Masquerade: Teardrops in Winter (Arc 4)(IC)

[Finsternia]

Silvanus - Thoughtful Gifts
Los Angeles, Brancroft-O'Malley Household

The Elder steps in as soon as his butler opens the path for him. In his undead stillness his eyes roam the interior. A small house for a small family, comfortable and warm and inviting. The lights are bright and he squints his eyes for a moment as the glare makes his vision fizz. Chartreuse eyes glow as they pierce through the veils that hide unseen things from humanity. This warm and inviting place smells of fur, of dog. His eyes also perceive fleeting shadows walk behind curtains, into one hallway. Shadows with their hands in prayer, silently speaking of litanies and whispered novenas. Skittering creatures with happy, smiling faces, their maws dripping with drool. Ephemeral things, things that whisper from beyond, things that crawl and slither and with their fingers touch into this world. His lips curl, both in ridicule and interest. Useful, that's what they are. Useful but sad, without agency in this world of flesh. 'Poor little creatures...' His eyes avert for a moment, finally settling towards two people.

One is that of a woman with wild fiery hair, with a fiery gaze, and a fiery fury barely simmering beneath human skin. He can smell anger, palatable and bloody in the air, but the Elder couldn't help but smile. Dogs are merely city wolves. Dogs will still bite no matter how tight the leash is, no matter how delicious the cakes and delicacies offered by humans. He approaches languidly and takes her hand in a swift motion in order to place a kiss upon its back. "...It is finally a pleasure to meet you, young lady. Morri was it?" His chartreuse green eyes bore into hers, and Morri could feel some sort of phantom sensation of illness as they stare longer. Some sort of nausea that fills the stomach, Wyrm filth embodied. Old and dangerous, this monster is wearing a kind visage and a human face. For better or for worse. "You are blessed with child." He smiles again, lowering himself for Kaya. "Greetings. What is your name?"

Alexei and Morri could hear patience in Silvanus' words, so soft and endearing that it is almost sickly for those who know the Elder. "I'm Silvanus... You may call me Uncle Silvie." He continues smiling, enchanting and beautiful for the young girl's eyes. "Do you like presents little girl? Do you like dolls?" The Elder looks back to his butler and the Doll presents handmade dolls; all of them personally knit and made by the vampire's hands... or at least through his guidance. "Come... Take them... They're all for you... Or do you prefer a different gift? Uncle can buy you anything." He keeps his eyes on the little girl, sickly sweet and kind and caring. 'Look at that... A fleeting colorful light.'

[Morrdh]

Morri

Morri shuddered with disgust and was filled with repulsion as Silvanus took her hand, her very being reacting to the perceived taint of the Wyrm. For a moment her hand seemed to change as it briefly sprouted fur and became like more claw like, her nails thickened and sharpened. A brief, low growl escaped Morri's lips before she quickly regained her composure and put on a forced smile. She took a deep breath before replying. "Yes...short fer Morrigan, the Celtic goddess."

If there was ever a time were being born under the New Moon was both a blessing and a curse, this was it. Out of all the auspices that a Garou could be born under, hers was the least prone to rage and thus she was far better at keeping her fury in check and showing restraint than a Garou born under Luna's full glare of the Full Moon. It meant with the monster stood before her in her own territory, Morri's primal anger was subdued rather than burning fiercely if she was born under Luna's glaze. There was probably no question that Silvanus knew this and was taking full advantage of it, making Morri wish that she didn't have such....constraints.

Kaya, for her part, was still quite wary of the man who'd presented himself as Uncle Silvie. The dolls had piqued her interest, though she was still too cautious to simply take them. Her face screwed up as she was lost in thought for a moment before she answered. "I'm...not sure. Put them down for now."

[Luminesa]

Morri

Morri shuddered with disgust and was filled with repulsion as Silvanus took her hand, her very being reacting to the perceived taint of the Wyrm. For a moment her hand seemed to change as it briefly sprouted fur and became like more claw like, her nails thickened and sharpened. A brief, low growl escaped Morri's lips before she quickly regained her composure and put on a forced smile. She took a deep breath before replying. "Yes...short fer Morrigan, the Celtic goddess."

If there was ever a time were being born under the New Moon was both a blessing and a curse, this was it. Out of all the auspices that a Garou could be born under, hers was the least prone to rage and thus she was far better at keeping her fury in check and showing restraint than a Garou born under Luna's full glare of the Full Moon. It meant with the monster stood before her in her own territory, Morri's primal anger was subdued rather than burning fiercely if she was born under Luna's glaze. There was probably no question that Silvanus knew this and was taking full advantage of it, making Morri wish that she didn't have such....constraints.

Kaya, for her part, was still quite wary of the man who'd presented himself as Uncle Silvie. The dolls had piqued her interest, though she was still too cautious to simply take them. Her face screwed up as she was lost in thought for a moment before she answered. "I'm...not sure. Put them down for now."

Alexei - A Carefully-Threaded Peace

Silvanus and Morri had managed a tense truce, as Morri’s disgust had become a forced smile. The kind of smile a parent wears when they see another parent they utterly despise at a school’s bake sale. Alexei was glad for any sort of peace and quiet, and he smiled at Kaya as Silvanus approached her. Anything to make his daughter feel calm. He remembered how shy and sensitive he had been at her age. Perhaps he could still give her a less stressful childhood.

“Uncle Silvie’s” dolls did give him a pause. They were sweet and quaint, the kinds of dolls a doting grandparent might have on a special antique shelf. Yet Alexei knew that Silvanus did not just give gifts, and those gifts were often made with…questionable materials and motives. Even so, he was acting as generous and doting as his nephew had asked, and so he had to play along. When Kaya shunned the dolls, he gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, love. Look, why don’t I hold onto them for you? We’ll play with the dolls before you go to bed. Hm? They’re quite cute, I think,” he played.

The stew Morri had started to cook was very pleasant to smell. Hot, hearty, and spicy, he figured that everyone might have a better mood once the food was on the table. He searched quickly for wine glasses, and he found a good bottle of wine. 2007, vintage enough for this evening. He had others, and the taste would make both Morri and Silvanus happy. Mikhailov was not much of a drinker, but he was not the main concern.

“Everyone come sit! Here we go. I’ll serve everyone a plate. There’s nothing to worry about here, I’ll make sure we all have some good food in our stomachs and wine in our throats. Except for you, Kaya, dear. How about soda?”

[Imperialisium]

Anna's Mansion
November 4th

The person who retrieved Etienne was none other than a youth. A young girl of approximately fourteen, maybe fifteen, years of age. Her pale skin and short pixie black hair gave her a modern scene vibe. Something Etienne, as a club owner in Los Angeles, would be well aware. However, there was something about the girl which belied this apparent extreme of youth. Yes, there it is, the way her blood flowed in her veins. She was a Revenant. A Revenant from no doubt an entire bred line of Revenants that operated loyally as servants for their vampiric master. "My Master bids thee welcome. You and your," she glanced in the direction of Thinbloods outside for a moment, "staff." She finished that with a touch of effort. Yes, thin bloods, caitiff to boot, were not necessarily the most well received in Kindred society. She turned politely, "If you would follow me, just yourself, the employees you've brought will have to wait in the foyer, should they choose to enter."

Leading the way and not checking to see if Etienne was following, which of course he would be, she pushed open a set of doors to reveal a long gallery. Tables, chairs, and a raised dais to one side were a beautiful woman with raven black hair touched with blue sat. Her electric green eyes shown in the darkness while rose red lips lay with mute expression. Her hands clutched the arms of her plain throne. A pair of Rothai bearing halberds, in full livery, stood at the base of the dais. A further two guarded the interior by the doors while another four were about the gallery.

The gallery itself was full of milling about, socializing, vampires. In one corner lurked Bulehard, the Nosferatu Elder, with his ilk. Some surviving Ventrue and Toreadors discussing or possible flirting for one couldn't be sure. A couple Gangrel off to the side. With all the rest from Tremere to Brujah in between.

The Revenant child led Etienne forth, more than one pair of eyes watching him pass, as he was brought to within a few feet of the dais first step. Within a swinging blow's length from either Rothai and their halberds.

"I present Jean Luc Saint Francis, also going by the name of Etienne for short."

The young girl bowed before backing away. Anna's eyes flicked to Etienne. Boring into his own, into his skull, as if to peer into his very unlife powered brain. "I take it Janus is doing well? You are aware of the observances being conducted for this night?" She beckoned him to begin rolling off with the formalities. Tribute, any new kindred to be presented, concerns, a modern meeting of Prince and denizen of the former's territory was much more abridged than what it had been several centuries prior.

As Etienne was presented before the court and the Prince, Étienne dipped down onto a single knee and bowed his head briefly in a show of submission. Often times a deep bow on the waist was enough to satisfy a Prince of a City. But this particular prince was a recent victor of what essentially amounted to a war, with a deep and rich history. History needed to be respected, and so Etienne respected its embodiment. Getting back to his feet, the Ventrue allowed a richness to pervade his tone, so that all in the Court might hear its timbre. Older than more than a few of the Kindred here, this was his opportunity to make an impression in many a collective mind.

“Oui, mademoiselle.” Etienne answers warmly, “Many things flow from the Janua unto me; mortal currencies, precious metals, artifacts, information. I am humbled to have had the opportunity to settle here as I have, for it has taken many life times to assemble the network required to make such a thing possible. So it is tonight that I wish to share with you, my benefactor, the fruits of these good fortunes as the bonds of my fealty require and as I feel I personally owe to you for this opportunity.”

