Rome 2008: Second death of an angel

The first thing he really visualized of Rome had been the warm orange shimmer of the joints tip he enlightened with his Zippo. He took a deep breath, smelling the stinging scent of petrol and the smooth grassy aroma of menthol tobacco mixed with perfect Ganja. He inhaled again, allowing the smoke to stay within his lungs longer than ever possible. For some moments he closed his eyes, only indulging in the soft tickle of the marihuana's velvety tentacles.
Fuck, it was great! And he needed it urgently. Needed to be boozed, dazed, totally stoned. Needed some damn sensual shivers aroused by visionary pictures blurring his uselessly spinning thoughts. Mirages. Hallucinations. Snapshots of a glorious long gone past mingled with the modern aura of this breathtaking city.
Rome! Founded 753 before Christ by twins who had been nursed up on wolves milk: Romulus and Remus. It had been a nearly biblical story. Romulus killed his brother und built his city on seven hills. This murder became pregnant and fatal for an entire empire. The brother kills the brother, the murderer of his father who raped his daughter and slaughtered his son...
Rom: malicious tongues tell these letters to be the shortcut for Rabies, Odium and Metus, rage, hatred and fear, and by listening carefully to the whisper of the old ghosts gliding through the beautiful gardens of Esquilin, sensitive minds slowly will get to know that Rome's history turned out to an endless declaration of death and nearly none of their leaders had ever died natural.
Not even the catholic church had been able to extinguish the evil worm still gnawing on Rome's roots. It had been Remus' innocent blood that had cursed the eternal city for ever.
Rome! A star that shone more than brightly with the bloodstained twinkle of rotten decadence. Once the capital of the world, the pearl and the heart of the Roman Empire. SPQR. Sentus Popolusque Romanus: in the name of the senate and the people of Rome. Ascarion inhaled again.
Gosh! This lousy little dealer hadn't promised him too much: with the intense of a silken hammer the "door" opened and Ascarion allowed his senses to enter a kind of daydream.
His lids flutter as he watched the rays of the sun glisten on the fine marbles of some imposing temple-ruins. Standing on top of the Capitol Hill he looked down the ancient stones caressed by a tint of apricot and lilac. The shadows grew longer as the broken columns seemed to stretch like single fingers to the darkening sky. The moon was out already and like captured within a kind of transcendental experience the Irish could see himself watching this lovely natural drama. Sol invictus turned his golden carriage to leave the endless airwaves to gentle Goddess Luna. And Luna entered the stage: a solemn lady crowned by the crescent, generously wrapped in ink-blue silk adorned with thousands of twinkling mirrors; the stars broke through the mist. It could be a marvellous night... It could be. Maybe...
Ascarion stood motionless except the small gesture he needed to move his right holding the joint back to his lips. Yes, he saw himself now: a slender young man all dressed in tight white velvet except his high black boots and a broad belt of the same colour, his uncombed long hair framing his beautifully vacuous face, flowing down his back and shoulders like woozily clouds of swirling arterial blood. His silver earrings shimmered like his indigo eyes. His bare arms were covered with pictures carved in his flesh. He looked dignified: like a strange saint, an uneasy warrior, a pretty special kind of angel. The expected angel! (Ha! Don't expect too much! I'm about to log out.) He was tired, horribly tired. A sarcastic smile curled his lips.
