The kids at work call it his uniform. His wife calls it his shmatte, a private joke that still makes them both smile…his good Catholic girl tossing Yiddish in his face just to get a rise out of him. Either way, it’s what he knows and what he feels comfortable in.

He only remembers that he started wearing dark colors because someone suggested that it would make him look impressive. Too tall, too thin, he needed something working in his favor so he chose a dark wool suit one winter and liked what he saw in the mirror.

It’s become a thing over the years: the classic image of the cop in dark suits and crisp white shirtsleeves, the fedora riding low on the brow and the trenchcoat with the collar turned up. It’s not a look he assumed, merely a look he’s always had. He was slick before slick was cool, as his granddaughter likes to say.

Somewhere along the way, the archetype became his own when the dark glasses came into the picture, or the flash of glittering amber from his exposed gaze. Another classic look was his to own when his smiles stopped being simply dazzling and became frightening with the addition of delicate and deadly fangs.

Cops and vampires, dark suits and shielded eyes. The civil liberties crusader as a walking stereotype…more than once, the papers have had a field day with it.

Like most things, however, he doesn’t really care…because Artie knows, with the single shred of true vanity he allows himself, that nobody on the planet pulls it off better than him.

Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 268

Do I want pets? Hell no, you kidding me? Look at me, I’m undead! If I were still human, I’d be worried about leaving behind an orphan…I’m ninety, after all, a mortal my age would be running on borrowed time. I’m not human, though, so I’d be afraid of outliving the poor thing.

You heard it here first, folks: Artie Jackson is a sap for animals. Laugh it up and lemme know when you’re done, then maybe I can continue in peace.

I had a pet, once…when I was ten, had a puppy. Beautiful little mongrel with the sweetest disposition, answered to the name of Sirloin. No commentary on my poor choice of names, I did well enough with my kids.

Anyway, Sirloin was everything a kid could ask for. I loved that dog like nobody’s business…and what happens? He gets hold of some errant rat poison while we’re out crusading one day and dies soon after. Broke my heart, never had it in me to get another pet of any sort after that. Nope, not even a goldfish. I was even leery of my kids getting pets, but I got saved on that front because Gail was so damn picky about critter dander in her house.

I settle on having dogs by proxy these days. Joe’s kids are vying for a puppy, and Rian’s little fella Shadow’s a nice enough dog. Terry has a cat named Ramona that’s a marvel and a half if ever there was one, and she’s an odd duck among cats: she likes me.

Pet of my own, though? Forget that noise. Wouldn’t end well for either one of us…if I want an animal, I’ll borrow one.

Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 282

Preface to Undead And Loving It: The Life And Times Of Artie Jackson, published posthumously on October 8th, one year after his passing…

INTRODUCTION

( Dearest Reader... )

Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 704

Hey, all! Remember me? I'm the chick that writes about this ornery old vampire...yeah, that's it. Now you remember. :P

ANYWAY! You may notice some strange stuff cropping up in this journal in the weeks to come because Artie officially has a second 'verse. Due to the fact that Jacko's gotten a little quiet on me, and the fact that there's a lot of yummy plotty goodness to be indulged in, this is how it's gonna break down...

CANON - This is Artie's main 'verse, set in my original world. The supernatural is mainstream, Artie's the Chief Investigator for Los Angeles County, and happily married to shacking up with his resurrected honey, Gail Jackson (sassy_dame). Rian lives in LA (or has moved to Magnolia, Texas, depending on her 'verse), and he maintains various friendships formed through RP, including fellow unit members such as Michael Hunter (veritasjusticia) and casual friends such as Ruairi MacEibhir (sonofgranite), Shawn Spencer (head_psychic), and Snake Plissken (_call_me_snake_).

UNFATHOMABLE - In this 'verse, Artie is riding a line between fandoms. In a crossover of CSI and various other supernaturally themed fandoms such as Highlander, Artie is still a vampire and basically living the life he would have had if the Uprising had never taken place. Rather than leaving his family in 1965, Artie openly revealed himself to his wife two years earlier, on the night of his transformation. Together, they told their children, and kept his secret until Gail's passing in 1968.