Turning to a lesser servant, the French Vampire smiled his most charming smile and asked, “If you would please, retrieve the items that have no doubt been laid aside in an adjacent chamber?” The servant, seemingly hypnotized by the attention paid him, scurried off to do as he was bid.

“I hope you will find my Tribute to be to your taste and of appropriate quality, My Prince.” He says as the side doors open and a small gaggle of servants hauls Etienne’s treasures inside. “To begin, a small chest of Silver coinage dating back to approximately two hundred and one years before the death of Jesus Christ. These coins bear the face of one Hannibal Barcid and the sigils of the city of Carthage. One of the last minted sets of coins to come from the Silver mines of Hispanic during the Second Punic War. Lost to the ages, and recently found buried in a Mediterranean cavern. It’s worth is not in the silver itself, but in the legacy of the coinage and the conflict between its minter and greatest rival.”

A servant holds up a small relinquary cylinder, inside appear to be a pair of sun bleached bones, no bigger than the joint of a finger. “Knuckle bones from the left hand of Saint John the Baptist, recovered at great cost in Bulgaria before my fealty to you.” The Ventrue allows himself a brief smile, “I need not remind you of the history behind such an item. Ah, and there we have The Storm on the Sea of Galilee by Rembrandt. Stolen in 1990 and recovered by an associate of mine just this last year. I had also hoped to recover The Concert by Vermeer along with it, but C’est la vie, no?”

“A small jade sculpture of an Eastern Dragon, circa second century China. A bust of Julius Caesar, dating to the same period in Rome, that one has an interesting story if you wish to hear it later. There are some other bits and baubles in there, but perhaps the most curious and the most useless is a bottle of The Macallan Valerio Adami, a Scotch Whiskey dating back to 1926. I was fortunate enough to be in Britain at the time, and even then a glass of this whiskey was supposed to be worth it’s weight in Gold. Though of course, it cannot match the Kiss, it’s flavour notes were subtle and well crafted enough to have left an impression with me almost a century later. This is one of the twelve last bottles in existence, unopened and acquired from a private collection for a small favour in the early two thousands. And as always, I offer you the services of myself and the networks of The Janus. These gifts I give freely unto you, without let or lien, to do with as you desire. It is my hope that we may continue our relationship as we have these past few years, and that my service to you shall only continue to be of use.”

Bowing less steeply this time the suited Kindred seemed more to resemble an old world noble; he had put everything he had into this final act of courtly respect and the gesture showed all the dignity, chivalry, and charm that the Ventrue seemed to possess. A glimpse into how things once were, and how the Ventrue had come to be the leading Clan of the Camarilla all those centuries ago.

Anna's Mansion

The display of tribute was, by modern standards, most exquisite. Anna smiled inwardly at the effort Etienne had put into this. Better than the usual lumps of cash, precious metals, and material goods. Which, to be frank, she had no real want for such trivial baubles. But these? Etienne went through a lot of trouble collecting these; of course, she knew this was merely him putting effort and polish onto this first meeting. He was placating, perhaps even attempting to impress, and given his so far reputable governance of the Janus establishment it was a good sign. But also a wary one. Such effort only served to hide ambition, and while bearing no blood loyalty to her, it therefore could hide a sheathed dagger. So perhaps a reward and a binding? The thought amused Anna so much that she actually gave a small outward smile.

The small outward smile drawing more than a dozen looks. A dozen possible daggers unsheathing at Etienne's back. Making the Prince smile at this first meeting? A foreign Kindred, a vampire of only a few years in Los Angeles, already wishing to lord over his tributary spoils on the court? If Etienne was smart he'd know the repercussions of his flamboyant display; which, Anna predicted he did; and thus she spoke to him while leaning forward ever so slightly.

"Quite the gifts, fit for a monarch, and I am gracious for them. Your services should they continue like this shall see much reward in return. Starting with the confirmation of your governance and designated hunting grounds in the blocks around Janus. Further, given your age and record of services to the Camarilla, I would hereby appoint you as Primogen for your clan." Primogen, a lofty but intrigue filled title. A gift and a curse. Etienne now had confirmed, authorized, power and clout among the Camarilla. He had effectively been put in charge of his Clan's operations within Los Angeles County. An advisor to the Prince and holder of whatever powers she deigns to delegate unto him. But, also every Ventrue was now going to be gunning for his spot eventually.

Waving for servants to collect the tribute Anna continued speaking, "May your business and residence in Los Angeles bear fruit." A pair of ghouls gliding over to begin collecting and moving the tributary items delicately to back rooms.

[Oblivion2]

Anna’s Mansion

Not in his wildest dreams could Etienne had foreseen the enormity of this moment. He had expected his tribute to have some effect on the Court, for certain, perhaps to amuse the Prince of the city. Certainly not enough to actually impress her in such a manner. Primogen. A word filled with power and promise both, for there had not been a Ventrue Primogen in the city since Anna had put the clan mostly to the sword for deigning to oppose her. But this gift came with a price. He could feel it in her smile; it was a knowing smile, for Anna could see the ambition in Etienne for the driving force that it was. He would be grateful for now, satisfied for now, but the nature of immortality meant that complacency was never something that lasted especially long. Nor was it a trait to be desired or cultivated.

As he had expected to gain something with his tribute, so too had he expected to lose something. In elevating him, Anna had painted a target on Etienne’s back. In doing so she was merely playing the card that she’d been dealt; if Etienne was weak, a potential claimant to his position would take him out. If Etienne was strong, he would deal with those who might cause trouble for the Prince. Either way, it distracted those who might seek to supplant Anna and weaken her position here. There would be much work to do in order to cement his new rule. Janus would need to be further secured, as would his grip on the surrounding blocks. A new domain for a new rule.

In the span of a mortal heartbeat, Etienne worked through these thoughts and implications. He sank down to one knee once again and allowed himself a faint smile. To the court it would appear to be a satisfied smirk, but as his eyes locked with Anna’s the coldness in them made the message especially clear. I know what you’re doing they seemed to say to her, even as he continued to wear the mask over the truest face of his heart. “Thank you for this opportunity, your Eminence.” The French immortal replies in those rich, warm tones as he rises once again to his feet. “I look forward to the day I can be of further use to you and your House, and perhaps we might open that bottle in celebration to some new glory.” Were you actually present. Those eyes seem to speak to her one last time. He ends the audience with one last bow, more a nod of the head and a slight bend at the waist than anything, but enough to respectfully signal his intentions to withdraw. Turning on his heel, the Frenchman withdrew from the Court chambers. Perhaps another Ventrue would have stayed to bask in his own success, but not Etienne. Not when there was so much to do and an attempt on his life and station could come at any time.

[Oblivion2]

Jean-Luc ‘Eitienne’ Saint Francis
Etienne’s Penthouse, North Hollywood
Los Angeles, California
November 4th, 20:35

Étienne had risen early that evening, before the sun had even finished setting. From the kitchen of his penthouse, he had sipped broodingly over a glass of blood infused wine. The Club wouldn’t be open for business for about hour and a half. But he wasn’t just a club owner and a power broker now, Etienne had been promoted to primogen. A full fledged Noble amongst the Nobility of the Night. The issue he had surmised the previous night was that the Ventrue of the city had mostly been aimless since their shattering by The Prince’s forces. This was both a blessing and a curse; some would be seeking the structure that proper fealty and supervision would bring back into their lives. Even the unliving would sometimes crave not having to make decisions for themselves. Some preferred to serve than to lead.

Those who didn’t however, would be the problem. Some of the Kindred of Etienne’s Clan had no doubt carved out their own small fiefdoms in the margins of Anna’s Princedom. Two names had come to mind on the most likely to be problematic, and judging by the dossiers that Stapes had managed to dredge up his initial thought process hadn’t been incorrect. First was Alonzo Fantina, a near hundred year old Vampire who had been turned during the silver age of cinema. The Italian American had a cunning sort of charm to him and in life had been ruthless when it came to advancing his career and his social standing. Much like Etienne, he was a ladder climber. Unlike Etienne however, there was hardly a shred of honour in the man. The hill he stood upon was more likely a mound of bodies of people he had stabbed in the back to get where he was. He managed to build himself up a not unsubstantial following and they all seemed to behave more like vaguely civilized Anarchs than proper Camarilla adherents. Blood would have to flow in order for them to see sense, preferably Alonzo’s.

The other individual in question was Michael Hildebrant. Once Austrian Nobility in life, death had turned him into a merchant of death. He had profited handsomely during the First and Second World Wars and owned several small businesses around the city while also having Ghouls on the boards of several hospitals in the city as well as a Major Pharmaceutical company. Going to war with Michael would be expensive and possibly crippling. He would need to be brought to the table in one way or another. Though he had done well for himself in California and back in Austria, he lacked Etienne’s global connections and official status. Perhaps there was a deal to be struck there, a partnership to be made. One way or another he would have to be dealt with, for any dissenter to his rule could always find sanctuary under Michael’s auspices. It might mean killing him eventually, but he could burn that bridge when he got to it.

Alonzo was the more obvious problem, but dealing with him might be part of the solution in regards to Michael. Picking up his phone, the French vampire dialed a desk at the local police station, waiting patiently until a gruff voice picked up on the other end. “Lieutenant Johns.”

“Leftenant.” Etienne said, saying the man’s rank the way he would have north of the American border. “Etienne Saint Francis calling, how are you tonight.” The vague irritation in the cop’s voice burned away in response to the Vampire’s voice and was replaced with something closer to deference. The lieutenant wasn’t a Ghoul, but rather a mortal he had done a favour for and now owned for lack of a better term. He had proven useful in the last few years and the Ventrue was leery of asking too much of him, lest he try to rearrange their relationship. Killing him would be a shame, and Ghoulifing him might take the edge off of that razor sharp mind of his. “Mr. Saint Francis, Im doing just fine. My daughter is still growing like a weed.”

