General Anita Blake fic. Some Anita/Jean-Claude implied. Upon hearing a 'live' band at Jean-Claude's club, Anita has to face things about vampires that she never would've thought about otherwise. +++++ I had just arrived at the Laughing Corpse, and I was already about five seconds from walking straight back out the door. The Holy Item check girl was making a nuisance of herself and making me want to strangle her with the chain of my cross, Willie McCoy was standing against the bar in a bright day-glo orange suit and puke green tie, and there was a live rock n' roll band on the stage that was normally reserved for comedy-and I use the term 'comedy' loosely-skits. Not only were they playing rock n' roll, but they were all vampires, and seemed to have amassed an entire club full of scantily clad groupies. Most were female, but some were male. Then there were a few I couldn't quite identify. That sort of creeped me out. I mean, I can spot a vampire or lycanthrope at fifty yards, and not being able to tell whether a human was male or female just defied the laws of nature.   I felt Jean-Claude before I saw him, and stopped harassing the Holy Item check girl long enough to take in his outfit; poured on shiny black lycra pants, a long-sleeved black fishnet shirt that made his ivory skin seem to glow behind the cloth, and knee-high black glimmery lycra boots that fairly screamed 'fuck me'. Only Jean-Claude could get away with wearing frilly lace shirts one night, and see-through fishnet the next. Then again, who was going to complain? If he ever decided to wear jeans and a t-shirt like normal people, half of St. Louis would have a heart attack. I had just about recovered my mental facilities enough to lay into the Holy Item check girl again when Jean-Claude sauntered over to us, flashing a melt-you-into-your-socks grin that could either mean 'Hello' or 'I'm picturing you naked'. With Jean-Claude, one never knew what decidedly wicked thoughts were spinning around in his head. "Ma petite, you look ravishing," he just about purred, making me blink and take stock in what I was wearing, as if the clothes might've changed without my noticing. Nope. Still wearing black jeans, black Nikes with a red swoosh, and the black t-shirt that joyfully stated 'Don't Piss Me Off, I'm Running Out Of Places To Hide the Bodies.' I love the shirt, I really do, but ravishing? It's comments like these that make me want to have Jean-Claude get his eyes checked. Instead of arguing, which I had learned the hard way was counter-productive, I just forced a smile. "Thanks. Is the band going to be a permanent fixture?" God, I hoped not. There was only so much unintelligible screaming into the microphone that I could handle. If this was going to be an every-night thing, I was going to have to start meeting Jean-Claude elsewhere. "Non. They are simply here on loan from New Orleans, ma petite," he answered nonchalantly, though I knew there had to be more to it than that. Most Master vampires didn't just arbitrarily loan their people to other Master vampires. It was a good way to get your people dead. Knowing better than to ask for details, I tried to come up with something else to say, since Jean-Claude apparently wasn't feeling like carrying the conversation. "Do you like this kind of music?" I asked. To tell the truth, I was actually curious. It was mind-boggling to think that Jean-Claude, who was leery of driving a car, might be into rock n' roll music. I kind of pictured him listening to symphonies. He gave that blank-faced half-smile that could mean anything or nothing, but I figured he was probably laughing his ass off at me inside. Sometimes, I really wanted to pop him one in the mouth, just to make him have an actual expression for half a second. "I take it you do not enjoy this type of music, ma petite?" he said. There was definitely laughter in his voice. Smug bastard. "Music? This isn't music. This is screaming for the hell of it. It sounds like they're killing a cat up there," I said, quirking a brow at him, almost as if I was challenging him to disagree with me. He tsked at me and put his hands on my shoulders, turning me to face the stage and drawing me back against his body. For once, I didn't wriggle out of his arms. I was too curious about what he was going to say. "Close your eyes, ma petite, and listen to the words. Ignore the music. Feel what they are saying," he whispered, his mouth brushing my ear as he spoke and dropping my IQ by forty points in the process. Playing along, I closed my eyes and tried to make out actual words from the band's insane caterwauling. //-You think you're smart You're not, it's plain to see That you want me to follow It's killing me Let's see, you've got the gall Come take it all-// "I don't get it," I said after a moment of trying to understand what the lead singer was alternately screeching and moaning about. Jean-Claude shushed me with a slender finger over my lips. "Keep listening, ma petite." I sighed and closed my eyes again, determined to figure out what great thing he thought this group of misfits was trying to say. //-The jury is coming Coming to tear me apart All this bitching and moaning Come on, it's on-// Even with my eyes closed and all my attention focused on deciphering the words of the song, I couldn't find any kind of hidden message. Mostly, they seemed to be incredibly angry and enjoying screaming that particular fact to the world. Each second further convinced me that it wasn't music that they were making, but auditory torture. Or maybe it was an oral preview of one of the lower levels of Hell. I'd cave in an instant if someone locked me in a room and threatened to play rock n' roll constantly. Jean-Claude squeezed my shoulders and gave me a gentle shake. "Ignore the music. Feel the lyrics, ma petite." If he hadn't told me repeatedly that he couldn't read my mind, I'd almost be convinced he'd heard my silent bemoaning of the 'music'. //-I'm trapped in this world Lonely and fading Heartbroke and waiting For you to come-// Okay. Trapped and waiting. Got it. This is Jean-Claude's great idea of a message? Hmm… Maybe it's not just his eyes that need to be checked. I think he needs to get his head examined. Or maybe I do, for still having been there, subjecting myself to this kind of torture. Usually, Jean-Claude's ideas of torture were rather pleasant. This was nothing short of cruel and unusual punishment. Either he was slipping, or I'd really missed something. I heard him sigh and he turned me to face him, looking amused. Whether it was his 'I'm hiding something' amused face or he was really laughing at me, I'm not sure. I think it might've been a little bit of both. "You are