Weird and Wyld Halloween

Why is it that the weirdest shit happens around Halloween?

Fighting ancient Celtic cults and spirits you can’t actually touch is not my idea of a rockin’ Halloween. Damn. Missed out on all kinds of hotties and tramps and sluts and whores because Johnny had to fights this shit with Alexander Worthington (damn is he nearly useless for anything but going crazy), Lucien Heisenrich or whatever the wizard’s last name is, Sharky (ain’t seen him in a while) and the Gangrel terrorist himself, Joe Barclay.

Ain’t bad guys (except maybe for Lucien, still not sold on him), but there ain’t a pussy among them and they sure as hell would look like shit wearing a bustier.

So anyway, Johnny was just taught some of that ninja-like Obfuscate by Eli Keenan. She’s that Assamite Anarch out in Baltimore , but she tends to wander some and ain’t exactly a stranger to SoCal. She still won’t teach the real Assamite ninja skills, but hey, maybe given enough time she will. Or if Johnny can come up with an offer she can’t refuse.

So we went off to Johnny’s new warehouse, the one that the rest of the Anarchs don’t yet know about. Lots of boxes and crates and shadows and shit. And the next few nights she taught Johnny how to get real still and real quiet and just blend into the shadows. Gotta stay still or the shadows, like, go away somehow, or if Johnny makes a noise, but it is pretty damn cool.

No, it’s not like the shadows wrap around or nothin’. Not like a Lasombra thing. It’s different than that. It’s more like, what, a cloaking device, like the Predator had.

It’s pretty damn cool. Gonna try to get Eli to teach Johnny the next step, how to actually move around like the Predator. Then Johnny would be on his way to being a ninja. Johnny is already the Drunken Monkey kung fu master. Working on being all samurai with the swords and sai and shit. Now Johnny is also on his way to being a ninja. Fuckin’ Awesome.

Learning another trick...

So it was time to have Simon teach Johnny more about telling people what to do. You know, with that hoodoo voodoo that Ventrue are so good at.

The shit ain't so good on other licks; older fuckers just ignore the wooj. So not exactly useful on most of the Camarilla bastards.

But it was time to go to the next level and go beyond just a single word. So we go to this 18 and over club, called Tight. Supposed to mean cool, but we know what it's really describing, you know? But we go there because it's a place where creepy older fuckers like us ain't entirely welcome. They actually try to keep you out if you are over 25 or so. Plus, we're kinda creepy anyway. On top of it all, they are really damn strict about alcohol, 'cause they could lose their beer license if busted for serving one of the 18 year olds. So those girls come to dance and to hook up. Without the help of alcohol. Maybe that's why there aren't as many guys as girls there; they don't have the liquid help.

So we're there to see what Johnny can do with Simon's tricks, can't use any of the normal Brujah wooj or Johnny charm. The key is to look a girl in the eyes and tell her to lift her shirt and show off her tits. Simple, right? Pretend we are with Girls Gone Wild and get them to show their tits, using the wooj.

Actually, Johnny thinks the only reason Simon agreed to try this way out first was because he probably thought Johnny couldn't do it, at least not the first time out. Especially not when Johnny can't use the Charm, you know? Not exactly Simon's style and all. He probably would have prefered to see if Johnny could convince a business man to sign over his stocks or something, but, well, Johnny was quite motivated and that apparently means something when learning new tricks.

The first few chicks, Johnny had to use the charm to keep them from slapping Johnny and calling security. An hour in, chicks were flashing us like it was Mardi Gras or something. Simon got kind of uncomfortable with it all, maybe he was afraid we'd get caught or something, so we left at that point.

Johnny has been kinda playin' for the last week now with it, goin' to bars and pretending to hypnotize chicks and getting them to do things like bark like dogs, take off their tops, take off their panties in public, stuff like that. Juvenile as shit, yeah. But harmless and it's startin' to get old already. But that's another trick in Johnny's arsenal. Quite a few more to go.

Simon learns to duck

Okay, so Simon finally decides he has the time to learn to be quicker. Simon taught Johnny some of that Dominate hoodoo in the summer, but Simon’s been busy doing Ventrue shit like taking control of banker and politicians and shit. But now, Simon wants to learn some Celerity. How to have more than just a reflex reaction, but to harness that reflex and direct it.