Rome, he sighed, Rome, sweet Rome! His eyes were here, fixed to a couple of carved and painted stones formally the glorious temple of Jove bathed now in glimmering violet and the haze of too much exhaust emissions. A soft cool breeze awakened and the colours started to wash out. He shivered and put on his long black coat made from brocade. Now he looked perfectly medieval. Perfectly gothic. His mind was open to the impressions of fugaciousness: the fading light, the broken stones, the melting shadows. The breath from the past. Vanitas. Tempus fugit. We are all made from dust and to dust shall we return. Carpe diem! It could be your last one.
He sighed again. Vanitas, momentariness. Vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas. He liked the evening as well as he liked the morning. The death of a day and his re-birth. He never feared the sun though he lived within the shadows for nearly one thousand years. Fuck! The drugs didn't work... They never do. He felt his body captivating his mind again. Earthbound, yes. His body was here. His soul still wept. His heart remained in Malta. He was so confused.
All he wanted was to talk to Louis again. But Louis was gone, had been together with his sire, his maker, his former lover who appeared on the scene like the desired rock-star he used to be: Lestat de Lioncourt. Blush in admiration! Bow to him in devotion! Praise him like God! Fuck! What a lad! He liked him from the first moment on.
Ascarion always loved decadence and exorbitance. He always used to act and behave this way; not this noisy and swanky maybe, but nevertheless exalted and eccentric as well. Life is short... (What a farce!) Life is short enough and it should be lived to the full! Fuck vanitas!
Therefore they sent him to Rome, a city where decadence filled the air like a precious fragrance.
You have to meet Flavius, Pandora ordered. She had been nervous but restrained, her beautiful face vacuous like his own now. No feelings shown. The fingers of her right hand entangled to Johnny's fingers so they both trembled a little. Ascarion noticed this all too well. He had been looking at his soul's brother, but John Wilmot arrogantly looked away. What kind of loyalty is this? Pierce ones heart not to hurt another? He had been snarling a "Yes!" and left the room. He hadn't touched Johnny's mind.
Things had changed since this night in the tavern. The coldness of Russian winter had followed him to Malta. Things got worse. Passion went sour, pleasure turned to bitterness.
Maybe he had been too vulnerable, like he always had been. Too sensitive, too emotional. Maybe he had started to miss-interpret each and everything. Maybe it hadn't been arrogance that turned the face of the cherub to perfectly carved marble; maybe it had been just a kind of contemplation, a kind of inner preparation. Maybe it had been the perfect time for Ascarion to leave. Aye... High time to catch fresh air. High time to get entertained by new impressions. One lover gone, three still in line. Fuck! He felt like Don Quichotte now: he hopelessly fought the windmills of his mind.
Find Flavius. Help Autumn and Amy. Meet Santino and Thelia. Face the evil. Fight the evil. He flipped the joint into darkness: a disappearing orange point he followed with his eyes. Fight the evil...
What is evil? What is good, what is bad? What is loyalty, what is love? What is the difference? What did these ethics all count when they slowly but surely break and devour ones heart?
For a last time he looked at himself. Yes, he appeared like a warrior. Like the clan-lord's son he once had been. And he exactly felt like one. Knight of the woeful countenance. His Rosinante awaiting him outside the fenced area of the Capitol ruins: a rented Honda Shadow to get him everywhere he wanted to.
Flavius, he called mentally. Flavius, where are you? Come and get me! I don't know where to find you and I will surely not look around. My intuitions got dazed by sweet Mary Jane and I'm in the mood to get lost tonight. So again: come and get me! Maybe the others could hear him now, too.
Evil, he smirked. What is evil? I'm here for new impressions. I'm here in the capital of former lust and decadence. I'm damn sure I will look for typical Roman enchantment tonight. I'm damn sure to misbehave.
 
