seconds, waiting until the last moment, just for the thrill of it. He knelt down to his victim and ran a cold finger along the drummer's jaw line. He knew exactly what to do, as if it was second nature and he leant in closer. His lips were unhurried and careful as they brushed those of Micky's. They almost seemed timid, until the monarch gained entry with his tongue and began the task of resurrection. He traced his long fingernails across Micky's chest and
ritually carved a symbol of blood. When the symbol was complete he hastened the kiss, muttering mystic words into the corpse. Inside he prayed that it would work, hating the loneliness that would come with failure. The symbol of life after death became more apparent as Micky's blood sealed the pact. There wasn't much left, but what there was demanded the prince's attention as it gleamed against the flour white skin of the corpse. The mystic words of ancient England came new to the prince, but he knew them as if they were written on his heart, in fact, they were. And now he was inscribing them on his new creation. The prince released Micky's mouth and stepped back, fingers crossed that everything would go as planned.
There was a moment of despair when there was still no sign of life. The Prince's eyes lowered to the ground, but were suddenly raised again when he heard a faint groan. Micky's eyes fluttered ever so slightly, as his hand was raised to his chest, trying to understand the burning he felt there. Slowly he opened his eyes and saw the prince. His memory flooded back to him, even the moments when he was truly lost to the world and he gave a painful twinge of the mouth. He glanced at himself in a nearby mirror and watched as the blood faded into a small collection of faint lines, before returning his gaze to his creator. His smile grew as he realized what he had been given and slowly produced his ivory fangs, excitement gleaming in his new eyes. The prince seemed pleased enough, but put a sly finger to his lips. "Shhh," He murmured soothingly, "Not now...but later...I promise," and glided over to the closet. Cunningly and carefully he picked out several clothes for his new accomplice. "Black will suit your complexion," He smiled, throwing the garments at the snowy white young man before him.
Micky smiled and beamed at the giver of new life, "Thanks Mike," He murmured.
~~~~~
Davy sat at the kitchen table and sighed mindlessly at his coffee. He was thankful for the daylight and closed his eyes occasionally to reflect. He knew it was his fault, it was his own gullibility and failure to listen to his friends, but he could never resist a beautiful girl.That's exactly what Magneé was, beautiful. He saw now that he was just a minor detail in her plan and it made him feel sick. He knew she was only after one thing, but it wasn't the same thing he was after. She wanted to be free from the life she had created for herself, she needed an heir, and she found one...in the form of his best friend. Davy growled at the fictitiousness of it all, and the growing jealousy that engulfed him. And now he was a sitting target, one night soon he would wake up to find Mike clamped on his throat, draining every last drop. The Englishmen felt a shiver run through his bones as he thought of his best friend and the power he now had. He didn't seem at all surprised at Mike for doing it; they had never been extremely close. He gazed around at the pad and hoped Peter would be home soon, it seemed so lonely.
Suddenly he heard the familiar click of the lock and turned to face the blond bassist he expected. He gasped when he saw Micky standing triumphantly in front of him. The percussionist failed miserably at hiding his fear and fell over his own chair as he tried to escape. When he found he couldn't, he turned to face his old friend and swallowed hard.
"H...Hi...Mick," He choked, edging away.
"Hey Davy," Micky grinned like his old self and sat at the table. As he did so, he showed off his newfound feline elegance, a stark contrast to the once clumsy Micky Dolenz they all knew and loved. Davy observed him with critical detail. The young man was dressed smartly yet casually in a velvet black shirt with blood red buttons, tight black leather trousers and black pointed boots, which helped him dart from place to place with extreme precision. His friendly curls were no longer a light brown, but a deadly and menacing black, as were his eyes.Micky laid back in his chair and absorbed the bright
morning sun, letting out a content sigh. Davy blinked, not believing his eyes. Was Micky a vampire or not? He looked like one, but he didn't act like one. Maybe Mike had some love left in him after all, and had spared Micky the pain of immortal life.
Wait a minute! The Englishman scolded himself mentally, What pain? Micky could live forever, he seemed to have lost all physical faults and was now, and dare he say it, ravishingly gorgeous! Davy could feel that jealousy again, but fought it down and sat back at the table, trusting his meager knowledge of vampires and the growing light.
"So, Mick...what you up to?" he at least tried to make conversation.
"Oh, this and that...why do you ask?"
"Ain't seen you around the pad much, nor Mike come to that," Davy tried to act dumb, something Peter was good at, "I thought you may have got a new interest or something,"
Micky didn't open his eyes as he sunbathed from his chair, "No, not really, Mike's cool...we hang out," He smiled and opened his eyes, "Not like we're killin' no-one or anything.” He let out a sly cackle, which made Davy's blood run cold.
Then he felt an anger he didn't know was there, and it exploded with an almighty force. "Cut the crap Mick! I know everything!” He screamed, "You go round and drink people's blood!"