So Simon shows up in these ridiculous purple Ecko sweats. What the fuck? Did Simon think that we were going to go for a light jog or something? The only person those purple sweats might look good on might be Angel. ‘Cause only black people can wear purple and not look like clowns.

So we’re standing there, making small talk at first, right? “Any trouble with the traffic on the 55 tonight? Nah? Sidestreets? Yeah, Johnny forgets that sometimes.” And then smack! Johnny just slaps Simon across the face.

Simon looks at Johnny not like it hurt or anything, but like, what the fuck are you doing? But Johnny just keeps talking, like nothing happened, talking about this new strip club that he saw on the way here and how Johnny gotta check it out later. So Simon relaxes and starts talking financial shit. Like what the latest numbers are on P.F.Chang’s and shit. So Johnny slaps him again, same hand, same cheek. This time he actually says something about it.

“What the fuck Johnny? What are you slapping me for?” So Johnny slapped him again, this time with the other hand and the other cheek. “Hey!” So Johnny smacked him again.

“What? You wanted to learn to be faster. Well, Johnny figures from watching you take a punch from Sharky a few weeks back you’re getting to be pretty fuckin’ tough. So the knife idea won’t work anymore. But smackin’ the shit out of you will. You want Johnny” –smacked him again- “to stop bitch slapping you? Then do something about it. Grab Johnny’s hand before it gets there. It’s about instinct” –another slap- “not thinking. It’s about doing” –and again- “not planning. Force yourself to just react, not think about what to do next.”

Simon just stood there, looking like Sharky must have when he was told he was adopted. Totally confused for a moment. So Johnny slapped him again.

That’s how it went the rest of the night. Talking about all kinds of shit, financials, what the fuck we are, what the Architects stand for, and Johnny slapping the shit out Simon. Started to get kinda funny, ‘cause Simon would just take the slap, look aside, actually exhale, then compose himself to continue the conversation.

It started getting late, so we had to call it a night. Might have put a bit of dent in Simon’s left cheek by accident. So we meet the next night. This time it’s a baby blue fuckin’ Armani sweat suit. Who fuckin’ dresses Simon at night? Yet again, it takes all night and Simon is not only not getting it, it seems like he’s started to get fucking pissed at getting spanked more than at a fraternity hazing ritual. For some reason, the next night is out. But he grabs his sack and tries again for the night after that. And it seems like it’s just not fuckin’ working and Simon is really starting to steam. Almost fuckin’ literally steaming.

It wasn’t until Johnny started to think about actually leaving and continuing another night when it happened.

Johnny twitched his right shoulder to try and fool Simon into thinking it was the right hand coming (hey, it worked earlier) then went with the left. But suddenly there was Simon with not only a block, but actually grabbed Johnny’s hand and was moving with the other to slap Johnny! The anger finally punched through that clinical head of his and he just reacted, just finally let the anger go, not like letting out the beast like Sharky does, but let the anger just guide his body and “fire it up.”

Johnny caught the hand easy and smiled. Finally did it. Johnny let go of Simon’s hand and said “About fuckin’ time. Started to get bored with all this talking. Not when there are strippers to talk to. Keep it real dude.” Before Simon could say anything, Johnny just started walking back to the car and Simon followed. And that was all. Too late to hit the strip club, but that’ll wait for another night.

Journal #15, Dec.4, 2007

Um. Yeah. Johnny doesn’t know if he’ll learn anymore Fortitude shit from Joe Barclay anymore. The motherfucker isn’t just a sadist, he’s fucking psychotic. Who the fuck drives off a bridge on purpose and talks about how cool it was? Who?

Okay, he’s the story. Johnny meets Joe at some dive bar down in Gangrel turf down south. A serious biker bar where some of the chicks had bigger biceps than Sharky, had more tattoos than any Brujah and were scarier than any Nosferatu. Seriously, a few of these biker chicks were more manly than most of the other bikers in there. They probably had bigger clits than most Toreador pricks. Damn.

So we’re there and Johnny is making small talk with Joe ‘cause it seems like we’re just waiting for someone or something to do. Then he checks his watch and says something about someone not coming, so we’ll do it another night. Johnny is thinking, fuck, a wasted night hanging out in a damn biker bar.

