I was presented to supernatural society as a debutante. It was like the Vampire Camarilla, but more fey and it took place in an urban meeting hall glittering with natural sunlight from many windows.
Our ruler, clad in gold and gems, diablerized a pair of debutantes. I... don't think they struggled. We were all performing a social dance, and they didn't break step. My performance had simply been better, and I glowed with pride.
(three nights ago)
I was back in college and had joined a group of occult computer programmers. Vaguely vampiric. But for now I was alone in my dorm room, struggling with anxiety and confusion. I felt unworthy of my new friends. I wanted to tell them... I think a blood bond was compelling me to trust them, but my rational mind was saying they would eat me if I told them the truth. Or was that just anxiety?
As I struggled to think clearly, the... Burger King... phased through my door. I wasn't surprised to be hallucinating, just annoyed. I told him to fuck off and shoved him, only to be astonished to find him corporeal. He laughed and asked if I often yelled at hallucinations. "Typical kitty..." (There was a little Fallen London in play, here- this was a Devil, and my character is an honorary cat (dream-guardian))
He was from Financial Services, but all he wanted was to congratulate me on last night... he said with a wink, leaving. Last night? I couldn't remember last night, it was blank. Blacked out. Fuck, not again. I had broken my sobriety for one celebratory drink with my new coterie. What had I done??
I rushed to my friends. They were expecting me, three of them. Dark figures, leaning against the walls of the tiny room, staring at me.
"I think I blacked out"
"Yeah, no shit (chuckle). It's alright."
The center one... was it the man or the enby? They beckoned me forwards and tilted my chin up. Their third eye peeled open and it was a starry void. This was fine. I was among friends, no, family. Of course I didn't have their skills yet, but they would share with me.
But something was wrong. The me to my left launched an audio file. Instrumental, I think. It was compelling, and it didn't belong here, in us. It was a hypnotic trigger, a bad one, something I'd let into our mind last night. I struggled to move, stumbling towards the phone. Telling us not to listen. I was beginning to remember something but it was important not to remember, to stop the song, to end this thought.
I ripped the dream apart and lay there in the dark, feeling extremely alone. I told a friend about it and felt better. Eventually fell back asleep, had nicer dreams.
Being drunk feels really good, actually.
I know this because I kept writing to future-me, while drunk, about how fun it was.
And I always hated reading that, until I became disgusted to even look at the messages. Instinctively repulsed.
Well, I'm sure it's great. But I have goals beyond hedonism, now.