Tears wanted to form in Jessica's eyes. Now she had to tell her. Okay, goodbye "life". Goodbye beautiful penthouse. The pessimistic woman standing before her probably didn't care whether she lived or died. She just wanted answers.

"If you repeat what I am going to say, I will kill you if I'm not dead already..."

Jessica turned her head and sighed at the thought of dying. Her "life" slipping before her fingers.

"I am 'some sort of vampire'. A sleep through the day, blood drinking vampire. I told you it was crazy. And I told you that you wouldn't believe me, but you asked! We have this thing, called the masquerade. Its supposed to make you humans think we don't exist." She looked up and smiled. "Didn't work did it? You're lucky that your human. Do you know how long it's been since I had my last glass of water?" She paused for dramatic effect, hopefully the message would go deep into Aeode's skin.

"500 years. That's why I saved you, and didn't make you one of us." She was yelling now. "I wanted you to feel again like I couldn't."

((It's not great but I had to think about it.))

The woman's eyes narrowed they looked brownish, after over 400 years of being colourblind he was tired of it she continued her silence a little longer before speaking “If you were to stand over there, would you’re thoughts differ?” Her voice sounded French, very French. It was quite a nice voice he reflected. He wondered if she was originally from France or if she had just spent much time there, he mused on the womans history to such a deep degree he almost missed her slight smirk and gentle tilt of the head.

Her eyes shot over to a person behind the bar. “A drink perhaps?” Caraltian was suddenly confused was she recommending they found some kine or was she seriously suggesting that ingesting liquids that would cause them to vomit seemed like a positive thing to her? There were some strange kindred who felt like this apparently however he had yet, even in his advanced years, to meet one as such. It may well just have been one of Lady Hester's stories, his sire held strong control over the web and so her stories of Malkavian's were widely accepted whether they were truthful or not...

"I think perhaps I won't...." he paused and raised one eyebrow at the woman, as if to ask just what she would do next he wished to see quite what she was like and this was a good place to start.

#30 [Eighth Night]

The past held a great deal of charm for Archon, but a stroll down memory lane could be some what devious for a Kindred of such vast history. One had to put effort into remembering everything as it actually happened, and not be as soft as the kine, and either make a painful memory happier or a sad one more joyful. It was a weakness, as far as Archon was concerned. And he did not care for weakness, no Ventrue in his or hers right mind ever did.
This was probably why he had walked the earth for more than half a millennium, and still had not created a childe. He was too skeptical, too much into perfection to really wanna take a chance - no matter how great the potential. Although he had met many promising kine, even those he had admired to the extent one could admire a mere kine, he had never really considered to offer anyone the Embrace. Like a true aristocrat, he was looking for faults, and he found them too often to be pleased with the entirety.
Due to this troubled relationship with the humans, he had discussed the matter with his Sire; Victoria. He could not help but wonder what had gone through her mind when she layed eyes on him. Even though Archon thought very highly of himself even back then, he realized that he had still been a fullblooded kine, just like all the ones he did not care for. Of course, one could always trust Victoria to set him apart from them with haste, and with loving reminisce of the time around the Embrace.

They had both attended a social gathering with an overwhelming grandiose touch, and his posture had caught her eye. As well as his long black hair with the occasional curl, the well toned body slightly noticeable under the noble clothing, and the way he expressed himself. She had found such a delicate seigneur, a magnate that warmed the icy heart in her frozen body. He commanded the room, and he demanded her attention, without even knowing it. When he talked, others listened. And when he moved his hands, ever so gentle, to make a point, she followed their movement as if it had been the grace of a Toreador. He had worn a single ring, with a blue gem, that reflected every source of light that ever reached it. It only kept just the right amount, to illuminate itself. And the hazel eyes, they had put a spell on her. She watched him watching everyone in the room. He even glanced her way, but he did not allow women to divert his attention when he was taking part in a business conversation or in any other way engaged in an important matter. Not even when they were as beautiful as Victoria. He had not noticed her interest in him, but that was only because she showed none. If she had, she would not be able to study him, in order to evaluate if his first impression would indeed last and make him a promising childe.

In the weeks that followed, she was sure to watch him from afar most of the time, and listen to the kine closest to him. He did not fail, he did not betray her dearest hope and ultimate belief. If he did anything, he exceeded them. He truly was the one kine that would make her proud, and make the Ventrue of London a member with great potential and valor. Victoria could not wait until she was allowed to sink her teeth into his precious flesh, to bleed him almost dry, only to grant him her own empowering vitae. All that was great in him as a kine would be even greater after the Transformation, and all that was great in the Ventrue clan would complement him and make him into an astounding Kindred. When the Prince of London had been persuaded, Archon was the only obstacle. But she made him an offer he could not refuse.

When the nights of London grew some what weary, he left to venture the new world. Something was calling for him, and even though he would miss the Ventrue of London, he knew he had to look elsewhere to find where he belonged. His first Primogen reign had pleased him greatly, and it had prepared him for almost any other place in the world. Of course, there were a few he could point out, where he could visit but never linger.
The one place that had appealed to him every time he had been there though, was Los Angeles. It had taken a hold of him, something in the atmosphere called out to him. And this was where he first met Damian, the Ventrue soulmate that would help to brighten the spark that London had failed to keep alive at its peak. Everything within Archon would always love London and the heritage there in, but his Primogen bones would tell a lie if they payed homage to any other place but the city of angels.
In the beginning, this was a predicament. The city already had a Ventrue Primogen, and a great one at that; Lord Damian Alexander III. No matter how much Archon desired to claim the Ventrue clan of Los Angeles for himself, he could not act as if Damian was not worthy of the seat of power. He had to keep his cool, to test the waters most carefully. This, only to find out that the work was already in progress. When Archon was a trusted ally to Damian, the soon to be Prince included him in his plans. With Archon in the city, no one else stood a chance to be trusted the future wellfare of the Ventrue clan.
Two great men, it was only too fortunate that they wanted different things. Archon's taste for perfection and his unyielding love for the Ventrue made him the ideal successor. This way he could concentrate solely on the Ventrue clan, while keeping tabs on all the rest, to further his clan's interests and to protect them. He would also be the Lordship's most trusted Primogen, a man after a royal heart soaked in blue blood.

Even if they would not agree in all matters, they would remain friends for many years to come, to this date. They would share a friendship, as close as they would let it, and a respect found only among royalty. However, no great man, Prince or not, would waste his time on anyone that would not dare to voice an opinion in contradiction to his. Damian could always count on Archon to speak his mind, to test him. Beyond that, he could also trust Archon to never follow, but support his judgement. They had yet to find themselves in a situation where they disagreed in a manner that called for Archon to challenge Damian's ultimate decision.

"Monsieur de la Cour's tendencies", Damian commented. "His efforts if you will, to show his contempt of us on any given opportunity, speaks not of a will to conform and live in peace, my friend. It is my understanding that he's obeying our laws simply because the Tremere still have a hold on him. And if that should turn out to not be the case, then I'll venture a guess and say that he's not obeying our laws, per se, but rather playing the game. Do not forget, in this case, he knows his enemy far better than we know ours."

These words only confirmed Archon's own thoughts. The hunter had been put in a cage, and now he did his best to survive trapped in a vampire skin - in their god forsaken world. It seemed to Archon that they had a honest opponent on their hands.

"I do hope you forgive me for changing the subject", Damian said after a short pause, "but I have another matter I would like to discuss with you."

Archon let a hint of a smile skim over his lips, as a phrase of some sort entered his mind; "No rest for the wicked." It was such a kine statement, but it sometimes fitted their agenda well. They had nothing but time on their hands, yet they had a need to accomplish like there was a horizon after all.
But he did notice something one did not often hear from the lips of their Prince; "I do hope you forgive me...". Archon was probably one in a scarce amount of Kindred that had heard it, and he would bet that Damian most of those few time only used it as a phrase that suited the circumstances. It was common, hardly ever taken seriously, except for right now.

"Miss Moira Sushill", Damian continued. "You've met her. Tell me, what are your thoughts?"

The thing that actually made him wonder, and overtook what little amusement the excuse had caused, was the inquiry about Moira Sushill. If Damian bothered to ask, something must have come up regarding her visit in their city. Something that made the Prince change the subject from the hunter rather hasty.

"It is quite alright", Archon said. "I have never met her before, as I am sure you have gathered so far. Though I have heard some regarding her, I have not heard all that much to really assume anything for a cold hard fact. My contacts in London have informed me that she is an excellent choice as Primogen. It seems to me she makes her own clan proud, as well as she does not aggravate the others. After meeting her, I would say she holds a great deal of a business sense seldom found in a Toreador. She took part in our conversation like it really appealed to her, without letting her mind wander."

Now it was his turn to pause. He had not thought much about Moira Sushill since the night at The Ball, and he did not quite know what to make of her. Her visit could be that of curiosity, it could also be a parti pris; reasons hidden to the naked eye.

"Though I feel she is a conundrum", he concluded. "While she certainly holds the Toreador signature, she appears to possess a sharp intellect a lesser Ventrue would envy. I would not even speculate at this point, when it comes to her motives, if she has any besides the apparent ones, more than to say that I do wonder."

A soft smile graced his lips, that of sheer entertainment, when he added:

"And she did refer to herself as a 'practical woman'. Now, that is not something you hear very often, coming from a Toreador. I would say never."