After losing his wife, Artie moved his family to New York and served with the NYPD as Walter Jameson for about twenty years. Migrating to the Midwest in 1989, he settled in Montana and worked from home as a security consultant. Getting sick of that real fast, he moved to Las Vegas, Nevada in 2000 and began using the name Artemus Trevor Jackson, going by Artie for short. He continued with the business for a few years, but ultimately decided to head back into the trenches. Utilizing a few old connections, he joined the LVPD about six months ago, posing as his own cousin just in case there were questions about his resemblance to a California cop that dropped out forty years earlier. He will be working closely with willows_csilv on a wide variety of cases, specifically those touching on connections with the supernatural.

All entries will be tagged for convenience. We now return you to your regularly scheduled program, already in progress. :P

The past is never dead. It's not even past.

Immortality is a funny thing when you think about it. It strips you of a lot of humanity, no matter how you come by it. Obviously, if you’re undead it’s pretty clear how, but in the long run it’s not so much a racial issue.

When you get set up to live forever, you become a living witness to history. You see the rise and fall of great men, shlubs, heroes and losers. You see evolution, revolution, you see time pass in a way you can’t when your life is finite, when your own time is limited.

And here’s the kicker: through it all? Your life goes on. That’s something a lot of kids don’t think about when they moon over the drama and romanticism of being a vampire. The past is your past, and it stalks you at every turn. You see your life in the fabric of civilization, a thing that’s hard to escape unless you plan to go native.

Immortality makes you a constant through the ages, as steadfast and unchanging as the buildings and wonders Mankind erects in testament to their own greatness. You’re a surviving memory, a legend, a monolith that will still be here long after your friends and lovers are dead…long after your own bloodline dwindles and dies out.

When you outlive your own family name, you cease to be a person, a soul…you become a memorial in flesh. Your demons, your failures…they become a part of the world’s history and the human condition.

Death’s the only way to escape the past…and if you can’t die, you can’t escape it. You can’t even put it behind you. I know it sounds a little maudlin, but it’s true.

And I’m gonna end it right there before I give myself philosophical heartburn for the rest of the damn day.

Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 304

If I could be any made up fella, I’d be Pecos Bill. First read the story when I was six…or rather, Mamma read it to me…wanted to be a tornado-riding cowboy when I was ten, and if I had the choice now? I’d still want to sling a rattler around instead of a lasso. After all, we’re talking fictional here, and my only other choices in this little hypothetical situation would be Harry Houdini or Gorgeous George, both of whom are real.

Don’t laugh…Gorgeous George was a legend in his own time. I saw him wrestle on a local card back in 1954. Caught a couple of Georgie pins, even…gave ‘em to Joe a few years ago for Christmas.

Anyway, I’m rambling, old men do that. It’s pretty classic stuff, maybe even cliché, the man who wishes he were a cowboy, but can you really blame me? Hell, can you blame anyone? I betcha there’s even a few ladies out there that would’ve liked to be Slue-Foot Sue…well, minus the whole bustle-bouncing incident. He dug the Rio Grande and painted the Painted Desert, married a whole mess of women but never got over the girl that bounced her way outta his life.

I guess that’s the biggest thing I got in common with the man that’d make me a suitable Pecos Bill candidate. Difference is? I got my sweet Sue back at the end of the story,

Well…that and Gail wouldn’t wear a bustle on a bet.

Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 247

( Valley Medical Center, 1990 - 3:27 AM to 3:31 AM... )

Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 567

“Arthur?”

“Yes, Angel?”

“How many years will I get if I hex this bastard at the Times?”

Artie blinked, looking up from his morning paper with a raised eyebrow. “Come again?”

With a huff, Gail moved away from the kitchen counter and slammed the front page down in front of Artie with such force that his morning cup of plasma sloshed, spattering the page in viscous red.

“That’s what I mean…this is why I stopped reading the paper when I was alive. I swear, the nerve of some people!!”

