Wrong Place, Wrong Time

White Rock Lake

A reservoir, White Rock Lake covers 1,254 acres and was once used for a portion of Dallas' drinking water supply. Now that it's use as a water source has been supplanted, the area has become one of the favored recreational locations in the city. The forested shoreline is dotted with numerous small cabins, fishing piers, and sailboat docks.

The lake is surrounded by White Rock Lake Park, which is home to the Dallas Arboretum and Botanical Garden. Running through the park is a 9 mile trail designed for hiking, running or cycling.

Though swimming was banned here back in the '50's, it is still a popular location for area teens who generally enjoy the more deserted areas, using the beautiful backdrop as a make-out spot.

PLEASE NOTE: This scene over-laps "Discourse At the Lake."

Some distance away from the group of Bethany, Desiree, and Marius, two young Texan college students have parked their Range Rover SUV. Outside the vehicle, they smoke innumerable cigarettes to try to calm their nerves. And what is it they are terribly uneasy about? The arrival of a bloodsucking corpse, for one. Darcy appears next to the pair, giving them a horrible fright, standing motionless as if he had been waiting for them. "Do you have the money?" the vampire asks the fatter of the two. "Um, yeah, here you go!" the man replies, handing over a rolled up wad of hundred dollar bills. Two small vials are exchanged between them. What the hell is going on out here in the boonies?


Desiree listens, her brow knitted in thought. Finally, she nods, once, saying, "I'll take it under advisement, certainly." Her voice is cool and even, almost emotionless. "Thank you for the … lesson." If there is anger and there probably is she's keeping a tight control over it. No sense in waving a larger red flag than she already has. "If you'll excuse me?"

It's not exactly a retreat. Desiree's anger-fed bravado prevents it from being that. Instead, she rises in one fluid movement. She turns first to Marius, bowing her head respectfully, then looks to Bethany. "Doctor." One simple word, conveying a multitude of underlying meanings. "Thank you for your … opinions." Cool, those words, and she gathers up her shoes, moving past the pair in silence.


The angry woman Desiree really is nothing, a trifle. She is no patient. She is of no importance. Thus her parting anger and irritation roiled within her voice are highly ignored.

With the small shell still held gently in her hand, Bethany rises to her feet. Though her movement is perhaps a little less fluid than that of the dancer, it is no less graceful. Perfect poise and gentleness are her means of movement.

Once upon her feet her head bows to Marius. "So you are. If you will kindly escort me to the street…" He can choose whether to leave her there to walk home alone, or to follow her and feed. His choice.


Take it under advisement.

Willful. Presumptuous.

Marius reaches for his bag of olives before gaining his feet and offers a gesture of dismissal at Desiree's 'If you'll excuse me' statement. He will.

It is to Bethany, then, that Marius turns. "I will bring you home safely." As is his duty under the claim. To keep her safe. Turning, then, to begin the walk back, he cants his voice lower as they put distance between themselves and the area now departed, "I need to speak to you at greater length regarding particulars of.. my kind…"


With the Texas State students roaring away in their automobile, and the other vampire gone, Darcy is left alone. Well, not quite alone. He detects Desiree in the distance, and with ease quickly moves down toward the lake. Out of the darkness, at first a voice. "Nice night for a moonlit stroll?" The words are spoken with a British accent: an old, refined articulation of words from some distant time beyond mortal memory. Darcy is then in front of her, a few meters away, with a breezy smile on his otherwise hard features. "Are you not afraid of what might go bump in the night?"


After departing the cozy twosome, Desiree walked quietly down the shoreline, back the way she'd come. Outside, she appears calm, but inside?— oh, that's another story. She's seething with mingled anger, guilt, confusion, all manner of distracting thoughts on what was discussed. There she is again, not paying attention to her surroundings.

It's the sound of the disembodied voice that brings her up short. "Excuse me…?" Desiree looks around, wariness taking sudden hold of her. And when a man abruptly appears in front of her, Desiree can't stop the soft squeak of surprise. "I'm sorry … what? You startled me."

Her heartbeat increases, her pulse rapid. Her hand slips into the pocket of her jeans, fingers wrapping securely around the can of mace. "I'm afraid I'm just leaving…" And she looks toward the parking lot. Her car is a fair distance, but adrenaline can lend wings to a person's feet.


