WoD: Brass and Smoke - London's Bloody Cry [IC, OPEN]

[Morrdh]

On Murder Row
November 4th, 1888, Night
Weaver’s Arms, Baker’s Row, London

The pub was an oddly quaint and pretty place, decorated with more autumnal flowers for the daytime and with small benches for people to eat and drink outdoors. At least, in the daytime it would have been more charming. Tonight, it was rumbling and busy, but in a more melancholy way.

The scene reminded Marianne of why she did not like going into London, especially at night. Smells of liquor, waste, and despair. Men who sat inside the pub drinking away their family fortunes. Women who cried for them at home. A prostitute who stood on the corner near the pub and gave a smirk to Vasily as he passed.

“Hello, handsome, are you busy?” She waved her fingers like the bars of a chime, trying to tap them around his arm as he passed.

“I’m afraid he is, madam. I do apologize.” Marianne beat him to it, pulling him just a little as both a protective measure and as a reminder for him to remain focused on the matter at hand. “I do hope you are safe this evening.”

The woman continued to smirk. “Ah, you have a taste for older women, darling?”

Vasily, who had a thousand other things on his mind, did look up for just a moment to gaze at her. “Older men, yes. Young men, yes.” When the woman looked surprised, he waved her off. “Go ahead and tell the cops I’m a sodomite, I’m about to meet with one now.”

But she did not pester further, and so Vasily and Marianne walked onward to the front of the pub. The older woman wore a soft-green pinafore dress-Vasily bought it in her favorite color-and a white blouse under her heavy olive cloak. To protect her head, a simple straw hat she had bought for herself-one of the first things she had bought for herself in a long time.

The younger man kept an arm around her, as if to protect her from a pickpocket. But they arrived at their destination, and his eyes whirled around the station.

“Oy! Dunne? Where you at, you red-headed bastard?”

The Weaver's Arms was busy with a mixture of Whitechapel locals and patrons heading off to the nearby Pavilion Theatre. Dunne was seated in the far corner nursing a tankard of beer whilst sprinkling tobacco into a roll-up cigarette paper, though he kept a wary eye on the door. Past couple of days had been trying to deal with the aftermath of the abortive police raid, the constables' fate he'd chinned off as being a tragic building fire. He doubted that it would hold weight for long, but bringing the Ripper to justice would help his superiors to overlook the matter.

He saw Vasily enter along with an older woman which surprised him a little.

“There you are. Can’t even wave or anything, can you?” Vasily walked over and got a whiskey for himself when the waitress came to ask for his order.

“And what about the lady with you?” She nodded to Marianne, who sat in the chair and scanned her surroundings carefully.

The older woman had no problem answering for herself, however. “Hot tea, if you can. Thank you.”

The waitress blinked, and then went to send the two orders.

In the meantime, the Russian bit through his cigarette and nodded to Dunne. “Dunne, this is Marianne.”

“Marianne Wilcox,” she introduced, nodding politely, “or Shepherd, but I haven’t used that name in thirty years.”

“She is the Mage I was telling you about,” he explained in a lowered voice, “and she’s got a cool head about her. I think she’s what we need to talk Michael out of doing something stupid.”

“Yes. If you could, could you explain what you need me to do, Officer?” Marianne inquired.

Dunne thought for a moment before answering. "I do not know what sort of powers ye process, but it'll be a pack o' angry wolves we'll be facing."

"If ya got something that'll freeze 'em, not literally mind ye, but something ta hold 'em in place so they'll actually listen would be a good start."

Marianne mentally considered her catalog of powers, or at least a few of them. “As for physical abilities, I can control plants and I am a capable duelist. For spiritual abilities, I can…well, I can speak to spirits and to souls.”

The waitress came with Vasily and the woman’s drinks, and Marianne nodded her thanks to her. She then dipped her tea, keeping an eye on her surroundings as she addressed the officer. “Regardless of which you need from me, or if you need both, I would not let my age lead you to believe that I am feeble or incapable.”

"I've learnt that there is usually more than meets the eyes with folk." Dunner answered. "So I shalt not be questioning yer abilities mam."

“Very well. We’ll be going wherever you need for us to go.” Marianne saw nothing else to add, and she would allow for Dunne to lead the way. But first, she needed to finish her tea.

And Vasily, hoping to God that he was not about to lead this poor woman to her death, chugged down his whiskey.

Later That Evening

Moving away from The Weaver’s Arms, the trio would move through the shadows of an otherwise quiet evening. They needed to encounter their target before they caused anymore mayhem, and only Dunne knew how they should approach.

But the warehouse was not far away, and the duo waited for the officer to explain how they should enter.

Dunne said little as they walked, preferring to watch the crowds of people that passed on by. Despite it being the Lord's Day, a chilly November and the Ripper's long shadow over the East End the crowds were still sizeable. Billstickers were at work, slapping up various posters up on brick walls already plastered with paper and glue. There were some advertising the forthcoming Lord Mayor's Day that coming Friday, barely five days time. No doubt Londoners would be using the celebrations to put on a brave face, a chance to banish the darkness in their lives....even if for a few brief hours of blissful ignorance.

It was the great British pastime; Dealing with a problem by simply ignoring that it existed.

But soon they approached the warehouse that Dunne knew the pack frequently used, MacLeod had sent him a apologetic letter over the whole affair at the rookery. Words couldn't bring good men back, but this was perhaps a chance to put an end to Michael's mad scheme. Though as they walked down an alleyway, the hairs on the back of Dunne's neck rose and he quietly said. "Tread carefully and keep yer hands away from any weapons....we're in the wolf's den now."

The two men and the woman with them walked quietly, and they awaited the cold and the echo of hostile voices. But all seemed to run smoothly, at least for the approach. Vasily kept his gun hidden and safe. Marianne simply walked with her purse at her side, her arms visible under her cloak. Eventually, they found their way into the maw of their opponent’s hideaway, and Vasily moved just a step ahead of Marianne. Both of them would allow for Dunne to enter before them.

Dunne paused in the small yard that laid in the warehouse's shadow, though he couldn't see them he for certain that some of the pack were standing watch on the neighbouring rooftops. As kinfolk Dunne himself was in little danger from the garou, but he wasn't so sure about the two Mages. True they were here as his de facto guests, but he didn't know whether his level of protection extended to them as well.

He was shamed to admit it, but he came prepared in case things turned ugly.

Taking a deep breath, he strode over to the stout wooden double doors of the warehouse and banged his fist on them. For a moment he fancied he heard the echo reverberate within and movement on the roof above him. Then came the sound of a bolt being slid across on the other side of the door before the door itself was pulled open on hinges that protested loudly at the lack of oil before revealing the face of MacLeod. The Theurge's face wore his customary frown, more wane looking than usual, giving Dunne little to go on to guess what awaited them.

"In then." Grumbled MacLeod, already moving to push the door closed again. "This place's already bad enough with the damp without letting the chill in as well."

The trio entered the room, and Vasily decided to stand near the door, both because this was not his stage and also because he needed to be there in case Dunne and Marianne needed to keep them in the room. But his weapon was still hidden, and so he just looked like he was straddling behind, cigarette in mouth.

Marianne was the one who stepped forward with Dunne, and who kept her hands visible for them to see. She was quite small compared to everyone, but she carried herself with the same stern dignity as always. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

"Madam." MacLeod nodded politely, though with a noticeable but slight growl before turning to speak to Dunne. "Suppose ya here fer Michael aren't ye?"

"Aye." Answered Dunne. "His whole vendetta against the leeches, well....he's been tricked inta it. Tis one o' the Fallen that killed LIz."

MacLeod's face hardened for a moment before he abruptly turned and started walking deeper into the warehouse, calling out over his shoulder. "Come."

Even deeper into the pit they walked. They moved further into the darkness, looking for the man whom they needed to convince. Vasily was annoyed-he did not like the idea they they had to walk this far to find him. The woman walking in front of him kept her patience, until at last they got to the center of the warehouse.

Vasily approached cautiously, knowing that even if he had explained to Marianne what he had seen a dozen times, that he needed to be ready at a moment’s notice to defend her if she did not recall something. But perhaps she would do better than he thought she would.

When Marianne saw the rest of the men, she nodded to them and looked for the main man. “Hello. I assume one of you must be Mr. Michael?”

The pack had gathered round the trio in a loose circle and adopted an air of passive intimidation, though still in Homid form their posture was just enough to edge into triggering the primal fear of regular mortals. Few words were quietly uttered as the garou coldly regarded Marianne and her two companions, their body language conveying that the pack only tolerated the trio's presence and there was perhaps a hint of promised violence. Dunne strongly suspected that the two Mage's were only allowed within a mile of the warehouse because of him, though he also saw that there was little in the way of a warm welcome for him.

"I be he." A voice called out with a noticeable drunken slur, something that made Dunne groan inwardly as Michael emerged from the shadows with a half empty bottle of whisky to hand. He was even more rough looking than when Dunne had last seen him, clearly deeply affected by Liz' death. Unquestionably Michael should've stepped down as pack leader, but no doubt he was twisting the Litany and bullying the pack into letting him stay as pack alpha. Far as Dunne was concerned, Michael's present path was leading the pack to destruction.

"Who th'feck are youse?" Michael asked as he looked the two Mages over with blood-shot eyes and took another swig of whisky. "An' wot th'feck do ya want?!"

“Mr. Stride, my name is Marianne Wilcox. I believe you are acquainted with Officer Dunne, from what I have been told. The young man standing next to him is Vasily Mikhailov, who has been a recent friend of mine. I can see that you are not in the best of ways yourself, and I can assure you that I wish no harm upon you or your Kinfolk. But from what I have been told, I am concerned for your safety.”

She could see his eyes, how bloodshot they were, and so she continued to proceed with caution. “I have been told that you have been seeking revenge for the death of your dear wife. Mrs. Elizabeth Stride. Is that correct?”

"Tis KIdney." Michael replied, a hint of anger in his voice. "Liz and I weren't married...."

"But aye, I be seeking revenge for her death....looks like it was 'em trice-cursed leeches!"

“Unfortunately, I think you may be mistaken, though through no fault of your own,” Marianne calmly suggested, “the three of us have done some investigating, and we believe that the true culprit may be what you know as a Black Spiral Dancer. One who has been leading you and your other Kinfolk astray.”

Michael's face hardened and he slammed a fist into a nearby wooden crate, smashing it and sending splinters flying. He turned on Dunne and angrily asked. "This true?!"

"Tis true enough." Dunne answered. "Oisin, Gaia rest his soul, had sensed wyrm-taint at the scenes o' the Ripper killings and was trying ta track it down. He mentioned that MacLeod had a theory that the Ripper's victims had been kinfolk."

"Aye, that they were." Grumbled the theurge. "Were able tae confirm this with some spirits."

"Whole thing with the cursed leeches was ta threw ye o' the scent." Added Dunne. "Ye were played fer a bally fool."

Vasily jumped just a little in his shoes as he saw how hard Michael could punch the crate. Part of him wanted to clutch his gun tighter, but doing so carried the risk of setting it off.

Marianne just kept still, though her face was sadder as she saw how angry the man was. “It’s a dreadful revelation, to be sure. And one you could not control. This is a figure who has acted against you, and everything your clan stands for. And you are the one who is suffering for it.”

She sighed, looking at the crate he had just splintered. “But I am not here to pity you, as I am sure you do not want pity. You’re a man of action. You want the truth, and you seek to put yourself in a proper direction. We believe that because of this information, the miasma we found that points to the Black Spiral Dancer, you must turn your attention away from the Kindred and toward the true problem.”

As the realisation dawned upon MIchael, rage filled his face and he turned away from the trio as his body and features began to shift. He took upon a more feral, bestial look as he grew slightly and his clothes started to strain and tear as took on a 'wolfman' like form. Then, whilst letting out a sound partway between a cry of rage and a howl, he proceed to smash and throw the wooden crates and barrels scattered about the warehouse. In the midst of all this, the gathered pack involuntarily took a step back and Dunne motioned to the two Mages that they do likewise.

After a few minutes of Michael unleashing his pent up anger, he slammed his fist into a metal girder which sent a dull clang echoing round the building. As his rage subsided, Michael's form changed back to that of a regular human as he remained in his pose of punching the girder before sinking to his knees. An awkward silence fell, though Dunne fancied that he heard quiet sobbing, before Michael quietly uttered. "....Go. Leave me."

In the dark, the man had taken his Crinos form, and his shadow had grown and splattered into a morbid shape on the wall. All wolf, but not the usual sort of wolf. He was enormous, enraged. The short woman in front of him watched that shape twist and growl, until that growling exploded into violence.

“Oh bloody…”

Vasily ran over and grabbed Marianne’s shoulders, pulling her back as he thought a crate flew too close to her face. They both watched the man vent his rage by breaking things around the building, with the Russian’s eyes becoming wider and wider with alarm. The room smelled of whiskey, of broken wood and iron, of stale air, and of humiliation.

The woman Mage simply frowned. At the very least, he was releasing his anger on objects and not on the people around him. But his rage did not provide a clear answer as to whether or not her words had changed his course of action. Then again, she knew that he would not make the decision while he was breaking barrels.

She looked over to Dunne, and then back to Michael. “Very well,” she softly spoke, “I’m terribly sorry to bring such awful news. But I hope you will rightly consider what we have said. You have my full condolences. And I pray that we will have better news to bring you soon.”

She started to turn to walk out the room, keeping her head up and eyes forward. Crying or not, this problem needed to end, and it needed to end soon. The men had summoned her for this task, and neither of them seemed willing to push that task further. She had done as she had been asked.

“One way or another, we’re going to deal with the real problem soon,” Vasily murmured, “so you rest and help us to help you.” He then turned to walk with Marianne.

[Luminesa]

Co-Write with Oblivion2 and Lumi

Catch a Bull by the Tail
November 4th, 1888, Evening
Saint-Francis Residence

Harry Kelly fretted himself for most of the trip through London. Melodious could be anywhere. That rapscallion was sure to cause trouble, even if he did not personally harm someone. He likes to be in the spotlight, surrounded by adoring fans. But not everyone who entered his space wanted to be in the spotlight with him.

The Ventrue shook his head, both at the Toreador’s own bizarre mannerisms and at his own impropriety. He could have contacted Saint-Francis to let him know that he was coming for a house-call. At the same time, however, his actions required discretion. Elders were always watching each other, even when they were not doing anything wrong. Of course, “wrong” was subjective for many Kindred, and Harry knew that for Melodious, “wrong” was not having what he wanted.

“Of all the people I had to talk to that evening…why did I even go, why did I even open my mouth.” He widened his eyes as if to force himself awake, and he rubbed his temples around his eyes as he got ready for the conversation that was to come.

“Here goes absolutely nothing.” He got to the door, stared up at the gas lights near the entrance, drew a deep sigh, and knocked three times.

Etienne had been in his own little world when the knock sounded. He'd been knee-deep into Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, enjoying for himself some much deserved personal time despite the irony of reading such a book with a Promethean under his roof. Sigrid, no doubt, would have found it amusing rather than distasteful.

"Now who might that be?" Etienne wondered aloud for a moment. It wasn't Wayland, for the Mage seldom got out of his sanctum to go do much of anything. Vasily would have had a flightier knock, and Marianne would have sent word ahead as a proper lady of good breeding would. The same went for any member of the Von Achtoven residence. His stomach churned as he thought of the two most likely outcomes; a remaining member of Wilcox's cabal that he'd overlooked, or a member of the Ventrue Court.

Etienne took a bell from his reading desk and rang it twice, then paused and rang it once more. It was a signal he'd devised for Sigrid; if he rang it, that meant some form of trouble, and that she should stay upstairs and not call out for him.

He set the bell aside and walked towards the door, absently grabbing his pipe and lighting it as he prepared his game face. Nothing said you meant business to another Kindred so much as having a lit fire so close to ones face. To Kine, it wouldn't look out of place at all. The Ventrue pulled the door open and quirked an eyebrow at the man upon his landing, "Good evening, might I help you with something?"

Who are you? What do you want?

“Hallo and good evening. You must be Mr. Saint-Francis, your address matches.” Harry tipped his hat politely. “Sir Harry Kelly. We’re in the same Court, but I’m not from the court. I’m here of my own accord, mostly because well…you most recently sent that report about a Mage being possibly responsible for the killings around East London, am I correct?”

Etienne's eyebrow shot up a little, not in surprise so much as respect. "Sir Kelly? I do believe we are in the same Court." He adopted a reasonably formal bow without going too low, Harry had more than a century on Etienne and powerful friends in both Kine and Kindred society, it was better not to offend.