Now, for some reason, Joe picked Johnny up from the Ship in Santa Ana, so Joe was actually driving this piece of shit Ford F150 pickup truck. Johnny swears it only had an AM radio. Suddenly Joe loses control somehow and plows, passenger side first, into a fucking tree.

What the fuck? Joe, as usual, isn’t even scratched. But Johnny is picking twigs out of his fucking nose. It’s not really bothering Johnny, not after the beatings Johnny already took from Barclay, but yeah, Johnny had to fix a leg and the nose was broken. So we’ve gotta pry ourselves out of this heap of twisted metal and wood.

Johnny should have known that something was up when there was a tow truck parked just down the street. And that Joe had another car waiting for us. Should have fuckin’ known, but then again, Johnny was just confused as fuck at how Barclay had crashed the car in the first place.

Anyway, before we go, Joe asks Johnny how he feels. Then he says something about “tapping into the same place as last time.” Now Johnny is starting to understand that this wasn’t a fucking accident. “The pain exists outside of you. Stay focused.” Or something like that.

Not only is Johnny understanding that the accident was on purpose but that the lesson probably isn’t over. And that’s starting to make Johnny really nervous.

So we get into another truck. A nice big Tacoma. We get on the 241 freeway and head north back towards home. Joe isn’t talking much, but he’s pointing out shit on the road like trees or something, slipping in comments about focusing outside the pain, shit like that. We’re coming up north and Joe inserts a second key into the dashboard. The passenger airbag light changes to a nice bright red color, like blood. He turned it off.

Oh fuck.

We hit that spot around Rancho Santa Margarita where there’s a bridge over this huge fucking ravine. Yeah. You know what’s about to happen by now, right? Yeah. The goddamn psychopathic Barclay jerks the wheel of the truck and smashes through the guardrail and over the side we go, and suddenly everything is in slow motion just like in the fuckin’ movies.

And it just keeps going. And going. When the fuck is this goddamn thing ever going to hit the ground? And when it does, will there be anything left of Johnny? The damn thing keeps sailing and it’s now nosed over so now we’re upside down.

The whole time, I am desperately trying to focus, I am desperately trying to gather my energies and trying to push even the idea of pain outside my being. Not only will I not feel pain, but I won’t have pain, it just won’t be there.

And then WHAM!!!!! The truck fucking flattened. Johnny was flattened too. For a moment it seemed like Johnny’s head was squashed right down into this fuckin’ crotch. But it didn’t hurt. It was uncomfortable, it wasn’t exactly a screaming orgasm from twins giving Johnny a blowjob, but it didn’t really hurt. At least not pain as Johnny has always understood pain.

Didn’t stop Johnny’s spine from being compacted by about two feet and mangling both arms, not to mention knocking Johnny fucking silly. But once Johnny’s world stopped spinning and sent the Blood where it belonged to stretch that spine back out and to mend those arms, it was again a matter of tearing ourselves out of that mangled heap of metal.

And you know what? Joe was fucking giggling. No, he’d never admit it. But Johnny swears for just a moment or two, he was fucking giggling.

No surprise, but once we finally make the climb up the ravine, there’s a Caltrans truck already bolting a new guardrail in place.

You know what Joe said next? If Johnny was cool or wanted to do it again.

Again? Goddamn psychopath.

Johnny was thirsty. And drinks were on Barclay. That just might be the last time Johnny hangs out with Barclay for a very long time…

Barclay gets scarier

Joe Barclay just gets scarier and scarier.

So Joe wants to know more about this Presence shit. Okay, ‘cause Johnny still needs to learn more the Fortitude shit. But, see, this time, it’s not about how cool you are, about your ability to get the chicks, it’s about your ability to scare the living shit out of your unliving enemies. Some fuckers call it the Dread Gaze.

Basically, it works because us licks now burn with a fire inside. Except it’s more like a monster or a beast, ‘cause if we don’t control it, we’ll do all kinds of heinous shit like eating babies, raping old nuns and voting Republican. So we all try to control it. Except maybe for Sharky. He votes Republican all the time.

So Johnny meets Barclay at a warehouse. Don’t really need anyone outside of us two to see us. Might be a breach of the Maquerade. Now, Johnny is busy explaining to Barclay what is going on, how it works. Barclay just stands there, like he does, listening. Then he asks, “Like this?”