stubborn as always, ma petite," he said, chuckling softly. I glared at him, fighting the urge to rub my arms to get rid of the goose bumps that had risen with the feeling of his voice slithering around me in a silken caress. He grinned nearly wide enough to flash fangs, then abruptly sobered, his face suddenly wiped clean of the shit-eating grin as if it'd never existed. No matter how many times he does that, it always catches me off-guard. "Look through me, ma petite," he purred. "Hear the music through me." I arched an eyebrow at him dubiously, but couldn't help wondering what he thought was so all-fired special about this group that called themselves 'Misguided Youth'. I just didn't get it. I knew I was safe looking into the pools of deepest azure that were Jean-Claude's eyes. Even before the marks, he hadn't been able to roll me. It had made me laugh, but seemed to piss him off. Always good to know you can rankle the undead. I'd almost made it an art form. I didn't drop my shields to let him roll me, but I let the marks that bound us slide open, blinking at the rush of sensations and thoughts that weren't my own, overwhelming as it always was. When I'd recovered enough to be able to tell myself and Jean-Claude apart, I turned back to the band, closing my eyes and letting the music wash over me, focusing on the words and blocking out all else. //-We are stuck in this world That's not meant for me For me-// With Jean-Claude's thoughts swimming in the back of my mind, I could suddenly understand what the lyrics were actually saying, rather than having to pick them apart from the discordant jangling of instrumental Hell and the bellowing of the lead singer. It helped that the words seemed to have spurred a sort of stream of consciousness panorama of Jean-Claude's memories, some of them from so long ago that he'd still been a human boy, owned by an aristocrat and beaten for the noble's son's misdeeds. Jean-Claude pressed against my back and the memories gained clarity, spinning through my mind in a kaleidoscope of full-color images, each separate and distinct, but adding to the larger picture. Even though I still thought of myself as a borderline monster, I realized I clung to the believe that I was still fundamentally human, and therefore on the side of the good guys. It had never even occurred to me to think of things from the so-called monsters' perspective. Now that I was feeling things through Jean-Claude, I recognized the song for what it was. A statement of confusion, of not fitting in anywhere, of loneliness. Some of that, I could identify with. How many times had I been feared or shunned because of the fact that I was an animator? Even the Catholic Church wouldn't accept me, though it wasn't like I ever made a choice to be able to raise the dead. //-The jury is coming Coming to tear me apart All this bitching and moaning Come on, it's on--// How much worse would it be to truly be a monster, then? Lycanthropes could garner pity, at least. Their monstrousness was the result of an infection, a disease. It would be like blaming a baby for being born with HIV. But, vampires were the things of nightmares. They were the conscious walking dead. They fed into the terror that even if your enemy wasn't dead, he might rise and come get you, or your children. How could people not fear something that mirrored them, but lived on their blood and pain? In the old days, vampires were killed on sight. The Church proclaimed them to be in league with the Devil Himself, and their very existence an affront to God and all his Creation. What must it be like to live that way? How many vampires had fallen prey to superstitious villagers and Church officials? I knew one of them personally. Asher had been captured by the Inquisition and tortured in an effort to save his soul. As a result, half of his body was the perfect, angelic beauty that he'd been born with, and the other half was a melted nightmare created by the Church in an attempt to purify him and cast out the demon that vampirism was believed to be caused by. Not only that, but how many of the undead had actually begun to believe in their own monstrosity? Myth and rumor may have caused vampires who believed to act as frightened villagers believed they should. Why shouldn't they? They would be blamed for the stillbirths and sicknesses in their towns anyway, why not cater to the fear and kill as much and as often as they could?    //-I'm stuck in this world Lonely and fading Heartbroke and waiting For you to come I'm stuck in this world That's not meant for me For me-// The music faded and I took a shaky, gasping breath, sealing the marks up tight and swaying slightly on my feet as the shock of being alone in my own body disoriented me. "Now, do you see, ma petite?" Jean-Claude asked softly, one pale hand tracing down my cheek. Normally, I would've glared at him and snapped something rude at him for the casual touch, but just then, I was a little too disturbed to put the effort into it, and I simply nodded, hugging my arms against my chest as if I were cold. I blinked, and Jean-Claude was in front of me, a soft, sad smile on his face. "Now, you know why so many of us are the way we are," he told me quietly. "Why…Why didn't you say something sooner?" I asked him, frowning. Jean-Claude gave a slight shake of his head, the little smile not budging an inch. "You weren't ready to listen, ma petite. You needed to cling to your beliefs to preserve who you are. You needed to change slowly or you would suffer for it." "Oh." Well, that was real intelligent, wasn't it? Jean-Claude's sad smile blossomed into a Cheshire cat grin and he kissed me lightly, the touch no more than a feather's caress against my lips before it was gone. "J'taime, ma petite," he said, and then, between one heartbeat and the next, he was gone. The band was on break, and I didn't think I could handle more insight into the workings of the vampire mind just then, so I headed back outside, determined to go home and cuddle up with a certain stuffed penguin I knew and a cup of coffee. When I reached my Jeep, I realized I'd been singing the words to the song under my breath and shook my head slightly, bemused. If the singer inside had sounded like someone was killing a cat, me singing sounded like someone was torturing a litter of kittens. Laughing softly, I climbed into the Jeep and headed home. I couldn't pass the information on to Dolph, who hated vampires more than I ever had, but I'd keep the knowledge close. It might prove more useful than any myth ever had. Stranger things had happened. I used to be disgusted by people who thought that vampires were just people with fangs. Now I was one of them.