He opened the door wider for the man, "You would be correct, but best not talk about such things on the landing. The neighbours keep to themselves but they're not at all like us. Come."

When the man was inside, Etienne gestured to the coat rack. "Your vestments will be safe there, I assure you. You have the promise of my warmest hospitality, dear cousin. Refreshment? I'm afraid my cupboards are stocked for the Kine, for appearances sake and all."

“Ah. Don’t trouble yourself too much, I just ate.” Harry did give a warm smile in return, and hung his hat and coat on the rack. “I’m going to try not to waste too much of your time, I imagine you’ve been rather busy. Usually, our enterprises would be…parallel to each other, but I reluctantly attended a party at the request of another Elder.” He rolled his eyes and paused. “Do you know anything of a Sir Melodious Fisher?”

Etienne didn't let the expression on his face match the souring of his stomach. "I've heard the name." Etienne admits as he seats himself at the round table in the small kitchen and gestures for his guest to do the same. "Toreador Elder, eccentric… Likes to be the star of his own show. Still, he's clever enough for any three men- or so I've heard." He takes a low puff of his pipe and exhales the smoke through his nose. "Given you've brought him up, I'd wager he's either sent you after me or you're here to warn me that I'm now on his list of interesting trivialities. Given which way your politics bend, Sir Harry, I'm inclined to suspect the latter rather than the former. I take it word of my report has not stayed as quiet as I'd have liked?"

“Well…” Harry sat down and thought how to explain. “Unfortunately, I was late to the party that evening and he badgered some information out of me. Not in any sort of a threatening manner, he’s more obnoxious than truly frightful, at least toward other Kindred. Kine are another story.” He shuddered and shook his head, as he thought of stories of the Toreador’s interactions with humans. “But as for you, yes, he is out looking for you, though currently he only seems to have a name and your Clan. I tried not to tell him much else, since the report is still going through some investigation. Nothing on that end which you need to worry about, all routine. Melodious is the issue.”

His eyes gazed around the kitchen, as he was thinking on what he had heard. “A friend of yours…or two of them…have apparently sent him on something of a goose-chase, so he has not gotten your address to my knowledge. One is a Tzimisce who is in my Court, who sent him to a bookstore in London. The other is a…Mage?” He raised a brow. “A Mage who apparently kept him out of the bookstore.”

The only Tzimisce Etienne knew in London was the Lady Relia. Calling her his friend would be a dangerous assumption indeed. "I would hardly dare call myself a friend of the Lady Relia." Etienne said easily enough. "We are acquainted but a little, but it would seem I might have stuck in her memory if she's playing with a Toreador Elder on my behalf. As to the Mages… Well if you know the contents of my report, you'd know I've earned myself a little goodwill with their community."

The Ventrue takes a few puffs of his pipe as he contemplates his next move. "Sir Harry, I hope you won't find me too forthcoming if I should ask you for your advice? Given you are my societal senior, I would think my position in this matter can only be improved with your wisdom. What would you do, were you in my boots?"

“My advice?” The older Ventrue thought on that question for a quiet minute. He turned his eyes to the clock on the wall, and then back to the younger Kindred. “Well, if Melodious is looking just to talk and to negotiate some sort of…I’m not even sure what I would call it. Partnership? Acquaintance? Hospitality?” He waved his hand in front of him as if the correct word might fall from the ceiling. “I would just stay away from any of the Toreadors and possibly keep a low profile. Let other Ventrue know and any allies know that you’re not interested in solicitors. Melodious is not an idiot, he’ll not enter the home if he’s given enough notice. Now…”

He arched his brows a little. “If he decides to go looking for you outside of the home, I would perhaps hide somewhere else for about a week or two. Or keep a disguise, or stay with someone to make yourself look busy. Those are some options. He relies on being the center of attention, and if he can’t force that attention then eventually he will move to another curiosity. You em…” His arched brows curved in worry. “Don’t have anything else that would hook his fancy, would you? Beside the story that you brought down a powerful Mage?”

"Nothing I'm willing to let him have." Etienne says with a wry smile. "I'm not about to flee from my problems, Sir Harry. If I'm supposed to have this reputation that I've earned, why would I hide? It would make me look as though I'd stolen the valour of another, and nothing would draw the ire more from Melodious than showing him the toy he was after was not at all what it appeared."

Etienne puffs thoughtfully once more on the pipe. "What if I went to him? Headed him off at the pass? Let him know I wasn't overly interested but showed him the respect of hearing him out anyway? It would certainly sate his ego, would you not agree?"

The Ventrue raised his brows. “Well now. That would be a gamble, but it would fit the story he has in his head about you. A dashing rogue who isn’t afraid of conflict against stronger powers-that-be. Romantics and their stories…” He sighed, but nodded. “I can give you his address, and you can give him a call if you so please. Most likely, a servant will find it first, so you’ll have a couple of days to prepare. Do you need anything else from me, if you decide to take this path?”

"No, most benevolent Cousin of mine, I don't believe I do." Etienne says with a wry chuckle. "Would you prefer I keep your name from my lips when I meet him? Or shall I tell him that he has you to thank for his luck?"

“Oh if he hears my name he’ll just pester me more. I’m not worried. I simply think you’ll need allies when you handle him. He likes to arrive with a crowd. And if he doesn’t have a crowd, he’ll make one. You know how that is. His Presence is…particularly powerful.” He frowned in an amused manner, rather than in a frustrated one. “A lot of young Toreadors could learn from him. If they weren’t, you know, absorbed by their own delusions of grandeur that they have not earned.”

"Alas, my particular allies are not exactly fit for a meeting with an Elder of the standing that Lord Melodious holds." Etienne says, feigning regret. He couldn't imagine anyone doing well under the gaze of a hungry Toreador Elder, especially not Vasily. "I'll just have to make do with my lonesome. I'm no stranger to how useful Presence can be in the hands of a clever practitioner. Besides, if I go to him, he'll have ample opportunity to make his own crowd. No doubt he'll hand-pick it to woo and dazzle me. That's what I would do, if I were a Torrie."

“Indeed. I don’t think he knows your tastes any, nobody’s quite gotten to know you that well. The perks of being a Neonate.” He did appreciate Etienne’s courage-most young Kindred would have run in the opposite direction, or would have fallen victim to the Toreador’s charms and illusions. He had yet to see how the younger Ventrue would truly fare, but now was a strong start. “I’ll be sure to keep the other Ventrue quiet, and to let you do your work. If you need me for anything, here’s my address.” He pulled a ready calling card and handed it to him. “My office and my address. I can trust you with both, I believe?”

Etienne glanced over both of them before pocketing them both away. They'd go into one of his unassuming little notebooks that he kept tucked away in various safe places. "Well, if being a Neonate had any perks at all, anonymity is certainly it." He says with a smile. "I owe you one, Cousin. And I seldom say those words lightly, do look me up if -you- need a favour, mmm?"

“I certainly will! I’m sure there’s something, my plate has been full recently and I may need to offload some work somewhere. But that’s nothing to your discredit. It’s just my job.” He grinned back and stood. “You sound like you have a plan, and that’s half the battle. I’ll see about keeping him away for a couple more days so you can prepare. You have yourself a restful evening, Mr. Saint-Francis.” He gave a small bow of his head, and his started toward his hat and coat. He was not in a rush so much as he figured he had said everything which needed to be said. “And you’re absolutely sure there’s nothing else here that Melodious could ask about?” He inquired as he grabbed his coat.

"That would be telling, Cousin." Etienne says with a wide smile that he didn't feel deep down in his stomach. He gave the man another bow as he seemed to be gathering his things up. "Good evening, Sir Harry. May your chalice remain filled."

“Indeed. Good evening to you as well.” He grabbed his hat and nodded back to Etienne one last time, before he walked out the door. All was silent for a few moments. The reality that the Ventrue was beginning to get attention from other Kindred-stronger Kindred-could be a blessing and a curse.

But then the responding bell rang from upstairs. A question-“Is it safe?” Sigrid seemed to have been aware somewhat that the guest had left, and so she had figured it would be safe to ring in return now.

"Come on down." Etienne called up softly.

After placing her work away safely once again, Sigrid opened the door and walked downstairs to see her lover. She saw the worry in his eyes from a distance, and her walk was quick and purposeful as she moved to his side. “Who was it, darling? Someone from your Court?”

"Yes." Etienne says, taking a seat in his abandoned chair. He sits slightly sideways so she might come sit in his lap should she wish. "A Sir Harry Kelly." Etienne explains. "But he wasn't here in any official capacity. He was warning me of a Toreador Elder looking for me. I'm going to go stick my head into that particular lion's maw."

She sat on his knee, watching his face as he was planning what he would do about this new problem. They had hardly gotten a chance to rest from Wilcox, and now here was another powerful shadow looming over them. “You’re going to go directly to them? Are they not dangerous?”

"Of course." Etienne says with a nod, running his hands down along her hips as she seats herself. "But it's better to meet him under my own initiative than have him come to me. The best defense is a good offense."

She nodded. “I suppose it would catch him off-guard as well. To have you accept his invitation, or at least appear to do so.” She stroked his cheek with her thumb, glad to see that perhaps he was not so scared as she had initially thought. “Do you want me to come with you?” She could guess his answer, but she wanted to ask anyway.

"The last thing I want is a several-centuries-old Toreador catching wind of you." Etienne says with a shake of his head. "Especially one who could likely make my presence look like a joke."

“Very well.” She hid the defeat in her voice as much as she could. Sigrid was his lady, and she felt in her heart that such a figure would not, could not break her-not after what she had already endured. But Melodious also absolutely did not need to know that a Promethean was alive and living in London. “I could perhaps spend the evening with Marianne and keep her company. But before then, can I do anything to help you to prepare, my love?”

"Sigrid…" he says as soothingly as possible. "You knew what you were signing up for when you decided you want to be with me… I'm sorry that a moment like this has come so soon, but yes… I do believe a night with Marianne or perhaps Tabitha is in order. As to preparing… I need to learn more about Melodious and honestly relax as much as I'm able to. The calmer I feel going in, the easier things will be."

“Of course. I shall be meeting with Tabitha more tomorrow morning anyway to continue her studies. And Miss Marianne must be quite lonely and in need of company.” She understood that the older woman did her best to keep her feelings from overriding those of the people around her, but Sigrid knew that she was suffering in silence. She would benefit from more regular friends.

In the meantime, she nestled her head against Etienne’s neck and gazed up at him lovingly. “I could always check Wayland’s bookstore, in the meantime, and see if he has any documents on Sir Melodious.”

"It’s possible, given how much arcane knowledge he already has.” She put her hand around his, knowing that his blood pressure would be racing with anxiety if his blood did run that way. As much as he hid it, this was a huge task for him-to directly confront an Elder whose intentions were ultimately unknown. “How else can I help you to relax? Is there anything else you need me to find for you?”

"I doubt you're going to find information about him outside of Kindred circles." He admits with a frown. "Not unless they are very old and intertwined with history, or you're going through the records of a spy. You're welcome to try, though, and I wouldn't mind being surprised."

She smiled thoughtfully up at him while pecking him on the jaw. “I’ll most certainly do my best, my darling.” Sigrid already had some ideas floating in her head. Toreadors were always intertwined somewhere-especially in art, from what she had read. Something to do with art would weave him into the fabric of the city and its inhabitants. Or perhaps Gerrit’s mansion had something.

In the meantime, she kissed his palm and held it in her hands, keeping it warm. “I am always glad to try and surprise you,” she suggested.

Etienne allowed himself a faint smile. "If you do see Wayland, let him know I'll be dropping in to see him in the next few days. I should check in on what he's told the Consilium and where it all puts me. In the meantime… Are you busy tomorrow night?"

“Will I be busy?” She blinked with a little surprise, and shook her head. “Busy? Not particularly. I’m more busy in the daytime. Is something the matter?”

"Nothing. I just thought perhaps you might enjoy sitting down to a nice dinner at the Savoy with me." He says nonchalantly. "I can get us a table without too much trouble, but if something has to be wrong for me to take my woman out for dinner on the town, well…" he trails off, giving her a mischievous smirk.

Sigrid realized with a blush that they indeed had not had a proper date together, given Gerrit and Wilcox were both alive for much of the time they had been together. With both of them now dead, Etienne and the Promethean woman could actually go and spend time together out of the house more often. “At the Savoy? O-Of course! Certainly.” She was flustered from surprise and excitement, and she gazed her eyes down at his hand. “I would love to, my dear.”

"Very good." The Ventrue says with some of that grin of his still showing. "The Savoy, tomorrow night for eight o'clock. Shall we go together or would you like to arrive separately?"

“I would like to go together.” She spoke instantly. “We should go out together. Enjoy our freedom together.” She tugged the corner of his grin a little with her thumb. “See? You’ll feel better going out with me, won’t you?”

"That was rather the idea." Etienne says with an honest to god laugh. "I'll rent us a coach then, we can arrive in style. Do remember though, it's a restaurant, and not a ballroom. Don't over do it, mmm?"

“I will still do my best.” She actually looked giddy, and she could not hide the sparkle which glinted in her eyes. At last, he would go somewhere with her. And they could enjoy that outing together. “And I will try to surprise you anyway.”

"Well you know I like your sorts of surprises." He says with a smile. "Now, I'm sorry for having interrupted you with this unpleasantness. Do forgive me."

“There is nothing to apologize for.” Her excitement mellowed a little into a serene gaze. “I’m simply glad you are safe, and not in worse spirits. After all, some of the absolute worst is behind us. Now we can perhaps peer out into the light again, together.”

"We'll see." The Ventrue says, sobering somewhat. "Kindred politics can get rather murky, and as word spreads, this Melodious fellow is likely only going to be the first of many suitors for my talents. It is, admittedly what I want, but I have to be selective about whom I end up in bed with; if you'll pardon my expression. I will not give up my hard-won autonomy just for a little clout."

“And I wouldn’t ask you to. But it will be a good evening for the both of us, where we don’t have to worry about politics for a little while.” She tried to keep him from fretting too much, knowing that once he got started again he would keep that train of thought for a while. “And I’ll be excited to see how you look for such an outing as well, hm?”

"Yes, I'll have to break out an appropriate hat and necktie won't I?" He says thoughtfully, mulling his options over in his head for a few long moments. "In any case, this business is concluded for the evening, best put it behind me. I think I'm going to have a bath. Would you like to join me?"

Sigurd turned her head a little, contemplating, before she gave a playful smile in return. “I think I could use the relaxation myself.”

He bumps her from his lap with a lifted leg. "Best get those long legs walking up the stairs then. I'll be right behind you." Etienne smiled. Yes, danger was around almost every corner, but for right now? Life was starting to get good.

[Luminesa]

Like Creeping Ivy
November 3rd, 1888, Night
Marianne’s Safehouse

The docks smelled of salty tears and sounded of snoring waves. A mixture of dread, melancholy, and quiet contemplation had settled over the two Mages as they had started home from their journey, and now they stood on the sidewalk and stared out, gazing toward the darkened sea past the docks.

Marianne’s eyes seemed to glisten against the water. When Vasily turned to look at her, she was still. Her arms folded, her hat tight on her head, her posture elegant yet distant. Her mind was far away, far beyond the shoreline.

“Michael’s base wasn’t a pretty one, huh?”

“It certainly was not.”

More of the waves passed, sometimes rising to greet the watchers, sometimes just rolling along in crowds.

“Nor did it smell like a place to live in.”

“Such is the life of an alcoholic. You are what you eat and drink, and so is your home what you eat and drink.”

Vasily blinked with confusion, and looked down to the woman beside him.

“When a person lives inside of a bottle, they will make their home smell and taste like that bottle. Stale, dizzying, tiresome. Even if they do not mean it and cannot help themselves anymore. It is a tragedy to fall into that life, isn’t it?” She gazed up at the young man beside her.

The way she looked at Vasily made him remember that he needed to clean his apartment more regularly. As if she might see it more often, and would be disappointed at what she saw. “Yeah. I suppose you’re right.”

She nodded, and looked back to the sea. The younger Mage watched her shoulders rise, and then shake back into place. Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“That was why I always cooked for Jack. As much as possible. Your home is what you consume, if you are unable to be satisfied with the people around you. I didn’t know at the time, of course. I was young, in love, and I saw every opportunity to love him. Cooking for him was my language of love. Fresh fruits, fresh vegetables, fresh bread…I learned from my father how to make bread from scratch. I learned from my mother how to make apple butter. I even knew for a time how…how to keep bees.”