________________________________________

((( ooc: Atropa - So I get the crappy post - for a fact? Gee, thanks alot! Nah, just kidding. It's great, even when you're rushing it. )))


((( ooc: Everyone - The mistake I did in the text above, explained by Atropa in the next ooc-post, has been changed. I might wanna add something else instead, but for now I have just deleted it. It works for now. Sorry for any confusion. Archon does not know about Adrien's father. :doh: )))

If asked, Adrien wouldn't have been likely to admit it, but this evening, and in this particular conversation, he found himself making an effort to be somewhat civil; a rare experience to him these nights. For so long, disdain and animosity had been the only sources from which his manners sprung. The only conversations he tended to have were either with the Kindred he so loathed, or humans he cared little about befriending, no matter how pleasant they seemed. They usually had nothing to offer the young Tremere, and so would often find themselves being brushed off or ignored by him. It wasn't that he had forgotten manners and courtesy, he just didn't have much use for it anymore, nor practice. It was so much easier to stay in total control of one's emotions and expressions, if one did not allow them to bounce all over the place. When it came to pleasantries, he was rusty, plain and simple.
However now, for once, someone of the human world did seem to have put something quite interesting on the table for him to grab, and Adrien was struggling to keep his viciousness from staining his tone of voice, and his words. So far, he had managed rather well, and only been his genuinely but not overly arrogant true self, without the ever growing defiant and condescending part of him interfering too much.
Not that his minor battle showed on the outside, in any way other than him taking a moment or two longer to react and reply, than he normally would. But had anyone known him - had any of the people that once did know him seen him now - they would've been the only ones possibly able to pick up on it.
But no one did, and for over a century, no one had. And furthermore, as far as Adrien was concerned, no one would, ever again. Many, many would be made to know of him. But that was it. They would know the myth, never the the man. No one would ever learn about his past, his plans, the dreams he'd had, or what went on inside his maze of a mind. No one would feel his affectionate gaze upon them, or feel the gentle touch of his caress. No one would ever feel loved or cared for by him, nor would anyone ever have their hearts filled with love and warmth towards him. It was the fate he had deliberately created for himself, long before the Kindred had put what they thought to be an end to his career, by ambushing him and embracing him in that dirty, godforsaken back alley. Some of them had thought they'd get to see time slowly peel away his human feelings, see him struggle to keep them, and the loss of one after another causing him the anguish and torment the Kindred so longed to see in his eyes.
Needless to say, they had been disappointed.

"Very well then."

The words came softly, and with effortless elegance the redhead stood from the chair in one fluid movement, ending up coming directly face to face with Adrien. His eyes locked with hers, and as he studied their faint glow of contentment over his recognizing the nature of her offer, he saw it flicker ever so briefly with something else. Something fleeting, something he could not quite grasp. The spark of a memory perhaps? A mental visual, or a feeling from long ago?
Whatever it was, it was gone in a flash. Apparently, this little lady was no more prone to distractions than Adrien himself was. Commendable, and all the more reason for him to be interested in whatever it was that she had in mind. With nothing more than another look - an obvious request for him to follow her - she turned, and started leading the way. With him barely half a step behind her, she sashayed through the casino with the calm, purposeful stride of someone that was highly familiar with the surroundings. Along with her confidence and her liberty at offering him this so-called opportunity, it made him think that she had to be somewhere in the top levels of the hierarchy of this place.

Up the stairs to the second floor they went in complete silence, reaching the lavish part of the casino where the hotel suites were located, for those who came to enjoy it's wide range of thrills for more than just one evening. Although not as grand and extravagant as the casino below, the second floor was still just as exclusive. Long hallways illuminated by a soft, dimmed luster from stylish ceiling lights, reflected in a floor of meticulously polished wood. Sparsely decorated, with an undeniable touch of pure class. Although a rebel of society on the outside, there was still an ever present aristocrat within Adrien. And at the moment, it approved. Very much. Unlike the usual flashy and often tacky interior of casinos, this one appealed to him. So much so that if he hadn't been bound to stay at Mina's Museum, he would've deemed this a perfect location for a Haven. Always busy, with people constantly milling about on the various floors, even during the wee hours of the morning, thus leaving a creature of the night like him to come and go as he pleased without bringing too much attention to himself. It would've been an ideal place to make one's sanctuary.
But alas, he was forced to stay in a place for rest that offered none.
For now.

Continuing down one of the hallways, it wasn't long before Adrien realized their destination. Part of it, at least. Soon a large double door with a burly guard on each side came into view, and the red-haired woman headed straight for it. Upon approaching, neither her nor Adrien recieved as much as a glance from either of the guards. Or a single word for that matter. Silence still ruled the atmosphere, much like it had done since Adrien and the redhead had left the bar.
However, that was about to change. As her hands came to rest on the door knobs, ready to push them open, the redhead finally opened her mouth.

"Welcome to Posh", she said, the words simple yet holding an element of pride that lead him to believe that whatever lay behind those doors, was something she truely treasured.

The moment she parted them and revealed what hid behind them to his scrutinizing eyes, Adrien's gaze instantly swept from one side of the room to the other, always prepared to spot any immediate danger. Even if he wasn't really expecting one. But he would never be caught off guard, and so he allowed himself to be ruled by his instincts rather than his sense of judgement. Once they had assured him there was nothing all too sinister waiting to pounce on him, his gaze made a second sweep, slower this time, to take in the scenery. It appeared to be another arena for gambling, although it was a room far smaller than the one on the first floor. Less noisy too, due to the fact that there were no slot machines. The gambling here was limited to the kind Adrien respected, and appreciated; cards, dice and roulette. Not even the fact that the room was full seemed to have too big an impact on the noise level, as the people in here seemed more focused than the common casino patron, and didn't feel the need to talk people's ears off, explaining how much they loved the game, why they were here, how much they had won or lost, how thrilling it all was, or just making simple-minded attempts to distract or psych out their opponents. Here, in this room of dark but inviting colors and whispy smoke trickling from the tips of cigars and cigarettes, silence was the weapon of choice.

"I believe it was a game of black jack that you wanted?"

Again the redhead was the first of the two of them to speak, bringing Adrien's eyes to abandon the scenery in favor of her. A natural reaction perhaps, when being spoken to, but not to Adrien. From him, who would've usually kept his gaze straight forward as to not appear impressed or interested when he was not, it was an intentional sign that what she'd had to offer did indeed appeal to him still.
Whether or not it was a gesture she registered, however, remained a tale untold, as the very next moment she handed her purse to a young man nearby, and then lead the way to the Black Jack table, where, after greeting the men around it, she dismissed the current dealer, only to take his place herself. The men greeted her back with polite nods, and Adrien as well, though he didn't fail to notice the initial odd glances he got, as his dark and casual appearance differed quite a bit from their own.

"I bring you fresh blood tonight," the redhead said with a playful wink at one of the players, and causing - surprise, surprise - another smirk to form on Adrien's lips.

'Fresh blood'. Oh, the irony of such a statement. If only she knew.
Still, he remained silent, and merely watched as the former dealer returned with a new deck for her, and a stack of chips - Adrien with his keen eye estimated it to be around thousand dollars worth - for their newest guest.

"Don’t be offended", the redheaded young woman said while deftly inaugurating the new deck. "Everyone is given a small welcome gift to get them started."

At that, Adrien simply inclined his head ever so slightly, to show his acceptance of this 'welcome gift'. Even though they both knew he didn't need it, considering his earlier wins, he knew it was a fact that was beside the matter. This was a sign of respect, and would start him off with a clean slate to the others, leaving only her to know a few details of the skill that had brought him to the seat he now claimed by this table.

"Yeah, you won’t ever get another dime out of her", one of his soon to be opponents commented, causing a few soft chuckles from the other men, and a smile from the redhead.

Ah. So, suspicions confirmed. She was indeed the owner, or at least one of the people closest to such a position.
But that wasn't all he gathered from the statement. Along with her deftness with the deck in her hands, it paved the way for even more suspicions. If the man's words were indeed true, Adrien had to wonder if she, much like himself, had been playing a game of deception down on the first floor, pretending to be less skilled a card player than she really was. It was either that, or the man that made the statement simply wasn't as good as her, even if she hadn't played modestly earlier. Either way, the man didn't just manage to compliment her, and tell Adrien a little something about her, it also told him a little bit about the man himself as well, and his opponents. Their chuckles following his comment were testament enough that they agreed with him, meaning every one of these players considered her a challenge.

"Good to know", he smirked, and gave Faleysia a glance as she started dealing the cards, but shifted his gaze back to the man for a few seconds, indicating there was far more hiding in his words than for it to be just some generic statement.

Satisfied to see a small crease form between the man's eyebrows, in puzzlement, Adrien then turned his full attention to the card game. Now, Black Jack wasn't really his forté, and his only purpose with telling Faleysia that he was headed over to one such table, was to test her. He had merely wanted to know her reaction and thus her motive for showing up around him. Though that didn't mean he couldn't hold his own in the game that now commenced. In any card game, if one could read one's opponents, one already had a head start. And even more so if one knew to pay attention to the odds as well.
Adrien had a talent for both.

Still, even though he did fairly well, albeit not as well as he did in poker, he soon grew somewhat bored. While he did take an interest in the other players - the redhead especially since he got the feeling from her way of playing Black Jack that she had held back a bit when playing poker with him earlier - poker was his game of preferrence. And so, after a handful more rounds than enough to not seem fickle or indecisive, he collected his earnings and excused himself, explaining what was in essence the truth; that he wanted to try his 'luck' at the poker table. He had kept a discreet eye on it while playing, and now saw his chance, as one player had recently stood from his chair and left the game, and no one else showed much interest in claiming the empty seat.

"Mademoiselle", he concluded his words of departure from the Black Jack table by turning to Faleysia with another slight but courteous bow of his slender neck, and leaving his French heritage to shine through in his accent.

Then he stood, and sauntered over to what he had decided would be his ultimate challenge this evening; the poker table in this exclusive part of the casino, and it's population of nothing but highly skilled players. Players of his own caliber. Players that made the feeling of winning so much more gratifying, simply because it didn't happen as often as it had in his previous two games of poker, and because winning over someone he knew was as skilled as himself made him feel that he was improving. It was that kind of multi-layered win that offered the most satisfaction, and the most experience.