A smile played in Etienne’s voice, “I’m so glad I could help you and your wife find her a donor. She’s what now… twelve?”

“Yes sir.” The cop on the other side said a little tightly.

“Please Derrick, I don’t have anything unsavoury that I need you to do. This is more in line with your duties actually.” There was a loosened sigh from the other side of the connection as Etienne continued. “I have a few names here, some lads who have caused me some trouble. All I need is some eyes on them. A few addresses, nothing serious.”

A pause as the cop considered, “Am I going to be walking into a crime scene as soon as I get you what you need?”

“Oh not at all Derrick not at all. I assure you, you’ll hardly notice me lifting a finger.”

“Alright.” Johns said with some of the steel back in his tone again, “What are the names?” Etienne read them off; Alonzo’s known associates, some of them kindred and others kine. The mortals he could take care of without having to kill them, he just needed to isolate them from their masters while Etienne turned or eliminated them. Alonzo himself would need to die, but only after the pillars of his own Kingdom began to cave in around him. The more desperate the younger Ventrue got, the more likely he was to lash out. And when he did that, Etienne would have all of the excuse he needed to eliminate him officially using his status to do so. Plots within plots, as it was.

“Ok, I’ve got them. I think a couple of these guys atleast have records.” Johns said once he was finished writing them down. “How soon do you need this information by, Mr Saint Francis?”

“As soon as possible.” The vampire replied firmly. Then loosening his tone a little to allow the man to relax, “But naturally don’t let it interfere with the important things. I need to be able to speak with these lads before they decide to skip town, but I would hate for someone to believe you didn’t have your priorities in order.”

“Right…” Derrick Johns trailed off before asking, “Is there anything else sir?”

“No, no. Have a good night Leftenant. Give my best to your family, mmm?”

The line clicked dead and Etienne allowed himself a faint smile. He liked the career officer and his dedication to both his job and his family. Etienne hoped he could use him for a few more years before he had to sever ties with the man. It was that or kill him. But that thought could simmer for a time, for now the newly christened Primogen needed to get to the club. A word was required with both Stapes and his Head Bouncer. A small war was about to take place on one hand, and on the other there would be many supplicants coming to pay homage to their new Primogen. It would be a busy few nights.

——————————————————————————————————————————
The Janus Club
North Hollywood
Los Angeles, California

Later that evening

Étienne had driven himself to Janus rather than wait for someone to bring a car around. It was important to experience the sheer acceleration that the internal combustion engine that an Audi RS5 could put out. It was shaped like the ideal woman; all lethal curves. She was a blue so deep and dark that she made midnight jealous, and she handled like a dream. Human scientific achievement married perfectly with artistic expression.

Arriving at the club shortly before opening, he could see the line already snaking around the corner. Parking up front and tossing his keys to a mortal valet, he slid through the doors with a timeless grace to find his head bouncer, Alexander Mikos speaking with a few of the other bouncers. Seeing Etienne approach, large man waved away his subordinates. “Sir.” His rich baritones crept out to meet the Frenchman’s ears. Alexander was a Brujah, though a member of the Camarilla, his Loyalties laid with Etienne. Tall, well muscled, and tanned as a bronze Mediterranean God, Alexander made for the ultimate bodyguard. When asked why he didn’t follow his clan into the Sabbat, Alexander would explain that he owed the Club’s Owner a blood debt for saving not only his life but his soul during the Second World War.

“Is everything in place for the evening?” Etienne asked with a raised brow.

“Yes sir, Stapes informed me of your ascension, so I’ve brought on a few extra hands in case your new position draws the wrong sort of attention, which naturally it will.” The Oathsworn vampire replied. “Thin bloods for now, but I suspect I can start feeling out a few proper Kindred.”

Etienne nods thoughtfully, “Make a note of any you think you’ll want to keep when we have a choice at some thicker blood. They’ve been useful these last few years and their loyalty won’t go unrewarded, but one must surround themselves with proper company.”

Alexander pursed his lips in something close to disagreement but before he could say anything at all, Etienne continued to speak and cut off any incoming retort in its infancy. “No I don’t plan on killing any of them. Maybe just shifting positions, in any case, we need to plan to lose a few of them. We’re going to be going after Alonzo and his crew.”

That got a reaction from the Brujah. “Open warfare?”

“Minor skirmishing and some manipulation to start with. Then when he’s desperate, he’ll do something foolish. When that happens we cut the head off the snake.”

“Is that wise?” Was Alexander’s reply.

Etienne could see the light shining in his eyes though, a proper fight was something the Brujah would relish. “He’s been a thorn in the side of my business since I came to this city, and it’s only a matter of time before he pushes the tenets of the Masquerade too far. No, he needs to be eliminated. It will help bring some of the others in line as well.”

“As you say, sir.” Alexander knew better than to worry at a plan the Ventrue had come up with. “Will you be downstairs tonight or in the offices?”

“The office Alex. If I’m to receive fealty, I want it to be some place people won’t overhear.”

“Not worried about an assassination attempt?”

“You know I can take care of myself.” Etienne said with a dangerous glimmer in his eyes. Alexander knew only too well that to be true. “Very good Sir. I’ll keep an eye on things down here and start putting out the feelers on Alonzo.”

Etienne nodded and made his way up to his office, a smile playing on bloodless lips. Things were about to get interesting indeed.

[Luminesa]

Nightingale - Twisted Paradise

The venue was stranger than many places in which the Mage had performed. He stood silent and ready, observing the shadows as they walked into the club at such an ungodly hour. A congregation of darkness, vampires and humans who came seeking strange delights and wicked escapes. He was only being paid to play music, for which he was grateful. Interactions with this crowd could prove to be dangerous.

And yet somehow, he could see the light flickering in and out of their eyes. Perhaps the neon lights gave them an artificial glow, or the thoughts of hearing music and laughter awakened long-dead feelings in these citizens of the night world. Nightingale wondered if he felt some sort of distant camaraderie with them, but he tried not to dwell on such a suggestion. Though a Mage, he was still also a human. He gazed at the crowd as they entered, and recalled his playlist for the night. He took a deep breath of the smoky air. The dim light meant that hopefully nobody would see his raven hair or violet suit. All they would see is each other, and all they would hear is his music.

Yet music was not just a sound for Nightingale. The musical Mage began with a passionate, thrilling rendition of a classic. His bow swooped and glided over the strings, tugging them into their deep, dramatic notes. Vampires seemed to love romance, or any facsimile that appeared to be romance. Toreadors especially enjoyed such passionate music, and the performance was one of sweat and devotion. His face seemed calm, except for moments when his brows knit together as certain notes swung up and down the strings of his beloved instrument.

In his mind, he could see two hands reaching for him. He interlaced his fingers with theirs and began to dance, deep in the shadows. Stars began to illuminate the sky of his imagination, and the notes glittered and boomed much like real stars. He even took a breath as he was playing the latter half of the song, almost as if he had been dragged onto the dance floor. His eyes were closed, so he could not tell who was watching him. Yet he did not truly care who watched him, as he was in his own world, rich and beautiful and untainted by the cruelly beautiful beings dancing and carousing around him.

When he finished his song, only then did he open his eyes for a moment. Emerald light glittered in them, as he had felt an echo of love from his own song. He played music for himself as much as for anyone else, but he wondered if the song had touched a heart or two. With a polite smile and nod, he turned to look around at his audience.

[Oblivion2]

A collaboration between Luminesa and Oblivion2

The Janus Club
North Hollywood
Los Angeles, California

Etienne had been in his office in between Ventrue visitors when the first somber sawings of a stringed instrument carried on a wave of emotion through the walls of the club. The entertainment at Janus varied as often as the mood of it’s Lord and Masters did, but this was a sound that had not been heard in her vaunted halls in some months. The Canadien vampire recognized the notes of Dance Me to the End of Love almost anywhere in the world First recorded in 1984 by one Leonard Cohen, what was seemingly a song about love and romance actually harkened back as a lament to the holocaust of the Second World War. Etienne had always found that the Greek Hasapiko style to be to his liking, but this particular rendition held the promise of something more behind it’s notes.

His feet moving almost of their own volition, the Club’s owner found himself seated in his private booth on the club’s second level. From here he could look down to the club’s circular stage, so designed so the music would be the centre of everything else in the club. Bands and DJ’s often took advantage of the elaborate hydraulics and lighting displays to help them turn and face whatever part of the crowd they happened to want to play for in particular. This musician did no such thing, playing rather instead for himself than anyone else who might have been present. A hundred and fifty pairs of eyes were upon the man as Kindred and Kine both took in the passion that the musician seemed to exude. Every breath they took was as if it had been plucked out of them by the song. Had Etienne needed to breathe, he might have forgotten how for a moment or two. The fact that this performance could affect him so in the first place was a testament to the young mortal’s mastery of his art. As the song ended, the assembled crowd was silent as the night air. Then as the young man’s eyes opened back up the spell seemed to break and the crowd applauded vigorously. Perhaps not with the same sort of enthusiasm one sees at a rock show, but with a certain kind of respect and adoration that only passion and skill can elicit from people.

As if sensing the tide of emotions and moreover curiosity emanating from his master, Stapes appeared behind his master with a glass of Remy Martin XO Cognac, the ice cubes clattering against the glass being the only announcement of his arrival. So enraptured by the song and its performer, Etienne had not heard his Ghoulish servant approach. “Who is that?” Etienne asked, his voice alight with raw curiosity.

