Chapter Text
April 15, 2011,The basement of the Brockton Bay Historical Preservation Society 8:00 PM
Calvin's eyes shot open, and his vitae animated his long-dead, cursed body. He sat up straight, but then he noticed—his heart was still his, his skin was cold.
"Oh no, no, God, no," Calvin muttered
He lurched, stumbling out of bed and hitting the slate floor with a thump. He groaned, "Come on, come on. You know what to do."
He took a deep breath, feeling his vitae burn within him. His heart stirred to life, and a faint warmth spread outward.
This was better—somewhat, at least. Despite living with this curse for nearly a century, there were some things Calvin could never fully adjust to. All he could do was let the blush of life wash over him, driving the initial panic away.
Calvin rarely had time to himself, not that he wanted much. Isolation often caused him to slip into philosophizing and contemplating his seemingly reprobate state, which never led to pleasant moods. He knew he had to keep going; idle minds entertained devilish, dark thoughts. And before he even finished that thought, the door to his chamber swung open, revealing a figure dressed in a red suit.
"Get off the floor, you're embarrassing yourself, mongrel," the figure sneered.
Calvin sighed, turning his head to gaze at the walls of his little closet-turned-bedroom. Then, he faced reality
"Good evening, Issachar. Do you have word from the Prince?" Calvin dared to ask.
The Ventrue sneered, twirling his damn spiked club.
"No, Madam Tillot's been rather indisposed recently. I happen to be in charge for the moment," he said with a wider sneer, swinging his club as if he were playing baseball.
"Did I ever tell you how I came into possession of this club?" he asked, sounding shockingly pleased with himself.
"In my mortal life, I was a captain during the war with the French and the native savages," Issachar said, pausing to close his eyes as he remembered.
"This was the weapon of a Sachem of the Wabanaki. I can still recall the exact moment I drove my bayonet into the shrieking red devil's guts and claimed my prize," he said, rubbing the fighting side of his club against his suit, smiling.
"It was a glorious day, I tell you."
Calvin couldn't help but picture the scene, conjuring a mental image that made him feel sick. This was one of the gods' children, Issachar, who was speaking of.
"You've told me this a hundred times. Why repeat yourself?"
"No reason in particular," Issachar shrugged, still smirking.
Calvin simply shook his head. He thought to himself, He enjoys this—the cruelty of all he's done. As he stood, brushing his hands against his sweater and then pulling up his worn jeans, he asked, "Fine, you've told your tale. Where are the others tonight?" Hoping to get this whole business over with, he continued, "Ah, the Negress you're so fond of—Beatrice—and her sire are due to negotiate with that Lung fellow over our feeding rights over his whores. It's believed that our dear friend Rossi drained one of those wenches dry," Issachar sneered. “Why he decided to anger a man who can transform into a Dragon is beyond me’’
"I don't understand why that Chinaman cares so much. He has whores by the dozen. I wager he's still upset about almost being caught by Armsmaster," Issachar lamented, his voice tainted with disdain and conceit.
"Stop talking about gods' children like that, Issachar," Calvin said firmly. "This isn't right—these are people, not things. Beatrice, those poor women, and even Lung—you make them sound like mere beasts, not God's image bearers."
"Incredible," Issachar sneered, the words slipping out as he approached enough to look Calvin directly in the eyes. "You simply defy belief with your insolence and your softness, Calvin. Last week, didn't you wail that we are all reprobates beyond God's grace and doomed to hellfire? Yet you think your God cares about how I address Beatrice? Don't even get me started on the whores. You've been a kindred for nearly a century—start acting like one."
He paused, eyes narrowing. "Calvin, there is a hierarchy to this world: inferior and superior, master and slave. Accept it. By Jove, at least the other Toreador obsess over the arts, but for you, it's moralizing and god-bothering."
Calvin stood silently, taking the verbal undressing.
"Don't you have any fear of God? Issachar, do you have any conscience at all?" he asked, though he knew deep down that Issachar lacked both.
"What I possess or do not is none of your concern," Issachar replied dismissively. "I am your elder, and I am done arguing with you. Be silent while I inform you of what I know of tonight's events. The others are in Henry's haven, and I am not privy to what's been asked of them. I myself will take the evening to feed and attend to my hound. Now, I want to know what you have planned."
"I'm going to the Methodist church on the docks to feed the poor," Calvin responded.
"Why bother with that?" he heard Issachar ask.
"Because it's the Christian thing to do.
April 15, 2011, The basement of the Brockton Bay Historical Preservation Society, 8.14 pm
Calvin took a private moment to collect himself after Issachar left. "Aren't sheriffs supposed to be heroic?" he wondered, staring at his reflection in the cell's mirror. His stretchy jeans and worn black fisherman sweater were merely adequate. But his face—despite everything—remained his own. Calvin ran his right hand through his red hair. Every detail was unchanged since the night he died; even the scars on his cheeks, given by his father for attending a Catholic mass with Achille, endured.