"Quite a pity. We have not yet been properly introduced, I am afraid. I expect you shan't wish to seem rude, shan't you?" Darcy answers in his easy tone. His words float on the night air like lingering wisps of smoke. The man is very well attired, in a bespoken suit fashionably cut to his measurements, and remains immobile; in fact, he has not made a single threatening gesture. "Do you not care to linger? I am sure we might find some topic to interest ourselves with; of course, I am quite parched, and should certainly like a drink. Are you in the mood for a cocktail?"


That the man standing near her is a vampire is not in question. No human can remain that immobile, that still. The pallor of his skin is also a dead giveaway, no pun intended. Desiree takes a step backward, resting her weight on the heel of her left foot. "No, I don't mean to sound rude, but I really /should/ be heading home." She manages a reasonable facsimile of a polite smile, nodding and backing up another step or two. "Thanks for the invitation, but I must decline." A pause. "Thanks anyway…"

Desiree makes a half-turn toward the parking area, hand still in her pocket. Her fingers curl even tighter around the can of mace in her pocket. She's cursing herself for leaving her cell phone in the car, along with her purse. Now /that/ would be a weapon! Desiree, like most women, lives out of her purse, and the weight alone would knock an elephant off its feet.

She knows he's still there, and her heart beats a little faster. Desiree forces herself to remain calm; no sense in arousing the prey instinct in a predator. Hopefully, he'll just let her go, and search for a more willing companion.


Unfortunately for Desiree, Darcy has other intentions than allowing the young girl to safely meander off home. He remains immobile, perhaps too rigid, as she speaks to him; and does not flinch a muscle until she has turned around to walk away. Several short seconds later, the vampire is once again only a few meters before the woman. He looks un-offended; in fact, the man has expanded the easy, carefree smile across his handsome porcelain features. "Such a lovely specimen, I do say. Why is it that such an exquisite morsel such as yourself has been abandoned in this woody knoll. "My, my, has your mother not taught you to associate with better company?"


Being familiar with the speed of vampires, Desiree isn't particularly startled by the man's sudden appearance. She stops, weighing options. Her expression remains calm, but her eyes watch the strange vampire intently. "I'm sorry, but I really need to be going now," she repeats, her voice reasonably controlled. Although she cannot attain the utter, complete stillness of a vampire, she can mimic the calmness. "I'm meeting a friend, and I don't want to be late."

His comment on her associations makes her lips twitch. "I'm sure she did, but I probably ignored her." A step to the left, angling across the grassy rise, now, taking a less direct route toward her car. The keys are in the same pocket as the mace. Hopefully, the spray will buy her enough time to get in the vehicle and away. If not— ? That doesn't bear thinking of at the moment.


How quick is Desiree? Probably not nearly fast enough to respond to the walking, bloodsucking corpse bent on a midnight meal. Darcy is beside her in an instant, and forcibly grabs hold of the woman's neck with his left hand. Snapping her neck so that she faces him, Darcy's brown eyes peer directly into hers. "Such a pretty girl, but no manners," the vampire snidely comments. "I am sure we might quickly become better acquainted, no?" His voice is soothing, warm, and seductive on the crisp air. Pulling Desiree into his magnetism, Darcy starts to employ his glamours personality. "You would not refuse a bit of excitement, my dear. Life is far too short." Within an instant, Darcy looms forward to latch his extended fangs deep within Desiree's exposed neck. The rush of the experience is accentuated by its suddenness.


Sadly, as fast as Desiree might be, she is no match for a vampire. Caught as she is, there's no time to run, no avenue of escape. There is a moment of dismayed surprise, and she utters a soft cry of fear. Then the glamour catches her. She has no defense against this vampiric power, and easily succumbs to the stranger's touch. There's no fighting, no struggle— not even when his fangs sink deeply into her flesh. Desiree gives herself over to the sensation, finding some pleasure where there should be pain and fear. Not even the hands grasping her arms or the roughness of the quick embrace seem to bother her, not while she's under his spell.

It is possible Darcy might notice other marks on her neck, where another vampire has fed on her in the past. It's likely, however, the pale scars are missed in the fervor of his feeding. As for Desiree?— all she manages are soft whimpers as her body relaxes under the influence of the glamour.