“Calls himself Nightingale, sir.” Stapes replied as his master took the glass. “I had heard through certain circles that he was.. Different to put it in a single word. That he had a certain spark of passion you can see but rarely. I auditioned him and booked him for tonight after a small set, knowing that if things went well with the Prince you would be in a certain mood, and if they hadn’t that you would be in a certain other one.”

This startled a laugh out of Etienne who covered it by reaching for his pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket and lighting up. No other being smoked in the club, California state ordinance being what it was, but being King conferred several privileges upon him. “You know me far too well Stapes.” Etienne said with a smile tugging at the corner of his lip as he inhaled and then exhaled a small plume of smoke, one of his concessions to a long abandoned but unforgotten mortality. “If he continues to do this well, I’d like for you to extend an invitation for him to come and see me. Even if business takes me back to the office to deal with more oaths of loyalty and fidelity, you will see this done for me.”

“As you wish sir.” The Manager replied with a short bow. “Will there be anything else?”

“No Stapes, keep doing what you’ve been doing. You’re terribly good at it.”

After the first performance, Nightingale paused and took a breath. He looked around at his audience, as if he was searching for something. In reality, he was mentally preparing for his next song, but he occasionally liked to take note of particular people. Eye contact. Thirty percent of body language was in the face, and the eyes drove one’s expression. He could sense a powerful being taking notice of him, and for a moment his eyes clicked with Etienne’s.

The vampire was enraptured, he had never blinked. He had a drink in his hand and a cigarette in the other. Nervousness, perhaps a vulnerability in his chest. The Mage did not change his facial expression. He was a doctor of sorts, he needed to be calm. He needed to keep the trust and intimacy of his audience.

Slowly, he began his next song. A faster tune, dramatic but lovely. The epic power of towering waves crashing over the darkened ship that was Janus. For a moment, his eyes flickered open, and one could see glints of fire in his eyes, like a blacksmith’s eyes as they glared down at the light crackling from their hammer as it struck metal. When they closed, his eyebrows arched again, and he remained in his intense trance until he struck the last note. Once again, he opened his eyes and took a breath.

Vivaldi, one of the great Baroque composers of his time. Nightingale had chosen to pull Storm from the Book of The Four Seasons. Vivaldi had been a virtuoso violinist in his day, and by choosing to play his piece for Etienne, the young musician was showing a definite sign of confidence, perhaps bordering on arrogance. What’s more, the way the young man had watched him told Etienne that he knew if not for whom he played, then for what. And the smoulder in his eyes… Yes, there was more to this one than was immediately apparent. Rather than being lost in the song as he had been during the last performance, Etienne took in as much as he could of the mortal’s movements, trying to discern who might have taught such a talented musician and perhaps where he might have come from. He wasn’t a Ghoul, that was for certain. You could almost smell the Vitae on one of the marked ones. A Hunter perhaps, or a Mage, though Mages were thin on the ground out in the New World it seemed. Still, the young man wouldn’t be the first to try and manipulate reality through song.

Mage or Hunter made no matter ultimately; Etienne liked his fire, and in coming here and knowing what the Club was, the young Mortal had entered into an agreement with the establishment. So long as he followed it’s edicts none would ask of his origins nor could they harm him under this roof. As the song ended and the crowd once again whistled and clapped their approval, Etienne locked eyes with the young musician and gave a knowing smile as he clapped his own compliments. Then as the applause died down, the master of the Club made a gesture with his drink as if to say to the man, ‘Play on’

Nightingale’s eyes checked the room once again. The crowd’s atmosphere had changed. They were eager and excited, clapping for him. He gave a polite smile in return, bowing slightly before he stood for his next performance. Though his face was serene and composed, his eyes seemed to be full of a distant glow. Indeed, he hid more than he dared to show for an audience.

But Etienne’s eyes locked with his once again, this time on purpose. The Mage watched his smile. He was genuinely impressed, a passion had struck him. Now would be the time to play something truly heartrending. This time, he kept his eyes open as he looked lovingly at his violin.

The song started much slower, much softer. A whisper from a dark corner of Los Angeles, a gentle call beckoning those in that moonlit darkness. Something bloomed in Nightingale’s heart as he played, and he hoped such feelings would flower in some of the hearts of his audience.

A distant memory blossomed, a woman dressed in a brilliant, champagne-colored ballgown. He could see her in his mind’s eye. She was more beautiful than any rose, sweeter and tougher as well. She twirled her elegant silk gown, winking as she seemed to glide across a floor of obsidian marble. If he was not playing music, he would have reached for her hand with his own. Instead, he reached and grasped for her with his bow.

The song felt like a graceful waltz, clean but loving, subtle but affectionate, until it rose and radiated its crystalline sound around the club. For a few moments, this secretive meeting place had transcended and become an opera house, a ballroom, with the loveliness of centuries past. When he finished, and once again opened his eyes, he scarcely knew where he was. Yet he still did not reveal this disconnected sensation, or the bright blush on his face, as he sighed and smiled graciously to his audience.

La Vie en Rose. Beautiful and graceful to the end of days, this song had always been one of the Vampire’s favorites. He could hear the piano chords in his head, mixing and mingling with the kine’s own careful bowing of strings. It was a song for better times, purer times. When one could love openly and truly without worry or fear of harm. Though he was a masterful performer, the Vampire could see the longing behind Nightingale’s eyes, the sort of longing only loss could bring. Etienne could understand that, and in the depths of his long hidden heart he could still feel it for himself. Despite being what he was, he treasured the experiences his mortality had wrought for him. More so than the Embrace, they had made him what he was.

“Clever boy” Etienne murmured to himself with a half chuckle. The Kine down there had balls in proportion to his skill, Etienne could only hope that perhaps he could find a use for him, and that he could change the mortal’s life for the better; as often as he had to use the Kine as pieces on a board, he tried to protect them from the worst of the Kindred’s excesses, for what else was a King to do?

As the song ended and the audience gave their loudest cheer yet, Stapes appeared on stage beside the violinist and thanked him for his appearance that night, shaking his hand with vigour and smiling to the crowd. The house DJ would take over the rest of the night’s entertainment, though he would find it impossible to match the soulful performance that Janus had just been privy to. Stapes would then lead the younger man off stage, a wry smile playing about his humble and almost grandfatherly face, “You’ve impressed the Owner terribly sir.” Stapes said in a jovial tone. “He would like you to join him up in his booth on the second floor if you’d be willing. Shall I have a drink sent up for you, sir?”

Nightingale gave a moment’s thought to the suggestion. The DJ that began playing behind him almost startled him as he walked off the stage, but he kept his composure as he looked to Stapes. Normally, he would be apprehensive about speaking alone with stronger Kindred. However, he had made some sort of a connection with Etienne. He could see it in his eyes. Perhaps if he could speak to him, they would find somethings they had in common.

“Certainly. I would be honored. Please, lead the way,” he responded. His voice was measured and soft, with the slightest hint of a British accent. He had lived in Los Angeles now for several years, but his home’s gentle lilt had never left him.

“This way, if you would sir.” Stapes said with a smile, always eager to please his master. He called for a glass to be brought upstairs; Johnny Walker Blue, a smooth, aged and blended scotch that was suited to this sort of maudlin evening. Up the glass steps was the second floor, composed mostly of booths and intimate tables. Down below was where the dancing and enjoyment took place, up here was where the politics of power was discussed. Alliances forged and favors exchanged.

The master of the club sat alone in the same booth that Nightingale had seen him in before. Closer and without the filter of music between them, the musician would be able to feel the sheer presence in the Vampire before him. You couldn’t help but feel as though you wanted to like him, but you feared what might come of disappointing him also. His broad cheekbones suggested a friendly enough countenance as did his easy smile when he took in the musician being led to his booth, but those eyes were calculating. Always watching, always trying to understand just what was going on behind your own eyes.

“Ah, Nightingale, please come have a seat.” Stapes slid the man’s drink across from Etienne and gestured expansively to the other side of the booth, just out of arm’s reach of the Vampire. A courtesy to be sure.

“Thank you Stapes, that will be all.” Etienne said with an easy dismissal. The ghoul bowed and took his leave of the two. “That was certainly a masterful performance.” The Vampire remarked. “I will admit, I found myself being stirred by your playing. Wherever you draw your passion from serves you very well indeed.”

[Luminesa]

Nightingale - Lose the Crowd

The electronic music blared and bounced behind Nightingale, before it seemed to swallow the crowd. People were running around, shouting, dancing, and taking all sorts of potions and pills. He could not help but cast worried glances at the Kindred and Kine around him, who had once reacted with such sincere wonder and who now buried those feelings under miles and miles of mass-produced ecstasy.

Upstairs was a quieter and cozier place. The room was dark, but the lights were steady, not frantic and screaming in different neon colors. He could smell the faint scents of a cigarette and a bottle of whiskey. The devilish drink he had tried to avoid for some years now. Temptation was everywhere, and it most certainly did not ignore the gentle musician who now stood in the presence of the owner of Janus.

Getting a better look at his face, he saw that Etienne had a cultured confidence about him. Nothing fazed him, even the appearance of fineries. He enjoyed his whiskey and cigarette without a care for his health-not that health mattered for vampires. There was a chiseled and rugged countenance on his face, as if he had not aged a year beyond his own age. Nightingale gazed at him for a few moments, and then carefully took a seat, as if he was hoping he was not about to sit on tacks.

Nightingale took a sniff of his glass of whiskey, and then took a sip. His throat burned, his chest flared. He loved it, but his the blush on his face. Appearances were everything, and he could not reveal too much to someone he had just met. “Ah, thank you. It is…hard to say where the passion comes from. I feel it has always been a part of me. There was a desire to pull something down from the stars when I made music…I must add that I do prefer the night to the day.” He gave the slightest sober smile, with a knowing glitter in his violet eyes. He then took another quick sip, hoping to keep his sobriety for as long as possible.