( Innuendo in the Jackson household... )

Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 597

I’m ninety years old, and lemme tell ya? I’ve done plenty of truly stupid stuff drunk, my friend. My death was the end of an era, however, so for the last forty five years I really haven’t had an excuse. Sure, I’ve gotten a little tipsy off donations (booze can affect me if I ingest it while feeding on someone outright), but nothing to write home about.

Don’t worry, I’m not weaseling out of answering the question. I may have a little dignity left in me, but mark my words: I’m not a man with a lick of shame left in me. One nice thing about getting extremely old: after you spend a few short years with a stick up your ass, time is the lubricant that expels it from your colon. Humans don’t usually get to stick around long enough for that, I got lucky.

So the last embarrassing thing I did sober? Mind you, I’m going by general standards of ‘embarrassing’…remember that lack of shame I mentioned? Anyway, I’d have to say it was two weeks ago when I called the chief of police a pantywaist on the steps of the County Courthouse. Bunch of reporters caught me, too.

Bad, I know, but the son of a bitch pissed me off by taking a case away from me. Fortunately, it ain’t exactly career suicide, I’ve called him worse at poker night.

Actually, now that I think about it? I guess that was kind of embarrassing. I mean, hell, if I’m gonna call him out on something? I should’ve gone whole hog and just called him a tight-assed bastard to his face. Pantywaist…what was I thinking?

Next time, I’ll wait until there’s no ladies present before I tell him off…which will be this Wednesday night when we hook up for poker. I still got a bee in my goddamn bonnet about that case, and he ain’t heard the last of me…

Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 322

Excerpt from the second draft of UNDEAD AND LOVING IT: THE ARTHUR JACKSON STORY, page 57…

...seen stranger things done with a boll weevil.”

After the Riverside shootings and the Lewis fiasco, Jackson would consult with the department numerous times, eventually contracting as an advisor with the county for nearly two years. During this time he not only proved an invaluable resource in all aspects of Paranormal apprehension, profiling, and scope of criminal potency, but also assisted in reviewing the cases of countless wrongly imprisoned individuals. Between 1976 and 1977 alone, Jackson provided aid to groups like Project Justice in removing over five hundred individuals from the penal system, with over a quarter of them coming right off of Death Row.

More importantly during this period, Jackson served as a shining example of the potential contribution that Paranormals could make to society in the law enforcement field. Though heavy pressure existed in the political and social climate to bar them from the criminal justice community, support from camps like Freak Lovers and PFN were relentless in applying pressure from the other side.

While both of the preeminent Paranormal advocacy groups of the day were, in fact, founded and operated by Jackson’s own children, the financial and public backing both groups received was completely legitimate. Unofficially, the LAPD was an enormous supporter of both as research shows that the bulk of donor support provided, especially to the grass-roots Freak Lovers, was provided by employees of the department.

“Lots of us lost good partners and good friends when the hiring ban and termination sweep went down.” Remembers former detective Roger Anderson, who also worked for most of his career as Jackson’s partner. “When [Jackson] came back to life…returned to LA, I mean, I thought I’d get my brother back. In our day, we hit case loads like a Mack truck, but when officers started going down? Things just went from bad to worse.

Supporters of the Uprising, however, had their day in 1977 when a loophole in policy and reforms came in the form of the forensics department. County coroner, Dr. Mays Winslow brought forth the argument that while officers were suffering the brunt of the employment ban, only one percent of forensics staff members had been dismissed due to metabiological circumstances…specifically, those who could not physically function in their positions without compromising evidence.

It was with this case made that sweeping changes began through the department, resulting in the formation of the Paranormal Forensics division, a branch of the department’s Crime Lab that would allow Paranormals to return to active duty...

Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 430

NOTE: Due to the fact that Artie lives in an alternate world, I'm taking a few liberties with history. The encounter cited in this ficlet actually took place after an event that occurred in 1915, three years before Artie was born. As a result, I'm moving it up to 1921, when Artie was three years old.

( He would never forget the eyes. Those were the one thing he remembered most clearly about the encounter... )

Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 524

A man’s right to live is sacrosanct. Period, end of sentence. That includes all the rights and privileges that such entails...right to vote, right to marry, right to raise his own goddamn kids.