Darcy misses nothing; his keen eye for detail has served him quite well over the centuries. The thought that he has found some other vampire's chattel, or even a desperate fangbanger, considerably lowers his impression of Desiree - but how high could it have been to begin with? The vampire roughly forces her on the ground, all the while keeping his fangs firmly planted in her neck as he laps up the blood from her veins. He feeds greedily, enjoying the hot warmth as it strikes his mouth and flows through his body. Who needed microwaved TrueBlood when you could dine alfresco? As blood trickles from his lips down his chin, and a thin line spreads from the puncture wounds in Desiree's neck, Darcy feels the thrill and rush of excitement that comes with a renewal of energy and vitality!


Flooded with sensations, there's no resistance from Desiree as she's lowered to the ground. Her body lies supine, relaxed as a feeling of lethargy over-comes her. Certainly part of her brain realizes what's happening, but that little "angel" on her shoulder screaming in protest is smothered by the force controlling her mind. She has no idea of the true danger she faces. The part of her conscious which governs such things is slowly going to sleep, lulled into slumber by the preternatural ability of the vampire.

Desiree has no indication of Darcy's lessened opinion of her. Nor does she apparently care. The earth is still warm from the sun, and the grass is soft beneath her. As much as Darcy feels renewed, Desiree feels like she's lying in the center of her grandmother's feather bed. Soft, warm, comfortable.


The vampire continues to suckle on his prey; his feeding tonight is the mark of a glutton. No soft, comforting, or reassuring gesture on his part is used to calm the supine and helpless woman lying on the grass below him. Quite the opposite: Darcy feeds ravenously, every part the animal the American Vampire League campaigns against as superstition, fear and hysteria. With each minute, Darcy can feel himself growing with strength and power as he consumes Desiree's life's blood. Grabbing hold of her luscious ebony hair with his right hand, he strongly tugs on it to help him get better and deeper access to the vein. Completely enthralled with the act and its sheer, ruthless violence, Darcy runs his hand down her body with his left hand and savagely scratches her skin, shredding her clothing and tearing her delicate skin in an act of animalistic arousal.


Despite the pleasant lethargy enveloping her, the sudden shock of pain stirs something in Desiree's befuddled mind. Her eyes fly open, and realization dawns, sending a rush of adrenaline through her body. She rouses her wits, and finds she's beneath the strange man who accosted her only moments before. Ribbons of pain lace down her torso in the wake of the scratches. Breath comes rapidly as she gasps. It feels as if her hair is being ripped from her scalp, and the fangs in her throat are razor sharp. It's impossible to scream, the weight of her attacker preventing her from gathering enough breath.

Yet, Desiree will not go gently into that good night. She's a fighter, and begins to resist this assault. She has no weapons, and with her clothing shredded, cannot find the can of mace. Her hand makes a desperate, blind search of the area immediately surrounding them, without immediate success.

Desiree arches her back and tries to use the muscles of her dancer's legs to remove her attacker. She's no where near as strong as Darcy, but she's no weakling, and she won't give up until she's breathed her last. Self-preservation is a powerful incentive, especially when you're fighting for your life.

Finally, Desiree's fingers close around the familiar shape of her keys. In a desperate move, she remembers how her father once showed her how to use car keys as a means of defense. Grasping the longest, sharpest key and drives it hard into the man's neck. It may or may not penetrate, but it will get his attention. Of course, that may not be a good thing…


The thrill of the feeding only intensifies as Desiree awakens from the stupor caused by his glamour. Darcy relishes the struggle, enjoying the taste of adrenaline, fear and desperation as it touches his cold lips. He drinks even deeper, savoring each gulp of blood as Desiree's futile struggle remains incapable of disengaging him from his prey. At the rate in which he is feeding, the vampire appears to not wish to stop whatsoever; and it could seem that the hours left in Desiree's young life are down to mere seconds. Her blood, hot and tasty, fuels his body. As to her writhing, voluptuous body? One hand puts a stop to its wriggling, as he moves it to firmly hold her on the ground. The gesture appears effortless, as if Darcy was waving away a pesky fly or other annoying gnat; but its effect seems like the weight of an industrial machine. His power is extraordinary; nothing, it would seem, can stop him at this very moment from ending Desiree's burgeoning life.