[Oblivion2]

Etienne watched carefully as the man sipped at the offered whiskey. There was a pause there, a hesitance not born out of fear but rather too much familiarity. It was like a branch slowly being bent to breaking, where the cracks can be heard first before they could be seen. This was a man who had once been in the deadly grips of alcoholism and lived to see the other side. He could only imagine the woman who could drive a man to such pain and such passion at the same time.

“Please.” Etienne says amiably, “Put that aside if it distresses you so. I would very much like it for us to be friends, and friends do not make other friends do something that makes them uncomfortable. I will have someone bring you some water in but a moment.” The French vampire smiled, a veritable sunbeam in such a dark and neon place. “Janus, like the many faced God I have named it after is many things to many people.” He gestures down to the bar and dance floor. “To them it is a den of inequity. A place where they may sin safely and indulge their baser selves. For me, it is my kingdom and each and every person who walks in those double doors a subject whom I will protect with my own life until such time as they leave those same doors.”

The vampire takes a long drag of his cigarette, both to continue the illusion of his mortality and to give his words a moment to sink in. Though arrogant in a sense, they rang with a certain truth. None who entered Janus died there, though what you did here could bet you killed elsewhere. “In many ways it is Los Angeles in a microcosm; those who come here are always looking for something. Difference is, when you come to Janus you have me to help you find it.”

He gives the musician a long, speculative look, as if searching his soul for answers. “What is it that you are searching for, young Nightingale? And how is it I may help you find it? I’m inclined to be generous, for you see you have brought me the gift of your music, the night after I have received perhaps some of best news of my life.”

[Luminesa]

Nightingale - Friends in Dark Places

Internally, Nightingale was relieved that his host did not wish for him to drink if he felt uncomfortable. The difficulty was that he was comfortable, and more so with the whiskey, which loosened his tongue. Yet he knew that, mentally, he was willing to test his limits again and again. Slowly he attempted to slide the glass away, and then he gave a smile to Etienne.

“…Thank you, sir. I suppose at one time I was more fond of alcohol,” he answered. He then weighed the vampire’s usage of the word “friend”. The Mage did not have many friends at all, though he had many friendly acquaintances among his various workplaces. Nobody had disliked him in the London and LA Symphonies, they had merely wondered about his quiet, soft-spoken nature. That Etienne wanted to be his friend was…surprising, and he perhaps felt a little wary. After all, Kindred did like dirty deeds done in exchange for their friendship.

He listened to the club’s patron talk about what Janus meant for others, and then for himself. Indeed, Etienne did seem to carry himself like a king, but Nightingale knew that many Kindred of the Camarilla had an uncanny ability to attract and hold attention. The musician, however, did not turn to examine him due to sheer Presence, but rather out of…curiosity.

“…It is my pleasure to have brought you music…All of us, I suppose, have distant memories which cause our bodies to ache for something we have lost…even ancient beings have a longing which they can only properly express through music…” He never took his eyes off the man. “…We all have songs and tunes which stir our hearts to action or to reverie…I did notice that ‘La Vie en Rose’ moved you.”

When Etienne made an offer to help him, Nightingale continued to gaze at him, only to then sit back and to turn his eyes to the dance floor. He did not want drugs, alcohol, or power. Music in itself was a power, but he was also a Mage. Power shifted and changed in his heart and hands. However, the gently-shaven chisel of the vampire’s face did not change. The musical Mage met his eyes, and they seemed to click with one deep need. “…Ah…I am merely glad to be in others’ company during the evening. I am not the most talkative man…If you ask me what I desire, I have a grand home and a career I enjoy. I am not desperate for more money. I do think I would enjoy having other small audiences for events such as this.”

He was sure that he sounded as if music was the only thing he cared about and one would be correct to think it was his foremost concern. Yet one deep ache was far in the back of his mind, and he hesitated to tell it to Etienne. Vampires were always funny about…that special feeling a person has for another.

[Oblivion2]

The French Primogen chose to address the very last thing the Kine in front of him had said. He waggled a finger with a smile of almost paternal warmth, as if warning an amusing child that he was into their antics. “Non, non, non petit oiseau. Everyone comes to Janus looking for something. There are no exceptions to this rule, it is as constant as gravity or the sun rising each day and the many pale faces of the moon.” His smile turned wicked then, full of teasing, “You are a very great liar, friend, but this is the place of a many faced God, we all know when someone is playing pretend.” His honest looking face once again turns serious however as he considers why a man would choose to keep his wants and desires to himself. “But if you wish not to tell me of course, that is your right to do so. It must weigh darkly on your heart for you to hoard it to yourself so. We may speak of it another time then, when you have come to realize that I am not trying to take advantage of your nature. It may take some time but…” He gives a Gallic shrug of such panache and substance that it only could have come from one steeped in the French culture, “Time is the one thing I have. As to your song choice…”

Etienne’s eyes wander from the man across from him, to a bust on the first floor, tucked away in al alcove some few feet from the bar. There are many such spots and they display anything from Vases to carvings to other busts such as this first one. The woman depicted in it wouldn’t be considered pretty by today’s standards, or even the standard of noble beauty of the past but to Etienne, she had been a radiant creature. “I knew the woman who wrote La Vie En Rose. Edith Piaf was a friend to the Resistance during the Occupation, we had met by happy accident a few years before then. In ‘37 I believe. Her voice captured my imagination as it did many others. When the Nazis came, she was one of the many people I tried to keep safe, but she insisted on performing for the Germans so she could get into their good graces and get people out of the Camps you see. She was very good at it, and even I was swept away in wake of her reckless charisma, so naturally I helped her. We wrote Tu est Partout together, and I was there after the war when she gave her first performance of La Vie En Rose. I wept hot tears of blood at the very beauty of it; that someone could find such happiness after the darkness of such a war. That such love could exist. I soon had to leave la belle France, for I had been there far too long, but I’ve always remembered Edith and her music.”

His attention turns to Nightingale, “You remind me much of her, though there is a sadness to you that runs deeper than it did in her.” His melancholy look seems to brighten back up again as he produces something from his vest pocket and slides it across the table. “Since you will not tell me what it is you want, I will instead give you the most fitting thing that I can imagine.” He lifts his fingers from the object to reveal a silver pin, depicting two masked faces on it’s shining surface. “This is my mark. It tells others who know what it is that you are under my protection, it may help you in a dark time. Otherwise, you may present it at the front and be afforded whatever it is my club may provide; drinks, food, safety, a favour, or even simply a place to play for an appreciative audience when the mood strikes you. It makes for a poor gift after you have given me something so personal, but I fear it is the best I can do for you given what you already have.” Of course he could have just been a plant designed to test his défenses and his sentimentality, but that didn’t feel like the case here. Hunters had a way of being almost as overt as they were covert, and Mages made for poor pawns in most cases.

[Luminesa]

Nightingale - Resistance from a Rose

Nightingale gave Etienne his attention as he spoke, and noticed that he perhaps seemed disappointed in the Mage’s lack of a concrete desire. Yet the older vampire had a way of keeping a person mesmerized. Nightingale seemed to forget at times that he was breathing. Yet he focused on Etienne’s certain nature. He was certain in his belief that the Mage had come looking for something, even if he was not willing to open his heart about the matter. Such confidence and such a paternal tone almost gave the musician fear, the fear that he had thoroughly read his heart like a book.

Yet the story of “La Vie en Rose” struck a chord within the younger Mage. He listened, and the tale he heard brought a glitter of wonder to his eyes. The song was of course one of resistance and timeless beauty. Of humanity amidst unimaginable depravity. Slowly, the first genuine smile of the evening emerged on the face of the musician. “…Surviving such a horrendous event together…with such courage and determination…created a powerful love in your heart. To cry tears of blood, you most certainly loved her and for what she stood. Many swear away love, but it is only a song away…”

Something came to mind, and Nightingale’s fingers moved for the glass. Reaching it, he decided to take one more sip. The burn resonated in his throat and heart. He put the glass on the countertop, and he hoped that Etienne did not see the soft, powdery blush that had spread across his cheeks. Such a courteous Kindred and such a tender conversation, mixed with whiskey and the dark of night, could only extract such a vulnerable response.

The little pin was also a welcome gift. He examined it, and decided to accept this gift. In the world of the chaotic Masquerade, protection by a vampire was a rare occurrence. He would be able to perform in Janus whenever he was required, and he could focus solely on the performance. He continued to smile, and he nodded. “…And this is quite lovely. Thank you. I enjoyed playing music for you this evening…including music to remind your heart of its love,” he whispered, gently.

[Oblivion2]

"We are, not all of us, savage to our cores." Etienne explains. "But all of us did come from the same place, once. It is the only thing that every last person who enters these halls shares. It is an important thing to remember when people like me have to make the decisions that they do. I am, by my very nature, required to move people about like pieces on a board. But, it is what is human in me that requires friends. Edith was my friend, one of the very best that I have ever had. I wish I could have kept her forever, but it was not to be." His gaze turns to Stapes, down there on the floor, so smoothly seeing to his duties. "That man, Stapes, is my friend. Though he is a servant of a different sort as well, I value his life just as much as I do my own."

He gestures to the musician across from him, "And you too, I would like to be friends with, I think. I make up my mind quickly about most that I meet. Usually they go into two categories; tool or obstacle. For you, I offer the third. We may be friends, and we may do this without let or lien, without fear or obligation." His gaze settles on the little silver pin in Nightingale's hands, "That is what that means. Though you should be warned, to be my friend is a dangerous thing at times. There are those who might try to kill me, and they would think nothing of doing the same to you. Worse, perhaps if they suspected your nature was not as it appeared to be. Think carefully on that, and know that regardless of your answer, Janus remains a safe haven for those who come here."