Micky was still, sitting comfortably in his chair and made no effort to move. He still wore the smug smile and giggled slightly at Davy's reddening face. "You'll burst a blood vessel," He smiled, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Listen babe," He quieted Davy down, making his companion cringe at how much he was beginning to sound like the absent Texan guitarist that Davy had once called his friend, "There's a lot you need to know about us,"
"Us?” Davy scowled, only to receive a scowl back.
"It's not the middle ages anymore - we've evolved. Jeez, we don't avoid the sun or sleep in coffins anymore, and if we do - it's just for effect. Don't start wearing garlic and crucifixes, that's shit. And no stakes either! I can just imagine you coming at me with part of a garden fence! No thank-you!"
"You're enjoying this aren't you?!” Davy spoke so low that Micky could hardly hear him. It wasn't the Englishman's usual squeak at all, in fact, Micky wondered if it had really come from his companion at all.
"If that was you who spoke," Micky smiled, "Then yes, I am enjoying myself. I'm living for once! I'm no longer the nice guy next door, best pal, figure...I have my own identity."
"Or Mike's! Face it Mick, you're trying to be him, and you can't! You know you can't! You're just like a pet dog to him! And I don't want to be around when that dog gets kicked!"
Micky gave a scowl but didn't answer; he knew someone was
about to answer for him.
Davy looked up, startled, as Mike glided into the room, enveloped in darkness. "Jealous are we?” The vampire smiled, removing his cloak.
Davy had never seen Mike in a cloak before and was surprised when it suited the Texan's lanky figure. Although, he couldn't really call Mike a Texan anymore, there was no trace of an accent, just a low growl, which you never wanted to analyze too much. Mike stepped behind Micky and placed his hands on his apprentice's shoulders."I believed it of you," Davy didn't give up as he launched new venom, "But you had no right to do this to Micky!"
Mike rolled his back and let out a howl of laughter, which was soon joined by Micky. Davy froze, knowing he had just landed in very deep water. "It was his choice, and I think he made the right choice," He grinned, planting a kiss on Micky's ear.Davy was confused now. Why had Mike just done that? He was the prince of a new kind of evil, and yet he seemed to show so much compassion for the hapless drummer. Could Micky be Mike's only weakness? He filed those thoughts away for later reference and backed off, leaving the argument unsettled, even though it was clear that he could never win, not against the monarch of darkness, not yet.
Chapter Two
Micky peered around the wall and smiled slyly. The party was in full swing, rich with young, naïve pickings. Mike straightened his shirt cuffs and ran a comb quickly through his hair. He looked divine, Micky thought, perfect and elegant with a deep mysteriousness that no one would live long enough to fully analyze. Micky smiled to himself, wishing that he could be that person, be the one that owned
Mike's stony heart, at least for one night. Mike crept up to Micky's ear, still hidden in the shadows and whispered, "Now listen babe," He breathed seductively in Micky's ear for effect, "It's your first night at this. The easy ones are the gay boys - they'll throw themselves at you. Play along, get them far away from anyone and then strike. If they put up a fight, don't give up, finish the job or you'll be found out! Girls are a bigger challenge, they are way too suspicious - remember that you're not entering a relationship or nothing, so don't be too picky!" with that he entered the light of the street lamps and headed towards the house party, a confident stride in his step.Micky tried to hide his nervousness, but it was almost too hard. He was more worried about disappointing Mike than actually feeding his hunger.
Micky didn't seem to blend in with the bright colours of the fashions on display at the party. For the first time in his life, he felt uncomfortable about himself, but he kept up the act of cheeriness. He watched Mike sway elegantly with a luscious blond female, who seemed entranced with his very presence. Micky envied her, even though he knew that she would soon breathe her last. Mike hardly danced at all, instead allowing his hands to wander over her succulent body, and nibbled hungrily at her shoulder. Soon he led her out into the garden and Micky knew that that would be the last time she would ever be seen alive.
Micky gazed around and spotted a young ginger haired boy perched at the homemade bar. Micky sneered slightly at the look of him, but remembered Mike's stern words 'don't be picky'. Half an hour past and Micky's flirting had landed him with an eager young man tugging at his arm, pulling him towards the run down summerhouse in the garden. Micky tried desperately to grasp his control again and, once inside, forced the young man up against the wall. The young man was winded and had no time to recover before he felt a sharp pain in his throat. He felt all his strength and energy drain from him as Micky drank his fill. Micky licked his lips clean and allowed the corpse to slide to the floor, watching the marks on his neck vanish like magic.
"Congratulations," Mike smiled, sliding out from the shadows and patting Micky on the back, "Good hunting," He laughed, throwing down another corpse onto the pile. "She would have been a good lay," Mike began, without a hint of remorse, "But there was no time...I was hungry."
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