Within a few hands having been dealt, Adrien made a discovery that almost made him smile with amusement. While waiting for one of the players to place his bet, Adrien took the opportunity to study the other players while they studied the one about to bet. His gaze drifted slowly from one face around the table to the next, but stopped suddenly when it landed on a face further back, appearing in the gap between two of his opponents, in the part of the room that stretched out behind them.
He was being watched. Again. It seemed the redhead had made quite a habit of leaving the tables he had been at shortly after his own departure. She was now standing on her own, watching him from a bit of a distance. Adrien couldn't help but feel amused, and even offered her a quirked brow, only this time, it didn't urge her to speak, and fast, but rather was more of a sign that he had indeed noticed her, and found her interest in him somewhat intriguing. And entertaining. He might've even glanced suggestively at the game, asking her to join, had he not noticed the time. Soon, he would have to retire, lest he be stuck here while the sun crossed the sky. That was something he could not afford, and so when the next hand was about to be dealt, he once again collected his earnings and stood while bidding the other players a good night.

However, as the redhead had succeeded with what to most humans would seem nearly impossible - to intrigue him - he decided to acknowledge it. In his own way. Having slid back into his black, heavy leather coat, with the help of one of the many employees that offered her assitance, he then strode towards Faleysia while adjusting the collar.

"Your offer has indeed made for quite an interesting and prosperous evening", he said, once he reached her, and he scanned the room as if taking one last look at it all, and then turned his eyes back to lock with hers. "I trust it was equally rewarding to whoever it was that wished to observe my skills?"

By asking for Archon's thoughts, Damian hade made an exception to his usual and firm principles. He would rarely reveal even the slightest interest or concern regarding anything, unless of course it was a matter where interest and concern on his part would be expected, or have it's obvious reasons. And even then he would moderate the show of his level of involvement, how much he would let the world around him see of what went through his mind.

Asking his London Ventrue contacts about Moira Sushill would reveal very little. She was a Toreador Primogen visiting his city; of course he would be interested in knowing more about her, about whatever power players crossed the borders into his domain. Asking those usually around her would only be the natural thing to do.

But asking for the opinion of anyone around Damian himself, within his own city, who would know no more than him, and thus only be able to offer an opinion instead of the cold hard fact that the Ventrue tended to love so much, that was something out of the ordinary, and nothing he would've done, had it not been Archon, another of the few Ventrue he trusted, or perhaps, as of late, Mina. She was probably the only one outside of the Ventrue clan, whose opinion he would consider asking for on a somewhat more personal level.
However, he would not go out of his way to do so, and he had not been in touch with her since the evening of the Ball, and so had had no chance to ask her in passing. Nor was he sure the two ladies had even actually met. They had both seemed to keep themselves busy in different parts of the venue, and so he doubted they had exchanged words there. But that didn't mean they had never met before.

But, as a way of maintaining his appearance as omniscient Prince of Los Angeles, Damian never asked a question without knowing there was an answer. While he might not know the exact nature of the answer, he always knew that the question he asked, if answered truthfully, would not provide him with a shrug and a "I don't know".
And so Archon, his esteemed collegue, Primogen and friend, would be the only one in the Prince's 'court' who would have the honor and the privilege of being asked his opinion. For in his case, more than anyone else's, Damian knew that while Archon might have his curiousity piqued by Damian's rather unpredictable question, he would recognize the line and make sure not to cross it, either by being nosey, or by making inquiries or research of his own, regarding Damian's interest in the lady Londoner behind his back. If Damian had an interest in her, it was for a very good reason, and one that the Prince would reveal to Archon in due time. Until then, only Damian would know what went on inside his cunning, analytical mind. For no matter how much he trusted Archon, Damian was not a man who would openly discuss his affairs. He gathered whatever information he could get, he went over it, he pondered it, until finally he reached his decision.
Then, and only then, did he talk about it.

"It is quite alright", Archon said in response to the change of topic. "I have never met her before, as I am sure you have gathered so far. Though I have heard some regarding her, I have not heard all that much to really assume anything for a cold hard fact. My contacts in London have informed me that she is an excellent choice as Primogen. It seems to me she makes her own clan proud, as well as she does not aggravate the others. After meeting her, I would say she holds a great deal of a business sense seldom found in a Toreador. She took part in our conversation like it really appealed to her, without letting her mind wander."

That statement was followed by a slight pause, as Archon took a moment to gather his thoughts and delve deeper into his sense of observation. In the meantime, Damian was pleased to discover that his perception agreed very much with Damian's own, as well as the few tidbits the Prince had managed to get a hold of earlier this evening, through the contacts in London. Although he was still waiting for something further, something more than what he himself had already gathered on his own, it was all off to a good start. So far, he had only seen and heard things that pleased him, things that fit nicely into the vague plans that were forming in his head.

"Though I feel she is a conundrum", Archon continued. "While she certainly holds the Toreador signature, she appears to possess a sharp intellect a lesser Ventrue would envy. I would not even speculate at this point, when it comes to her motives, if she has any besides the apparent ones, more than to say that I do wonder. And she did refer to herself as a 'practical woman'. Now, that is not something you hear very often, coming from a Toreador. I would say never."

The last couple of sentences saw a faint smile steal across the Primogen's lips. Clearly, he was amused to hear a Toreador describe herself in such a manner. And indeed. It did seem lady Sushill seperated herself from most Toreador, in a way most admirable to the Ventrue.
It would be quite interesting to see if she and Damian could find some common ground, some way to profit together, from a possible business association. Damian already had a few projects in mind, to dangle infront of her and see if she'd bite. Because, if his intuition was right about her, she possessed two qualities that he had not found combined in anyone else; the business sense of the Ventrue, and the artistic sense of a Toreador. He had a need for such an acquaintance. Granted, along with Valerian, Claudia made a fine such specimen, but that was just it; along with Valerian. She did not hold the qualities he desired all on her own, and Damian would rather keep to involving as few people as possible. While it often meant larger the risk, it also meant larger the profit.
And Damian liked profit.
Further more, these projects, while sincere and serious in nature, were also just the prelude to what Damian really had in mind. They were a way to test the waters, to see if the possibilities that had appeared to him during his encounter with Moira, could be made into something more, something that would strenghten his control of the city, and it's Kindred inhabitants. While offering Moira something desirable in return, of course.
A classic win-win situation.

"Indeed", Damian agreed, with a faint smile of his own gracing his lips. "But then again, the Toreador are in essence performers, and they do so love to flatter themselves."

Now, although seemingly condescending, that was a comment that was by no means meant to belittle Moira's sense of self, nor whatever abilities she might have. It was simply a comment made to show that while her persona did seem promising, Damian was still not convinced. At this point, and in his position, only a fool would be.

"However, regardless, I do trust that you will keep me informed, should you happen to learn anything further about our prominent guest."

This time when he spoke, he did so with his usual tone of voice, that left it beyond all reasonable doubt, that it was not a request.

"Now", he then continued, having allowed another brief pause to follow his words and declare the subject closed, for now, and his tone changed yet again, into a far more casual and insouciant one. "Let's save the business talk for another time. You are back, and so I'm sure there will be plenty of opportunities. Right now, however, I wish to hear of your adventures these past few months. Please, indulge me."

If asked, most people who had ever made Valerian's acquaintance, or simply just seen him from a distance, were likely to describe the youthful and sensual Toreador as a strapping young man, who never appeared to lack in confidence. Though of course, since it was Valerian, it was always a confidence that seemed worlds apart from the self-assured arrogance that would usually ooze from Kindred pores. It was a calm, quiet one, filled with contentment of being who, what, and where he was, with no need to shout it from the mountain tops. Despite his enthusiasm and his easily tickled excitement, he often came across as casual and urbane, and despite the gothic attire he usually donned, he left no impression of being the blatant kind of attention-seeker that would do anything to stand out in a crowd. He was what he was, and didn't mind being stared at for various reasons, or overlooked or even downright ignored, for other various reasons. He was comfortable in his skin, and carried himself with an inner sanguine glow.

Which made the contrast now all the more striking. Here he was, leaning heavily against the back of the sofa on the opposite side of Moira, not a shred of his usual confidence near him, but rather looking every bit a lost little boy, knowing he had done something wrong, but not understanding what it was. Guilt-ridden confusion dampening the ever vivacious sparks of joy de vivre in his pale sapphire eyes, growing to marr not only his pretty features, but to slowly claim his entire posture. It was a subtle change, to the naked eye it would be nearly invisible. And yet it was painfully obvious, in the air about him, in his aura. Once open and all-encompassing, it now seemed to be slowly shrinking the more he chided himself for doing what he had done, and thus causing her such turmoil, and to almost loose control.Not even for a moment did he blame her. He was the one that had instigated it. Careless and naive, he had intentionally tempted her, and the Beast right along with her, not thinking for one second of the risks. Only the pleasures.

Such was the pattern of his thoughts. Until... Until Moira reached out to him, the soft melody of her voice slipping easily through the tangle of thorns tormenting his mind, soothing words of comfort pulling them away, plucking them out, one after another.

"You didn't."

They came softly, like an aerial whisper destined not to be heard. And yet Valerian would've heard them over the most vicious of thunderstorms. He heard them through the tempest raging within the walls of his skull, and felt it start to slowly subside, and ebb away.

"I should have told you,", she added, her voice still a gentle breeze against the raw scratches in his mind. "But I thought I could handle it."