[Morrdh]

Alexei - A Carefully-Threaded Peace

Silvanus and Morri had managed a tense truce, as Morri’s disgust had become a forced smile. The kind of smile a parent wears when they see another parent they utterly despise at a school’s bake sale. Alexei was glad for any sort of peace and quiet, and he smiled at Kaya as Silvanus approached her. Anything to make his daughter feel calm. He remembered how shy and sensitive he had been at her age. Perhaps he could still give her a less stressful childhood.

“Uncle Silvie’s” dolls did give him a pause. They were sweet and quaint, the kinds of dolls a doting grandparent might have on a special antique shelf. Yet Alexei knew that Silvanus did not just give gifts, and those gifts were often made with…questionable materials and motives. Even so, he was acting as generous and doting as his nephew had asked, and so he had to play along. When Kaya shunned the dolls, he gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, love. Look, why don’t I hold onto them for you? We’ll play with the dolls before you go to bed. Hm? They’re quite cute, I think,” he played.

The stew Morri had started to cook was very pleasant to smell. Hot, hearty, and spicy, he figured that everyone might have a better mood once the food was on the table. He searched quickly for wine glasses, and he found a good bottle of wine. 2007, vintage enough for this evening. He had others, and the taste would make both Morri and Silvanus happy. Mikhailov was not much of a drinker, but he was not the main concern.

“Everyone come sit! Here we go. I’ll serve everyone a plate. There’s nothing to worry about here, I’ll make sure we all have some good food in our stomachs and wine in our throats. Except for you, Kaya, dear. How about soda?”

"Okay daddy..." Sighed Kaya, still dubious about the whole affair. That said, her glaze drifted from the dolls to 'Uncle Silvie' and back again as she remained undecided regarding both of them. She was still wary of this new 'Uncle', as the man had presented himself as, and something about him...bothered her. Kaya was also picking up on her mother's agitation with their unexpected guest for dinner.

Morri, for her part, was keeping her fury in check. It was clear that she was less than happy with Silvanus being present and the, brief, pleasantries she exchanged with him were forced. She was furious with a kindred so brazenly violating what she considered to be her territory and her family's own home, but for Kaya's sake she had to keep up the appearance of being 'civil' and 'nice'. If the child wasn't presents things wouldn't be so 'friendly'...

[Luminesa]

"We are, not all of us, savage to our cores." Etienne explains. "But all of us did come from the same place, once. It is the only thing that every last person who enters these halls shares. It is an important thing to remember when people like me have to make the decisions that they do. I am, by my very nature, required to move people about like pieces on a board. But, it is what is human in me that requires friends. Edith was my friend, one of the very best that I have ever had. I wish I could have kept her forever, but it was not to be." His gaze turns to Stapes, down there on the floor, so smoothly seeing to his duties. "That man, Stapes, is my friend. Though he is a servant of a different sort as well, I value his life just as much as I do my own."

He gestures to the musician across from him, "And you too, I would like to be friends with, I think. I make up my mind quickly about most that I meet. Usually they go into two categories; tool or obstacle. For you, I offer the third. We may be friends, and we may do this without let or lien, without fear or obligation." His gaze settles on the little silver pin in Nightingale's hands, "That is what that means. Though you should be warned, to be my friend is a dangerous thing at times. There are those who might try to kill me, and they would think nothing of doing the same to you. Worse, perhaps if they suspected your nature was not as it appeared to be. Think carefully on that, and know that regardless of your answer, Janus remains a safe haven for those who come here."

Nightingale - Silver Pins and Bullets

Remember. Such an important word, one that bound music like a tapestry through the ages. The Vivaldi piece he had played resonated so much because of its timeless nature, the overwhelming sensation of watching a thunderstorm unfold from a distance. Nightingale smiled as Etienne recalled the famous songstress as a hero and a friend. Her own music was timeless, and so was love. He could not help but wonder if the man had felt something more for the woman, whose voice and heart were larger than her being.

Yet Etienne did not mince words. He was a negotiator, and most around him were pawns in the game of keeping his security. However, he had invited Nightingale to be a friend. Not a confidant, but a part of his inner circle nonetheless. He gazed down at the pin as he listened to the vampire talk. He thought in silence, occasionally eyeing the glass of whiskey. Perhaps he needed another sip before he made his answer. He sipped the liquor once more, prolonging the taste for a moment. He blinked away tears, and sighed.

“…Yes. I would be glad to be your friend. I am not afraid of danger, not to my own life,” he responded. His measured voice contrasted sharply with the burn in his throat, but he managed a serene smile. He then put the pin into a pocket of his jacket. He would find some safe place to keep it, somewhere not readily visible. His friendships were valuable, but when dangerous people were involved, more vulnerable individuals could be hurt. At the moment, however, he had nobody to protect but himself.

[Luminesa]

Alexei - A Carefully-Threaded Peace

Silvanus and Morri had managed a tense truce, as Morri’s disgust had become a forced smile. The kind of smile a parent wears when they see another parent they utterly despise at a school’s bake sale. Alexei was glad for any sort of peace and quiet, and he smiled at Kaya as Silvanus approached her. Anything to make his daughter feel calm. He remembered how shy and sensitive he had been at her age. Perhaps he could still give her a less stressful childhood.

“Uncle Silvie’s” dolls did give him a pause. They were sweet and quaint, the kinds of dolls a doting grandparent might have on a special antique shelf. Yet Alexei knew that Silvanus did not just give gifts, and those gifts were often made with…questionable materials and motives. Even so, he was acting as generous and doting as his nephew had asked, and so he had to play along. When Kaya shunned the dolls, he gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, love. Look, why don’t I hold onto them for you? We’ll play with the dolls before you go to bed. Hm? They’re quite cute, I think,” he played.

The stew Morri had started to cook was very pleasant to smell. Hot, hearty, and spicy, he figured that everyone might have a better mood once the food was on the table. He searched quickly for wine glasses, and he found a good bottle of wine. 2007, vintage enough for this evening. He had others, and the taste would make both Morri and Silvanus happy. Mikhailov was not much of a drinker, but he was not the main concern.

“Everyone come sit! Here we go. I’ll serve everyone a plate. There’s nothing to worry about here, I’ll make sure we all have some good food in our stomachs and wine in our throats. Except for you, Kaya, dear. How about soda?”

"Okay daddy..." Sighed Kaya, still dubious about the whole affair. That said, her glaze drifted from the dolls to 'Uncle Silvie' and back again as she remained undecided regarding both of them. She was still wary of this new 'Uncle', as the man had presented himself as, and something about him...bothered her. Kaya was also picking up on her mother's agitation with their unexpected guest for dinner.

Morri, for her part, was keeping her fury in check. It was clear that she was less than happy with Silvanus being present and the, brief, pleasantries she exchanged with him were forced. She was furious with a kindred so brazenly violating what she considered to be her territory and her family's own home, but for Kaya's sake she had to keep up the appearance of being 'civil' and 'nice'. If the child wasn't presents things wouldn't be so 'friendly'...

Alexei - Soothing Faith

Kaya and Morri were clearly not sure how to proceed with their emotions from the events of the evening. The latter was angry, but for her daughter’s sake she was trying to hide her rage. She occasionally gave Silvanus daggers when she looked at him, and she tried to talk as little as possible. Alexei was sure she would have questions for him after the dinner, but he would not have the answers. He was as confused as anyone, but still trying to preserve the peace.

“So what have you two been up to, recently?” he inquired.

“Ah, you know. Business. And I’ve been teaching again, which is fun,” Mikhailov answered, with a polite smile. If Kaya had not been at the table, that smile would have become an impish smirk. Both he and Alexei had an inkling as to what the Mage meant by “business”.

“Ah, so have I. Today was my first day at work for the semester, this should be a good class,” Alexei responded. He gave Morri and Kaya a sweet smile. “It makes me glad to work hard and to come home to people waiting for me,” he added. Anything to perhaps soften Morri’s heart and to make Kaya happy.

Mikhailov nodded. “Indeed. It is nice to have someone to come home to. You’re quite lucky, though I always suspected you needed someone tough to put that fire in your life,” he responded. This time his eyes were gleaming with mirth.

Alexei could not hide his blush, but he just smiled and laughed. Genuinely, Mikhailov was right. Morri was strong and decisive, and he was glad that she was his rock. Even when they did not see each other often now, due to their current circumstances, she was the fire in his calm, quiet life. Of course, his life would not be so quiet anymore with the Masquerade back at his door, but he just nodded. Of course, he did care for Lord Silvanus as well, as he was still his uncle, and he gave him a warm smile at the table. “I do need to come visit you, I am so sorry that I have lost track of time. Ah, you and Kostya. We should be able to see each other as we like, yes?”

“I’m quite glad seeing you now, but if you really want to make the trek the door is always open.” Mikhailov grinned, and Alexei blinked. Such a strange friend of his, the way he put a spin on all of his words. Yet he was glad he kept the conversation going. They would get through the evening more smoothly that way.

[Oblivion2]

Étienne allowed himself the very faintest of smiles, genuinely pleased with the outcome of the conversation. This seemingly sudden reach for friendship might to the Kine seem to be just that: sudden and abrupt. But Etienne had learned a long time ago that the key to surviving immortality was grabbing hold of something that made you still feel as human and mortal as the day someone decided to turn you. If you could remember your long faded mortality, If you could remember what it felt like to lose something, then you were well on your way to keeping the Beast at bay. But a long life meant your tastes weren’t as unrefined as they had previously been, your friends needed to be truly exceptional.