I don’t mean to be such a bastard this early in the morning, but Gail had court today, and I made the mistake of showing up. She and poor Terry are trying to get their death certificates revoked, establish status as legally living? And the hearings are driving us all up the wall. Tracing the bodies is proving to be taxing, as is proving the bodies are what they say they are currently: walking around and alive.

A lot of crap in their pasts is cropping up, and that includes a lot of history I don’t much visit anymore. Uprising nonsense, like State vs. Jackson...brought back a lot of bad blood I’ve never really been able to let go of, now that I have to take a second look at the whole sorry shitstorm that went down back then.

Back in 1970, the state told me I was a danger to my children. They told me I had no right to my family because I’m undead. Fear, ignorance, and a lot of plain old ugly hatred nearly broke up my family. My wife was dead, my mother in law, harpy or no, was on my side, and the world was against me.

I may not have a pulse or a functioning stomach, but I’m no less a man than anyone here. I was no less a man back then. And sure, I won my case and all...hell, it set so many legal precedents you could probably fill a damn toilet roll with the pages of all the legal books my walking nightmare’s documented in.

But now that a lot of those memories are stirring up...I’m realizing I never really forgave people in general for that. For telling me I was too dangerous to raise my own son and daughter, for telling me I had no right to my family.

Everyone deserves the right to live, and all that such entails. Living, dead, or otherwise, I’ll defend my right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, whatever that means. And I’ll defend your right to it, too, because you just don’t screw with that.

I guess that’s why I got caught up in all the politicking back then: I wasn’t about to let humans have the upper hand. Come what may, I’m always gonna make sure, for my sake and that of my family, that I end up the bigger man.

Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 438

“I don’t wanna hear it.”

“But Art-”

Artie lifted a hand, finger extended warningly, then let the hand drift up to adjust his dark glasses. “Gail? Honey? I mean it...I don’t wanna hear a word. Not one word. I just...Joe? Get her out of here and back to my desk. I’ll be in the locker room. Get Hawkins in there to put a deal on the table.”

At his side, Joe nodded...features in their usual stern lines, while his blue eyes twinkled in amusement. “Yeah. Soon as his lawyer gets here. Got it.”

Nodding, Artie managed a small smile for Gail. “Gimme some time to freshen up, then we’ll get dinner, ‘kay?”

With her nod, he turned and reached for the door, stepping out of the viewing room and out into the hall. It was a short walk to the bullpen...a longer one to the locker room, during which he could feel the eyes of the entire room focused on him.

“So...just finished the interrogation with Aisling?”

Stopping in his tracks, Artie resisted the urge to narrow his eyes enough to entrance the younger detective over the top of his glasses. Spite didn’t suit him, especially born out of pettiness. Gave him indigestion...still, it was tempting...

“Yeah. Pack lawyered up on his behalf, but we got what we needed.” he replied, absently brushing off the cuff of his sleeve. Half the room nearly ruptured something, fighting laughter then...clearly, the action was hilarious.

Under the aggravation, the wounds, the psychological fatigue, and the hassle of a four-hour interrogation with a mule-stubborn werewolf during the last night before a full moon....Artie could see where it was amusing.

Still, they weren’t the ones that had gotten jumped and bit by an angry lycan...and they weren’t the ones who were going to have to spend the next two hours dealing with hair. Lots of it...the saffron blonde strands of fur clinging to his dark blue suit were just the start of the shedding that had gone down when Frank Aisling decided to change form and try to go one on one with a testy vampire.

Artie won the fight with the beast, and the man with a confession...but to the victor went the spoils.

And head-to-toe wolf fur was just the start of Aisling’s success at getting Artie’s gourd.

Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 396

Only type I have...that I’ve ever had...is women who can outshine me. I like strong girls, guts and gumption is what turns my crank. To be blunt...I like a woman with balls. Figuratively speaking, obviously.

Before I met my wife, I dated girls of every shape and size...blonde, brunette, redhead, tall and short, large and small. If it was pretty, female, and had a mouth on it, I was hooked. I never have stuck with a consistent physical type...but I can tell you this: my parents always hated the girls I brought home because they were overly opinionated and wore the pants in a relationship. That’s not to say I’m a pansy, but I like a girl I can fight with.

