Politics
Don't Bring Your Guns to Town, Lick
It was a dark and stormy night, and Deathraven strode through the rain-slick alleys on his way to the city’s Kindred gathering. His fearsome scowl swept from side to side. The martial arts master who had embraced him had taught him the skill of constant alertness, an ability he had developed further in his years as a covert SAS agent and then later had taught to others when he ran his Michigan Militia.
A black trench coat concealed the deadly arsenal he carried. Six desert eagle automatics were holstered at his sides, between his ammo belts and grenade packs. A pistol grip M-60 rifle hung at his right side; an automatic grenade launcher loaded with dragon’s breath rounds hung on his left. Over his shoulders, a pair of exquisitely crafted silver-edged katanas rested in their sheaths, their hilts concealed by his wild black hair that was circled by a black headband.
As he passed by, homeless people gasped and cringed in terror. A mangy dog whimpered and ran away with its tail between its legs. These mortals were fortunate, for Deathraven had satiated his undying thirst…for now.
The hotel was as ornate as it was luxuriant, a testament to how soft and effeminate his fellow lords of the night had become. Deathraven would remind them of what being a vampire should be like.
The party was being held on the second floor, where a balcony led to a curtained glass door. With a spring of his mighty legs, Deathraven leaped from the sidewalk to land silently before the portal. Soft chamber music drifted out toward him as reached for the translucent door, through which lights and the silhouettes of the attendees could be seen.
As he slid open the door and pulled back the curtain, a hush fell over the room. Even the musicians stopped playing. The crowd of vampires surveyed their new guest, as he sized them up. After a moment, a beautiful woman barely covered in a sleek cocktail dress and casually holding a wineglass sauntered up to him. She raised one delicate eyebrow while taking in the appearance of the brooding warrior and said, “Are you lost, gun bunny?”
Immediately, the entire room erupted in raucous laughter. Everyone was pointing at Deathraven and ridiculing him. His dark eyes flashed with rage and his hand traveled to the grip of his M-60.
Suddenly, his rage was replaced with intense embarrassment, and the room began to spin. The beautiful woman looked directly at him and said, “You had better get out of all those wet clothes. You wouldn’t want to catch your death in here, would you?”
Gun Bunny (for that had become his name) quickly began stripping off his garments and other items, as his fellow vampires continued laughing and letting their presence be felt. When he finally stood bare and shaking before them, a servant gathered the discarded arsenal for disposal in the building’s trash compactor. Another regal lady approached, carrying a designer gown in her arms. “I was thinking of wearing this tonight, but I realized that pink has been so over-worn this season. However, I believe it brings out the sparkle in your eyes. Would you mind?”
After he had struggled into the dress, Gun Bunny was led to a seat of honor that was prepared for him on the banquet table. As he sat, his dress ripped, but he didn’t notice. A bowl of fruit was converted into a crown for his head.
The rest of the evening’s affair went along splendidly. Gossip was spread, deals were made, and battles were fought over tenuous positions on the kindred social ladder. Amid all this, the party’s decorative centerpiece was in no position to speak or absorb the conversation. In the morning, the servants would take him for a drive to watch the sunrise.
* * * *
The gun and the vampire are like oil and water. They don’t mix, and each contaminates the other. Now if the above example didn’t show you, let me tell you this directly: Hardly any self-respecting kindred, especially a member of the Camarilla, would want to be seen carrying a gun, grenade, sword, or any other instrument of solely destructive use.
Why would that be, you might ask. Isn’t the image of someone packing heat supposed to be unnerving? Isn’t having a gun pointed at you going to be scary? Well, maybe to a human, but vampires see things differently. To vampires, guns are a sign of weakness and incompetence. Those who carry or use them will be on the fast track to ridicule, failure and ruin. There are a few reasons for this.
1. Guns are the mortal’s weapons. Guns were invented by mortals to kill other living things. Vampires are supernatural predators, gifted with formidable innate powers that should put the mortal’s material weapons to shame. Obviously, a vampire that uses guns must be infirm, crippled or hopelessly incompetent.
2. Guns don’t really hurt vampires. A study of vampire physiology reveals that they really only have two vital organs – the heart and the brain. Even these can easily recover from injuries that would quickly end a human’s life. A vampire’s body generally expels any bullets as it heals. So, shooting a vampire full of holes should at best slow him down, and at worst just make him angry. Therefore, a vampire that carries a gun must really be concerned with protecting himself from mortals; who are supposed to be his prey. See the previous note.
3. Guns are a potential Masquerade risk. There are plenty of laws on the books concerning the carrying of weapons, both concealed and openly displayed. Law enforcement officers rightly view guns in anyone else’s hands as a potential threat, and are obligated to investigate those who carry them. Guns draw attention, and gunfights draw crowds once the shooting is over. The last thing a vampire should want is to get shot full of holes, and then have to choose between fleeing the scene or “playing dead” until an ambulance arrives. And won’t the forensics team have plenty to discover from the blood spilled on the ground?
4. Guns violate Elysium. The Elysiums are areas declared as neutral ground for the kindred. If any society is to exist between predators, it must take place in an environment free of danger. Elysiums have rules to enforce this peaceful arrangement. Weapons, violence, obvious feeding and visible displays of supernatural powers are all expressly forbidden especially where unsuspecting mortals may be nearby. As they have no obvious peaceful use, guns are at the top of the list of forbidden contraband, and Elysium attendees that are caught trying to hide them can expect to have their weapons confiscated and themselves humiliated, barred from Elysium, and far worse.
5. Security is what we have ghouls for. Even the most powerful elder must sleep through the daylight hours. It is at this time that he is at his most vulnerable, and cannot protect himself from determined mortal hunters. Fortunately, he can rely on a brood of supernaturally gifted fanatical servants to guard his body when it is in deathly sleep. A good ghoul misdirects attention away from his master in the most subtle and innocent-seeming methods possible. Holding an enemy at gunpoint, or shooting them should only be done when they are on the verge of discovering the master’s coffin. Even then, it is often better to keep the intruder alive until the vampire has arisen so their fate can be decided properly. If need be, ghouls will lay down their lives to protect the secrecy and security of their regnant. No mere sidearm can compete with a fanatical brood of thinking, loyal slaves.
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