"Shit." That name hurt to recall. A stabbing pain blossomed in Calvin's chest. "The Hebert boy—his friend—deserved better." Still, who was he to lament this nearly a century later? What happened was his fault, and nothing could change it. Now, it was just another memory to torment him. Always, contemplation was the bane of his unlife. He needed a distraction; the docks were waiting.
Calvin began his ascent into the night. The haven sat in the sub-basement of the preservation society's office. The space resembled a college suite, with a threadbare common area connecting several cells and Issachar's much larger 'sheriff's office,' as he called it. Calvin opened the door, stepped into the sub-basement, then turned right and climbed upward before exiting through the sliding doors at the back of the basement.
April 15, 2011, The Maritime Methodist church, 9.00 pm
It wasn't the most pleasant walk; the area had long since decayed from the bustling seaport of Calvin's mortal youth. It was once so lively that it had markets of every description dotting the streets, the varied sounds of Québécois, Italian, Gaelic, and, of course, English filling its streets. Now it was all ruin, and the shady glances of gaunt, desperate folk who served as his prey too many times for comfort.
The Maritime Methodist itself was an old church built in the 1840s, and in its years, it held many notable preachers; even his father preached in its walls a few times, if memory served.
Calvin stared at the small mass of volunteers huddling in front of its stairs. Calvin stopped and stared while others of his clan found the beauty of the arts or body addicting. But for him, nothing was more beautiful than Christian virtues and the word of the Lord. But if this was genuine piety or the misplaced lust of a damned unnatural creature was something Calvin was never sure of.
He rolled his shoulders, renewing the blush so he wouldn't appear dead, and then I made a dark choice. He used the discipline of Presence. “Oh, hello, I'd like to help,” he called to them, breaking into a light jog over the decrepit side until he was among them.
An older petite woman wearing a rainbow scarf and much the same outfit he was wearing spoke to him first, “I'm glad to hear it, we could always use more help,” she said before gesturing to a group of men closer to the steps. “Those lovely longshoremen brought some chowda—ask for Danny, he will set you up.”
Calvin nodded. "Thanks, ma'am. God bless you," he said. He wondered how much the friendliness was natural or the product of his Discipline. He didn't seize the mind directly; rather, he induced certain feelings like trust. But truthfully, Calvin doubted if that made what he was doing any better.
"Are you okay, son? You just froze."
‘’I am’’ Calvin replied, ‘’I get lost in thought very easily, you see.’’
‘’I ain't judging you son, I was concerned,'' she said ''My name's Diana, are you Christian son?'' she asked, concern tinging her voice.
‘’I'm a Christian, ma'am, and my name is Calvin, Calvin Stirling.’’ He said his tongue stumbling over the half-forgotten surname, ‘’I think I should get working, no offense’’ he said. Then Diana nodded, telling him none was taken. He was worried she might ask dangerous questions if stuck around.
Calvin walked closer to the group of longshoremen, quickly noting that a tall, reed-like man dressed in a red flannel and brown work pants was the one giving the orders. That man looked familiar, he thought. ’’'It couldn't be, oh god, please, it couldn't.'' Calvin made his body take another step.
‘’My name's Calvin. I just need to ask who's the Danny that Diana told me to speak with?’’ he asked, his voice sounding shy more than anything else. ‘’I'm here to help,’’ he said, finishing the thought.
‘’Yep, that's me, the one and only Danny Hebert.'' The reedy man replied curtly ‘’We got some big chafers of chowder that need to be put on tables.'' he said, grabbing Calvin's hand, shaking it. " You look sickly, Calvin, so you don't need to lift if you can't.'' ‘’Looking sickly was always a problem for Kindred. But did that man just say his name was Hebert?'' He asked himself
Calvin was horrified, but he buried his fear, faking a smile and hoping Presence would see him through. ‘’You mean the large metal barrel-looking things?'' He asked, waiting for the nod of approval before he grabbed one and placed it lightly on the plastic folding table.
" That's surprising, man, you picked that up like it was nothing.' He heard one of the workers say. He used Potence without even realizing it, shit. This wasn't a masquerade breach; he could play it off, just needed to tune up the Presence a bit to keep the mood jovial.
"I'm stronger than I look’’ Calvin says, gesturing to his lanky frame. ‘’Asides, if you think I'm scrawny, look at your so-called boss!'' Everybody laughed at that, even Danny, surprisingly, and something told Calvin it wasn't the Presence making him do that.
Maybe it was the laughter that weakened his inhibitions, but Calvin had to know. " Danny, your last name is from Quebec ?’’ He asked Calvin to ask to be sure. Danny may look like Achilles, but he couldn't, in fact, be a distant grand nephew, could he?
‘’Ya, it is, we moved down here in the 1890s, a man named Eucariste and his three sons, if I remember.'' Danny replies before looking puzzled ‘’Why do you ask?''
'' Eucriste, yes, that was Achille's father! Achilles has living relatives, which complicates things so much.'' Calvin thought before saying, I'm just interested in local history, excuse my curiosity.'' At this point, Calvin knew he was playing a dangerous game, but he needed this facsimile of reunion. Deep down, he craved it more than blood.