With those words alone, it was as if she had put her fingers gently under his chin, and lifted his head to bring him to look at her once more. Without even touching him. He studied her then, searching her face for even the smallest of signs that what he had felt had sprung from truth, from feeling that he was to blame.
He found none.
All that revealed itself to his eyes, was compassion, and a look of being deep in thought, as though Moira was somehow deliberating with herself over what to say, or perhaps what she was feeling. Though even is she was, the look on her face spoke clearly to him; whatever feelings were flowing through her mind and body, they did not support the ones he himself had felt, of rue and guilt.
She did not blame him.
And soon he would sense why.

"There have been... centuries since I've allowed myself to share blood with another Kindred", she started, hesitating only for a moment at first, before following through with the sentences that had begun forming on her lips. "I've been afraid, and now you know the reason. I cannot quite explain why I am vulnerable to this, I've simply come to accept it as my weakness. Until now I've feared I could not control it, but you've proven me wrong. I was able to stop, albeit at the very last moment. Your trust had something to do with it, that you did not fight me, and the thought of you, that harming you was the last thing I wished to do. Perhaps it was both; either way I was able to reach through to that part of me who is Moira Sushill and defeat the... other."

A short pause followed, and then she continued;

"Earlier I've said you know me better than most Kindred alive today; this is a side of me I'd rather not have let loose, but now you have seen something I have shown only one other. You know it exists and you needn't fear it, not anymore; that is something few could say."

While she spoke, Valerian sat in silence, having shushed the last of his lingering anxiety when the complete lack of disapproval in her eyes had reassured him that she was in no way upset with him. Instead he listened carefully to her every word, feeling the weight and meaning behind each and every one. The story ran deeper than it appeared, certain words hinted to a far darker side of it all, to a tale unspoken, and yet not untold. He learned, or at least he thought he did, that there had been another with whom Moira had shared her blood. A night a long time ago, that had seen the terrifying end of the ritual, that had just barely been avoided during the present one. An act not only frowned upon by the Camarilla, but an immediate death sentence, should it be made known what she had done.
She hadn't said it in so many words, but she didn't need to. The apprehension and the distress dancing like flickering flames in her eyes told him the story. And he knew that at that exact moment, when her confession dawned on him, those were feeling mirrored in his own eyes.
Diablerie. The most vile among acts within Camarillan society, punishable by death, no questions asked. Valerian himself had always shyed away from the mere thought of it. He had never killed anyone. No Kindred, no human, not even a larger animal. Ever. And while he might understand the urges behind the act of Diablerie, on a logical level, he felt that he would never understand it on an emotional one. Frenzied Beast aside, he simply could not fathom what may drive a Kindred to devour another. It was an act that belonged with the Sabbat, the ones that fully embraced their predatory nature, and, according to some, made themselves slaves under it. To Valerian, and many others, they were monsters.

But as he looked at Moira, a monster was the last thing he saw. He saw a stunningly beautiful woman, with a kind and gentle soul, and sincerity written upon her very face. Despite her deed, she was not evil, and she was not like the Sabbat. Unlike them, she had refrained from taking another's blood, in fear that she would be unable to control herself. She had not wished to harm him, Valerian, and she had found in herself the power to prevail over her beastly instincts, and wielded it.
And she had opened up to him, in a way that most would never dare to do with anyone. Not only had she shown him the painting of Josephine, which seemed to have been much like an open wound to her for a very long time, she had allowed him to see and understand her greatest sorrow.
Now, she had just all but openly confessed to a most horrific, despicable act. One of the most heinous crimes in the eyes of the Camarilla, that if revealed to anyone else would've surely have cost her her life.
But Valerian...?
Valerian only adored her all the more for it.
Not for the act itself, naturally, but because of the trust she put in him by confiding in him, for leaving herself so vulnerable. Whether it was because of the growing bond between them, or a desire to entrust him with her life after he had entrusted her with his, or even both, it didn't matter. He adored her all the same. And like always when it came to the young Toreador, every emotion that washed over him was plain to see in the features on his beautiful face. Back was the bright sparkle in his eyes, and the warmth of his smile, and the only thing that kept him from pulling her closer to him and gently wrapping his arms around her, was the feeling that she had more to say.

"I know you also have a dark side you keep locked away," she soon continued, "but if I could defeat my monster I have the confidence you can as well. I can help you, if you would let me."

Slowly, like snow melting away in the spring time, the warm smile faded from Valerian's soft lips, leaving a faint but sad one to claim them instead, as his thoughts once again returned to the part of his history that no one else knew - no one, except one - and that to this day tormented him, whenever he allowed himself to think about it. Mostly, he kept it locked away, and hidden so carefully that he himself could not reach it. Tonight, he had unleashed it, and even though he had known that she would pick up on it - he had wished her to - he hadn't been prepared for the opportunity to surface quite yet. He had waited for it, yet perhaps postponed it when an opening had seemed to appear, quickly dissmissing it when he had sensed that Moira might have more to say about whatever they had been talking about. As though he longed to tell her, yet feared the moment when he would, thinking that perhaps she wouldn't understand why it pained him like it did, and think that he was just being too sensitive. Lord knows it was a phrase he had been subjected to before, where other matters had been concerned.
But, now the moment was here, the opportunity brought to him by Moira herself, and he would dissmiss it no longer. Even if he could.

"My Sire...", he started slowly, and it almost seemed he had great difficulty just pronouncing the words, as though they were somehow unfamiliar to him. "He used to say that he embraced me partly because a compassion and a love for everything, like mine, if made eternal would make the world a better place to live. Only on a small scale, of course, but... even the smallest of things are part of the bigger picture."

He glanced up at Moira briefly, the saddened smile still clinging to his lips, though now it was slightly more than the shadow it had been earlier, as if somewhat strengthened by the memories.

"That was in the beginning", he said. "It changed with the time that passed. For some reason that I have yet to understand, it seemed that the things that made him Embrace me in the first place, later made him grow to resent me. He withdrew from me more and more, started avoiding me like one would the plague. Finally, he just..."

There his voice trailed off for a second, and as he looked up at Moira again, he gave a slight shrug of what now seemed to be a pair of tiny shoulders.

"He left."

Falesyia’s movements were natural, toying with the deck of cards, her fingers dancing nimbly over them. It was plain to see to even the most casual of observers that they had become an extension of her body. Her eyes had no need to look at what she was doing, instead she allowed her gaze to hover over the men that sat at the table. In Posh she was not just some pretty arm ornament, each and every one of these men were here because of her. Having introduced them to this gambler’s haven came with a certain amount of respect. While she still got a few flirty glances from time to time, they were guarded, as the men knew better, most of them simply trying to hide the fact that she made them feel inferior. Falesyia found that most men, even if they’d never admit it, felt intimidated by a woman who had no real need for them. Though there had been a few that wished to tame her, they all fell short, their true feelings coming out eventually. Still she enjoyed standing where she was, the game was in her hands, literally.

Her eyes had drifted over the men sitting at the table, their chuckles bringing a proud smile to her face. She looked towards her newest inductee just in time to catch a short glance as he uttered “Good to know”, before looking towards one of his opponents. Though Falesyia’s mind wished to study his eyes for some hint of what lay behind them, the game was now at hand. Whether she was dealing or participating, when the game commenced Falesyia pushed everything else out of her mind. The only thing that mattered at that time was the cards and the players.

After several hands the raven haired man soon made his exit with a polite “Mademoiselle” and a bow of his head. It was a gesture that caught her by surprise, reigniting the interest that had brought her to his table in the first place. Though he had the appearance of a young rebel, his posture, the little gestures, and his mannerisms hinted to something else so much deeper and complex. She wondered if that outward appearance was a guise for protection. What she couldn’t figure out was the who or what was he protecting. Was he protecting himself from someone or something in particular, or was he just trying to defy society as a whole?

After he had taken his leave, Falesyia nodded for the previous player to return. She gave her polite smile to those that were still around the table, not bothering to make excuses for her behavior. This was her haven, her establishment, she need not answer to anyone for what she did. She would study whomever she wished to study, and make no excuses for it. First she grabbed one of the attendants and had them fetch her a drink, a real one this time, before standing a few yards back from the poker table. She studied the players, mentally putting herself in the raven haired man’s position, trying to predict his moves, what he would do. As if she were in a mental match with the man.

Somewhere along the way, the raven haired gentleman noticed her. Not one to shy away from the obvious truth, she made no small gesture of looking behind her, or feigning interest in something else trying to hide the fact she was watching him. She remained standing, her eyes not fleeing beneath his gaze, she had nothing to be ashamed of, curiosity was not a crime after all. His response was the quirk of his brow, a silent recognition of her curiosity. A recognition that drew from her lips a small smile. Not one hinting of flirtation or shyness, yet one that wasn’t stiff and cordial. It was a small sign of intrigue. One that apparently got through his tough exterior layers, as soon he would make his way towards her.

At the completion of another hand the man took his leave of his opponents, allowing an employee to assist him with his coat, he strode towards her. Her eyes watched as he walked with steady purposeful steps. “Your offer has indeed made for quite an interesting and prosperous evening,” he began before surveying the room once again. She wondered why he always studied his surroundings, a habit most befitting a man of paranoia. She took the brief opportunity to study his features, before his gaze returned to meet with her own. “I trust it was equally rewarding to whoever it was that wished to observe my skills?” With that Falesyia couldn’t help but give a slight smile, her lids giving way to a slow blink. “Satisfying yes”, she began, “but in comparison to the amount of money you are leaving with, not nearly as rewarding.” It had been a compliment, to him for his prowess, and to herself for her instinct.

Falesyia wished to get to know this man a little better. She took an uncanny interest in the men she allowed to enter her sanctuary. Each and every one of them had grabbed her attention for some reason, it was almost canny. Perhaps it was driven from an innocent desire to know those whom surrounded her, perhaps she was unintentionally searching for something deeper. Whatever it may be, she was adamant on at least knowing the names of the people she granted entrance to Posh on a regular basis. A knowledge she did not have of this man yet. “Would you mind some company on your way out?”, she asked, watching his features for any hint of surprise or amusement. Anything really that would show a shadow of the man he was yet hid so well.