Vasily heard something he had not heard before in the strong widow’s voice: a stutter. Her breaths grew more cracked, and all he could do was continue to rub her shoulders with a hand.

“He thought my Magic was a waste of my potential. He thought it was superfluous. But he never saw…” He saw her hand move to her eyes in the darkness. Even now, Marianne did her best to keep her voice from shattering. “He never saw that I did all of those things to make a world which he did not feel he needed to consume. He could be happy, refreshed, and safe. He could…he could forget his foolish mission, and simply lay next to me and love me. There was nothing else that he needed to do.”

The urge tugged at the younger Mage’s heart, until he caught the image of his own mother in his mind. A lucid moment during his two weeks of fever, when he was eighteen. His mother hugging his father in the hallway just outside the room, sobbing in his arms. Crying at the idea that she was about to lose one of her sons. He had never heard his mother cry that way, and he had hoped he would never hear that cry again. But Marianne’s soft, quaking sob summoned that noise in his heart, and he pulled her into a hug against his chest.

There the tears finally came. She cried, her aging shoulders heaving as she pulled the sorrowful sobs from her chest. She had seen his body, pale and disfigured, and could only speak to him by placing the pieces in a proper order. But doing that right thing did not awaken him, did not allow him to hear the words she wished he could have seen in her actions, did not change his mind about her Magic. She could only cry, and pray that he heard her cries.

“He used to…he used to…wrap his arms around me when…when I would cry like this. But I was always so afraid to cry around him.”

“Why?”

“Because…” She took a deep, quaking breath. “Because he could be consoling and sweet, but other times, he seemed as though he was willing to let me cry so he could watch and learn something from me. I don’t understand. Why would he refrain from embracing his wife? Did he not realize, ever, how much I truly loved him?”

“That doesn’t make your love invalid, Marianne,” Vasily suggested.

“Of course not! But God…God let him pierce my heart in such a way, and all I wanted was for him to reach for me. He cannot reach for me now. Now, he is in the Abyss.” She lowered her head and let her tears fall onto the younger Mage’s foot. “Down below me. Where I cannot see or hold him.”

“And even if it would not have saved him, you needed that warmth.”

“I did. God, I tried so hard to be the strong wife…but I needed that touch, I needed to feel him next to me in bed, and I have not been able to sleep.”

Vasily continued to pat her back with a light, easy hand. “How long?”

“For a week. I have only fallen asleep when my dear baby has laid next to me. My dear, sweet Innocence. She has his eyes. I can watch them and see him in a purer light, if only for a few moments.” She shook her head. Of course, all of his sins stained those beautiful images that she wanted, and she could not wash them away from the monolith that was Jack Wilcox’s life. But she could still hope. “I pray for him. Every night. I pray for faith to pull a soul from such a hellscape.”

“Could praying really save a soul from the Abyss? Cause I uh…I don’t know.” Vasily murmured.

“It can if you seek hard enough. I believe it can.” Some of her strength came back, rising in her throat against the tide of tears. She looked past Vasily’s shoulder, far away at the soft, swelling waves beyond the docks.

The blonde Mage felt relief, as her cries became softer and more constant. She was pouring everything out, knowing this would not be the last time she cried in such a way. But Vasily would let her, as long as she needed to cry on him. He had nothing much to say, but he did continue to pat her back as she cried. “You’re a good woman, Marianne. And a good mother.”

“I hope. I hope one day that I can free him, and we can live our lives the way we were supposed to.” She felt strange, saying such un-pragmatic things. But hope, the seed of Faith and Magic, had created a sprout in her, one which would not allow anyone to silence it.

She watered it with her tears, and the tides rolled along the sea.

[Finsternia]

Burned By Candlelight
November 3rd, 1888, Night
Wayland’s Bookstore and Residence

Vasily stumbled through the doorway, all too glad to remove his hat and coat before staggering to the nearest couch. “What a bloody mess…” He sighed, wondering now why he had ever signed-up to help find the Ripper. He thought they had found him. He knew they had found him, and he had died in that hospital. This Black Spiral Dancer was a menace, however, and until he was dead, he could not back out of his engagement with the beast.

“I’m going to need a drink before I sleep.”

He started to rise to go for a bottle of bourbon, but as he stood, he could hear buzzing down the hall. The blonde Mage gave a deep sigh, and let the sound permeate him. Wayland was possibly worse at resting than Sigrid. “Where the hell…”

Turning on an ankle, he started down the hallway to Wayland’s workshop. Again. “He won’t rest. He just won’t rest. No matter how much I try, he just won’t rest. Idiot is going to kill himself working.”

The sonorous sound of what seems to be welding tools fill Vasily's ears as he continues to walk towards the workshop. Within, the forges are lit once again, and Wayland is hunched over a piece of metal. In his hand is a shard of some cloudy white crystal, in the shape of a pen, which he uses to engrave letters of High Speech upon the piece he is working with. The Moros is focused on his task, not minding the newly arrived Thyrsus.

"If it is about the matter of dinner, just place it on my work desk, Olivia."

“Do I look like I wear a bloody apron and make your damn meals?” Vasily marched into the room, and he pulled the crystal out of Wayland’s hand and stepped away from him. One fluid motion, in order to keep the blacksmith from retaliating against him and retrieving the crystal. “What the hell are you still doing awake? Didn’t I tell you to sleep?”

"Why, shouldn't your first words be 'I'm home'?" Wayland whispers affectionately at Vasily as he turns to see his lover, chuckling to himself as he slowly removes his mask. "...You know that I have many orders on hold since I've been recuperating after dealing with MacKenzie. I'm simply making up for lost time, Vasily."

“Because I was home three hours ago,” the Mage answered. “You can work on those orders when you’re not about to keel over. One of those orders is gone, since Dorothea is dead. What else do you even have?”

"You should know that Forge Masters like me are few." Gerard, having taken off the mask of Wayland, walks closer to Vasily and he slowly takes his hand. He guides him to a bench on the cold side of the workshop where they could sit down. As usual, the large long table in the middle of the cold side is filled with materials, but Vasily also spots a tray of food that Gerard has left cold for how many hours now.

"There are some orders from my Order. Just a couple of pieces of equipment and weaponry." The Moros tries not to look at the tray of food, as if hoping that evading it would make Vasily not talk about it too. "...How was your excursion?"

“A waste of time, though I’m glad Marianne got Michael to listen to some sense.” He shrugged. “I’m shocked she had the will to do it with everything she’s dealt with over the last few days. I’m just wanting to throttle someone. Anyone, honestly. Maybe not you, or Marianne, or Sig and Etienne, but someone. Someone. It’s all such a pointless goose chase.”

"Chasing Mysteries is embedded in our souls as Mages. It also serves as a distraction for Marianne, and a source of encouragement to continue moving forward." Gerard smiles, his burnt lips curling to show pristine white teeth. "...Would you like to engage against my golems, or do you want Olivia to make you some onion soup?"

Vasily was getting used to Gerard’s unusual appearance. “Horrific” was the wrong word. He was who he was, and being horrified at his injuries would not change that fact. No, he was in deep pain, and smiling through it. He could only smile and shake his head. “I wanna know why you haven’t touched your food.”

"I… was busy tempering copper in heavenly flame and ectoplasma…" Gerard slowly looks away, feeling as if the smile on Vasily's face looks horrifying rather than the usual cheerful grin that the Thyrsus always wears. "Have you eaten dinner yet? We could eat together."

“We could. But yours is going to be cold. I’ll see what Liv has made.” He pat Gerard’s shoulder and then walked to the kitchen. As he did so, the darkness crawled back over his face. He could not imagine how much sicker his friend was making himself by refusing to heal. And then there was the effect that Paradox could have on Magical items.

“Scuse me, Liv!” He rounded the corner and peered into the kitchen. “I’m here a bit late, I know, but what have you got for me for dinner? And uh, you mind making an extra plate for Marianne? I meant to bring her some food after I go talk to Wayland.”

Olivia, the household's revenant maid, is currently sitting by the ovens as if they were the fireside. In her hands are knitting needles, and it seems that she is preparing winter clothes for everyone. She looks up, setting aside her knitting tools at a nearby table. "I've made Shepherd's pie, as well as some roast duck that's paired with potatoes. Do you need me to cook more, Mister Vasily?"

“If you’ve got enough for an extra plate, can you set some aside for her? And uh…” He rolled his eyes half-teasingly. “Gerard hasn’t eaten his food. He won’t eat without me.”

Olivia looks at the door for a moment, before pulling Vasily close to whisper and gossip. "The Master has been eating and sleeping properly with you around. Last week was truly a true miracle, but now he's back to his bad habits."

Vasily snickered. “It’s funny how we’re both terrible at managing ourselves unless we’re together. Ah well. I’ll eat with him. But uh…after I eat I need to bring Marianne her food. I know she can cook for herself, but uh…she needs your cooking tonight. Unless you can bring it to her.” His grin became much more nervous, as if he was not sure how she would feel about moving away from the house.

"I don't think I could leave the house, Mister Vasily." Olivia chuckles to herself, but there is no awkwardness in her tone nor regret. "I am bound to this house and to this body, but Master has given me a home, a wage, clothes to wear, and food to eat. My life as one of the dead made me feel more alive than when I was alive."

As she talks she moves around the kitchen in a practiced manner. She grabs a basket, where she begins to stuff pieces of food for Vasily to bring. Fresh bread, slices of the pie, portions of roast. Olivia grabs a cloth to keep the basket insulated, and she sets it aside. "Here is Miss Marianne's. Send her regards for me… and your dinner, it is in the oven being warmed up."

“Alright. Can you, uh, sit with Wayland and make sure he starts to eat? I’ll be back.”

He took the basket and walked out of the kitchen, but not before he tried to peek just a little at the shadow down the hall. He wondered if there was a way to send it faster. Something told him Marianne needed the meal, but his companion also needed him. “Oy! Gerard?”

"Yes?" Gerard is already walking down the hall, having dressed out of his Mage gear and into a more comfortable dress shirt. His formerly neglected food tray is in his hands and, by Vasily's intuition, is most likely recently reheated by the Moros with his spells considering how the bowl of soup on the corner is steaming. "What's with the basket?"

“Do you have a way to send food to someone without leaving the house? I know you’ve got all sorts of gadgets.” He felt lazy asking, but he knew that Wayland had the tools. “You don’t need to get back into your smithing gear. Just show me where it is and I’ll send the basket. It’s food for Marianne so she doesn’t have to try and cook. She really just wants to cuddle with her baby this evening.”

"For Miss Marianne?" Gerard thinks for a moment, before he sets down his tray, balanced precariously on top of an empty decorative case vase by the side of the hall. Shadows coalescence around his face as he dons his mask again, becoming Wayland at this moment, and he retrieves a small bell.

The Mage motions to ring it, yet no sound comes from its empty hollow shell. A cold wind blows, sourceless and bone-chilling, as Wayland kneels down before empty air. Vasily feels ice drip down his spine: a sign of something supernatural happening.

"Will you help me with something?" Wayland asks the invisible figure before him, and after a pause he looks up at Vasily. "What's Marianne's address?"

All this time, the Mage had been using the location which he had understood to be an image in his brain. He had to check himself to try and remember the address that Etienne had given to him. Then he wrote it on a piece of paper in Wayland’s shop, before running back and handing it to him. “Oy.”

Wayland nods, and he also takes the basket from Vasily's hands. He places the paper on top, before presenting it to the invisible figure. "Here's the package and the address. Leave it where the kind older lady could see it. Be back before midnight, and Olivia will leave candies for you."

The Moros then gathers shadows and ghastly fog white ichor between his fingertips, drenching the basket in this viscous tar. With a press of his palms, the basket disappears between his hands and is shunted into the realms ephemeral. "Good little Philip will take care of it." Gerard says as he takes off his mask once again, smiling at Vasily.

“Gee. Uh…thanks.” Vasily scratched the back of his head. “I thought you had some sort of device to do the trick, but I guess getting ghosts to do it also works. It helps that she can see ghosts as well.” He then walked over to Gerard, who welcomed him once again with a sweet smile, and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. “After you eat, you need to go to bed. And actually rest tonight, alright?”

"Will you stay overnight?" Gerard asks. This tall and imposing man looks into Vasily's eyes with eyes that don't seem to belong to a warrior crafter, but to a dog trying to be cute. He gently wraps his arms around Vasily and holds him close, waiting for Vasily's confirmation.

“Sure I will. I might as well, I’ve walked all this way back. But only if you’ll actually rest.” His smirk gained a little more of a twang at the corners, like a fiddle’s strings popping out of place. “That means actual sleep, and not keeping me up all night with all your work.”

"Alright, alright, I'll listen to you." Gerard leans down to press a kiss on Vasily's forehead. "Knowing you, I wouldn't be able to work because you'll be nagging me through it."

“Someone has to.” He could not help but smile at how much Gerard had softened toward him. Maybe his sickness was making him so gentle, or maybe he was actually this way. But getting rest was the only way to know for sure.

---

Marianne smelled the food as it appeared in her home. The fresh scents were sudden, buttery, and savory. Her eyes had been almost completely closed, and her body had been ready to rest beside her baby, but her stomach growled. She had not eaten well all day, and now, somehow, Vasily had made sure to send her food.

“I’m sorry little Innocence,” she whispered, “your mama has to go eat. She has to be healthy to take care of you.” She took a finger and tickled her baby’s perfect button nose.

The little newborn ghost cooed, stirring in her sleep before curling once more onto her back.

“Good girl,” her mother whispered. She then tiptoed out the room, and she went to unwrap the basket which was in the kitchen. She gasped when she saw the spread, and she shook her head. “Duck, a shepherd’s pie, bread…goodness, they really want to fatten me.” She allowed herself to chuckle, and then set the table to eat her meal. At least she had people who could come and console her, who could keep her company. She had more friends now than she did when her husband had been alive.

And in thinking about that friendship, she wondered about practicing something she had not practiced in a very long time. Perhaps tomorrow.

[Luminesa]

Co-Write Between Oblivion2 and Lumi

Savoy Paradise
November 5th, 1888, Evening
Saint-Francis Residence

Sigrid spent ample time fixing herself. An actual date, out of the house, at The Savoy of all places. She needed to look her prettiest for the night, and especially since she had not quite dressed just for herself and Etienne before now. She had quickly bought a lovely gown for the event, and she had pulled herself together in the evening after tutoring Tabitha and going shopping. The day had felt like a whirlwind. Now was hers and Etienne’s time to relax.

The first day without worrying about her biological mother and her letter. The first day truly without fearing Wilcox or anyone else coming after them. Melodious was a passing thought, at least for now. She continued to pull together the bow on her dress, only allowing Porter to help her and nobody else. Etienne could not even peek into the room.

She wanted to make an entrance.

As she applied her makeup, she looked herself over and smiled. People could think what they wanted. This evening, she only needed one person’s opinion.

When she finished her makeup, she adjusted her dress and looked at herself in the mirror. All that she needed to do was to wait for her lover to call her from downstairs.

Etienne himself had dressed in a dark suit of midnight blue, and had even appropriated his new top hat from his visit with Melodious. His hair had been slicked back with a touch of pomade, and he'd dabbed a few drops of oil along his collar to give himself a scent reminiscent of sandalwood.

Most importantly however was the Vitae. He'd expended a little more than the usual amount to give him as much of a lifelike appearance as possible. They were going to be in a rather public setting, and when he held Sigrid's hand he wanted her to feel a warm grasp rather than one more akin to the grave.

A knock sounded at the door and Etienne called up, "My dear, our carriage is here!"

“Coming!”

Sigrid opened the door, at first a little shy, but her shyness gave way to her sweet charm as she appeared and started to walk down the steps. Her indigo dress in floor-length taffeta made her look as though she was moving the ocean at dusk. Around her pale shoulders, around her hips, with a sweeping, circular hem that seemed to make her float as she walked. With a matching hat adorned with crimson and sapphire roses, pearls on her neck, and slightly darker makeup than usual, she looked like a proper siren beckoning her lover out to sea.

“How do I look?” She took his hand in a gloved one, and felt the pleasant, lifelike warmth in his hand. In her other hand was her fan and a purse, both ready and waiting in case she needed them.

Etienne took a moment to look her over, transfixed by the vision of Aphrodite come to mortal form in front of him. With his free hand, he fanned himself. "My dear, I fear I am not worthy of your beauty. You'll have to forgive me for being such a poor escort tonight in comparison to your brilliance."