Maybe that’s the appeal...heat outside of just attraction. I like fire in a girl...I want to feel it in and out of the bedroom. Fighting, lovemaking, holding hands or standing side by side...I want to burn around a woman. It’s like that damned comic Rian’s so fond of...SIN CITY, that’s it. That boy, Dwight, and his girl Gail.

Gail...now I’ve seen everything. I tell you...how’s that for a healthy slice of irony, huh?

Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 204
Partner: Gail Jackson (sassy_dame)

My perfect birthday’s coming up in October. Come the eighth, I’ll be ninety years old...ten shy of my first century. Kind of a landmark for a vampire, least I think so. Once you’re a full century old, you’re really getting to the ‘eternity’ part of immortality. You stop being old or long-lived and start getting into the metaphysicality of age.

Anyway...only one thing’s making this birthday perfect, and that’s the fact Gail will be here to share it with me. And if we can ever agree on a date? We’ll even be hitched again.

To be honest, my perfect birthday would include everyone. Gail, Rian, AJ, Joe and his kids...my whole family, all the loved ones I’ve gathered in ninety years of living. Partners, friends, surrogate relatives, all of them.

Considering how I got Gail back, it kind of disturbs me to even consider it...but if I could bring back my kids? I would...that lovable bastard, Jock, too. Joe’d like that right there. My parents, too...let them celebrate my birthday by meeting their great-granddaughter and their grandkids.

It’s really all I’ve ever wanted...forget the Nelson Mandela biography or the Kinks album on that damn Amazon wish list Rian made me set up last year. The only thing I want for my birthday...the only thing that matters to me...is having my family with me.

No matter how many stupid surprise parties they throw me...and Joe, Jules, this year I mean it! Don’t try to pull a stunt like that again!!

Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 255

1. Gail
2. Marrying Gail
3. Rian
4. AJ
5. Joe
6. The twins
7. The pint of A positive I have in the fridge for lunch
8. My court date at 3 this afternoon, and the arsonist I'm testifying against
9. Setting a date for the wedding
10. Heading to the car dealership this weekend to help Gail pick out some wheels

Artie Jackson
Original Character

( Paranormal Crimes Division - circa 2005 )

Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 485

If you ask me? It’s all a bunch of hokum…fearlessness. There’s no such thing this side of the grave. I don’t care who you are…I’m a vampire, and I know I’m not exempt from that. Immortality is an illusion, at it’s best…no one is immortal.

Well…very few. It’s easy for one to forget what day and age we live in.

Here’s the way I see it: immortals, true immortals, are few and far between. Those of us that run a close approximation of invincible? We have to remember that we’re not. Death can come for us at any time. True, I can’t die like a human, but I can still die. Stake, metaphysical exposure, fire, decapitation…yeah, I can die. What’s more, I live in a world filled with the educated. The means to take my life is common knowledge. It’s out there…it makes me just as vulnerable as any human.

The immortal? They don’t fear death…but I’ll tell you what they do have to fear: survival. Imprisonment, pain, grief, loss…a world to live in where the misery may very well outweigh the joy, a world they don’t have the means to escape.

Death’s a biggie, to be sure…but that girl on TV had it right: the hardest thing in the world is to live in it. It takes a brave man to live…a braver man than it would take to die.

I’m immortal…not invulnerable. That makes me anything but fearless…and if you ask any Tom, Dick, or Harry on the street? You’ll see I’m right.

Fear awaits us all this side of the grave.

Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 264

“It’s a load of horseshit, and if you think I’m about to go along with this crap, you’re crazy!”

“Mr. Jackson, please...”

“Please nothing!” Artie bellowed, getting a small grain of pleasure out of the way the other man flinched at the sound of his voice. Raising a hand to point accusingly at the producer currently incurring his wrath, he pressed on. “No wonder your kraft services table has such a nice spread...you were hoping you could detract from the fact you’ve got me spewing a line of shit at the damn camera!”

“If there’s a problem with the script, Mr. Jackson--”

( Problems With The PSA )

Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 503