If you look for an (real) angel, catch him within the silent halls of the Vatican museum. Attract him down from Michelangelo's fresco at the Cappella Sistina. I am not here. Maybe I will never be here again... I do not care for good and evil. I spit on loyalty. I spit on love. I'm lying to myself. I belie myself... I never had wings, but now they are broken. My soul weeps. My heart has remained in Malta. Only my body is here. But I'm still me.
So, fuck you all: come and get me!






Fontana di Trevi!
There were too many tourists around to grasp the entire enchantment of this breathtaking monument, but with the slow spinning of the multi-coloured spotlights and the wavy reflections of the water on buildings, statues and human skin the magic of this famous place didn't fail its effect at all. Even the noise, the rush of the falling water was heavy: a perfect oceanic illusion, breaking in confusing echoes on the surrounding fa�ades like a force of nature. He had heard this swoosh long before he had seen the fountain.
Ascarion narrowed his eyes and smiled, leaning over the basins edge to dive his right hand into the water. It was cool, and for some moments countless voices touched his mind: all full of excitement, desire and hope: "O please, please..." They mingled, but all in all they did sound quite similar.
He looked up the solemn face of Oceanus, the powerful God and emperor of all seas, stretching his mighty right to a group of tritons and sea-horses, forever solidified in this gesture of silent pride and demand. Look, he seemed to say, this is my realm, my element, my absolute magic, my power over life and death. The sea is beautiful, but she could be a wet grave, too. So: Praise me! Look down... And Ascarion looked down. Bathed in changing colours he could see a lot of coins reflecting and shimmering from the ground of the pool. Each coin a wish, spoken in hundreds of different tongues. His smile brightened as he watched some people celebrate this old tradition right before his eyes: whenever you come to Rome, visit Trevi and make a wish. But don't be too stingy, even Fortuna got her price... Ascarion slowly shook his head. They turned their backs to the fountain, they closed their eyes, they threw a coin. Gosh! Humans! They are so hopelessly romantic! Still smirking he watched a loving couple kissing, their faces now tinted in orange and yellow, their limbs entangled like their tongues, their thoughts wet and full of longing: a perfect demonstration that some wishes mostly always come true. Ascarion sighed and politely looked back to the basin.
The spotlight-colours changed again and suddenly the water and the entire pool went red as blood. The Irish shivered. From one split second to the other his sentimentality turned to pure horror. Dies Irae... The night in the tavern! He could smell the disgusting miasma of burnt flesh again, the fragrance of death and nearly senseless destruction. His lover Louis, who wept in his arms and Johnny, his soul-mate, who too deeply looked into his eyes. "Brother...", he whispered, not caring that some of the tourists would be able to hear him. "Brother..." My heart remained in Malta! My soul screams in despair. I'm broken to the core.
He swallowed hard. He turned his back to the fountain. The noise of the water was suddenly unbearable. The colours changed again. Now the world surrounding him went lilac. He didn't care. Make a wish, he thought with a sarcastic grin, throw a coin into the pool and make a wish! For every wish... could come true...
Sure! It could...
He turned his head again. You want me to make a wish, he silently asked motionless Oceanus, unimpressively watching him with polished empty eyes. Wishes I surely got enough, Ascarion thought, his face and his entire countenance now beautifully bathed in wavy china-blue, a lot of wishes... But, so sorry, no change!

WELL, 2 HOURS LATER I HAPPENED TO BE DEAD... AGAIN





THE ASSASSINATION
Written by Celeste Valoise
Sole and legal copy of Celeste Valoise (Paod)
https://www.myspace.com/pandorasangelsofdarkness

The profound whisper of solitude finds me tonight, ensnaring me in a web of dark silk, my thoughts veer towards the gentle entwining of the past, it entangles me like the echo of long-spent passion filled nights with Santiago. Though it is not what I would call peaceful, there is an ease in it that I appreciate, a familiarity, it brings about the quiet malice, the absolute contempt that I always welcome and embrace in the cool rushes of the night.

I sighed, flagrantly brushing off any feelings of guilt and regret, for it was very rarely the I had any. I walked along the cobblestone road quietly. The water from the Fountain di Trevi lapped and lulled against the stone, not far from me. As I moved closer and closer, the crescendo of gushing waters seemed to reach my immortal ears, even without registering its presence. My thoughts however were not on the water, they were on the ones who lingered by, two immortals like me and a young mortal boy stood at the architectural wonder. All around, were nearby tourists in awe of the triumphant example of Baroque art. As it was twilight, it was incredibly easy for me to blend in with the conclaves of mortals. I did wonder if one of these three would even sense my presence or were they far too engrossed in conversation to know that another immortal was nearby? To be safe, I veiled my presence, careful not to relinquish too many of my own thoughts.
Like a cat in pursuit of its prey, I let the three figures have their space, their feelings of being free to go where they willed. Little did they know or realize, I was there lurking in the crux of mortals, discretely hidden in the shadows, waiting, watching. Tonight, they were my game, my hunger, the thirst for blood was not on the agenda. No instead, I silently stalked, listened and watched...I heard the incessant clamour of their chattering, oh how it drove me to the brinks of sanity; petty disagreements, convoluted theories about life, love and immortality from the red haired one...how very drole they were, so amusing to say the least.. "Mon Dieu" I whispered, when will it all end?