She giggled, ducking her eyes almost instinctually when the Ventrue began to fan himself. Her laughter glittered healthily, and she was quite happy to receive such praise, even if she received it while she wore such a bashful expression. “Nonsense. You look marvelous yourself. I am a princess hanging on the arm of a king.” She curtsied playfully, kissing his hand in the process.

"Hardly." He says, though the slight smile in his eyes told her how pleased he was to receive such a compliment. "Unfortunately there are far more magnificent beasts than I in the wilds. Who knows, perhaps we may even meet some of them. Society's finest often rub elbows at the Savoy. Come."

Gently he slipped his arm through her own and led her into the gaslit streets. Their carriage awaited them, dark mahogany gleaming as the light danced upon its lacquered surface. Etienne pulled the coach door open for his lover and gestured breezily, "Apres vous, mademoiselle."

Sigrid eagerly got into the coach, though the size and volume of her skirt made doing so a little more difficult. Her eyes wandered mischievously back to her lover as she awaited him, all while fidgeting with her pretty lace gloves. “When was the last time you simply went out for fun, and not for business, my darling?”

"God…" he murmured thoughtfully as he slipped into the carriage. Their driver snapped the reins and got them going. It was only then that Etienne answered, more certain of their privacy with the horses clip-clopping down the street. "Probably been four years, give or take? Assuming we don't count my sort of meals as fun, right?"

“Well I don’t quite know, do you find the chase to be fun?” Sigrid inquired impishly, as she leaned her arm against his shoulder.

Etienne couldn't help but snerk at that as their carriage hit a bump in the road. "Occasionally. But sometimes my meals can be a little…" he paused as he considered exactly what they were like. "Devoid of flavour. Uninteresting. But a meal is a meal."

“I suppose so.” Even if the topic should have made her squeamish, little could take away from her happy, airy mood this evening. Her shoulders tingled with excitement at finally being able to go out with her beloved. “Have you visited the Savoy many times before, or is this also your first time?”

"I was outside once." Etienne says musingly, "Driving a carriage for my Sire about twenty years ago. Had to play my part, pay my dues."

“Hmm. I don’t know if I ever went before myself. I should treat it like a first time, then.” She kissed his cheek with a light touch, gazing at his profile as dusk drew over the carriage and over London. “How did you manage to get a reservation so quickly?”

"Well would you rather I tell you? Or would you rather I maintain my mystique?" He says with a Cheshire grin of massive proportions.

Sigrid blushed a little more. “I do like your secrets…maybe you can keep this one.” Her eyes glanced away from his smile, and then back to it, with a shyer, more innocent look. “How do you feel bringing me in public with you?” Her question was earnest, but sweet, and her fingers stroked his arm as she gazed at him. “This is our first time going out as a couple, and not simply walking each other home in the dark.”

"I'm rather excited, to be honest.” He says after a moment's thought. "Perhaps a little worried we might draw the wrong sort of attention, but I don't believe many would wish me ill. Not yet anyhow. How do you feel about it?" He asked in return, reaching out to grasp her hands in his own.

“I’m quite thrilled actually. It’s a beautiful evening, and I haven’t been to such a fancy place for fun in…I can’t remember.” Her expression went wistful for just a moment, but when she saw his hands holding hers, she came back to the present moment. Nothing was going to steal her away from enjoying this evening with Etienne, not even the fact that in her previous life, perhaps she had visited such places before. “So now I get to enjoy the finer things and not worry about anything else. Except…maybe the bite you left on my shoulder.” Her beaming grin grew a little more flirty.

"Oh please, it was just a little nibble." He says with a snort. "I could give you a deeper one if you'd like something to complain about."

“Considering the things I’ve complained about recently, I’d like that to complain about,” she teased back.

"We could always skip dinner…" He would murmur softly, leaning forward and setting a hand just above her knee. He could feel the carriage beginning to slow to a halt as they neared their destination. "Last chance."

She blushed, and teased him in return by toying with her fan and holding it open in front of her face, just under her eyes. “I would like to have dinner and our little evening out, first.”

Etienne smiled and nodded, returning his hand from off of her leg. He leaned back in his seat and counted the seconds as the carriage came to a stop. By the time he got to eight, the driver had come around to open the door and let the pair out. "We have arrived Sir, madam."

Etienne stepped out first, pressing a few pound notes into the man's hand. "Give us two hours. If we're not done by then, I'll send someone out with coffee and something for you to nibble on. Your name was Giles wasn't it?"

The driver tipped his hat, "It was indeed, sir. You've a tidy memory."

Etienne smiled and looked up at Sigrid, holding his hand out for his woman. "I try."

Carefully and gracefully, she stepped out of the carriage. One hand in Etienne’s, the other hand holding the hem of her dress somewhat so she could step down from the vehicle. The skirt flounced and swished as she turned to Giles. “Yes, thank you for the ride here, sir. And now, shall we?” She wrapped her arm in her lover’s elbow and looked around at her surroundings. Plenty of wealthy people moving around, husbands in black and top hats with wives wearing plenty of rich jewel shades. Some families as well, including children. But most of the attendees were adults, and in this wave of people, Etienne and Sigrid were happily alone together.

Etienne led on with determined, but not terribly long strides. It wouldn't do to drag one's date around in such a manner. The crowd seemed to part for him; not in some overly dramatic way, but perhaps in response to his Presence or the enchanted coat that made him appear as though he was meant to be here. Perhaps it was the angelic power that flowed through his love's veins. He couldn't know.

He stepped inside and immediately doffed his hat, checking it in with the coat service before greeting the maitre d'. "Good evening Sir." The man said in a French accent that Etienne noted as being effected but not altogether bad.

"Bonjour." Etienne said graciously, "My lady and I would like to be seated. I have a reservation under Saint-Francis."

The man flipped through his list on his lectern and nodded with studious approval. "Oui, all seems to be in order." He gestured for one of the hosts, "Tomas will take you to your table. Do enjoy your evening at the Savoy."

"Merci." Etienne said with a nod and followed the young man, stepping with stately grace with Sigrid still on his arm. He took a moment to allow her to take in the dazzling sights, smells and sounds of the Savoy's opulence. It wasn't often one managed to get into such a place, and Etienne wanted her to remember how he had spoiled her this evening.

It was not lost on Sigrid that her recollection of the memory which had brought her to meet Hanael had brought her to a similar place, not too many days ago. Black-and-white tile below her feet glittered and blinded underneath enormous crystalline chandeliers. Decorations of beautiful flowers around the pillars, heavy wooden enamel to meet with celestial ivory. After a few moments, she had to catch her breath, and she turned to look at her lover. At how in the entire room, he was only looking at her, watching her wonder at this exotic new place in her mind. She struggled to find words for how wide was the space, and how small were the two of them. “It’s…I…it’s quite like Buckingham Palace, or what I imagine it to look like?”

"I've never been." Etienne admits with something of an ironic smile tugging at his lips. The host led them to their table and Etienne pulled her chair out smoothly so that she might be seated. Once he himself was seated the two were wordlessly handed a pair of menus before being left to themselves for a few moments. "Even I have trouble getting some places. Alas, the detriment of youth in my society. One is almost expected to be too uncouth or unworthy to be in the presence of one's betters by the simple fact that you are too young. Something I mean to rectify."

“So many expectations.” She sat down and smoothed her heavy skirt, her posture pretty and prim as she then straightened herself. “Perhaps one day you won’t have a problem saying hello to the king and queen. Wouldn’t that be grand?”

No one could pull such a startled laugh from Etienne as Sigrid could. "I dare say it would be!" He agrees once he's mastered himself again. "Though I suspect I'd have quite a bit to climb before I could even consider such a thing."

Hearing the way she caught him off-guard, Sigrid lowered her eyes and gave a giggle. She could not see the future, as to whether or not he would ever reach such status. She could only see now, and how both of them glittered under the huge chandeliers of the Savoy.

She looked around once again at the crowds, finding herself surprised to be among so many people while looking so conspicuously fancy. Then again, many other men had women with them who were just as fancy. The difference was how docile some of the women were. They kept their eyes down, many did not look around the room the way she did, or some were focused solely on their circles of elite friends. “I wonder, are we among strangers or do you know any of these people? I was wondering how alone we actually are.” She spoke not in fear, but in curiosity. Etienne had reasons for not showing her among Kindred, but other human friends were not as much of an issue.

Etienne had indeed been keeping an eye out for those he knew and found familiar. Mostly his attention had been fixed on Sigrid but he found the excuse to look at something other than her to be a welcome one; she looked simply ravishing.

"Let me see…" He began before gesturing discreetly. "There, the man in the white smoking jacket, with the brown hair, that's Sir Wallace Percival, a Major in the Horse Guards. He's being groomed by one of my contemporaries for a government position, perhaps minister of war or some such. Two tables over, with the striking green eyes is Lady Elise de Sablé. She’s something of a free agent amongst the Toreador. She's a little older than I am, and is said to have brought three lovers over to our particular way of life. They fight like howling cats over her attention."

He turned and nodded to a figure behind her. "Lord Spencer there, to his left and right are a couple of American businessmen. I think one deals in steel and the other in coal. I also recognize Mister Matoka, a gold man who owns a goodly portion of the gold mines in the Cape Colony."

Sigrid’s eyes followed Etienne as he gestured to various people. He was careful not to draw their attention, but the Promethean woman’s dutiful eyes caught everything. Sir Wallace was calm, smoking a cigar, staring off and thinking of some serious manner while nursing a glass of liquor. Lady Elise had her face behind a fan, acting coy, with her emerald eyes aimed toward a man who was speaking to her. Sigrid could see why so many men were chasing her-she had an enchanting smile wrinkling the corners of her lips, behind her fan.

The other men were not too unlike the many friends Lord Gerrit liked to bring. Most of them were surrounded by friends or coming to do business, but indeed, two men were arguing with a butler not too far away about which one had reservations with the Toreador woman. She ignored both of them. “You could make a painting of it,” she mused, as the room seemed to vibrate with both life and unlife, “the way that they seem to just move in and out of life. It’s fascinating.”

She turned back to her lover and smiled. “I haven’t been able to quite sit and watch people like this in some time. But of course, when Lord Gerrit would have friends with him, the servants liked to listen to their conversations. Sometimes they would invite me, and I would just watch. That was before I…before I started to learn to socialize again.” She blushed daintily at him, and lowered her voice. “I suppose, in a sense, it made me feel like I was living again, to watch others living their own lives. Not simply being a doll on the shelf of the house.”

"Better yet to live your own life free from the influence of others." He pointed out. That was what he had fought and bled for when he left his Side's service. Sigrid too had needed to claw for independence. Before they could carry on further however, a waiter came by asking them what they wanted to drink. Without thinking Etienne rattled off a year and a vintage, leaving the man to scurry off while he stared deep into his woman's eyes.

She was glad that he was willing to handle those things this evening. Sigrid had almost forgotten that she needed to look at a menu, she was so busy absorbing her surroundings. And when she looked from the menu back to her lover, she felt herself softening in his eyes. “What was the moment you realized you were free?” she asked.

"I was getting off the boat at Dover." He said with a faint smile. "It wasn't all that long ago, really. Leaving the Caribbean, and even traveling through France, I felt hounded. But here in Mithras' domain? I felt like I'd finally put it behind me. Whether that's true or not remains to be seen."

Three years to her had felt like a decade. She had to wonder, in Etienne’s relatively-short afterlife, how fifty years of servitude had felt. Perhaps like a millennium. Many long years of sacrificing his ambitions and his soul for the sake of pleasing his Sire. Long trails of bodies in his wake. Sigrid turned and watched Sir Wallace’s eyes flicker toward a man who had been escorted away from Lady Elise’s table. The former man looked amused, while the latter looked ready to combust the moment he was out of the room. “It must not have taken too long for you to find friends, given where you are now. Your charms most certainly helped in making friends, I’m sure.”

“Friends is always a bit of a stretch in this society.” Etienne explained as he set his menu aside; he already knew he was going to have the lamb, but he'd still wanted to peruse his options. “It's typically hard for trust to form for us. Generally you call it a mutually-beneficial partnership far before you'd call someone your friend. I've got one or two proper friends, and some relationships in the lower rungs of kindred society here in London. But mostly I've kept to myself until I know for sure where I want to be in terms of the social strata.”

Sigrid nodded, and looked over her menu. The braised duck in wine sauce sounded delicious, and she smiled at the option before looking back to Etienne. “Well, considering how often you’ve spent time around dear Vasily, would he not be one of those two friends? Or is it too early?” She gave a small grin at the thought of how the Russian, despite his grumpy behavior, had become a familiar partner-in-crime with Etienne. But their personalities could not have been more different. Yet, of course, she had no idea of the agreement between Vasily and the Ventrue, and would have liked for her beau to have made one solid friend among their mutual group.

“I think we tolerate each other.” Etienne said as their waiter came around. He made his order, the rack of lamb with the mint jelly and the roasted vegetables. Parsnips always tasted like home to the Frenchman. Once Sigrid gave her order and the menus were taken away he sips at his glass of wine and continues on.

“He's a good man, I think. His life is a mess and he's definitely not got himself together, but I respect his courage and I think that's more than enough.”

“Perhaps he’ll eventually have his life together. He’s only just started.” She was not used to seeing Etienne with such a huge meal in front of him. Occasionally he would eat with her, but when they had eaten in Gerrit’s presence, that dinner had not been enjoyable. Out the corner of her eye, she saw Lady Elise eating steak tartare and showing just a hint of emotion. Enjoyment, at how her food looked pink enough to bleed. She glanced back to Etienne. “I believe we’ve all only just started, maybe. We don’t need to have everything together. My only hope is that as Wayland gets closer to him, that maybe he’ll…help Vasily to understand himself. After all, I wouldn’t be of much help to him.”

“You shouldn't underestimate the impact you can make on a life, Sigrid. Any life.” He pointed out. “You're special to so many people, and stronger than you know. I suspect you've already done a great deal for Vasily.”

As she thought about her short time being Vasily’s friend, her smile became small and thoughtful. All of their time talking together, both in churches and in his shop. Their first meeting at all, when she had gotten him to make her bouquet. And then another favor she had gotten from him for this evening. Something Etienne did not know about yet. Between the three of them, and Wayland, and now Marianne, they made a small, tight circle. One which Etienne almost seemed reluctant to join at times, but he was right-she was a thread which tied everyone in the group together.

Her food appeared, steaming-hot and covered in a thick sauce, decorated with some edible flowers on the side as well. The arrangement was beautiful, and the waiter seemed to note with a grin how her eyes sparkled. She started into her food, only to realize a couple of minutes into dining that she was eating a little fast. Embarrassed at herself, she blushed and lowered her fork, chewing and swallowing before she spoke. “My apologies! I’m just rushing through this delicious food and not even thinking! I…I should learn how to cook this.”

Etienne hid a smile behind his wine glass, shaking his head. “Eat as quickly or as slowly as you like. If needs be, I'll order you another course. Though, dessert is on the menu if you're interested.”

“Dessert sounds wonderful!” Her soft excitement glittered through her voice, like the light that glittered off the candles on the table, or the marble on the floor. She continued to eat, and saw Lord Spencer reading a book at his table. He was taking his time. Everyone took their own time, because they could. Such a concept was still dawning on Sigrid, who did not feel immortal despite being functionally so.

She continued to eat, savoring the food as it was so delightful. Even Melba’s cooking was not so perfect, and she could cook almost anything. This was a king’s meal-juicy with a hint of sweetness, and the tang of a wine-mixed sauce. “I do have a surprise for you when we go home.”

Etienne stopped cutting into his lamb for a moment to lift his eyebrows at Sigrid. “A surprise?” He queried. “Not sure I've ever been much good with surprises. Can't be a larger surprise than the dress you've been sewing, can it?”

“Probably not, but that doesn’t make it any less special.” She gave him a mischievous smile as she watched him pause from eating his food. “It’s rather funny I mentioned Vasily, since he helped me just a little with this one.”

“Ah, more magic then.” Etienne says, putting his plate aside as it's mostly finished. Vitae or no, his appetite only ran so far when reawakened and he wouldn't be doing himself any favours by over doing things.

“Well, you've aroused my curiosity now.” He admits, idly swirling his wine in his glass.

She was mostly done with her food, and not quite full, but she still paused to hold her fan and to tease her beloved. “Oh I probably shouldn’t tell you more, I think I’ve told you too much by mentioning I had a surprise. I got a little too giddy, but then I’ve been giddy all evening.”