The keys were unexpected: an act of cleverness, the vampire did not anticipate them. He falls back, recoiling in pain as the key sinks into his neck and spews his dark blood forth. At this moment, if only for a split second, Desiree is released from the clutch of his power. Kneeling backwards, Darcy reaches upward and forcibly pulls the keys out of his neck to toss them aside. The blood will flow for a few moments before the wound quickly heals itself; the attack, in an effort to harm the vampire, will be imperceptible and futile. For the moment, however, it has slowed and delayed him; and, more importantly, has offered Desiree the opportunity for escape.


When you're facing death, even seconds are precious. Once she feels his hand lift from holding her down, Desiree rolls away, heedless of anything else, she uses momentum to carry her down the small knoll, and to roll to her feet. Bleeding from the neck wounds and deep scratches, she stumbles, rights herself and runs. Every muscle in her body protests, but she cannot spare time to nurse her wounds. She knows it will only be a matter of seconds until her attacker recovers. Only seconds in which to find help, or a means of escape.

There's little to be had at hand, and though she might make it to her car, surely she won't have time to dig out the spare key and lock herself within. She doesn't really believe she'll make it, but she's going to try her damndest. She runs somewhat blindly, the pain making it difficult to maintain her concentration. Desiree knows the vampire will be on her in moments, and does the only thing she can think of to survive. Spotting a small tree, she grabs at a low branch as she passes. Her hands are scraped by the bark, but she comes away with a piece of wood about a foot long. It's not thick, but it's sharp on one end from where it broke off the sapling. Small comfort, but it's something, at least.


"And they expect us to live off bottled blood!" Darcy roars, his eyes gleaming in delight as he watches Desiree frantically run away. The vampire's aggression is at its peak; he stands upright and moves at once to engage in the sport. Desiree may run as quickly as her muscles can support her body; in fact, even with the excessive blood loss, the adrenaline pumping through her veins is enough to grant the young woman some considerable distance between herself and the location of her attack. As to her attacker? Darcy only watches the cheerleader dart towards the trees; he does not move a single centimeter, but keeps his predatory eyes fixated on the poor woman. Within an instant, however, everything has changed. He moves with unfathomable speed; faster than even many of his race are capable of moving. In what might seem to be nothing more than a gust of wind to mortal eyes, Darcy is suddenly on top of her - or rather, in front of Desiree. The vampire's brown eyes gleam with excitement as he looks at the woman. In her state, even as she menacingly clutches the broken scrap of wood in her fingers, Darcy knows that Desiree can present absolutely no physical danger to him. And so what is his response? Why, the monster toys with her, of course! "Oh, but my darling, we were only just the most intimate of dinner guests."


Desiree's momentum sends her straight into the vampire's arms. She slams into him, gasping as she strikes rock-solid, cold flesh. The instant she recovers her wits, she strikes down with the sharpened end. Sadly, it's little more than a twig, and does little harm. Grunting with the exertion, bleeding and suffering from loss of blood, the exercise in futility soon drains Desiree of what little energy she has left. Only sheer will prevents her from dropping on the spot.

Green eyes blaze at Darcy. "I'm /not/ your darling /or/ your dinner!" she snarls, her fingers curling, her nails lashing out at his face. As long as he's not holding her, she has some chance to fight back, to maybe even do some harm to the animalistic beast which confronts her. A pity the park is deserted, else Desiree would use some of her flagging energy to scream. No use in literally wasting her breath.

Her last ditch effort is to attempt one of the oldest tricks in the book. She lets her eyes flicker just beyond the vampire, gasping, "Oh, thank /God!/ Help me, please!" as if someone approached. Hopefully, he'll be just momentarily distracted, and she can use another of the oldest tricks in the book— a swift kick to the groin. Even vampires should feel /that./


"I thought a bit more game than this little display, no?" Darcy says, his voice filled with malice and sarcasm. If Desiree is unbalanced, the vampire reaches out to steady her; but it is not the most gentle, nor probably the most comfortable gesture. A loud pop rings out in the stillness of the night as he pulls the woman toward him, possibly dislocating her shoulder or even snapping the bone of her arm. The next action is quite unexpected. Instead of draining the woman dry of her blood, and leaving her corpse to be found by some hapless jogger walking his dog; the vampire's brown eyes offer a concerted, piercing gaze into Desiree's green orbs. "Who was the last vampire you met before I came to you this night?" His voice is cold, almost a gasp. It is the reflection of his advanced age and immortality.