Once they exited through the heavy double doors, they found themselves in the isolated, dimly lit second floor corridor. Falesyia peered down the hall making sure there were no undesirable ears around. Satisfied that the corridor was primarily empty, she began to talk, not looking at him but rather keeping her focus ahead of her. “As you have noticed, admittance to Posh is rather limited, to maintain the respectability of the place. I am satisfied after this evening that you meet all the requirements of its standards, with only a single exception.” She paused briefly to look towards him as they walked leisurely down the hall. “I require the names of those who frequent on more than one occasion. Something I hope you will consider doing.” Her eyes were serious, her offer genuine. She made sure he understood the intent of her words before she once again diverted her gaze, this time to the artwork on the wall. “I doubt you are inclined to give something as personal as your name without there being something in it for you. All I have to offer is my own in return, should you require it.”

((Guys, burnziiy, I am sorry but I am announcing my desertion from S2C, well my almost desertion I still owe one particular roleplay my time as I took on a big responsibility when joining it last year.

As to how long my departing will last I am not sure, but until i know can I go on hiatus? If not its all cool I just don't want to completely sever my ties yet.))

Atropa i hope you will forgive me for deserting here!))

((OOC Guys I'm really sorry. I know I start doing posts then disapearing off on you all for ages without explanation. I'm trying to sort my life out at the moment and put the pieces back together again etc. and its taking a lot longer than I expected.

Anyway good news is that I do have posts mostly written for Zillah and Mina ready for when the next night rolls round. Reading the fantastic posts you've all been writing has given me back my inspiration. ))

#31 [Eighth Night]

Predictable. Stoic. Reserved. Cold. These were all words within the same realm, from where many Kindred derived the foundation to their notion of the Ventrue. Business men and women, all out to get what they could, even if they had more than they needed. They wanted to rule them all, like they owned the world, no matter who got in the way.
Now, it was not far from the truth, but Archon found it to be prejudice none the less; more decayed than the Ventrue had ever been or sought to be. They did not all do the biddings of the teachings of Zeno of Citium, the Greek philosopher, who said that "tranquility can best be reached through indifference to pleasure and pain". The Ventrue were not indifferent, not in Archon's opinion, but they did possess a great sense of discipline. And they did find pleasure, but maybe not in the same things as others. A well planned business meeting could bring joy to the heart of a Ventrue. Was that still not pleasure, even if considered stale by other means? Maybe no one else but a Ventrue could see the true Ventrue beauty, within the clan and its great history. Maybe not even a Toreador. It could perhaps only be considered beauty, when seen with noble eyes. And many did trust the nobility to have a great taste. However, their taste for themselves might be viewed as some what narcissistic.

Still, some of the time most of them deserved those words. Even their Prince. What Ventrue had not been cold, in order to deal with a situation? What Ventrue had not been biding time, to wait and see what their opponent would do? And was it even possible for a Ventrue to exist upon this earth, without having the capability of detachment. From anything but the Ventrue.

Even when Damian shared personal thoughts, Archon knew his friend's analytical mind never rested. He suspected that Damian was always on guard, from the second he woke up til the second he fell asleep. He probably analyzed everything everyone said, including Archon. The trust he recieved was not permanent, and the only one who knew for absolutley deadly certain if Archon really deserved it, was Archon himself. Though the Prince had a great judgement, and knew to the core of his heart and business sense that Archon was to be trusted, a Prince for the ages could never ever rest. Within the respect Archon was shown, the Prince was also sure to stress what position they both had. Although he could have simply asked Archon to keep him informed on anything related to Moira Sushill, one could always expect Damian to insert his imperial weight. If not there, then anywhere in the conversation. Because when it came to Archon, he did not need to make it obvious.

"Now", Damian continued, after another brief pause that declare the subject closed, for now, and his tone changed yet again, into a far more casual one. "Let's save the business talk for another time."

No sooner had Archon commented on the matter, before Damien changed the subject yet again. It was rather remarkable, to see the Prince take charge of the discussion. He seemed to have a path all lined up, ready to be executed. Since Archon did not mind, it made no difference to him. Why dwell, when they clearly understood each other enough not to linger. Even if it had to do with de la Cour and new blood in their city. The Prince and the Primogen apparently saw eye to eye, otherwise the Prince would have made this known. And well, so would Archon.

"You are back", Damian declared. "And so I'm sure there will be plenty of opportunities. Right now, however, I wish to hear of your adventures these past few months. Please, indulge me."

This was actually one of the main things he had been looking forward to, upon having an audience with the Prince, to tell all about his journey. Even if this 'audience' of theirs was too informal to really suffice for that sovereign remark, it would be called one in Archon's mind. How he loved the royal traditions.
Though, he felt that there was not enough time to indeed speak of everything he had experienced, but he could probably pick out the most interesting occurrences.

"I feel that I have taken much of your time already", he said. "But your wish is my command, my Lord."

The last words made him give a slight nod, with mirth in the corners of his eyes, as his lips formed into a smirk. One would certainly need a position like Archon's, in order to joke with the Prince in such a blatant manner. Any other Kindred might have given Damian reason enough to doubt, but Archon had a good judgement on these things. They found themselves on the right level, instigated by the Prince himself.

"I do not instantly know where to begin", Archon continued, now without playing with the words. "The world has changed, yet stayed the same."

Having said this cliché, he smiled softly and gestured with one hand, as if to ignore its commonness and be left with the meaning that was still true, no matter how often it had been used.

"As I usually feel when I have been away", he added. "London is still dignified and amiable, even if some of the kine influence has been taken into a direction I am not particularly fond of. The Kindred, however, still care for the city the way they did when I represented the Ventrue. No matter how much time I have in London, it never seems to be enough. This time around was no different in that regard. And Paris, yet another city one could venture for a decade and not be done with. It is no wonder, that I find the Toreador are strongest over there, as they have an abundance of inspiration. I think our dear Valerian would be lost to us, if he ever sat foot on french soil."

He paused, to let the Prince take in the information so far, and not just go on and on as if there was no end to his words. It was good etiquette, something Archon of course took pride in. The Ventrue never tired of formality, the same conversational substance that could bore the minds of others. How about taking pleasure in others pain, would that not be a puzzle for the Stoics?

"Transylvania was... interesting", Archon said when the silence had played its part. "No Draculia in sight this time either, but in all regards the kine would probably wish for him to be real, rather than what actually dwells in their city. It is only too ironic, that the Malkavians claim to power has only recently been answered. I guess they have been too busy being mad, to have been able to assemble the members sooner. I am afraid we might have a Malkavian Prince on our hands in due time, hailing from Romania's most obvious seat."

Another pause took hold of the room, but not its inhabitants. It took a great deal more to rattle the foundation of two mighty Ventrue. Although silence was a strong force, strong enough to evicerate the kine, it was not enough to have any real affect on the undead. It was, after all, one of the main ingredience in their destiny.

"And I must say your reputation still precedes you in the world", Archon continued. "You needed no introduction in Hongkong, even the stark mad ones knew whom I represented. And in Singapore, where I finally came upon your sword, I believe your name opened one of the doors I had to enter on my path. And they have not forgotten you in Rome."

After his conclusion, at least for the sake of letting the Prince have a chance to comment, Archon was not only silent, but silent also in the eyes. The Ventrue Primogen seemed to let his thoughts go on, evaluating his journey, in order to locate information the Prince would find relevant or just plain interesting. Some of it would also give Archon concern on a more personal level, and that was the main reason for the lack of expression in his eyes all of a sudden. He almost regretted his visit to Vienna.





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((( ooc: Atropa - Let me know if something in the post doesn't work for you/Damian. )))

((( ooc: Footnote: Zeno of Citium. And "new blood" mentioned in the post is Moira Sushill, if there is any doubt. )))

(((ooc: Fay - Sorry to see you go, but I completely understand, and hope we'll see you back here soon. In the meantime, I'll put Caraltian on hiatus. It's all perfectly cool.
veldagia - Glad to see you post, as always. Even if it's just an ooc. Was starting to fear we'd seen the last of you.)))



Years had passed, since last Valerian had allowed himself to open up what to him had become much like a Pandora's box. He had kept the memories of his Sire - Richard Gardinar - buried deep within him, and embraced everything that was the present with every fiber of his undead body. Revelled in the novelties, cherished every new acquaintance, and marvelled at everything life, and unlife, had to offer. However, contrary to what one might have believed, had one known, it was not an act, a way to keep up appearances. It served a purpose, but it had never been an act. Merely a part of him that had been left to blossom to such an extent that it would one day hopefully suffocate the few weeds that caused him the pain he felt he could not bear, the pain that if left to roam freely in his mind, might some day numb him, and leave him unable to feel at all. That, to Valerian, would be a fate worse than death.

Only on a few rare occasions in the past, had he, without ever telling the full story, hinted at what lay beneath all the layers upon layers of creativity, purity and kindness. Though he had never done so willingly. As with all secrets and repressed memories, there had been times when it had all surfaced from the dark pit it had been banished to so very long ago. A simple word that slipped from his lips, or a look that he could not hide, and for a moment he had feared that someone would be able to see right through him, and put their finger on something that he was not ready to reveal or discuss. Or even noticeably avoid.
But, his persona of light and affection, had always proved so strong that it blinded those around him from seeing what he had wished to keep from them. Even those that had caught that rare glimpse of melancholy in his eyes, had seemed to dissmiss it as a figment of their own imagination, or perhaps and even more likely as his empathetic ability, thinking that what they had seen, had been him sensing something within them. It wasn't a far fetched idea. After all, whenever there was saddness in Valerian's eyes, it was mostly because he had been able to sense their own personal tragedies, and feel their well concealed anguish. Or rather, he'd been unable not to. Even after a century as a predator, that would feed on the blood of others, he was still ruled by empathy.