“And whenever you get giddy, I get to have the best sorts of fun.” He tells her, throwing a lascivious grin in her direction. “Perhaps I don't need dessert after all. I see a lovely sweet sitting across from me as it is.”

Her face became redder in an instant, and she hid behind her fan to try and regain her composure. Of course, behind the fan was still her little grin. “And unlike dessert on a plate, I can chase you around London for causing me to act so unrefined!” She bounced back, feigning offense. But her eyes told everything, how she loved such praise. In that way, the couple was not different at all.

“Chase me around London?” He stifled a laugh so as not to draw too much attention to their table. “My sweet, we both know that you're the one liable to be caught.” He leaned forward and pitched his voice low, risking being crass in such a public setting, “And that you like being caught and unrefined in equal measure.”

She met his eyes, her eyelids low and playful, and she folded her fan and booped Etienne gently on the nose with it. She was surprised her hand did not shake. “And I wouldn’t mind being caught every day if it was by you, my darling.” She also kept her voice low, and forgot about anyone else in the room. Nobody was looking, nobody she cared about. Her gloved hands were warm all the way up her shoulders and down her pretty back. The candles at the table seemed to glow slightly brighter in response.

Etienne’s smile was just for her. A slow and easy thing that would briefly remind the girl that he had once come from mortal peasant stock- that he had not always been the thing he was now. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the waiter moving towards them. “Dessert or…?” He trailed off.

The waiter kept a respectful distance for just a moment, as he seemed to notice how the couple was having their intimate moment. Meanwhile, Sigrid leaned forward and gave the Ventrue a kiss, with a couple of her curls dangling against the light of the candles. She sat and straightened her back, her concentration still not all the way broken. “That would be lovely, if that is what you would like,” she murmured.

“I'd like to have you.” He admitted softly, slipping into the private little world that she tends to make for him with her kisses. “But I can wait if you'd like to have dessert. I'm given to understand the cremé brulee is exceptional.”

“I would like that, then.” How she loved to see the mask melt away. To see him simply telling her what he needed. But she showed a little self-restraint, and she nodded to the waiter. “Crème brûlée, please, that sounds divine.” The waiter nodded and went away from the table. When she looked back to him, her color was a little more even, but she wondered if she had caught her lover enough to make him blush.

There wasn't a blush there, but instead she saw the hungry eyes of a waiting predator. They were patient, yet expectant. Still, he wore a soft smile that she would know to be true. “I love you.” He'd say, rather unexpectedly as he lingered in the place between hunger, desire, and adoration.

“I love you too, Etienne.” She knew him to be sincere, but the way the words fell so easily always caused her heart to jump. Someone who needed to guard himself so much, who longed for her and yet who tried to control himself, just speaking simple words from the heart. Nobody else in her life would ever tell her such sweet words from such a place, and she relished in it. “I…If I could hang the moon and stars in the sky for you every evening, I would.”

“You put the sun away for me every night. And that's good enough for me. More than good enough.” He tells her with a soft smile. Before too long her dessert would be served for her, yet Etienne's eyes would linger on her.

The crème brûlée smelled wonderful, glassy and caramelized on the top. But she saw the way he could not turn away from her. Sigrid reached for his hand and kissed it. “Do you need me?” She whispered.

“Desperately.” He admitted almost breathlessly. “But I can wait. I have to wait. Else I'd show you what unrefined really looked like.” He took her hand in turn and pressed his own kiss against the back of her glove, but he could feel the heat of her flesh radiating through regardless. “Please, enjoy your dessert. This night is for you and for you I shall remain patient.”

“Very well.” She started to eat the crème brûlée, and indeed it was delicious, sweet and custard-like. From all of her flirting, she had not quite filled on the duck and she enjoyed her dessert. But she did look at him, and she held a spoon to him. “Here. Why don’t you try some?”

Etienne glanced around the room for a moment and then shrugged. It certainly wasn't the sort of behaviour one exhibited at the Savoy, but what the hell? Etienne was crazy about this woman and if they made a stir by being a little uncouth, then so be it.

He leaned forward in his chair and took the spoon into his mouth, tasting the rich dessert. He pulled back and nodded, “Can't say I mind that one bit.” He said thoughtfully.

Lord Spencer did seem to raise his brows a little in the background, only for him to go back to reading and talking to a man who had sat at his table. Lady Elise was shooing away another man. None of them matched Sigrid’s brightness at seeing Etienne being silly with her. “Dessert is always better when it’s shared.” She herself acted so much more girlish than the woman wearing such dark clothing, swelling indigo, and dark-burgundy lipstick, but she glowed. Even her pretty pearl-and-ruby earrings that dangled close to her neck bounced just a little with her approving nod.

“I've heard this.” He says knowingly, “My mother would have agreed. She was a connoisseur of pies and custards. Made many a sweet for us herself-typically using beet sugar. But she always liked to share.”

Sigrid thought to the dreams Etienne mentioned having, the night Wilcox had come to visit. How he had mentioned that his dreams had involved his pleading to her, and her judgmental stares. A dark mirror which the Ventrue held to his own heart, one which kept him from enjoying moments like this. But she was determined to keep him aglow with her. “And I believe she would be quite glad to see you sharing such little things now. At how sweet and adoring you are,” she suggested tenderly.

“Perhaps…” The Frenchman answered with a shrug, “But then, perhaps she might lament what her son has given up… I don't really know. I do know though that she would have adored you.”

“And I would have loved her in return.” She finished the creme brulee, and washed it down with her glass of wine. Sigrid then leaned over and gave him another kiss, this time slightly longer. Every sweet moment decorated the night with another gem that glittered in her mind. “This is all so lovely. Thank you,” she whispered against his lips.

“It's been my singular pleasure.” Etienne said the words so close to her that his lips brushed against her own. “It's about time I got to do something lovely like this for you.”

“And hopefully the start of many more little ventures like this.” She held his cheek, not caring that the waiter was trying to find a moment to leave their check on the table. “I love to see you like this, so happy and unafraid. My King.”

Etienne closed his eyes as a shiver rocked his body. He wasn't cold, so much that his woman was pushing all of his buttons and he was finding it harder and harder to resist any of his urges for her. “You flatter me.” He murmured softly.

“You deserve to be flattered, and more.” She insisted, forgetting her fan on the table as she held his face. “You deserve everything.”

“Keep this up and we won't make it out of the carriage…” Etienne warns with the hunger growing in his tone.

“We have a ways until we get home this evening,” she whispered without flinching, “and I plan to have every moment with you that I can.”

The waiter found a moment and slipped the check onto the table, before he simply smiled and left the smitten couple to their sweet-talk. Of course, he would need payment before they could leave, but he was not in a hurry. He seemed to note that the man was, however.

Etienne took a steadying breath that he ultimately didn't need and pulled slightly away from his woman to have a look at the bill. Pricy, but worth seeing Sigrid so radiant all the same. He took a few bank notes from the inside of his jacket and slipped them into the bill book, leaving a generous tip for their waiter.

“Did you have something in mind after dinner?” Etienne asked, almost too casually.

Sigrid let go of him reluctantly, and then thought of her vision, of the first time she had met Hanael. She wondered how her Angel was resting, as she had not spoken to her in a couple of days. But she felt a spark in her chest. A sense of recognition of some faraway place in her heart. “The ballroom, I’ve heard, is lovely for dancing. And it would be a waste to simply wear this gown and to not dance in it, hm?”

The Lancaster Ballroom was more than lovely for dancing. Dressed in ivory marble and powder-blue lace, it was as elegant as a ballroom could be. And exclusive, as only the wealthiest patrons could ever dream of stepping foot in such a beautiful room. But then, they were already in the Savoy-what was a little more extravagance?

[Luminesa]

Co-Write Between Fin and Lumi

Gladius
November 4th, 1888, Daytime
Wayland’s Bookstore

Marianne made her way through the docks early in the morning, on a less cloudy day this time. She did not wear black and grey, but instead her normal jade dress. With her, covered tightly in a bundle, was little Innocence. Of course, she could have left the ghostly infant, and nobody would have bothered her. But today, she would have liked to keep the baby with her. After her encounter with Michael, she could never be too sure of when she would encounter trouble from the Garou.

And so she needed to prepare.

She did not know that Wayland was still asleep, or that Olivia had already made breakfast. She had an unusual request, but she would try her hand. As her baby cooed under her swaddlings, she knocked on the door.

The bell rings with crisp sound as Marianne steps in, in two differing tones. One is melodious, almost like the voice of a holy choir, denoting the arrival of a Mage. The second is deeper, like the old bell of a church, somber and heralding the arrival of a ghost. As she steps into the bookstore, perhaps it being her first time seeing the establishment, she is welcomed by its dreary yet solemn atmosphere. Here shadows are longer, the spaces are more cramped, but sound is muffled, as if the silence of death blankets the space.

There's very few customers and patrons at this hour, with two browsing the claustrophobic shelves and one old gentleman sitting by the windowside tables, reading some academic treatise on his free time. The floorboards creak beneath her feet, each groan of wood seemingly reaching out to her to placate worries within her heart. The smell of books and dust in the air are like panacea to the soul, like a lullaby that lulls one to deep sleep.

At the front desk, Olivia is crocheting more clothing. She seems to be in the process of making a scarf, with several other clothing items on the desk. She looks up, and she smiles as she puts down her needles and yarn. "...Miss Marianne... Are you here to speak with the Master?"

The older woman enjoyed the quiet atmosphere of the bookstore. She had enjoyed visiting bookstores in her youth, when she was teaching herself to read and write. Now, she was visiting such a place alone again, as she had eons ago. The creaking sounds and the scent of petrichor felt like another home. “I did, actually.” She returned the smile as her infant curled in her arms. “I hope I am not disturbing him. The matter is rather peculiar, though I do not need for him to build anything for me as of right now.”

"May I ask if you are visiting him for business or for matters between friends?" Olivia saunters off her seat and out of the desk, walking to the backdoor that leads to the Sanctum proper. The Sanctum of the Mage Wayland, and, by the rules of the London Consilium, her Sanctum if she wishes to join the Wallflowers.

It is daytime, so the electric lights have not yet come alive, but Marianne could see that the Moros have outfitted his home and Sanctum with wonders that only the well to do could afford. Magnificently made weaponry hang on the walls like they're paintings, and suits of armor stand at the sides of the hallways like motionless guards.

She examined the swords with interest, careful not to touch. They were fabulously beautiful, gleaming in the dim light, lined evenly and organized by length. She was searching over the carvings in one of them when she finally answered Olivia. “I suppose it is a little of both. Business, but between what I would hope would be friends. I would like to work with him on something.” Innocence cooed in her arms, her little eyes blinking at the swords before she turned back to her mother’s breast.

"...Master is quite strict when it comes to his... identity. His life as a Mage and as a mortal man are clearly separated, and I've only seen him wear his mortal face sparingly for... the past decade that I've been serving him." Olivia stops for awhile as she looks at Marianne, and she smiles as she looks at the ghostly infant in her arms.

"I'll bring you to the salon while I'll fetch him." She says as she turns, and the revenant brings her down the hall and towards a room where there's bookshelves aplenty. Each wall is backed by bookshelves filled to the brim with all sorts of books, on all sorts of topics. Weapons, too, are present in the room, hanged and displayed where they could be. The furniture are artisan make from what Marianne could see, and are most likely made by Wayland himself.

Marianne followed, and she smiled down at her baby as she tried, with her limited vision, to watch all of the things on the walls in the passing hallway. Like any newborn, Innocence could only see a few feet in front of her. So her mother whispered to her the names of the books.

“Look. This one is about the history of apothecaries. Those are where people can give you medicines and herbs. And this one is about the English Civil War. That was many, many years ago. And this is about the engineering of castles. You would find castles to be too cold, little one.”

She then walked into the salon, she looked around at more of the books and items. Every curiosity was a chance for her infant to learn, even if she could not grow like a normal baby.

Olivia stays, just for a moment, as she watches the mother and daughter have their own moment together. Alas the veil of life and death has separated the two forever. It is bittersweet, in a way, that Marianne lost her child yet is able to hold her and speak to her in this form.

The revenant leaves, to fetch her master. Under Marianne's eyes she could sense that there are many books in the salon that are not just normal books. As she sweeps her gaze across the many spines, she sees blurred text, as if ink washed by water. If she ever focuses, the washed out texts become clearer.

A Comprehensive Study on Potioneering Recipes, Compiled by Thyrsi and Mortal Witches Across Central Europe.

The Spectro-Diversity of England's Ghostly Population from the 1000s to the Turn of the 1800s.

On the Subject of Geomancy: Recorded Instances and Locations of Naturally Occuring Supernal Geodes Along the Tri-Leyline Convergence of the Salisbury Plain.

Many occultic books are scattered here and there, and there are even some that were authored by Wayland himself. From the lores of werewolves, to mysticism of vampires, the beliefs of mortal witch doctors, to the tried and true practices of true Mages, Wayland has gathered many tomes underneath his name.

Soon enough, the sound of boots and a cane come to the salon. As Marianne turns, she sees the dark and brooding figure of Wayland, dressed in black leathers and with his face covered in that dreary beaked mask. "Welcome to my Sanctum, Miss Gladius. Olivia, please serve our guests some refreshments. Does the Madame and her infant prefer tea or...?"

“Tea is wonderful, thank you. Milk and sugar for me.” She felt strange reacting to her Mage name, when not even her husband had used that name when they were discussing Mage business. Wayland was much more of a stickler in that sense, but she did not mind. His grounds, his rules.

“I do not know if Innocence would like the taste of tea, but she could try it. As long as it has plenty of milk.”

Wayland nods towards Olivia, and the revenant bows to leave, leaving the Moros, Thyrus, and one sweet baby alone. He gestures towards one of the lounging sofas for her sit and be comfortable, while he takes a seat next to a tableside. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

Marianne could have sat, but she opted to stand. She did, however, put the swaddled infant on the couch. That way, she could cuddle there with a soft blanket and simply rest. “This is a peculiar request, I’m sure, but I won’t mince words so much and waste your time.” She turned back to Wayland, after putting her baby on the couch. “I would like to practice dueling with you, in order to prepare myself for Michael, or this Black Spiral Dancer. It has been quite some time, after all, since I have dueled any other Mages.”

"Dueling?" Behind the mask, Wayland's eyebrow rises. Now that's a rather peculiar request. The Moros stands, and he walks over to Marianne, to Gladius, and he reaches out with his palms up. "May I see your hands, Miss Gladius?"

She nodded, and held her hands out to the man, allowing him to examine them. Her palms had plentiful callouses from decades of hard work farming and gardening. Most importantly, however, her left hand had a thin web of ugly scars along the back. They should have healed decades ago, but they still cut across the skin and looked like well-shaved gashes.

Wayland weighs her hands in his, and with his thumbs he gently presses on the flesh of her palm. "Good, strong hands." He says with his gravel-like voice, and he slowly turns them over, testing her wrists and her joints. "A gardener's hands, and a fighter's hands. I'll accept mentoring you, Miss Gladius."

Wayland lets her hands go, and he looks at her for a moment, as if pondering. "...In accordance with your Shadow Name, I recommend training with a sword. Have you held steel before?"

“Oh no, I do not need classical mentoring, per se,” she clarified, “my husband trained me in wielding a sword and fighting with one. I simply would like to refresh the skills I already have. I am much older than I was when he last trained me, and I worry that I am not as fast or as finessed as I used to be.”

"A refresher with a sparring partner then. I'd recommend sparring with Cereus, as you Thyrsi could contend with the strength of werewolves, but his battle experience isn't too rich." Wayland shakes his head as he sits back down. At this moment, Olivia arrives, wheeling in a tray of shortcakes and tea. She serves both Wayland and Marianne their cups, and she looks at the two Mages as she finishes brewing Innocence's own tea.

"Master, Miss Gladius, may I... help the sweet child drink some of this tea?"

"I do not mind at all. However, I could make this child manifest, if it would help make things easier. Miss Gladius? Any objections?"

“I…manifest?” Marianne blinked, and looked at the cuddling infant. She then looked back to Wayland and Olivia. They could make her child appear in the physical realm, if only for a limited amount of time. She did not know how to react, her skin tingled with confusion. Her little body was in a grave. Now, would it be…

“Of course. If…it makes the process easier. If for a little time. Will she…feel pain?”

"There will be no pain at all. For the living, however, there will a bit of draft and cold, but there is nothing to worry about." Wayland shakes his head, and he simply waits for Marianne's reply as he sips his tea.