Before Danny could reply heard Diana yell, ‘’We got hungry folks coming our way right now’’ Then a mad dash ensued. Everyone was working together to place the last of the chafers on the table. One man was passing out ladles, another was setting a crate of paper plates and spoons on the edge of the furthest table in the row. In the midst of chaos, Calvin found himself side by side with Danny, clutching ladles, standing over a steaming sea of chowda. ''Even Kindred can be Proper New England Yanks.'' Calvin thought to himself, a genuine smile stretched across his face.
Hungry masses quickly defeated that smile. It became a mechanical process to look at an embarrassed or gaunt face, scoop some soup, and pour it into the poor wretch's bowl. ‘’We're like factory workers here,’’ he thought. Hunger and poverty, Kindness and charity, distilled into a pseudo assembly line. How sad was that?''
Then two flashes of light dashed through the air, one red, the other golden ‘’Who are those parahumans?’’ Calvin asked, turning to face Danny.
‘’Ah, Glorygirl and Laserdream, they volunteered to keep a lookout for trouble.’'
" That makes sense'' Calvin said, shifting his gaze from the chafer to the sky in rapid succession. Calvin wasn't sure how he felt about Cape's being nothing like them, where in scripture, and they complicated unlife, especially feeding. It's been ordained by the Inner Circle that Capes are no longer mine but something else, only to be interacted with when the Prince approves.
Then they worked. Calvin's mind was lost in the task of feeding face after face until a daze seized his mind. One that didn't relent until the crowd thinned, and one final sad sight walked up to them.
''Jesus fuck'' Calvin heard Danny curse. Then he saw just how bad things were
A young asian woman was approaching them. Her clothing was immodest, barely covering her shivering and heavily bruised frame. She approached the counter, holding a bowl and a smile that showed her blood-stained teeth. Calvin filled her bowl, and she quickly retreated into the night. She was a straggler; nobody else followed her.
''Some blame falls on me, doesn't it?'' Calvin thought. After all, the Prince declared Lung a friend of the court and a valued business partner. It was for the best, she said. Lung found them out, and none of them could withstand his flames. It was better to work together, split profits, and use his whores as feeding stock. He was complicit, wasn't he?
" Rough, those ABB guys are assholes one dock worker said before another spoke. " Apparently, Lung's been acting up since Armsmaster tried to capture him.''
'I heard from a friend who works at the PRT that Armsmaster thought he could capture Lung with some tranq he cooked up. My buddy's been telling me Arm's might get fucking shafted because of this.'' A third one added, but Calvin already knew this
''It was the Prince's ghouls that ruined the drug.’’ Calvin wanted to scream. Surely, there must be something he could have done that would have prevented Lung's escape.
‘’Jesus, Jeff'' Danny said back to that worker, " Everyone here without kids should count themselves lucky. I can't tell you how much I worry about Taylor''
" I hear you, man, isn't she like fifteen now?' Asked one of the workers whom Calvin didn't know.
Danny nodded, and Calvin felt something, the desire to protect '' I couldn't keep Achilles safe, but I will keep these two safe no matter the cost'' he thought. If anybody tries to hurt them, I'll drag them to hell with me, masquerade be damned. He couldn't fail his friend twice.
It wasn't long after the bruised women left that Diana called them into the church itself. " We did good work, I hope this isn't in bad taste, but I think we all deserve some wine," She said, pointing to a red desert wine and a stack of red plastic cups on a stool.
" Alright, alright, let me say a few words before the animals lose their cool'' Danny said. " We did good work today, guys. We came together and did something special for a lot of people. I'd like to thank the one and only Pastor Diana Jones for the venue and to you, my union brother, for making this happen. I'd also like to give a shout-out to our new friend Calvin for volunteering with us tonight.
The cloud cheered the wild cries of excitement, which sounded deafening in the enclosed space. Diana sniffled, taking the edge of her rainbow scarf to wipe tears from her eyes. They were celebrating good deeds performed well.
. But one thing stuck in his mind, making him truly nervous. ''Women can't be pastors, right?'' he thought. Was his use of Presence leading these men to overlook sinful associations? Maybe they were reprobates like him, severed from God's salvific grace. Or maybe just maybe they were good people who rejoiced in the goodness of others
" Are you okay, son? You zoned out again,'' Diana asked, a little red-eyed but nowhere near weeping.
" Yes, sorry, the public praise was a little overwhelming' he said
Then Danny walked up to them with a red cup of wine. ‘’Want some?’’ Danny asked, extending his arm.
Calvin grabbed the cup, not sure if he could drink it, but he wanted to make an effort to blend in
" Thank you, Danny. I'd like to know if you do this sort of thing often.''
"'We're always doing something, Calvin. I'll get you my business card. Give me a ring whenever you want to give back to the community.’’
‘’That sounds great, I'd love that,’’ he says.
Then Calvin took a sip of his wine, and for the first time in a long time, he tasted sweetness.