I had fully intended to be clubbing this night, picking my game from the faces that shift and swirl to the music, but instead my loyalty to the coven had taken me down another path, it led me right into their midst's. Suddenly, I watched as the tall streamlined crimson -haired immortal audaciously doused himself with the effervescent waters of the fountain, the youth next to him dipped his hands in and out as well. For a moment, I thought I had been spotted. I saw the flash of the tall one's unwavering indigo eyes dart towards me, his mind almost seemed to catch up with his glance: I read his thoughts;" Another immortal, no it can't be" Amused and quiet delighted that he shrugged my presence off, I stood reading his thoughts, glimpses of emerald absinthe dreams entwined with highly sexually charged interludes all flooded his mind, then flowed into mine.
He abruptly moved away from the fountain and the mortal youth, his mind seemed to fluctuate from hedonistic revelry to a preplanned mission- a task he was sent to complete. I saw the vision of an ancient Goddess in his mind, Pandora, she had sent him, sent him to journey deep into the catacombs, to penetrate the coven. This could not be, I could not let it happen.
Immediately, I closed my eyes, shut out all sounds and the dulcet roar of the voices of the undead, I concentrated solely on this one known as Ascarion; I watched him intently as I stood motionless so close by, a play of words and images wound back and forth, plaguing his mind, as I decided that I would lure him away from his mission. His eyes grew vacant and I could sense that my mind trick was working, but the youth-- he seemed uneasy, was it possible that this mortal sensed me? How? Nevertheless, I continued to play my mind game with the crimson haired one...

Careful not to be seen or heard, I followed, watched, and listened, with each image I revealed and each word I whispered, Ascarion became more entranced, his lust for hedonistic debauchery, his unquenchable thirst for absinthe took over completely. With each image I sent, his interest rose more and more, heightening all his senses. I watched the slow meticulous gestures he made, the way his face reflected just so in the moonlight, a jewel to behold he was, beautiful and sensual, but this did not impede me and my plans. My mind entwined with his, the stage was now set, soon the curtain would rise and Act One would commence!
I grinned a devilish grin, subtly revealing just a glimpse of pearly white fangs as I strode silently behind them. The boy, yes he was indeed alarmed, I sensed his thoughts as they flowed to the handsome Grecian, whose blood scent was particularly familiar. I sensed the Eternal Scholar, no I was mistaken it was not the Roman fop, it was Pandora, his blood reeked of her. To my astonishment, not a one of them could see me follow so closely behind. Crafty, I always had been guising myself among shadows and hidden alleyways, sometimes even blending in with several mortals if I so choose. How I just watched, as they all strode towards a local tavern, completely unaware of my presence. I watched as the raven haired youth and his Grecian companion disappeared into the smoky halos of the tavern.
The strong aroma of rich wines entwined with mortal sweat and nicotine, it made the red haired one stop dead in his tracks, but immediately I forced his mind to consume images of buxom Italian courtesans, of sinuous male youths, their writhing, glistening naked forms pleasing him in every way imaginable, flesh for fantasy, each one devouring his mind, his heart, his body, even his very soul in a wave of sin and scorching hot desire.
Determined as I was for him to move onward, I whispered his name, allowing it to echo in his mind over and over, making it seem as it was more than one voice summoning him: "Ascarion, venu, nous veuillez �tre ici, � votre bac de teinture et appel, � vous, pour vous satisfaire mon amour"
As luck was on my side, he moved gracefully forward, his long strides quickening as I followed swiftly behind till he stopped egregiously at a local house of ill repute; it looked as any other building did on the street, the only difference was the numerous amount of vagabond women that strummed about, some rather pretty while others were just very plain and ordinary looking--Whores, the lot of them, waiting for a client to stream by and offer them a bundle of cash for their services.
I watched Ascarion's indigo eyes widen as he entered the brothel, all his attentions drew to the horde of scantily clad boys, well fed, nubile, smooth and rounded of limb they all were, it was incredibly easy for me to whisk past him unnoticed; in a gust of wind, I scampered up the spiral staircase completely unseen and unheard- an immortal trick I have grown quite accustom to using. I stopped at the foyer at the top of the staircase, leaning against a wall, I took a moment to take in all my surroundings. The brothel reeked, incense made the air heavy, still the more rancid odors lingered under the veil of sandalwood, mortal sweat entwined with stale alcohol and cigar smoke, "Ahh Mon Dieu! What are you doing here Celeste?" I whispered to myself. I moved over to the cherry banister of the staircase and peered over the edge. I observed Ascarion, more than delighted in his new surroundings.
I watched as the boys seemed to lavish affection upon him, groping him, whispering sweet nothings in his ears, they were so eager to appease him. Two specific youths rushed towards him, beckoning for him to choose. He subsequently chose the taller, muscular youth with the pale skin, jet black eyes and chocolate hair. I looked about some more and watched as lascivious, buxom women strode about as well.