Next thing Johnny knows, Johnny is half a city over. Motherfucker got it right the first fucking time. He bared his fangs, hissed like a hellcat, and his goddamn soul fucking rose up like a beast and damned if Johnny didn’t run like a little bitch.

Dude is just getting creepier and creepier. Don’t want to think how he’s gonna teach Johnny the next step of Fortitude.

Teaching Presence Hurts Too

What in the hell was that all about?

Okay, so in return for teaching Johnny how to be tougher, Johnny had to teach Joe Barclay about how to, you know, make people notice you and make people realize just how cool you are. Except it doesn’t really work that way with Barclay…

Right, so it was off to hit the bars with Barclay. Has there ever been a worse wingman? Other than sad, weepy, emo-nerds that is. Fucker looks like death-warmed over, won’t take off those sunglasses and knit-cap and socially is more like a rabid bull in a fine china shop. Johnny got banned, fucking banned from the Hurricane in H.B. because Barclay decided to pick a fight with the bartender *and* the bouncer. At the same time. All because of a girl or a drink. Or a girl and a drink. Johnny isn’t sure and Barclay wouldn’t say. Damn it.

Johnny even tried to teach Barclay the “Mystery” pick-artist shit in case maybe Barclay’s mind works that way. Told ‘im it was bullshit, which it ain’t, but if you ain’t got the hoodoo voodoo in your cock like Johnny does, it does work.

So anyway, the first night we head to Sharkeez. Hot hangout for college kids and those just out of college, working their first jobs. Great place to meet young impressionable chicks that are easily manipulated out of their panties with a few drinks and some flash of big cash. Dude, Barclay struck out harder than Casey at the bat. So Johnny shows him how it’s done. Cute little blonde with graduation present tits that she could rest her own chin on. A few giggles from her, some Bacardi mojitos for her, next thing you know, Johnny is banging her in the bathroom while some fuckwad frat boy is banging on the door. Might have been her boyfriend or something, maybe. Gave her the Kiss at the right moment and wow, she nearly killed herself, went stiff as Johnny’s cock then totally, totally limp. Very nearly cracked her skull open on the toilet.

Anyway, broke the boyfriend’s nose and convinced the bouncer it was all good in the hood and so the dude was kicked out, Johnny stayed. You’d think with that kind of big-boobed motivation Barclay might come out of his shell a bit. Nah. Kept spooking the coeds, so Johnny figured it was time to bail out before Johnny’s rep took too big a hit, you know?

Next night was the Yardhouse. Older crowd, drinking microbrews and cocktails ‘cause unlike the Sharkeez crowd, they actually have their own money from their real jobs. Set Barclay up good a few times. And nothing. He just didn’t get it. He was so stuck in his furry Gangrel mind he just didn’t get the idea of being The Man. Of just being able to attract someone with a confident aura, no cheap Mystery tricks like I.O.I.s or kenos or sets or anything, just pure raw sexuality. Or charisma. Or power.

It took a few more nights. A few more bar fights. Yeah, like the one that got us both banned from Hurricane’s. For at least the next year, that’s one bar Johnny isn’t allowed to go into, all because Barclay got into a fight and Johnny stepped into it. Well, actually, Johnny is pretty sure he could, you know, sweet talk his way into the joint, but there’s plenty of other places to go. It’s just aggravating, you know?

Finally at The Ship in Santa Ana he finally got it, just when Johnny was about to give up for a week or three. He went up to some cougar at the bar, some chick from England with enough money to buy off her wrinkles and starts talking to her. And somehow Barclay just seemed to exude raw animal sexuality, which makes sense given his clan. And she went from just tolerating this weird dude that looked like a mountain man survivalist strung out on heroin to taking him to the back parking lot and her SUV. Barclay said it was an SUV anyway when he came back. She looked tore up. The bartender asked if she was okay and she just smiled. You know that smile, the one you give when you just got your brains fucked out? Yeah, that one. The bartender just gave Barclay a look and shrugged.

So yeah, when Barclay sat back down at the table, he slid a pink Victoria’s Secret thong across the table. Number one, it was fuckin’ soaked. Number two, it had the chick’s phone number on it. He asked if he passed. Johnny just smiled and said “Oh yeah!”