However, the infinite sorrow that was now filling his eyes, seeming like it would practically spill out at any moment as the barriers of his mind crumbled in Moira's presence, was his own. It mirrored only the torment that nothing but cruel experience itself could force upon such a gentle soul. He struggled with the words of his story, as though they were a foreign language of which he had only learned an odd phrase here and there, and it almost seemed like he could not bring himself to meet Moira's gaze for more than a moment, like he was somehow too ashamed to do so.
Yet, the way understanding and compassion once again claimed Moira's flawless features at every glance he did manage to give, and the way she carefully inched closer to him once again, told him that she knew of what he spoke. Eventually it comforted him and reassured him enough to dare to look at her again, and allow their gazes to lock for a few moments longer. But, at the same time, it all also told him that she was not surprised, and he struggled to understand why, if he truly appealled to her as much as it seemed, it would be so obvious to her why he had been abandoned. He himself had never understood it, despite pondering it night after night in the beginning. Many theories had made their way into his thoughts, but none of them had ever offered the full explanation he needed. Each and every one seemed much like a puzzle with many vital pieces missing, never leaving him with a complete, comprehensible picture.
What he himself didn't manage to see, was that much like he had just done with Moira's almost-Frenzy, he had always looked only to himself for reasons and blame. Not Richard.

"Alas", Moira began, still with the same soft understanding evident in her eyes. "The understanding of a Sire's reasons is something few of us ever fully grasp. Not unlike humans, we seek the approval of our progenitors, particularly in those first few years when they are who we know best, and their rejection is always painful to bear. That remains true for most even as we grow ancient; we have only one Sire, which makes them special. I do not know the one who Embraced you so this is only my interpretation, but I can see several reasons for his behaviour."

There it was. The statement that he had already seen in her eyes, before she had even parted her lips to speak; her understanding of why Richard had been driven away from him. Slowly, a shadow of fearful anticipation crept upon Valerian's face, blending with the sorrow still lingering there. What would she say? What had she seen in him, that so easily explained to her why his Sire had chosen to reject him? Was he too weak, in that he harboured no apparent desire for power, or interest in the politics of the Camarilla? Was he too sensitive? Too needy? He was eager to know, yet he wasn't sure if he could bear to hear the words. To hear them spoken with clarity by Moira, one he had grown to adore, explaining the dissmissive actions of another for whom he'd felt nothing but the deepest kind of love.
Though at the same time, what she said made it sound as though it was not a rare occurance for a Sire to abandon their Childe... Words that suddenly shed a little bit of light on an dimension of it all, entirely new to him. A dimension previously shrouded in darkness that had made it invisible to him; a glimpse of the realization that there was perhaps more to it all than simply his own insufficiency and inability to remain pleasing to his Sire.

"Embracing a mortal to preserve their qualities for eternity is one of the most common reasons", Moira continued, "but even Elders cannot predict how that childe will evolve once they are no longer human. Sometimes they are disappointed, for the outcome does not match their vision, other times they fall prey to guilt as they witness their humanity being chipped away bit by bit, and sometimes they are simply jealous of their childe's youth and cannot bear it. Also, there are some who hope that by Embracing a tenacious young mortal full of life, some of that humanity will be transfered onto them and grow bitter when it doesn't happen."

Following those words was a small pause, as though Moira hesitated for a moment, reluctant to tell Valerian something that would not truly answer the unspoken question that was so clearly haunting him. But she had little choice.

"I am afraid I cannot divine the reasons why your sire left you, and I know that is an ache that will require time and effort to heal, but I can tell you this: we are only responsible for our own actions, and his decision to abandon you rests with him as does the blame. You were brought into this world to better it with your nature and you are doing just that: your compassion and love and humanity have prevailed even when faced with the true nature of our kind, something which very few are able to withstand. It is your sire's loss that he isn't here to witness it."

For a moment a tiny smile, a mere quiver, danced across Valerian's lips, in gratitude of such comforting words. Such sincere, comforting words. He knew from the compassion lacing every syllable that they were more than just a simple way for her to try and make him feel better, and even if he had been unable to hear it, he'd have a hard time believing someone such as her - a sophisticated and insightful Elder with many wisdoms learned - would insult anyone by simply telling them what they wanted to hear, for no other purpose than to make them feel better.
And had the story ended there, at what he had told her, he would've been inclined to fully embrace what she said, and allow it to help him slowly come to terms with it all, as it had provided him with a whole new way to view it all. It wouldn't have happened over night, for like she had said, time and effort were required if the wounds would ever stand the chance of healing.
But, the story did not end there. Or rather, it did not begin there. Richard's abandonment, while having been the biggest and the hardest to bear, had not been the only one. The story, and the hurt, ran so much deeper than that, and dated as far back as to Valerian's mortal years, where the small string of devastating rejections had begun in the shape of his parents, only to move on to assume the form of his 'benefactor'.
Then; Richard.
Total abandonment, by the four people he had so desperately needed, and relied on. But while his parents hadn't chosen who was to be their son, and his 'benefactor' had been but a human, with the fickle nature thereof, Richard had represented something definate, something complete and eternal. And he had chosen Valerian. He had Embraced him, and made him what he was.
Thus, try hard as he may, he still could not rationalize it all to the point where being abandoned by his Sire no longer felt like the rejection above all others, the ultimate one; the rejection of a creation, by it's creator. A work of art deemed not worthy to recognize even as one of your least accomplished ones, as one of your failures.

It was a part of his history that wielded so great a power over him, that it still affected him and his everyday actions. It was the darker side of him, the other side of the bright coin that was his drive; the all-encompassing love and affection for everything and everyone. It was part of his unwillingness, his inability to commit to just one person, his need for intimacy and closeness with everyone that would share it with him. All for the simple reason that should one leave, there would still be someone for him to turn to.

But, unfamiliar with telling this tale, he was unsure of how to go about it without sounding as though he was pitying himself - though perhaps he was? - and so he simply remained silent, for the time being, and instead allowed the small smile still lingering on his lips to speak what needed to be said; that she had indeed offered an insight he had not previously known, and while not having managed to erase the hurt, she had at least managed to ease it, just little bit. Perhaps not as much with her words, as with her mere presence and desire to help. And it meant the world to Valerian, who over the past decade and contrary to popular belief, had trusted only a few, and relied on no one.
Until now.

With a feline caution, much like Moira's own a few minutes ago, it was Valerian's turn to scoot a little closer, continuing down the path she had already started, and doing what he himself had wanted to do ever since she had opened up to him, and allowed herself to be vulnerable. One arm slid tenderly around her waist and pulled her closer to him with little and gentle effort, into his embrace, while nestling himself into hers. There, with heavy lids descending over pale blue eyes, soft lips brushing gently against her cheek in a fleeting, almost kiss, and his nose buried in the sweet smell of her firey locks, Valerian found peace. In the dimly lit hotel suite, Moira became shelter, and refuge from the nails of sorrow that were clawing at his heart at the memories stirred awake by his desire to share with her what no one else knew. He could feel the tension seep out of his body, out of his every limb, leaving them languid and resting heavily against her, almost as though he was about to fall asleep, had it not been for the way he absent-mindedly let his fingertips trace their way up her spine, all along her slender neck and into her hair, only to retreat down along the same path again.

He felt as though he could have stayed there forever. Had she asked him to, he probably would have. But alas, life of the undead was not quite that simple, and they both had duties thay had to return to sooner or later. And judging by the shifting of colors in the night sky, from black velvet to deepend blue, 'later' was now.

"Dawn".

It was barely even a whisper, but with his lips to Moira's ear, it didn't have to be. And this time, it was his voice that was marred by regret. Reluctantly, he let his arms drop from Moira's delicate frame, feeling as though he had to pry them away from her to let her go. In fact, he couldn't bring himself to do so completely just yet, and so as he pulled back to gaze into her eyes with all the gratitude and awe brought by the events of this remarkable evening, his hands slid down along her arms, and seized hers in a gentle grip.

"'Thank you' seems such a feeble thing to say", he smiled vaguely. "And yet I find it is the only thing I can say."

With that, he brought her hands to his lips, and planted a soft kiss on each set of dainty knuckles, before finally letting her go.

(((ooc: Just giving a head's up that we will be moving on to the next night on WEDNESDAY. This will give you ample time to wrap things up. )))


Even when looking in another direction, and seeming to be focusing on something else, Adrien was rarely unaware of what was going around him. He was constantly seeing things out of the corner of his eyes, never letting his guard down, always ready for whatever situation might arise. And so, when he gave the exclusive club and it's equally exclusive clientele a final glance, it did not pass him by, the way the redheaded beauty seized the opportunity to study him even further. Despite no longer being seated at the poker table, or the black back table, he was being analyzed, his face searched for even the tiniest flicker of emotion, his body language scrutinized in hopes that it would reveal... something.
At any other time, with any other person, he would've most likely been amused by their efforts, and maintained his deadpan expression just to spite them, and watch the frustration rise in their eyes. Over the years, his had become a world where nothing was given for free, or without ulterior motives; usually ones that would include violent death, or at least something in that area. When making a move, he had already thought several steps ahead, and now went through unlife the exact same way he had mortal life; like playing a game of chess. If he opened up a possiblity for his enemy - meaning, in short, everyone - there was sure to be a catch.

But... Tonight, this little lady had succeeded where most others had failed miserably, where most of her predecessors had crashed and burned. She had intrigued him, by showing her interest in him, and analyzing him as more than just a player. That, by itself, made her not only a good player herself, but an excellent one. Only a truly accomplished player realized the value of what one might learn by studying her opponents outside of the game. In-game, the possibilities were limited; the opponent knew he was being studied, and the actions themselves were often repeated throughout the game, one way or another, leaving little room for genuinly new observations.