It would not be a true resurrection, Marianne thought to herself. The child would appear, and would be with her, and then would be a small ghostly infant again. The changes to the order of this world and the next would not be too disturbed. She nodded, and she gazed at her child. “Very well. Please, if you will.”

Wayland nods, and he retrieves a small handbell on the small table beside him. He gently rings it, and it rings with a soft but crisp sound. Each clink that the bell makes seem to cause the temperatures to lower, and the light in the room to dim, but Marianne sees the results: in her arms, the silhouette of Innocence slowly takes form. From a faint fog, the baby's features slowly takes form, until she could feel solid flesh within the swaddling clothes.

Innocence was about seven pounds. She had weight, and when Marianne felt her arms sink slightly with that weight, her eyes widened. She was warm, soft, and moving. Underneath the gentle swaddling clothes was a tender baby's flesh and blood. She wiggled around just slightly, and her mother moved her arms to properly cradle her. Putting her hand around her head, her hair was fine, slightly curly, and a deep brunette. Then she opened her eyes.

They were a light-brown, just like her father's.

"I...she...I don't..." The woman felt her tongue failing her. Joy, shock, terror, excitement, pain, and love all washed over her. "My child. She is here. She is actually here..."

Olivia smiles at the sight of Marianne's journey through joys and sorrows at seeing the ghost of her daughter, silent and sweet within her arms. She sets down the infant's brewed drink on the table and stands aside as Wayland puts away the bell in his hand.

Marianne had to sit down in order to comprehend what had happened in front of her. The reality she had suggested to Jack, the one he never did, the one she was afraid of having. Afraid for the sake of whether or not her child would be desecrated by the act. She still could not wrap her mind entirely around what had just happened.

All she knew was that Innocence was staring up at her.

“How…how long does this last? I…” She curled her arms more tightly around her child, wanting to hold all of the little warmth and consolation that she could.

"For as long as she stays in this room, or until the spell is ended." Wayland answers as he sips his own cup of tea, the porcelain passing through his mask as if it's simply thin air.

“As long as she stays in this room…” Marianne repeated the words to herself as she rocked her infant. She nodded, bringing the words to heart. She could not have Innocence’s full form for a long time. Just for a short time. Her heart could accept that. “Even this miracle is…more than I could have imagined.”

She gazed up at Wayland, though she had trouble tearing her eyes away from her little child. “As I am sitting here, I suppose…you could perhaps help me with enchanting my sword? It has been a long time since I have had a proper duel, and I would like to make sure it is up to a fighting standard. In case that Black Spiral Dancer makes an appearance.”

Innocence cooed and kicked gently against the inside of her mother’s arms. Marianne smiled down at her, and then held out her left hand to Wayland. “The sword is in my hand. All you have to do is place your hand on it.”

"Allow me." Wayland gestures towards Marianne, and the hilt of her sword slips out of her palm. Without any pain, the sword flies out fully of the Thyrsus, floating in the air before flying towards Wayland. The blacksmith grabs the sword with ease, spinning it in his hand before holding its blade. "What sort of enchantment do you want to be on it?"

As the sword slid out of Marianne’s hand, from under her skin, Wayland could see that the item itself was already the product of Magic. Gladius was a beautiful weapon, with a hilt decorated like branches of a flowering plant, covered in blushing flower buds and long, sharp, emerald leaves. At the end was a long, slim, rose-pink blade.

“I have had this blade since I Awakened, actually,” she explained, as she continued to look down toward her infant. “It needs some sharpening, and perhaps a measure of extra defense for the little…spirits that surround me. After all, I do not simply defend myself anymore.”

Innocence seemed to yawn in agreement, stretching her hands toward her mother who gladly took them.

“Is that right, my darling? I have to protect you, ghost or not.” Her mother whispered sweetly. “I have to be a strong mother with a strong sword.”

Wayland gently holds Gladius in his hands, as if he is holding something fragile. Grabbing its handle, the blacksmith slowly runs his gloved fingers down the rose colored blade. For a moment, its shiny surface seems to vibrate, rippling as it sings a high pitched song. The blade cries out with the sound of a lark and joyous steel cutting through air, sharp and proud, as the light that falls upon it seems to become even sharper at the edges.

The sword song stops as Wayland's fingers reach the tip of the sword, and in a blink of an eye the Moros swiftly pulls his hand back down to the hilt. Deep red blood stains the sword as he cuts his palm on it, but with nary a splash on himself nor around him. Wayland raises the sword, tip pointing towards the ceiling, as he whispers words of power. The Mage's blood is slowly absorbed by the blade, its rose-pink surface becoming a more vibrant red. Gladius's blade greedily drinks all the blood on its surface until it's dry. The blade sings once again of its high pitched song, before igniting in a flash of golden-white fire.

Heavenly fire baptizes the sword, and its song becomes like that of a choir of angels until the flames die out, revealing its former rose-pink sheen. Wayland flicks at the blade, testing the balance by moving it with his wrist, before twirling it. The sweet sound of its edge cutting through air echoes out, even more crisp than before, and he hands the sword back to Marianne handle first.

"I've sharpened your sword, and its edge will now cut the flesh of ephemeral entities."

Marianne watched the ceremony, just barely pulling her eyes away from her child. Gladius, in a way, was almost like a “child”-not in the maternal sense, but it was certainly a part of her. Something that her own Magic had created the moment she had become a Mage. Now she watched as it sliced, as it cut, as it was still as strong as it ever was. She was convinced once again of its beauty, and she wished her daughter’s newborn eyesight was strong enough to see and understand such vibrant colors. Such incredible displays of light and transformation, of metal and steel. She smiled down at Innocence for a moment, and listened as Wayland explained shortly the enchantment.

“Excellent. I think I will give it a duel or two as soon as I can. I would like to see if Vasily would indeed be willing to give me a duel.”

"...Hm." Wayland steps back for a moment as he eyes the smiling mother, making the sword flourish in his hand for a moment before returning it back to Marianne hilt first. "Return to me if you wish to have it checked for maintenance. Also... I am curious about Innocence." He looks at the ghostly infant in her arms with a thoughtful gaze. "...There are records of ghosts growing beyond the personalities of their original selves, but there hasn't been on babies who are empty slates at the beginning of their life. I wonder if she could grow at all."

The kindly older mother let her daughter lay in her lap, and then she inserted the sword back into her hand. The experience still stung, but she was used to it by now. “She was stillborn,” Marianne explained, though she figured that Wayland already had guessed such. “So I do not know. I could not tell you. All I hope is that she is happy, for whatever short time she has with me and elsewhere. And if she does leave this realm…” She squeezed her little one close to her chest, feeling all of her sweet warmth. “I do hope she shall go to a place where she is at peace.”

She had come looking for a duel, but perhaps for now fate had something else in mind. Comfort, consolation, however strange it was. A flower needed to heal from the trauma of finally breaking free from the seed, and then once again from blooming. But Innocence was beautiful and pink, warm, perfect in Marianne’s arms, and she beamed as brightly as her blade. The morning did not need to be anything else for her.

[Luminesa]

Co-Write Between Ormata and Lumi

A Paper Trail
November 4th, 1888, Night
Gravesend Manor

Relia’s home had become quiet in the days which followed her visits with Wilcox and Melodious. Routine was always good, and quiet was appreciated, especially after meeting with such a bizarre Toreador and a mysterious Mage. But Relia did have Marguerite out of the matter, and while Sorcha remained quiet and away from view, the Tzimisce had the freedom to study and to oversee her manor again with ease.

But her homunculus servant felt a striking unease, a feeling she did not like. Any sensation which took control away from Relia’s budding bodyguard made her feel inadequate, and even inadequacy of the slightest degree could make her angry. But this evening, no amount of grumbling, growling, and sulking could make the mood go away. Something was back at the manor. Something she could not see.

At least, not until she heard a knock at the door.

“…More company.”

The servant groaned, and she marched to the door. The feeling got stronger and stronger, until she opened the door and widened her eyes.

A person in front of her, a servant of some sort standing in the shadows. She was moving toward the doorway, quiet and dutiful, and her expression remained hidden by the darkness. Marguerite did not like this feeling especially-calm, peace, a lack of fear or verbal salutation. She liked knowing her prey. Tonight, she could not know who this was.

“LADY RELIA!!!”

Relia had been planning her next moves. There was always that plan, always that next step to which a victory could one day be achieved. She'd found herself at odds with that next move, to one degree or another, at odds with the creation of more Marshalls for which to administer her realm and, one day, perhaps remove a fellow Kindred or two. Her first had been good, to one degree or another, yet she had been in that same way lacking. Common aspects which would allow her to act as a judge against kine, or to blend in among them, were simply lacking in many, many ways. She had been eager to remove her teacher, dismayed at his mortal inadequacies, almost like a hunting dog might. In these ways...she was not human. But then again, Relia had played herself. The magi had asked if she was desired with or without a soul. In simplifying the creation, in all likelihood Relia had damned the legacy. She should have considered the issue further.

Of course, it did not help that such creations came with their own strings attached. The Tzimisce had not gained the ability to produce such, to make her Marshalls in her own home, by her own hands or hands of another who was in her employ. They were all, all of them entirely at the mercy of this...Wilcox, this magi with his woman who was far, far too enamored with the ideas rattling in a birdcage head. He could always ask for more, for different boons here and there. He could always give some manner of blackmail. In a far more concrete threat...he could always simply not appear again. A loose end for the Court to one day find and for new questions to arise. She sighed in her chair, books about the heavy oak desk with more set in several stacks beside.

If all else failed, she supposed...Relia could simply get the girl killed. It was unfortunate, yet true.

Of course, then came the yell. Marguerite...what could it be now? Quickly the Tzimisce rose from her seat, striding out from room, down the hallway with steps that could barely be detected. Portraits seemed to blur past her vision, forgotten in the motion of the action. Finally, the staircase. Relia looked down it, and onto the front door. A few steps down and...

Well. That was quite interesting. Her voice called out with the flat notes of a temple bell, yet still loud enough to fill the room as hands clasped before her.

"Yes?"

“The…the…I don’t know what that is!” Fear for Marguerite was an animalistic reaction. She could not possess some sort of idea of whether or not this creature was “right” or “wrong”, just that it was an intruder she could not fight. And she could not tell why.

“That! It! Them!” Following her impulses like an enraged, barking guard dog, she rushed a little further ahead onto the steps. “YOU! COME OVER HERE! SHOW YOUR FACE OR I’LL TEAR OFF YOUR FACE WITH MY TEETH!”

“There will be no need for that.”

A woman’s voice responded, soft, stern, and older. A woman with short grey hair in a bun walked out of the darkness, though she might as well have been adorned with the darkness herself. She wore a jet-black hat and walking dress, and her shoes clicked like black glass against the cobblestones of the driveway. When she walked to the step, she adjusted her glasses.

“Good evening, lady and madam. I did not initially introduce myself, as I have come in something of a hurry. My name is Annabelle, and I am here with a message?”

Ah. This couldn't be good. This...messenger, this Annabelle, could be a threat and, were she a threat Relia would far prefer to have Marguerite close at hand. On other other hand, if she wasn't a threat, having the girl close at hand could do far more damage. And yet...if she was a threat, she would not approach so openly. That would be foolish, it had to be foolish. She'd know there would be safeguards, methods...servants. Where...were the servants out front, she wondered. They'd normally notice such things while tending to the hedges. Had she simply slipped past them? Possibly, possibly. A gamble to be made, then.

The Kindred put power into her voice. "Marguerite. Leave us. Go to bed."

Marguerite obeyed immediately. Her body seized, her eyes relaxed, and she looked as though she was in a trance. She nodded to Lady Relia, and she started to walk back inside the residence. Outside, the Tzimisce and the human woman stood a few feet apart.

“My apologies for my intrusion, my Lady. I have been tasked to bring you a letter.” The woman did not quite approach yet, though she did pull the envelope from her rather large purse. “It is not a threat, mind you. I can tell you are very concerned, and I only mean quick business. A response would be appreciated in the next few days.” The older woman’s voice rang like aged bronze, clear and a little shrill, but distinguished all the same. “I will approach with the letter, if you wish. Once again, I assure you, I pose no threat.”

"Tasked. By whom?" Relia could tell this was an unnatural occasion, by every means an unnatural occasion from the reaction of her employee to the fact that this woman did not simply use the Royal Post. Some...some sort of message which was vital, perhaps, some sort which could not bear passing through too many hands.

Wilcox, perhaps? He knew to simply knock. His manner surely wouldn't have alarmed Marguerite, too, whether it be by his magi's stench or that of his own servants. It wouldn’t have been him. Not unless something wrong had come about. One of the Lords, the other Kindred? She lacked the formality of one of their emissaries. She lacked their silver tongue as well as the ghoul character. Who else, who else...Relia's eyes drilled into the woman. Those she knew, among the lupines, they would be more tactful, more subtle, the Kindred knew that for certain. Some...other player, then, something else. She clearly wasn't her own master, so who, who. Relia's mind reached further back, back a few centuries...

It was unlikely. She let go of that possibility as soon as she found it. Damn it all, who did this woman work for. Relia had almost ignored the other words...not a threat and a response would be appreciated. She didn't seem to want to be at the door, this...Annabelle. That last option, that very last, would fit the issue well. Perhaps one of the other Magi, perhaps perhaps, and yet...Relia was unsure.

“A woman from France was being tutored in English in London for several months, and she disappeared suddenly not very long ago. Why, it may have been a week or two prior, I’m not sure. Her tutor had been looking for her, and then he received a tip which suggested that she might be in Kent, and my employer suggested that I come and give this message. He would come himself, but he is quite busy with many other manners.” Annabelle watched her face as she answered. Relia was good at answering questions without seeming disturbed by them, and she was good at asking the right questions and holding her ground. But to this point, there had been no violence. The older servant hoped no violence would result at all, and so she stepped forward with the letter.

Unorthodox, unorthodox...Relia should have asked more questions, drawn more information from Wilcox. She should have questioned if any would come searching for her new servant...or, at the very least, gotten one who would blend in more easily in Gravesend. Questions would need to be asked on the tutor and who had given such information...as well as the tutor itself. In due time, in due time. Pressing for information so doggedly would create more concern and issue...and if she really wanted information, there were easier ways.

"I see. Curious." She plucked the letter from the woman's proffered hand, frowning ever so slightly as she absentminded spoke. "Thank you."

Annebelle stood after giving the letter, as if she was waiting for further instructions. She was a little stiff, but not supernaturally so. Rather, she stood with duty, as if she was expecting a reaction. Of course, Relia herself was supernatural, and so her reaction was not one which the elder servant could expect.

To the Lady Relia of Gravesend:

Greetings and salutations. I hope this letter finds you well. I do not intend for it to be any sort of a cause for alarm or frustration, and I hope that my housekeeper has brought it to your attention in a timely manner. She’s usually quite good about such.

Some time ago, I lost contact with a young girl from France who was in my tutelage. She had just come from France knowing little to no English, and she had no money for a specialized tutor. She had just obtained temporary housing and a job in a workhouse, and so she had started to come for my tutelage later in the evenings. All of this information is pertinent to the current situation. She is missing, and as I asked around, I was informed that you might be a person of interest. If this tale or this girl interests you at all, please send a message with my servant.

Sincerely,
Mr. Sullivan McCarthy

[Oblivion2]

Chasing White Rabbits
November 8th, 1888, Night
Melodious Fisher’s Residence, Kent

Melodious had been supremely excited to get a letter from his mysterious interest. His mood was a significant swing from the last couple of days after his first failure to read Wayland.

“You would think he had gotten a love letter.” Fortuna was setting the table, grumbling once again about the pace of the work. The servants had been rushing since dawn, and even she as the taskmaster during the daytime had not gotten to rest. She knew how Melodious would be if he had found anything out-of-place.

“In his mind, it probably is one,” another servant replied.

Another Ghoul snorted. “What’s he gonna do if Mr. Saint-Francis has a partner?”

“Don’t even ask that question jokingly, if he hears you he’ll have ideas.” Fortuna finished setting the table and moved to arrange the flowers. Melodious had a certain design in mind, with a sketch included. She had only shaken her head and had moved to the task at hand.

Melodious moved like a fever dream. Up and down the halls, in a blur, his hands jerking once toward one section of the hall and then to another as he called orders.

“Too dusty here! Make it sparkle, sparkle, sparkle! Come on!” He snapped his fingers. “He should be able to see his reflection in the floor!”
He moved to the side chambers leading to the dining room. “The stained glass needs to be immaculate! The Pope should be able to visit and to want these windows!” In the living room, “Why has nobody moved that hideous carpet? Move it now, I don’t care if it’s underneath that coffee table, move the coffee table and get the better rug! Is that not so simple?! Oh Heavens he’ll love this place so much he’ll want to move here.”