Nightingale, this young Kine sitting in front of him, was exceptional. There was more to him than just the music; there was power and pain and pride there in equal measure. “I am pleased that you feel as you do, Nightingale.” The new Primogen gestures with his hands expansively, “Consider my home, yours. If you should have any problems, please, feel free to take it up with any member of my staff.” Something prickles at the edge of Etienne’s awareness, causing him to glance down towards the entrance of the club. His expression darkens as he spies a man in leather jacket, with hair red as flame. “You will have to forgive me however, as a piece of urgent business has just walked through the doors. As much as I would love nothing more than to talk to you until daybreak, I do have a Kingdom that needs running.” Etienne stands up, buttoning his jacket together before reaching over and patting the musician affectionally on the forearm. “Please enjoy your evening.”

He gives the Nightingale one last smile before retreating to his office. If the man who’d just come into his castle was who he believed him to be, things were going to get very interesting In the coming days.

[Luminesa]

Nightingale - As Pure as Midnight

Nightingale kept his gaze trained on Etienne’s watching his slight smile. Both men were not prone to large changes in their expressions, but those small glances and quiet gazes hid large, passionate emotions. The vampire was pleased with the conversation, but the Mage was simply glad that he now had another place in which he could share his music. He also liked the idea of having a “second home”. He was not sure about the location of this “home”, as he looked below and saw the Kindred and Kine intermingling sweat and alcohol below. This booth was much more of his taste-quiet, dark, and far from the crowd.

“I shall, thank you.” His response was brief, but his eyes continued to follow Etienne as something shifted his focus. This familiar figure now had to leave to go check on some new visitor downstairs, some stranger with bright-red hair. Nightingale spotted the man with his own eyes as the host of the club went to greet them, and he could not help but stare. At least from his current location, nobody could tell he was staring. Yet the man had a certain dangerous aura, as did Etienne and most Kindred the Mage had ever met.

Yet he had to wonder, would Etienne actually wish to talk to him until morning? Nightingale wondered if such a thought was naive. Most people he knew, even his own fellows in the Symphony Orchestras with which he had played, did not stay for entire evenings to just chat. If they did, someone was drunk, or they were in a group with others. As bright as he was, Ives was never blessed with the ability to connect in conversations, and so he often went quiet as the conversations drifted elsewhere. Only one person had been willing to spend time with him in such a way, and now she was gone. A whisper of happy, laughing memories.

But Etienne, I am sure, has more interesting people to meet…such as this stranger… He reached for his glass of liquor and took another sip. He thought about asking for food, but the warm sensation in his stomach was too pleasant and he felt his mind dulled. Etienne…does he really want to be friends…or do I only…serve a purpose?

[Kingdom of Irhk]

Phillip Kensington - The Palace

5 years had passed since the (near) end of the world happened: The Palace became a club filled with its own particular universe: the high-end area, hidden behind wooden doors with intricate carving, holding above it the classical saying as an exciting dare: "Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate". The Palace, under Kensington's management, was both a profitable and powerful statement of the swing he managed to acquire as a methodical Toreador, given his alliances with the Venture and the amount of money he could use on his ventures.

Yet the mysterious owner - who held a hall of legends and stories around himself - mostly kept to his own business, for pleasures of a mundane life can often be misleading or plainly boring for a man who lived as much as he did. Inside his office, the walls who told a story of their own observed the man with his not so angelical affairs: after all, matters had to be attended in the mundane and not so mundane world, and his network sprawled across the years. The tree became bigger, and the vermin that actively tried to infest it found more and more places to hide.

A knock on the door: pulled from the high-end area, a ghoul alongside a Toreador entered his office, their eyes meeting the de facto Toreador Primogen of the city, who continued to calmly write and check the names on a list. He wrote, typed, erased, re-typed, yet both men were set on their feet right at the entrance, while Kensington's trustworthy assistant was right behind them.

"Are you going to sit, gentlemen? Or Ms. Ito will need to teach you both how to do that as well? Don't be ashamed. Ms. Ito, please enter alongside them and close the door behind yourself."

With slow steps, they both sat down at the chairs at the other side of the table, while silence lingered between those in the room. The British Toreador seemed to instill a sense of patience that turned into a scary habit and seemed to delight in the nervousness of others, who seemed to find the comfortable chairs a method of torture of its own.

"Do you need another set of chairs? You both seem to be almost dying here. Please, Alan. Sit at mine, if you will?"

As he got up and straightened his white suit, Kensington guided the Toreador to his own chair. Right at the computer screen, a sheet of profits was displayed, with one clearly focused on red. The younger Toreador shifted his eyes around the room, unsure where to look at, while Kensington paced around, calmly.

"- Ms. Ito, do you know why I often pair those under my leadership? Eventually, our... dear associates, those who willfully contribute with our business, be it to enter certain levels of the society are otherwise unobtainable through regular means, be it to satisfy certain desires and keep the same desires a secret from the loved ones, they tend to understand certain habits. Even if their... badly wired, ignorant brains can see our habits, they can't see past the thin Veil. They learn we often make visits during the Night, so they often prepare for our arrival. That doesn't happen when we have someone who can move during the day. It shatters the perception that they can hide somewhere, or that they are within our reach during a certain period of time.

- Mr. Kensington, I...

- I do not recall telling you that I was finished. Ms. Ito here likes to hear what I have to say, dear Alan. See, as I was saying, I pair you up because of these things: You, my dear messengers, send them the message. And you both save me the trouble from personally handling everything. Mr. Alan, can you tell me what is wrong with the numbers you see?

- I see nothing wrong, sir, I...

- Are you sure, Mr. Alan? See... can you start to imagine my surprise when I found that the same gentleman listed there, started to spend less money here, because of exorbitant charge rates? Now, we all know I do not charge anything undue of anyone for the particular services and security I offer. And while we had a most wonderful chat, he told me different values from the ones you gave to me. A few options came: maybe, like a desperate animal caught in a trap he was trying to squeeze away from the grasp of this lovely club, since we are all quite prone to get lost on our wishes. Or maybe, just maybe, he fell to a trick devised by such an inferior mind, that thought it could get more money from a minor client, so his overseer wouldn't notice.

- Mr. Kensington, I am-"

Abruptly interrupted by the use of Discipline, Kensington moved towards the ghoul, who now looked at a Kindred dominated by a superior one, sat on a chair who became his prison. Slowly, he inclined himself and started to almost whisper at the ghoul's ear, but clearly audible to the dominated Toreador as well.

"See... I know you just obeyed orders. You're a ghoul and after all, you need to settle some deals to get that oh so precious vitae... I know you've picked up the difference and hid it somewhere for him. But do you know what will happen with him? Most people would just off him here and there, but that establishes a very troublesome precedent: you try to fool someone like me and you just... die? Oh no, that's way too simple. First, he will be immobilized. Then, he will be deprived continually of Vitae and only then he will be put down like the animal he is."

With the uncanny speed that Celerity granted him, Kensington pierced through the Toreador's heart, who now was immobilized by the hit. Pulling him away from the chair and putting at his trustworthy assistant's feet, he sat once again at his chair, looking at the shaking ghoul.

"... I trust that whatever money he made from this stupid endeavor will be returned to me, by yourself, as an apology. If not, well... I can show you where he will be for the next weeks until he falls into Torpor. You do know what that is, don't you? I specifically built a place downstairs for these occasions. He will only cease to exist when I want him to, not one second before. It it a very sad thing indeed to see the beast take over, but I have a much, much worse thing locked there that I... gently acquired through the years. Now, get up and get away from here.

Ms. Ito, arrange a car for us both. This needs to stop. We are going to find the Prince and I will arrange an official nomination as a Primogen for me. Also, arrange for this useless sack of ignorance to be put... well, you know where. Also tell his company there to hold her horses."

Connor Mac Domhnaill

To cross a country was an experience on its own. Be it driving or running as a wolf, it gave Connor the time to think about what possibly could be a "Morri problem". Even in Ireland she was known for her uncanny lack of luck but disposition towards not so common means to solve the problems she found herself into. But now - at least, that is what Cait informed him - she had a kid and had a life along Alexei. He couldn't start to imagine a discussion between both of them: not for the lack of problems, but certainly due to Alexei's lack of will to argue, the couple probably lead a life of peace or constant tension. Was the kid a Garou? Or was she just a Kinfolk?

But now, once again, he reached Los Angeles. Five years after he first reached the city, it still had an air of trouble to it, be it for the existence of Morri's heir, be it for his own weariness. Picking up his phone, the message was straight to the point:

"Cait, I am back. Send me Morri's address."

[Morrdh]

Morri

Ever since Morri was young she had a sixth sense, or the 'touch of the fey' as her grandmother had put it, that acted as a de facto early warning system. It had certainly helped her dodge trouble on multiple occasions, even if it was trouble that she'd gotten herself into in the first place. Silvanus was setting it off big time, sparking a deafening and continuous clamour of alarms within Morri's head to the point that she could feel the beginnings of a headache. Yet despite this, something faint and distant had popped up on her mental radar. It was a small presence, but one that was steadily growing larger and larger. It wasn't long before she could sense something familiar; hairy, red, whisky...oh and anger.

Connor.

It had been five years, but now it looked like he was back in the ironically nicknamed City of Angels. Morri got all the confirmation she needed when, though the pack's totem, Cait gave her a heads up. She didn't relish the prospect of her, and Alexei's, home becoming Ground Zero when her old pack alpha rocked up and met the kindred who was there as a dinner guest. Ideally, Connor wouldn't come within a couple of miles of the house.