He felt as though she was somehow worth a little reward. Although he also felt it was against his better judgement, he had decided to offer her just a little bit of what she wanted. It was a risky thing to do, but she HAD proven to be only a human, without any obvious or even suspected connections to the Kindred. However, he could not know for certain, and so would still remain cautious and reserved, only not to the point of being unfriendly. Besides, it had been a long time since he actually tried to be civil and pleasant, on a completely sincere level, and so it would take him a while to find his way back to it. He would surely loose interest long before he even got there.

"Satisfying yes", the redhead started in response to his comment, giving a small smile which he - lo and behold - actually returned.

Despite the fact that his lips were highly unfamiliar with the soft curve of a genuine smile rather than the venemous tug of his usual smirk, and despite him knowing that if she paid as much attention to it as he thought she was, she would catch how alien it was to him. But, it only showed because he allowed it to. Let it serve as a test, he figured, to see if she was as perceptive as she'd like to think.

"But", she continued, "in comparison to the amount of money you are leaving with, not nearly as rewarding."

At that, a hint of smugness snuck it's way into the fading smile, as he clearly recognized the compliment she paid not only him, but herself as well. Not so much by her words, as by her tone of voice. Whatever expectations she had had, he had met them, and her judgement of him, then based only at what she had seen on the first floor, had proven to be dead on.
That, however, along with the opportunity to watch him in action here, playing with equals, apparently was not enough for the young lady. She still wished to further her knowledge of him.

"Would you mind some company on your way out?"

Adrien would have to admit, it all amused him, and damn well near flattered him as well. Though at the same time, he was scolding himself internally. Having an outsider, a human, grow so interested in him, was undesirable. If not nipped in the bud, it would grow to complicate his upholding the Masquerade, and as Kindred hunted by 'his own', he felt he was better off keeping a low profile altogether. No matter where he went, trouble would be sure to find him. He didn't need to actually seek it out.

"Very well", he replied, after a quick delibaration with himself, and turned to walk towards the door through which they had entered.

Undesirable interest in him or not, he had decided that at this point, declining her offer to accompany him was more likely to spark an idea to check up on him, than simply agreeing to it, and have it appear as though he was not quite as aloof as he had seemed at first. Another deception, and another game. As always.

The walk back through the corridors, towards the stairs, started much like it had when they had been going in the opposite direction; in silence. And much like before, it didn't seem to bother either of them in the least. They both appeared to be confident enough about themselves, to not feel the need to fill the void between them with meaningless chatter. Besides, Adrien was very much aware that the redhead had more to say, and that she would do so only when time was right. Judging by the way she glanced around, she was making sure they were out of earshot of anyone else roaming the hallways, and so even though he was somewhat curious of what she could possibly have to say that would require such secrecy, he waited patiently.

"As you have noticed, admittance to Posh is rather limited, to maintain the respectability of the place", she soon said while turning her gaze straight ahead of her, apparently content with their near complete solitude. "I am satisfied after this evening that you meet all the requirements of its standards, with only a single exception."

There she paused, and sent a glance in Adrien's direction, leaving him with a chance to reflect on her words, and try and guess what she would say was missing. Though frankly, it seemed obvious. Upon comparing himself with the other guests that had recieved the honor of being invited to the exclusive player's club, and instantly seeing one big difference, Adrien needed but a few moments to come to the conclusion that the 'exception' of which she spoke, involved his appearance; the longish hair with all it's rogue strands, and the less-than-chic clothing. He had stood out much like a sore thumb in the room of well-dressed high-rollers.
However, for once, it would seem he had misjudged his 'opponent', as when she opened her mouth, what she had to say did not include one single word regarding his appearance;

"I require the names of those who frequent on more than one occasion. Something I hope you will consider doing."

As they moved along side one another down the corridor, she turned her head to look at him as if to make sure that he registered the meaning of her words, and hadn't been offended by her previous remark without knowing whether or not he had a reason to. Adrien, in turn, had already been looking at her, since the moment the words 'with only one exception' had eased their way past her lips. Thus, their eyes locked briefly, and she could catch the expression on his face just before she diverted her gaze again. Earlier, she had searched his features for surprise, and found none. Now, it seemed she was no longer searching, and now was when it appeared, in the shape of a slight twitch of his eyebrows.
His name? She didn't desire to see him in a tailor-made suit and with neatly trimmed hair in order to welcome him again, should he choose to return? Only his name?
Did she realize it was a delicate matter to him, to give his name? Was that why she desired to learn of it? To see how much he was willing to put at stake for what she had offered him a taste of this evening?
Why, yes, it seemed she did, as with her next breath, she moved on to comment on just that;

"I doubt you are inclined to give something as personal as your name without there being something in it for you. All I have to offer is my own in return, should you require it."

Despite her no longer looking at him, Adrien had kept her firmly fixed with his gaze, constantly re-evalutaing and analyzing her, over and over again, taking every small detail into consideration when forming his understanding of her.
His name...
It would be a risky thing to give her, should she decide she wanted to know more about him, without him present to offer her the knowledge himself. Running his name through any database, no matter what it was, would be a waste of time, and more likely to raise numerous questions to which there was no good answer.
For a moment, he considered giving her the name 'John Smith', as a way of letting her know he didn't feel she needed his real one. But, not only was it likely to exclude him from any possible future visits to Posh, it was also likely to tell her even more about him than his actual name would. She would be presented with a clearly forbidden area of his persona, and there was nothing as tempting to mankind, as the forbidden. He would do himself more harm than good, by being so bluntly evasive.

"Adrien", he finally ended up saying, having decided to indulge her, but only partly so.

At the same time, it was a bit of a trick. As he once again raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to speak, he was setting a trap. Granted, it was a simple one, but one that wouldn't cost him anything even if she recognized it, and sidestepped it.

(((ooc: Ghanima - Sounded just perfect to me. )))


A slow, languid motion shifted Damian's weight in the exclusive but remarkably comfortable chair behind the equally exclusive desk, and caused it to weigh back ever so slightly, adding to the air of leisure that Damian allowed to surround him at the moment, as he listened to Archon's tales of his travels. It was such a simple movement that most wouldn't even have paid attention to it, yet it was thouroughly felt in the ambiance of the office. Even when still just a mortal, Damian had possessed an uncanny ability to command the atmosphere of an entire room - be it the smallest of nooks or the grandest of ballrooms - with a mere glance or a gesture. His electrifying presence did not go unnoticed. It hadn't back then, and after having grown and prospered since his Embrace over five centuries ago, it didn't now. He regarded it as one of his most powerful weapons, one that would often strike down rebellion and contradictions before they even had a chance to surface in the deeds of those around him, be they kine or Kindred. While he could not control their thoughts - at least not without going against his own principles, or making a ridiculous amount of enemies - he could still influence them, and make his opponents and other foes get an idea of what they would be up against, should they choose to somehow cross him. Power was in his blood, in his life force, emanating from his very body. And at this very moment, he wielded it in a way that shed the businesslike cloak of the room, and lightened the mood to better suit the presentment he had requested.

It was all a part of his silent response to Archon's comment regarding taking up his time; a simple gesture to allow the Ventrue Primogen the knowledge that at the moment, Damian had little else that required his attention, that could not stand to wait a little while longer, in favour of Archon, and what he had to share of his most recent experiences abroad. The Prince really was genuinly interested. It had been a long time since he himself had gotten to travel and explore the development of the various corners of the world. Granted, he kept himself up to date with the recent events, through TV, the papers and his personal sources, but there was no comparing that to the insight and knowledge gained by experiencing it all first hand.

But, he could not afford to leave Los Angeles. He felt that much like a imperturbable and responsible parent, he had to be around to keep the children - the clans - from going at one another. Or worse; go after Damian himself. With him away from the city and thus no longer monitored by his keen and watchful eyes, there was always the risk that someone would try to overthrow him, and claim the office as Prince for themselves. Damian could think of a few Kindred likely to take advantage of his absence in such a manner. It would, of course, be foolish and doomed from the start, but nevertheless, it would be a nuisance, and a mess that would be left for him to clean up once he returned. And since it wasn't imperative that he explored the world once again, he had decided long ago that the wisest thing to do, was to keep a close eye on his city. However, it wouldn't stop him from amusing himself by toying with the idea of touring Europe and Asia like he had once done. There was so much to learn and observe - the power dynamics within each larger city, the expertise and the errors of other Princes - and so many new acquiantances to be made. It would provide not just simple entertainment, but valueable opportunities as well.
Which would explain his interest in Archon's tales, beyond the usual friendly curiousity.

Listening attentively as the Primogen mentally retraced his route, Damian gave a slight nod here and there, either in agreement or encouragement, showing that he was paying attention and reflecting on what Archon had to say. When reaching the part of the narration where his notoriety was mentioned, there came a look of pure satisfaction on his noble features, and the corners of his mouth tugged upwards in a slightly smug smile. He was clearly pleased to hear that regardless of the nature of the memories these Kindred had of him, they did consider him worth remembering, and took a moment to revel in it. In the meantime, Archon studied him, as if trying to determine what else there was to tell that Damian might have an interest in, and a brief silence settled between them.

"I do say, it seems you made good use of your time away from Los Angeles", the Prince finally said, and his gaze settled on his friend once again, after a quick, assessing scan of the room, as though he was confirming his own might based on the grandness of his office. "Not a minute wasted."

Having said that, he made a slight pause, but judging by the way he opened his mouth again, he had more to say. And, he would have continued speaking, had the intercom not buzzed and cut him off before he had even started.
With a slightly annoyed sigh, he leaned across the desk and pressed the button that allowed him to speak to his secretary in the outer office.