A terrified younger Ghoul shivered her way into the room. Fortuna walked over to comfort her.

“Is he always…is he always like this?”

“When it’s company he really wants. Which is most of the time.” She was blunt, but still put an arm around the younger girl’s shoulders. “Need help with the coffee table?”

She nodded.

“Give me a minute to fix these flowers. Quick, come help me. Abram, go help with the coffee table!”

“On it!” One Ghoul in, one Ghoul out. Two Ghouls in, three Ghouls out. All around the mansion, this was the evening.

Until the fateful hour came around. And then, like a good company hosting a performance, everyone got in their places.

Melodious first lined his ten favorite Ghouls in the dining room. “Stay.” His simple command was law, when combined with Presence. Nobody moved a muscle until he left the room.

“Why does he want us to stay?” The emotional younger Ghoul woman whispered to Fortuna, who stood next to her.

She did not respond.

“Tina, why does he want us to-”

“Shhhhhh!”

Melodious strode easily to the door, with the correct time down to the minute. 9 PM on the dot, no later and no sooner. Dressed in a suit made of silks in almost every color, with his flaming-red hair curling around his shoulders and back, he looked like a magician about to show a parlor trick or five. But he was a magnificent one at that.

He went to the door personally, and stopped to look for his guest on the other side of the door.

Etienne came around the corner in a black coach at precisely nine in the evening. Appearances meant everything to Toreador and the Ventrue had ever respected that about them, even if they never took these things to the same level as the Toreador. Still, Etienne had been sure that the coach driver and his two magnificent chestnut coloured horses had arrived at Lord Fisher's estate at precisely the appointed hour.

Stepping from the coach, Etienne had used his ensorceled jacket to adopt a somewhat more ostentatious appearance. It was now in a blue so deep that it made midnight jealous. It was trimmed faintly in silver as well to give the young Kindred just a little more polish. His pants had seen the smoothing iron and not a wrinkle could be found on them, the same went for his white shirt. Black shoes were polished to a high sheen and a new felt top hat sat upon his head. Etienne had even taken the step of getting Sigrid to help him apply some pomade in his hair, sweeping it up and slicking it back to maintain some of its volume while coming off all the more refined.

As Melodious opened the door, Etienne adopted his best smile and gave the man a sweeping bow. He left Presence out of all of his movements and simply allowed his natural calm and charisma to shine through, made all the easier by the few days of ease he'd spent with Sigrid. "My Lord Melodious Fisher." Etienne says easily, "What an honour it is to have you host me this evening."

Etienne did indeed charm Melodious, who looked him over with eager curiosity. Static struck through his skin. This Neonate indeed held to his word and came to see the Elder. “Mr. Saint-Francis! We meet at last.” He held back a little of his usual hysteria and glee in order to give the Ventrue space to come through the doorway. “Please, come in out of the cold! It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Welcome to my humble abode!”

The abode was anything but humble, equal-parts golden mansion and equal-parts stained-glass castle. Nobody in Kent was as theatrical as the old Toreador Elder, and light gleamed from every corner. He would have lived on the stage of a theatre if he could.

“I hope the ride was not too difficult for you! I do live rather far away from London, both for business and for personal reasons. Too many friends who would be too glad to see me at inopportune times.” He chuckled, and then grinned graciously at his guest. “Have you had anything to eat?”

Etienne took in the gilded halls and the vibrant artwork with half an eye for a moment as he followed the Elder. "Oh the ride over was pleasant enough." Etienne admits. "I don't mind a little quiet reflection from time to time, particularly when it whets the mind in preparation to take in all of this splendor." He gestured with both hands to mean the halls around them.

"I had a little something yesterday." Etienne admits with a soft smile, "I didn't want to insult your hospitality one way or another by either arriving too sated or too famished. Terrible manners either way, wouldn't you agree?"

“Oh did you? Splendid. Though I must admit, I have some fabulous vintages around if you want a taste.” Melodious chuckled as he walked next to him and watched the Ventrue’s facial expressions and motions. The Neonate was good at hiding his emotions, and played the part of a perfect gentleman. But he wanted reactions from him. He needed to see how he ticked, how he acted.

“I also have something else, though that might depend on your tastes.” He smirked as he brought Etienne into the dining room. In the room, the servants all stood in a line, dressed in pomp and finery. Every color of the rainbow, lace and layers all around on both the men and women.

“Sometimes I take a bite when I’m mostly full. But you know, a little indulgence isn’t a bad thing, is it?” He winked at the younger Kindred, and turned with a smirk toward Fortuna. Her face was pale from trepidation, but she kept a soldier’s expression and stared at Etienne.

Etienne smiled his best smile at his host before turning his smile upon the young Ghoul, it was a calming thing with just a little Presence. He walked towards her and spoke in a low tone, "My lord is too kind." Etienne said as he smoothly took the woman's arm and ran his fingers down along the underside. "And what do they call you, my lovely?" Etienne asked, glancing at her to meet her eyes.

“Fortuna,” she murmured, blushing at his use of Presence and at his steady gaze. It was not as strong as Melodious’s, but he was certainly different.

“That one is my head Ghoul,” Melodious chimed, leaning against the doorway and watching with delight. “She’s an excellent servant, and deals quite well with my moods and inspirations. And she’s quite pretty as well, don’t you think?”

The Ghoul flickered her hazel eyes just briefly to her master. Her brunette hair, curled in a bob, did make her look ladylike when she normally did not care much for her looks, and she wore enough makeup to poison someone with a less-enchanted constitution. But then her eyes stayed on the Ventrue. She wondered if he would take the Elder’s offer after all.

"Terribly lovely." Etienne nods, leaning down to hover over her wrist. He opens his mouth but pulls up short and turns his smile back upon the woman, "Fortunately for you my dear, I'm afraid my tastes bend towards a certain kind of person, and lovely as you are, you just don't happen to be the right sort."

He stands up straight and turns her arm back over, patting the back of her hand gently. "Do forgive me for a little mummery. I do know how much your master enjoys a show."

He turns and looks more like a child who’s just been caught in the cookie jar, "Alas, Lord Fisher, but I am afraid that none of your staff quite meet the exacting standards my Ventrue thirst requires. My apologies for being a picky eater."

“Bah! That’s quite alright. The blame is not on you, my dear, but rather on me for not recognizing that you had such tastes. I should have asked around about your palate a little more.” Melodious did not take Etienne’s reaction as a slight, and the staff would have collectively sighed their relief if he was not right in the room. Even Fortuna herself seemed to relax somewhat. But the Toreador could tell that he liked to play, to match the mood of the room. He was an entertainer of a more passive sort, potentially.

“I’ll certainly have something else for you, then, if ever you require it. What are your tastes, if I may ask?” He continued to smirk. “Do forgive me perhaps for so many preliminary questions. I am a very nosy host, and I did not get to know much about you before this meeting.”

"Dynasts." The Ventrue explains as he lets go of Fortuna's arm entirely and moves to stand just in front of his host. "Blue-blooded nobility, the scions of great business magnates, celebrities, lauded military families. You have to be -someone- for my thirst to be sated. It means I'm rather chained to some of the places that I come to reside in. I must always be close to some kind of power and prestige, lest I waste away into nothing. So, I've learned to lean into it rather than allow it to become a problem."

“Mmm, fascinating.” Melodious’s grin continued to be cat-like, almost sweet in a devious manner. “I’ll keep that in mind. After all, just like getting any top-shelf alcohol, it might be harder to find. But that’s not necessarily an issue for me. I like when things are hard to find.” His eyes had a glint of glee at that statement, but he kept his composure and nodded. “When I was a young Kindred I suppose I struggled with deciding what I wanted. Art, money, power, love? I tasted all of it. Some of it was absolutely revolting. And some was sweet as honey. Which is how I found Fortuna, and a few of the others here.”

He winked, never minding his head Ghoul’s uncomfortable look, before he turned his head back to Etienne with puzzlement. “What have you sought to quench your appetite? Simply power and prestige? Or do you desire more?”

"Respectfully your Lordship, I'm still figuring that out." Etienne told the Elder. It wasn't perfectly the truth but it wasn't a lie either. "Power and prestige does sound like a good start, however. As do certain connections. Nothing is more useful to anyone than a reliable network. At least, that has been my experience."

“Ah! Well we have to start somewhere, don’t we?” He nodded to the servants to disperse. “Bring a vintage for me anyway, have it ready,” Fortuna.” He leaned in and ordered her just before she disappeared again. He then spoke to Etienne as though nothing had happened. “You have to have your basic needs before you can search into yourself. And I have both power and prestige, but only after many, many, many years of hard work.”

He started to walk the Ventrue toward the living room, so that they could actually sit. The room was a little more warm and welcoming, with rich burgundy walls framed with colorful paintings of Greek goddesses and of royalty. It was not so bright as the other rooms, and so it was actually bearable for the average eye. But with so much wealth as well, it was also enticing to most Kindred. “Who is your Sire, if I may ask?”

This particular question was never a good sign for a conversation. While very few knew what Etienne knew about the man, he was still known as something of a Maverick within Ventrue and the greater Kindred society. You tended to either really like Guillermo Torres, or you hated him with all your undead heart could hate with.

"A Spaniard, by the name of Guillermo Torres." Etienne says formally. "Of the Ninth Generation, in the Line of his Lordship, Mithras. We broke our association in the earlier months of yesteryear." Etienne allows himself to pause before adding, "It was not a pleasant experience. With your leave, I would prefer not to regale you with the story."

“There’s no need,” Melodious responded with a wave of the hand, as he sat down and contemplated his answer. He tilted his head up toward the chandelier. “Guillermo…I’m sure that name is somewhat familiar, though he never was one much for coming to my parties. Otherwise I’d know him better.” He squinted. “Guillermo Torres…hm.”

He looked back to Etienne and could tell that he was purposefully being tight-lipped. He nodded to himself, taking mental notes along the way. “I’ve had many Ventrue in this house, usually with a variety of tastes and desires. To have a taste for kings, princesses, the elite, you must be rather special. Therefore, he must also be rather special. But I understand breaking away from a Sire who is…an obstacle to your advances.”

His tone became a little dark, though not toward Etienne. “And what else stops you from reaching the heights you desire, hm? I started my destiny as a Kindred in a dumpster, and I have done absolutely horrendous things to get to this place. Now…” His serious expression gave way to a grin once more. “I am rather glad for most of them, however. They built my spine, and my love of a challenge. What does that look like for you?”

Etienne turns inward at that question. It wasn't at all what he'd expected, and yet it had been asked anyway. He could see now why Sir Harry was so wary of Melodious. "I've never claimed to be special, your Lordship. Just motivated and occasionally uniquely talented." He says thoughtfully.

"What does climbing the ladder look like for me? What is the thing that will forge me into my best self?" He seems to be asking the question of himself rather than the Elder sitting across from him. "I think it will be that I can accomplish tasks and acquire things that few others could. That's why you've asked after me isn't it? Because I've done things that no other Kindred in this city seemed interested or capable of doing, in a manner that sparks interest."

He glances up to meet the Elder's eye. "My young age, which would have been an impediment to me otherwise has now become a conversation piece. Those who know what I have done whisper to themselves, 'Look at that Neonate. So tender, so fresh. What might be do in a century, or even two?'

He raises his brows as if to suggest a question to the lord. "So tell me, Lord Melodious… What might I do in a century or two? Am I just an idle distraction, or a new toy to play with? Or am I something more?"

The Elder’s grin cracked even wider, pleased at his initiative rather than annoyed. “In a century or two? Goodness, that’s quite far. At least for you. But given what you have already done, handling a powerful Mage? Why, you could very well have London underneath your feet. Or Kent, or all of it. If you can do that in any country, the Mages and their associates will know better than to cross you. Discipline builds a kingdom, does it not? As does…subjugation.” His voice grew softer and even more interested. “Is that what you seek to be able to do? To put the world under your palm?”

His compliment shakes a startled laugh out of the young Ventrue. "Forgive me my mirth, your Lordship." Etienne says with a grin, "But I think his Majesty, Mithras might have something to say were I to usurp London or Kent or any of these lovely English cities. It would be… rather unbecoming, I think for one as young as I to be Prince of such a city here, even with another century or two of unliving experience."

He gently plucks a loose hair from the front of his enchanted jacket. "No, my lord, I don't seek to subjugate the world. There's no sport in putting everything inside of a box. No… life to it, if you can forgive the irony. No, I'll leave that sort of thinking to the Sabbat."

“Oh goodness, none of us will usurp Mithras, and to be honest, would we want to?” The Toreador was equally amused, and he shook his head. “No, no, that was not what I was suggesting. A two-hundred-year-old Elder could never overthrow a legend. But if you ruled over London, or any place, what would you do?”

Etienne smiled softly, "You know… I met the most interesting woman while I was dealing with this little mage problem. She was a gardener and a mage herself- she could make the most wonderful blooms out of nothing. Out of absolute nothingness. And she did it just because she could. Because it was fun. Her life's calling, maybe. I think I should like to be a cultivator. But not of plants or greenery. But of talent. I want to grow potential, Lord Melodious."

He looks up and quirks an eyebrow at the Toreador, not bothering to mention he's interested in cultivating mortal potential. "Such an odd thing to discover about one's self, no? But still, to do cultivating of any sort, one must have the place and the tools to do it. I have neither." He waved that thought aside, "Well, I'm working on the tools part. A growing network, not inconsiderable assets, friends in low places. The usual things."

“Out of nothing! Like alchemy? And with flowers?” Melodious’s eyes widened a little, and his hands twitched with excitement in his lap. “How utterly wonderful! And precious as well, hm? But yes, about you. You’d like to be a cultivator of talent? We are quite aligned in our desires then.” He waved a hand to the servants moving through the halls. “All of them have some sort of talent in the arts. Some sing opera. Some dance. Some play instruments. Fortuna arranges flowers and paints. Imelda, who is new, plays the piano. Triste writes some of the plays for my company. And what would my empire be without them?”

Imelda came into the room, as if on command, and she stood at five feet solid as she looked from one man to the other. Etienne would have noticed that some Dominate was at play. Her posture was stiff, her innocent expression muted, her long pink gown curated to give her a sweet, doll-like appearance. A collector’s item. “What music do you like, Etienne?”

Etienne had to hide his disdain, seeing such a young woman brought out like a marionette on strings. Dominate was one of the disciplines Etienne had such a hard time reconciling with; he appreciated choice and agency. There was a time when you needed to use it to get something done or prove a point, but it shouldn't be something used so flippantly.

"I'm rather fond of Vivaldi." Etienne admits with a shrug. "The man was a virtuoso with the strings. I'll admit I wish I could have been alive to hear him play."

“Oh goodness.” Melodious rolled his eyes, not in disdain but with a satisfactory memory that still brought pleasure to mind. “I did see Vivaldi in concert. Shows my age a little more, doesn’t it?” He giggled, and he motioned to Imelda. “Darling, can you play Vivaldi?”

She bowed and walked to the large, ivory piano not too far from the center of the room, and she took a breath. Etienne’s astute eye would tell that she was anxious, but Melodious kept her hands from shaking so that she could play. He saw no consequence-he was simply nurturing her talents, polishing them.

She began to play Vivaldi’s “Autumn”, fast and robust under her fingers as they moved around the keys. Imelda had mentally picked the song, and knew the notes. But she would have rathered to be hiding away somewhere, rather than in the spotlight. Nevertheless, she played the jaunty, glistening tune, and her master smiled as he studied her movements. His eyes occasionally moved back to Etienne to watch him, his reaction to Dominate and his enjoyment of the tune.

Etienne listened politely. He could tell that either the woman playing or the Kindred controlling her had talent, but there was still something about the keys that just couldn't compare to the strings; the way it was meant to be played.

The young Ghoul finished her song in a near-perfect fashion, and she rose to give a bow when her master started to clap. Her eyes gazed down at the floor, afraid that somehow she had made a mistake. Somehow, he would later scold her. Under her scared brows, her eyes flickered back to the Ventrue, wondering if he had at least liked her performance.

“And so you see, I nurture what seeds of talent they bring me. I take care of it and love it into fruition. Poor, dear Imelda, you came to me because your father did not want you to join the Queen’s Hall Orchestra. Is that right?”

“Yessir.”

“And you were already a talented girl, hm?”

“Yessir.”

“And then what did I do?”