Making some excuse about 'needing to check on something', Morri got up from the table and then sneaked out to the street outside. Checking the coast was clear, Morri used one of her garou gifts to conceal her from prying eyes as she made her way a short distance down the street. Practically invisible, Morri loitered as she waited for Connor to show himself so that she could then steer him clear of the Bancroft residence. Though part of her hoped that Silvanus would depart long before the Fianna Auhorn arrived.

[Luminesa]

Morri

Ever since Morri was young she had a sixth sense, or the 'touch of the fey' as her grandmother had put it, that acted as a de facto early warning system. It had certainly helped her dodge trouble on multiple occasions, even if it was trouble that she'd gotten herself into in the first place. Silvanus was setting it off big time, sparking a deafening and continuous clamour of alarms within Morri's head to the point that she could feel the beginnings of a headache. Yet despite this, something faint and distant had popped up on her mental radar. It was a small presence, but one that was steadily growing larger and larger. It wasn't long before she could sense something familiar; hairy, red, whisky...oh and anger.

Connor.

It had been five years, but now it looked like he was back in the ironically nicknamed City of Angels. Morri got all the confirmation she needed when, though the pack's totem, Cait gave her a heads up. She didn't relish the prospect of her, and Alexei's, home becoming Ground Zero when her old pack alpha rocked up and met the kindred who was there as a dinner guest. Ideally, Connor wouldn't come within a couple of miles of the house.

Making some excuse about 'needing to check on something', Morri got up from the table and then sneaked out to the street outside. Checking the coast was clear, Morri used one of her garou gifts to conceal her from prying eyes as she made her way a short distance down the street. Practically invisible, Morri loitered as she waited for Connor to show himself so that she could then steer him clear of the Bancroft residence. Though part of her hoped that Silvanus would depart long before the Fianna Auhorn arrived.

Alexei - The Wolf Back At The Door

Sensing the presence of a particular Garou who had returned to Los Angeles, Morri had left the dinner table to intercept him before he found his way to the house. Alexei was grateful that she was willing to go track him and to avoid bringing a massive fight into their home, but he was still anxious. Connor would want something from the two of them, and a fight between the Garou and the Malkavian Lord at his dinner table would require divine intervention all by itself. Alexei needed to keep the amicus at the table for as long as possible, especially since he could sense Silvanus's annoyance with Kaya's suspicion of his present. Her little mind had every reason to be suspicious, but she could not possibly know what was causing her to feel uneasy.

He decided to bring dessert to the table, a cake he had made in a hurry the previous evening. He had wanted to prepare it for when Morri would come this evening, not realizing that the events of the current evening would transpire. A white cake with maple buttermilk frosting, something he had decided to try after looking online for recipes. He had been determined to be more domestic for Kaya's sake, and he was getting better at making cakes. The sweets would also placate Kaya, who was no doubt anxious about why her mother had suddenly left the table. "Here we go! A cake I also went ahead and made, everyone can have a slice. Yes, Kaya, you can have sugar this evening, this is for all of us." He smiled at his daughter, a calming smile. She would be safe.

Mikhailov seemed pleased at the prospect of cake, though not at the prospect of possibly facing Connor. He turned to look out of the window, as if he could physically see the Garou sauntering in the distance. Luckily, he was still a few miles away, but the Malkavian next to him would have already detected him coming near the house. Alexei's offerings would hopefully placate Silvanus, and would keep the peace while Morri handled her older acquaintance outside of these safe walls. "Maple...Well, well, look at you, Alexei. Being the wife of the family, I see?" He turned to the former Inquisitor and gave him a teasing wink.

"Ah...it's all a part of raising a family, Kostya. I'm sure you're aware of that. Now one day perhaps you ought to bring a dessert, and we can see how much of a wife you are," Alexei mumbled, as he sat next to his daughter. As he took a bite of his cake, he did not look to see the Mage's expression, but he could almost swear that he saw a glint of embarrassment. "...And if you're having any trouble, I can teach you," he added, giving a small smile behind a cup of coffee.

[Kingdom of Irhk]

Morri

Ever since Morri was young she had a sixth sense, or the 'touch of the fey' as her grandmother had put it, that acted as a de facto early warning system. It had certainly helped her dodge trouble on multiple occasions, even if it was trouble that she'd gotten herself into in the first place. Silvanus was setting it off big time, sparking a deafening and continuous clamour of alarms within Morri's head to the point that she could feel the beginnings of a headache. Yet despite this, something faint and distant had popped up on her mental radar. It was a small presence, but one that was steadily growing larger and larger. It wasn't long before she could sense something familiar; hairy, red, whisky...oh and anger.

Connor.

It had been five years, but now it looked like he was back in the ironically nicknamed City of Angels. Morri got all the confirmation she needed when, though the pack's totem, Cait gave her a heads up. She didn't relish the prospect of her, and Alexei's, home becoming Ground Zero when her old pack alpha rocked up and met the kindred who was there as a dinner guest. Ideally, Connor wouldn't come within a couple of miles of the house.

Making some excuse about 'needing to check on something', Morri got up from the table and then sneaked out to the street outside. Checking the coast was clear, Morri used one of her garou gifts to conceal her from prying eyes as she made her way a short distance down the street. Practically invisible, Morri loitered as she waited for Connor to show himself so that she could then steer him clear of the Bancroft residence. Though part of her hoped that Silvanus would depart long before the Fianna Auhorn arrived.

Connor - Los Angeles

"Morrigan, Morrigan... I'd say that the smell of trouble would be weaker after you became a mother, but I guess some things never change."

He moved away from the back of a pick-up truck: different from the short hair and well trimmed mustache he often used, Connor's hair was now a long, red mane that went past his shoulders if it wasn't put entirely backwards, reaching the middle of his back. The mustache gave way for a huge, somewhat recently washed beard that extended to his chest, giving him the looks of a traveler who spent so much time alone he forgot the importance to present himself in a clean way.

"Y'know, I wonder what you did to force Cait's hand to tap all the tiny numbers of my phone to call me... but considering how many Kinfolk looked me on the way here and how this entire street has its sights locked on your house, and obviously, the faint smell of the Wyrm around here, I imagine that once again you found yourself locked in with Kindred.

So tell me, Morri: how's family life so far? And what the fuck did you get yourself into this time?"

Phillip Kensington - Los Angeles, en route to Anna's Castle

The small convoy of cars, with Kensington alongside his assistant between them, made their way to the mansion of the Los Angeles Prince. Matters had to be settled once and for all, as he had to take the opportunity to become the Primogen before an outer force did so. The city itself seemed to be built on a trap door that he stood all the time, and every rope he could hang on to was probably well tied around his neck, ready to strangle him to definitive death.

As he finally reached his destination, he walked, ordering his security to remain at the door, believing it would be quite improper of him to walk inside a Prince's domain with that many guards (as she certainly didn't need them).

"I came to talk with Prince Anna."

[Imperialisium]

Anna's Mansion

The abrupt arrival of Kensington had caused a murmur among the courtiers of the re-established Mansion. Even as Kensington was obviously allowed to pass through security and enter the building proper. The murmuring did not cease. Whispers and sly commentary circulated among the Clans membership in the Mansion. Even the Ghouls and Humans present traded hushed tones. Anna had, due to the late hour of the Night, instructed that Kensington be placed in a side gallery with a small table. There, Anna awaited with a glass of crimson liquid held in her right hand. She wore night clothes. It was actually somewhat unusual behavior to present oneself in such a manner. The warm pajama shirt hiding her supple bosom while the pants ended in a pair of warm red socks. The red and white pinstripes of the outfit accenting her figure.

"Such urgency in the tone of your message, Mister Kensington. I hope all is well for your enterprises? And what, do I owe this meeting for?" A voice of subtle bemusement and possible foreknowledge. Had Anna guessed his intent already? Had something given it away? It was certainly possible after all.

[Luminesa]

Nightingale - Wandering Night

With his host now occupied by the man at the door, Nightingale decided that he would take his leave for the evening. He was safer here, of course, than he was in almost any place in Los Angeles. However, safety shifted from day-to-day in streets occupied by vampires with a frayed sense of morality. He did not doubt the good graces of his patron, for better or for worse. At the moment, he had no reason to do so. Yet he did not enjoy the club scene much and needed to eat something. He also felt a need to explore, to perhaps get to know better his surroundings. He had lived in Los Angeles for quite a few years now, but the sprawling metropolis was huge enough that he still felt he had missed much of what he could see.

Yet at the same time, some things did not necessarily require seeing to understand.

As he slipped outside, he could feel the palpable darkness of the Masquerade, the sensation that something was shaping and moving on the ground around him. He wrapped his coat around his body tightly, feeling the chill of early December breathing on his neck. A stark contrast from the many mouths breathing-or not breathing-inside The Janus. He began to walk down the street, out toward a place with more light. The docks glittered with beautiful, clear moonlight, and he found himself gazing up at the fixture in the sky. He believed that in another life, he would have been born a Toreador, constantly fascinated by the beauty of music, the dark, and the moon.

As he continued his trek around town, which was partially aimless and partially for inspiration, he found himself hearing the shouts of two individuals from a few streets away. No actual dispute was happening, but he was curious. Something about these two people gave him the impression that they were neither vampire nor human. An even stronger force emanated from maybe a mile away from their location, something that did not hide well and did not seek to hide well. He did not come close to the conflict, but rather stood about a block away. His old love would have told him to go home and to stay out of such danger, but nobody knew his connections here in the shadows of some random street in an enormous city. Thus he stood, and wondered about these two individuals.

And why the much taller one suddenly made his heart jump...