The parlor was indeed quite dreary and incredibly filthy. The once white walls had been tarnished with soot from cigar and cigarette smoke, tattered red velvet drapes adorned the windows, the lights were kept soothingly low. I looked below and watched as a parade of half naked women, some wearing nothing but thigh highs and bustiers, while others adorned resplendent costumes of satin and lace. Some even wore just panties and nothing more.
There seemed to be an onslaught of Nigerian women as well as some their paler Eastern European counterparts. I looked around wondering what made these women and young men turn to such a distasteful way of life. I stood motionless for a moment wandering in and out of each one's mind, stories of poverty, absolute suffering and strife. A young blonde male moved towards me, he was rail thin, his grayish-green eyes stained red from lack of sleep and intoxication, I watched as his eyes began to shift in my direction, they shifted and then hovered over my form, he melodically hummed to the music resonating from the parlor, he tightly clenched a bottle of red wine in his right hand and took a swig from it every now and again. He moved closer to me, staring and then smiled, "Care for a sip, love, come let us have some fun" I refused and meandered away, still ever so intent on watching Ascarion and the mortal youth. From the Mistress that spoke vociferously below, I ascertained which chamber Ascarion and his new pet world be retiring to, quick like a fox, I trotted to the room and hid myself in a nearby wardrobe.
I sat quietly, curled up and waited for my moment; I heard them enter and I could peer through the slit of the wardrobe to see exactly what they were doing. I watched as the mortal boy removed all his clothing, he was indeed a magnificent specimen of a young man, his sinuous, glistening features even began to entice me. I watched as he moved towards a coffee table, he knelt down and began to snort a long line of a powdery substance - cocaine, heroine, I do not know which nor did I care, Ascarion subsequently joined him and did the same. Line after line they did followed by quenching their thirst for absinthe. I watched as Ascarion became ever more comfortable with the boy, teasingly, he removed his attire and then they began to fondle one another, I heard the sounds of kissing, moaning and suckling, and finally I heard Ascarion collapse on the immense four poster bed, the flamboyant young man giggled in delight and mounted Ascarion, consequently cuffing him to the bed; the boy teased Ascarion with a feather and then said " Oh but my angel, I do have some more mischievous toys we can play with, be right back" and he moved towards the bathroom. I giggled, slightly amused as this seemed to be just way too easy.
Completely inebriated on absinthe and stoned on whatever drug they chose, the immortal did not notice how I crept silently from the wardrobe, the youth came out with his cat o nine tails and I quickly ensnared him, he screamed in horror as I revealed my white pearly fangs; Ascarion shot up from the bed and his icy indigo eyes glared at me. I laughed, "Mon Dieu mon cher,, watch as I take his very life, this is what happens to little pets, they are bled dry!" I bent the youth's head back and watched as Ascarion struggled with his cuffs; my fangs quickly pierced his flesh and I swallowed his very life in one precious gulp, I tossed the body aside and moved swiftly towards Ascarion. I pulled a machete from the folds of my gown and I mounted Ascarion, pushing him down with vigorous force and slamming his head against the headboard of the bed in a loud thump. He seemed to check in and out as he looked at me, I smiled malevolently and sprung into action, I took the blade and quickly sliced his right cheek, I watched as the blood gushed forth. I leaned forward and sliced his throat, the blood seethed forth staining the ivory bed linens, I then took the blade and plunged into his abdomen, twisting it clockwise and then counter clockwise, I was pleasantly aroused by my actions, to kill another like this, I never thought it would bring me such joy, to have power over this immortal was intoxicating in itself. I pulled the bloody blade out and then sliced his abdomen over and over, till I revealed his entrails. He writhed in agony, screaming and moaning for me to release him from his pain. I forced his mouth open and sliced off his tongue and tossed to the floor as it were nothing but a wriggling worm. I laughed and watched as scarlet tears streamed down his face, he gasped for air, I could see his last remaining thoughts, visions of Louis, of the dark haired Lord Rochester, of Malta. "Ahh mon ange, cry, spill your last remaining tears for the emerald eyed one who left you for his maker and for the one that was never yours to begin with, Lord Rochester, mon ami has and will always belong with his Goddess, tu ne comprends pas? He was never yours!