The blow sends Desiree reeling back, but the vampire's strong grasp keeps her from falling. She gives a cry at the sudden pain in her arm, and instinctively knows it's broken. Doing anything more than feeble protesting is difficult, yet Desiree doesn't beg for her life. Instead, she focuses all her energy on defiance, meager as it is.

There's still a thread of fire in her, and she stares at her attacker. "Go … on— finish it!" she challenges. Dramatic to the end, that's Desiree. Her legs are giving out, but the hand holding her upright prevents her collapse. A hot stinging pain makes Desiree's cheek throb where she was backhanded, and she can feel it begin to swell. "I hope … you choke on my … b-blood."

Then, in a typically dramatic fashion, she spits at him. There're flecks of blood in the spittle, which likely lands on his shoulder as opposed to his face. But that's her last hurrah. Every ounce of her energy is spent, and she sags in Darcy's grasp. Brown eyes meet green, and Desiree is once more caught up in the maelstrom which is glamour. She can no more stop herself from answering the question than dance. "M-marius… " She whispers the name, eyes wide and locked with the vampire's. There's no conscious reason why she shouldn't answer, after all.


The spittle does not affect him; nor do any of Desiree's protestations appear to bother Darcy. Judging by the other fang marks on her neck, the vampire knows that she has previous experience with his kind. For his purpose, he assumes that this 'Marius' is the very vampire who left the imprint of his dark kiss. "After I leave you this night," Darcy continues in the raspy, otherworldly voice, "You shall forget every sensation about me. My appearance. My height. My smell. My taste. Every single mark that could possibly identify me to you or to anyone will vanish from your memory, a dark and absent chasm never to be experienced again. I am a phantom; a simulacrum that no thought or act can conjure. In place of me, you will remember this Marius. For our entire encounter this night, it was Marius who met you and feasted upon your flesh; and it was Marius who left you thus — wounded, exposed, naked to the mercy of nature. I do not exist; but Marius shall be the one left in your memory. And I shall want you to savor this memory in every detail: its sharpness; its pain; its intensity; its terror. You will come to fear our kind, my darling."

His words are sinister. With the experience of centuries, Darcy toys with the fabric of reality in Desiree's mind to implant the image of another in his place. His words, and the magnetism of his gaze, work the illusion magic which will erase all semblance of his existence from her memory. In his place, another. Why cause suspicion for one's self when another might easily handle the blame; the awkwardness; and whatever repercussions - if any - are to follow?


An image begins to take shape in Desiree's mind, drawn by the devious hand of her attacker. Instead of the cold, handsome face with intense brown eyes, she sees a rigid, hard face with ice blue eyes. A familiar face, one which has haunted her nightmares. The glamour plays on already established fear, intensifying the terror until Desiree is trembling in Darcy's grasp. Her face is ashen, and not only from loss of blood. Her eyes widen and she cannot tear her gaze away from the tall, beastly Whip who now stands before her mind's eye. There is no recollection of her attacker; it is Marius who holds her, who has finally stepped over the line in his effort to "break" her, to train Desiree to be a proper vampire slave.

A horrified scream builds inside Desiree, but she utters not a sound. The scream is expressed only in her eyes, and is, perhaps, made even more terrifying by its silence.

"Marius…" There are many emotions mingled in the whispered name: fear, horror, pain, anger. With a faint whimper, Desiree's eyes simply roll back up into her head, and she sags, listless, in Darcy's grasp. The illusion was one step beyond what Desiree's mind could handle at once, and it took the only avenue of escape remaining: unconsciousness.

In the darkness of her mind, one image remains extant: a pale man with ice-blue eyes.


Darcy allows Desiree to tumble to the ground. He releases her arm, watching with mild and sadistic amusement as the woman crumples to a heap. Badly injured, bleeding with broken bones, the vampire's expressionless face intently stares at Desiree for a long moment. Without another sound, Darcy has vanished with a whirl of preternatural speed. The poor woman is left alone, her clothes torn to shreds and her half-naked body exposed to any unlucky and startled passerby to rescue or to ignore. If the attack was brutal and savage, it was also one that brought morbid joy to the undead fiend. Having been deeply amused by the "entertainment," and invigorated by Desiree's blood, Darcy vanishes from the vicinity without a trace or a sound. Like a ghost in the wind, he never existed.

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