"Yes?" he impatiently demanded.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Sir," came the secretary's voice, "but Mr Valdez is on line one, insisting that he must speak with you at once."

At that, Damian's eyes narrowed slightly, and a tiny crease appeared in between his eyebrows. Eric Valdez was an ambitious young Ventrue and one of Damian's 'representatives', who knew far better than to insist on anything, unless it was of the uttermost importance. Whatever it was, it must be urgent.

"Excuse me", Damian said to Archon, but gave him a glance that offered him permission to stay, before picking up the reciever. "Yes?"

With one simple word, completely devoid of any pleasantry, he made the message clear to Mr Valdez; 'You're walking on thin ice, so make it good'.
Apparently, the young man did just that, for while Archon watched Damian's face as he listened to what his employee had to say, the shallow crease deepened with growing concern. Whatever news he was recieving, it was far from good. It also seemed to hail from a source he deemed to be reliable, for he did not question what he heard, nor did he ask for any details. All he did was listen, and once he had heard all he needed to hear, he gave a curt, firm 'Thank you', and put the reciever back down.
Then; a few seconds of complete silence as he gathered his thoughs, before returning to look at Archon.

"My friend", he said, and stood, clearly about to end Archon's visit prematurely. "I'm afraid I must cut our meeting short. It seems whenever I have a few minutes to spend on personal pleasantry, one can always trust the Kindred of this city to get up to something to interfere with my plans."

Not a minute later, the two friends had said their goodbye's and Archon had exited the office, leaving Damian to sit back down while concern spread from the tiny crease between his eyebrows, to claim the look in his eyes as well as the corners of his mouth, giving his features a somewhat grim expression.
There was trouble ahead.

“Wow, that is...quite a story, I don't know what to say.” Aeode talked with what sounded like no expression. Either she was a bad liar, or thinking about something else. Jessica knew she was a decent liar because she had lied about her name. But she said herself that was because she was afraid of her parent's murderer finishing the job.

“You said 'we'...so there are other, erm, vampires? I can tell you're scared, is it because of them?”

"I am scared, because I'll probably be dead in the morning for telling you that." There was fear in her voice, but it was not the main emotion. It was sadness. Sadness that her life was suddenly going to be taken away from her without a fight.

"There are other vampires. Did you seriously think I was the only one? There's a lot to know about our kind, but I'm not in the position to explain it all now." Jessica could sense the night about to end. She pulled out her slim phone and checked the time. Sure enough it was nearly sunrise.

"It's nearly daylight. I have to go." Her phone was still in her palm. She stared at it momentarily and thought. She reopened it. Navigating through the various menus, she deleted everything from the phone. Then, opening a new contact, she entered her home phone number on the contacts list. She handed the phone to Aeode.

"I'm sure you have a cell phone, but it's a secure line. Dial 457 and then dial the number. I put my home number on it." Her tone was caring now. "If you are ever in danger, or need someone to talk to, just call me okay? I'm not dangerous, I'm just not allowed to tell any humans about us. Please don't tell anyone... Please." Jessica took one last look at Aeode and ran off into the alley, home.

((okay, corny ending, but she had to leave. If there's any changes, let me know. I wasn't quite sure what to say.))

Vampire

What clan you belong to: Nosferatu

Name: Morta Adomas

Age: Neonate (153 years)

Disciplines: obfuscate level 3

short bio: Little is known about Morta. She was born and raised in Lithiuania. Her father was a locksmith and her mother owned a small baked goods shop. She had six sisters and two brothers, and her family was always quite poor. When she was eighteen, and soon to be married off to a local farmer, she was embraced by a Nosferatu whom she had befriended when she was eighteen.

For a great time after this, she traveled through europe under the cover of darkness. It was difficult to blend in with her obvious disfigurement, so she took to wearing bulky clothing and scarves as well as wigs when in the presence of humans. At some point in time, around the 1920s, she migrated to the united states where she resides today, in the murky depths of the Los Angeles sewer system.

It should be noted, however, that she is especially clean, particularly in comparison to her Nosferatu brethren. She has many unusual traits, including her unique bond with the rats of the sewer. She also quite enjoys modern "hip hop" music.

picture:

what clan you belong to: Malkavian

name: Irvin Murdock

age: neonate (roughly 50 years)

disciplines: auspex level 1, dementation level 3, obfuscate level 1

short bio: Irvin doesn't remember much of his life before becoming a vampire, including specifically how, when, where, and by whom he was embraced. He only remembers waking up one morning in an abandoned apartment building, covered in terrible blisters from where the rising sun began to shine through the broken windows over the tattered sofa where he lay.

He did not know what city he was in or how he got there. He knows vaguely that the year was 1983 or perhaps 1985. He found an identification card in his pocket, he recognized the face and name as his own, he was apparently 25 when the picture was taken.

He also doesn't quite know how he got into the habit of dressing as a catholic priest, he doesn't remember ever having any religious affiliation. He knows that he continues to do so because he likes the way people treat him. When wearing normal clothes he is just treated as a vagrant, but as a priest, he is a holy figure.

At some point in time shortly following the incident in the abandoned apartment, he found that he was having very strange, painful cravings. He couldn't stand the idea of acting on his compulsions drinking the blood of others, and what of the fangs he had formed? He was soon recognized by some of the members of the Malkavian clan. They determined that a recently killed member member of the clan, whom was often seen with Irvin, and other humans, had at some time shortly before her death, performed the embrace with him.

Since then, he has been a member of the Malkavian clan. He still has rather severe long term memory loss as well as a tendency to slip into delusional states, hallucinate, and become extremely paranoid, not that this is unusual for the Malkavians. He finds the act of feeding directly from another person to be revolting and overly intimate, so he avoids this at all costs. Despite his psychological issues, he is indeed quite intelligent and has literally filled books with his ideas regarding the universe. Which include some very unorthodox views regarding vampirism.

picture:

(((ooc: spiderviveka - Glad to have you! You are most welcome! )))

Beyonca played the cards a while before deciding to leave. This night was a slow pace and unevenful, which for an odd reason humbled her a bit. It was almost as if she was normal. Nothing strange or odd happened, it was just leasurly relaxing and a good time.

Saying her goodbyes, Bee left the table and started her way out of The Dive. It was a place she decided she would like to come again. The atmosphere was friendly and somewhat electric in laughs. All threw the night she heard shrills of joyous laughter coming from humans. It brought a smile to her own lips. But now it was time to go home. The sun would be rising soon. She could feel it in her. A paniced feeling to seek shelter rested in her. So quickly but casually, she left and started her walk home. Letting the events and sights of the night settle in her mind.

When she finally walked threw her door, she took no extra time to lock it and strip her cloths and fall in bed. Also it took no time for her to drift off to sleep.

((ooc: I know it is short and not all that great, but I wanted to get an ending out. Sorry I have been gone for so long.))

((OOC: Thanks everyone! I'm new to this whole vampire thing, so bare with me.))




Morta sits at a table reading through a book she bought. She has a hood draped over her head and she thumbs through a joke book. She doesn't find any of it very amusing, perhaps, she thinks, I am still behind on the times.

Still, it is nice to be in the fresh air and out of the underground, it is always very difficult for Morta to hide herself in public. But only a few years ago she was a young girl in Lithuania, frolicking with her friends and playing in the warm sunlight. At times she misses it, but what is the price for immortality? At any rate, she still wears a dark hood, even when around the kindred. Even they seem disgusted with her appearance, but over the years she has learned to see the beauty of the Nosferatu. They look different, perhaps, but are not as hideous as everyone else seems to think. They live in the darkest parts of the earth because they are forced there by shallow minded fools, not necessarily as a preference. At least for her, she would much rather live in an expensive pent house apartment than the tunnels below the city. She slams shut the cover of the book and picks up yet another one. "Metamorphosis and Other Short Stories" by Franz Kafka.




Irvin Kicks at a pile of debris on the street. The orange city lights are nearly blinding as he makes his way in search of something to occupy his time. He is wearing his usual outfit, a crisp, black priests cassock, the trails of his jacket trailing at his feet. He carries a bottle of mock holy water in his jacket for the sake of authenticity. It is harmless because he is not a real priest, and the water came from a sink faucet in the back of a McDonalds.

"Hey, padre!" a voice echoes behind him. He can her a set of footsteps drawing nearer so he stops and slowly turns around.

"Hey, wait up! I want to talk to you!" The man continues.

He appears to be in his thirties, hispanic, rather short with dirty clothes.

"What can I do for you, my son?" Irvin asks boredly.

The man pulls out a pocket knife and grins maniacally.

"Give me all your money!"

Irvin looks down at the knife and laughs.

"I don't think you want to do that, my son."

"Oh yeah, padre? Why not!"

"For one, I don't carry money. And even if I was carrying money, you aren't even holding that knife correctly. Have you ever actually robbed someone before, or did I seem like an easy target? Now I will tell you this, when you wake up tomorrow there will be a great white light, and from the white light, your dead mother will come riding a white horse, covered in the blood of newborn infants and weilding the sword of the apocolypse. When she comes to judge you, do you really want this robbery to still be on your conscience?"

The man blinks, unsure if Irvin was serious or just insane.

"Yeah, right, buddy. Did you escape from the nut house?"

"Not at all my child" Irvin says with a smile. "But they are coming to get you."

"Who?"

"Singing children riding animals."

At this point, the man has given up on robbing Irvin. Perhaps is was some sort of spiritual revelation on his part, or the inclination that his victim is actually rather deranged and might end up killing him if he tried to go through with it. So he drops the knife and turns away, walking at first, and then running.

Irvin leaves the knife where it is and keeps walking. This certainly isn't the first time someone has tried to rob him, though many in the past had made far better efforts. He buries his hands in his pockets and wonders what else the night may bring.


((both are approachable))