A devilish grin came over me and I pushed his hair back from his blood soaked face," Ohhhh ma petite chou, it now ends, I will end your suffering, look at me for I am the last you will see, "Est-ce que mon nom, je suis connu car Celeste Valois, la beaut� malveillante, et oui mon ange je suis une femme, pour penser une femme qu'une seule femme a vu � votre cession, il sais vous blesse pour savoir ceci ? J'esp�re certainement ainsi!" (Know my name, I am known as Celeste Valois, the malicious beauty, and yes my angel I am a woman, to think a woman- a mere woman saw to your demise, does it hurt you to know this? I certainly hope so!)
Suddenly I thrust my hand into his abdomen and pulled out his wriggling organs, blood poured forth in a slow undulation and covered the coverlet on the bed; "Scarlet dreams Ascarion" I whispered. I ripped the organs out and shoved them into his bloody, gaping mouth, with one last gesture I raised the machete and slammed it straight down splitting his chest cavity in half.
Covered in his blood, I rose from the bed, I went to the bathroom and meticulously washed myself off, I adorned some extra, clean clothing that was in the wardrobe and peacefully sat down in the armchair and lit a cigarette. I took a quick inhale and blew the smoke out in a grey streak across the room, I laughed and tossed it on the bed, I picked up the youths bottle of absinthe and doused the bed with it, I walked toward the door and finally flung an open match over the cadaver and blood stained sheets. Flames began to devour the room and the red haired immortal, the false prophet known as Ascarion was no more.... Au Revoir ma petite mouton noire! (Goodbye my little black sheep!) I exclaimed as I walked calmly out the door, closing it gently behind me.

"Angel..." Death, the woman, Sleep's older sister, stepped even closer, slowly touching Ascarion's forehead. His eyes moved, his eyes pierced her heart, and her eyes, wet with tears, looked at his hands, still chained to the bed. Suddenly she started to smile. "I know you for so long and I fought with you for so often, and now... at the moment were I could take you without any protest from your side I feel mercy. I feel love. How can a man this lustful and debauched cause me tears of shame, cause me tears of regret, cause me sighs of desire? How can a man this sinful be so holy? What's your enchantment, angel, what's your magic?"