“You…” Imelda paused, thinking of the words she wanted to use. This time when she rose, she definitely noticed her master’s slight impatience. Her answers were supposed to be perfect, she was not supposed to be nervous onstage. “You taught me how to expand my talents from violin, harp, guitar, and piano.”

“Yes! Yes, my darling. Why did you doubt your own words?” He smirked at Etienne. “Her father is a politician, one of the sorts who thinks women should do uninspiring things like raise children and live on their husband’s income. I hate a lack of inspiration. And she had a spark…so I lit it.” He walked up behind Imelda as he spoke, turning her toward his guest with another cat-like grin. “Is this more to your tastes, or no?”

At the question, the Ghoul’s eyes got huge. If she was not nervous before, she was now. Her heart was begging for her to go hide, but her body would not move. Maybe this would be over quickly.

"She is…" Etienne says reluctantly. "Still, if you'll forgive me my peculiarities… I prefer my meals a little more free-range. A little agency always makes things… sweeter for me."

Melodious gave a confused look for a split second, but then released Imelda from his hold over her. “I see! Well, you are quite particular then. No matter. Imelda, thank you my darling.”

The poor girl hurried away down the hall, and the Toreador started toward Etienne’s place on the couch. “You’re afraid of someone being Dominated. That’s understandable. But using it for good, to protect and to care, those are the two proper uses for it. And you’re telling me you would not use Dominate if it made the people around you more attached to your purpose and mission?”

"I'm saying I would prefer that people not even know I was involved at all." Etienne says with a shrug. "An invisible hand seems the best approach. How can the hand be bitten if none are aware it's there at all? No matter how kindly you mean it, my lord, a collar is still a collar." He tugs at his own. "I would know all about that."

“Of course.” The Toreador’s smile became less emotional, and he walked a little closer toward the Ventrue. He kept his hands folded behind his back for a few moments, like a schoolmaster facilitating instruction to an interesting pupil. “So then. How do you believe you will be able to run such a paradise as you wish to have?” He scanned Etienne’s eyes, spotting in them a sensation which pointed to…images, pictures he could not read without moving too deeply.

"I don't know." He admits with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'm not exactly well versed in these things as of yet. It's something I'll have to learn and decide for myself. Chart my own course, as it were. Perhaps I may even need a patron of my own."

“Of course.” Melodious would have smiled, but he was focusing on the emotion he was reading from Etienne. Something very vague. He moved a little closer, and unblinkingly seemed to look into his soul. He could spot something. A word, maybe not specific, which seemed to wrap around his actions and gave them their cloaked manner. His gaze was not predatory, but rather intrigued.

“Is it love, darling?”

"Perhaps." The Ventrue answers nonchalantly. "Anything is possible, isn't it? You've loved." He points out to the Elder. "You love right now, though from afar if the rumors are to be believed."

The Toreador cracked a smile once more, and he gave a low, airy chuckle. His eyes seemed to wander back through time, flipping through pages of lovers long past. “An empire does need love, doesn’t it? A love of something. Of self, of the subjects, of art, of an ideal. Men and women have built entire empires just to have each other. And then destroyed them when they could not.”

He then reached his hand, and with all the carefulness of someone making sure not to lose their fingers, but also with the confidence of an Elder, he tilted Etienne’s chin up toward him. Playful, but with a point. “Tell me. What do you want of me, as your patron?” Even without using Presence, he knew how to pour intent into his words. How to make a person forget that anyone else could be in a building except them.

"What I would want of you would be what I would want of any patron." Etienne says, taking the man's hand and gently removing it from his chin. The point was clear, Etienne would be touched on his terms and his terms alone. Even at the risk of offending an Elder. "Connections. Autonomy. The ability to interact with Kindred high society. The ability to interject myself into interesting happenings; opportunities for wealth and status. Meaning no offense, if I can't get those things from you, I will find someone I can get them from."

Melodious nodded. “All of those things, I can grant you. Most certainly. If you ask me for anything specific, I can grant it. I am connected to almost every wealthy patron of the arts in England. Most certainly all of them in London and in Kent. And I always have my finger on the pulse of exciting events and rumors. As for money? Look around you.” His eyes turned down to the hand which had pushed his fingers away. “All I ask of you, Etienne, is to allow me to guide you. Now, of course, my instruction would not be like your Sire’s, however he was, and it would not be what you have seen with the Ghouls. You are a junior of mine, not a servant. But I do only give advice which I believe will advance you. I hope you can be satisfied with that, even if it will be difficult at times.”

"Others will make offers and threats in the coming days." Etienne points out. "Are you willing to allow me to entertain them? This decision make take some time, and it will not come lightly."

“Entertain away. Let them make their offers.” He grinned proudly now, showing his full charms once again. “But I am not known to disappoint. And if I ever have disappointed, it would be fashionably so.” He flipped a few strands of hair from his shoulder. His eyes then wandered up to a painting behind him, one of a noblewoman dressed in heavy turquoise taffeta. “Oh, I almost forgot. I heard that there was a young woman who had asked after me a few days ago in Christie’s? I have not seen her, but she was an interesting sort from what I understand. Did she have any connection to you?”

"Perhaps." Etienne answers with a shrug of his shoulders. "I've known so many young women of means, who can possibly say?" This was something of a truth, he didn't know exactly where Sigrid had gone to do her digging and she had only explicitly mentioned Wayland's.

“Ha! I suppose we definitely have more in common then.” Melodious snickered a little, but then collected himself. “Very well. It is of no consequence to me here or there. I am simply always curious when people ask after me.” He winked, and then looked out the window. “I’m sure Harry would enjoy seeing you, if he hasn’t already. Though I don’t imagine he’ll offer as fantastic of an offer as I will, he is in your Clan.” He shrugged. “This is a sport that all of us play, is it not? To see who gives the favors and who gets them. And the one who gives the best favors wins. Or they get eaten.”

He lowered his voice at that last statement, and then shook his head. “But nothing to that. If you wish for a favor from me, or if you wish to reconsider my patronage, come to dinner on the 9th. You may bring someone with you if you like, or you may come alone again. I will never have an issue with more company.”

Etienne gave the Elder a thoughtful nod. "I think I should like to come to dinner regardless." The Ventrue said finally, "My Sire taught me manners, and I would not spurn you by saying I wouldn't come. At the very least, even if we decide a partnership is not in our mutual interests, you can at least show me off to -your- Court. I'm sure I could at least dazzle a few of your more stubborn courtiers for you."

The Toreador Elder clapped his hands, unable to hide his glee. “Very good! Very good, darling. I would love to introduce you to everyone! How wonderful! Yes, let’s put it on the 13th. Some time to prepare, some time for you to consider a guest? Either way, we’ll be here waiting for you.” He dug into his coat pocket, and he placed a calling card-embroidered in elaborate flowers and even perfumed-in Etienne’s hand. “And of course, let me know if you need anything in the meantime. We’re not that far away from each other, are we?”

Etienne looked over the card for a moment, even giving it a faint sniff before raising it in the elder's direction much like one would a drink for a toast or an acknowledgement. "My thanks." He says earnestly, sliding the calling card into a pocket in his own enchanted coat. From within his own he offers one to the Elder. "For you, your Lordship. Do hold tightly to that, I do not idly give them out."

In truth, it was the first time he'd had occasion to. There was no name on it. But embossed upon the card was a stylized gold and silver mask, one showing half a face, seemingly angelic and peaceful. The other half a much darker and more sinister mien. It was the Sigil of the many-faced God, Janus.

Melodious accepted the card and continued to smile. He enjoyed the stylish-yet-simple design on the card, and he put it in the same coat pocket. “I will keep it close at all times. And you are sure that you do not wish to have anything to drink before you leave? I would feel quite bizarre to have not partaken in any true toast with such a promising young man.”

"As I said… my palette is a damned exacting thing. At times it can be a difficulty to feed if I'm new in town." Etienne said apologetically.

"Still though your Lordship, I am still fond of fine wine, whiskey and port. Perhaps not as sating, but still, worthy things to drink on occasion."

“Germain!” He snapped his fingers, and a Ghoul hurried by behind him. “The best whiskey we have. Bring a glass for him and a glass for me.”

The servant ran away, and returned just a couple of minutes later with a half-glass for each of them. On ice, and still crackling.

“This whiskey is at least 40 years old. I said, ‘the best’, but I have so many that I could consider ‘the best’. Regardless, it should be strong enough to revive your senses even more than Vitae.” He smirked and raised his glass. “To future princes and kings, my dear.”

[Luminesa]

When Fate Loses Her Strings
November 6th, 1888, Evening
Relia’s Residence

Marguerite had no problems sleeping away the day when she needed. She usually had so much energy, perhaps because she felt no reason to rest except to miss opportunities to train. But for the last two days, she had felt more sluggish and uncertain.

Annabelle. Annabelle. Sullivan McCarthy. She felt a mental game of “Duck, Duck, Goose” playing in her mind, with that last name chasing her when she was lost in her thoughts for too long. She shook her head every time she heard it. The name was recognizable, but for some reason she felt a need to swat it away when it came to her mind. Yet she could not understand why.

And now, for the first time in who knew how long, she was dreaming.

She was lying on a table, in the same position in which she had fallen asleep. The fetal position, which was normally so comfortable, felt cold and vulnerable to her as she realized she was lying on something cold and hard. Not a floor, but some sort of table. When she opened her eyes, she saw her hands dangling off the right side of the table.

“Huh?”

A shadow was walking behind her. She felt their heat, but not their body. They were standing still, watching to see if she was awake.

“Who…who’s there?” She tried to turn to see them, but her body would not move.

A hand moved to her back, and she felt a jolting shudder run through her spine. She had no clothes on her back, even though she felt some sort of hospital gown covering her front. She also could not move her arms.

“Oy! Stop that back there!” She tried to struggle, but she still could not turn her body to see who was poking her. The discomfort grew, prickling her body and closing around her, slowly suffocating her.

Then something else moved down her back. Hard, but not quite sharp. Some sort of pencil or pen.

It moved down her neck, down her spine, all the way to her tailbone. She could hear the soft sound of graphite, or of some hard tip, tracing down her skin. Then it moved to her upper back, over and under each shoulder. No other sounds, not even her own breathing, penetrated the air.

“Gggh…” Marguerite tried to squirm, but then another hand moved to keep her shoulder in place. It was firm, but not tight. It knew that she was not going anywhere. “What’re you drawing on my back for?”

“Shhhhhh…”

Finally, she heard a voice. It was barely audible, beckoning her in almost a sleep-like daze. But the motions were still sharp and deliberate, undistracted by the subject’s fear and qualms. “Don’t you fret, my dear. You’ll be happy I did this for you.” The voice spoke a little louder, and she seemed to recognize it better. Deep, with a posh accent, very sterile and polite.

Just like the scissors she heard snipping in his free hand. First she heard them, then she felt them trace down her back. Much sharper, much harsher, much more dangerous. She tried to squirm again, and she felt the two little blades graze her back.

“AH! Wait. Wait. Stop. I hear scissors. What are you doing?” The terror increased in her voice.

“I promise. You’ll thank me for this later.”

Then she felt it. Something much harder, deeper, and sharper, beginning to stab right near her neck. Her eyes widened with beast-like fear, loathing, and hate. She began to writhe, thrashing around on the table as much as she could. But try as she might, Marguerite could not get off the table, and the sensation dragged further and further down her back.

“Hold. Still.”

“No, no, no, NOOOOOOOOO!”

When the girl awakened in a cold sweat, she found herself still lying in a fetal position. She then pulled herself so that her body laid on her back-just in case she found herself in more pain otherwise. But the pain was not present, only in her mind. She was sweating all over, and she could have sworn that something watery was dripping down the corners of her eyes. Weakness. She hated it. She hated it. She HATED it.

But she was helpless against the sensation. The water dripped down her eyes, and as she squeezed them shut, the small creeks only continued to stream down her cheeks. Marguerite was strong against quite a lot of things, and immune to many of the scruples and worries of average humans. But this, this was not a pain she could see or define. Therefore, it was not a pain she could control.

“Stop…please. Please. Please, make it stop. Make it stop…” All she could do against the fresh memory of this dream was sob, and try to determine what was that posh, cruel spectre which had sliced away at her body.

[Morrdh]

Back On The Prowl
November 8th, 1888, Evening
Whitechapel, East London

He was seething.

The hoped for war between the leeches and Gaia's deluded followers had simmered and then seemingly petered out altogether, or at least returned to the ages old uneasy truce that had been the status quo for centuries. No, it looked like more work was required if He was to succeed in His goal.

But the perfect victim was at hand.

Throughout the month of October He had lain low, though prodding from the shadows to try and keep tensions up between the kindred and the garou. But He hadn't wasted that time for He had sought to sharpen His skill especially with spirits to better home in on suitable victims. Women who were kin to the wolves were whom He was after, but only those with an active connection to the garou especially if they had been taken as mates. Just after Samhain He had found such a target trawling through the pubs of the parish of Spitalfields on the north side of Whitechapel. She was in her mid twenties and of stout build with blond hair, blue eyes and a fair complexion. Most notable was that she spoke with an Irish accent and and was often in the company of a man with Gaelic ancestry and whom, after enslaving a spirit to the task, was identified as garou.

Yes, the perfect victim indeed.

He just needed to waylaid the man and then He would have all the time in the world...

[Luminesa]

No Calls
November 8th, 1888
The Vale of Health, Hampstead, London

Annabelle had returned from Relia’s home not too long after leaving the letter in her care. She had not received much of a response, and in the days to come, there also was not a response. As an old servant, Annabelle had little control over such matters. These were the affairs of powerful people. She was simply delivering their mail.

But Mr. Sullivan McCarthy would not have considered himself a powerful man. Instead, he would have considered himself one who only liked select company. Long ago, he had chosen an idyllic corner of Hampstead to be his home, and he preferred the wild moors outside of London to the actual wilderness of London itself. The ancient fields, ponds, and endless skies made for excellent company.

But as Annabelle had returned late into the night, the old man had not been pondering the innumerable stars outside of his home. Instead, he had been indoors, in his small kitchen, pouring over newspapers and a pile of crumpled files which stood like a crooked paper-mache structure.

“You know you will not sleep, sir, if you continue to study those papers late into the night.”

“That is true, my dear.” A soft, aged Irish accent answered her, as its owner never rose to greet his housekeeper on her arrival. “But I cannot sleep. I am the only one who has not stopped looking.”

“Well you do not need to look too much further. The girl is at Lady Relia’s home.”

Mr. Sullivan’s head creaked upward, and he squinted at Annabelle as if he was trying to register what she had said. “...Come again?”

“She is at Lady Relia’s home.”

“...Ah.” He stood, not much more than five-foot-six with his back bent from age. “So my paper trail was correct.”

“I still do not know how you could have possibly been correct on only your third try, sir.” His maidservant shook her head, as she looked around the dusty little kitchen for any utensils the older gentleman had used.

“We live in very strange times, my dear,” he explained, as he stood and re-arranged his papers into a neat stack. “And very strange times call for a very strange mind to look into matters.”

“But that still does not explain. She was at the hospital in East London for only a couple of hours!”

“Yes, well, I had some help. Don’t you worry too much about it.” He turned to his maidservant with a kind, weary smile. He was both glad and dreadful of the fact that he had been correct. Marguerite was in someone’s watchful care, and apparently intact. But how, why, and for how long were all questions for which he did not have answers. “I will have to pay them a visit myself, but first, I shall write to the Lady to see if she would be perceptive in meeting me.” Pulling a piece of parchment, he waited as Annabelle hurried to his office to find his candle and inkpot.

“Mr. Sullivan, you could have burned the house down!” She emerged with both, and with exasperation bright and speckled in her eyes. “You left your candle lit all this time, unattended in your bedroom!”

“The better to make sure I don’t trip on the way to my bed.” He chuckled, and then gratefully took the writing instrument and the candle. He then sat to write, taking his time as he checked over the words he was using. “Elders are so particular about which words sound best to them. Not too different from the Royal Family themselves.”

“Except Her Majesty Queen Victoria is a kind, warm-blooded individual with a love for the common good.”

Mr. Sullivan just smiled, and he continued to write. He was hopeful of the good nature deep within all people, including cold and calculating Tzimisce Elders. But he was also far from a foolish man.

“And what will you do if she does not respond to this letter, sir?”

After finishing a sentence, he paused from his writing and shrugged. He then turned his neck and shoulders to face the standing housekeeper. His voice was quiet and knowing, old enough to know the days of vicious wars across the sea and sturdy enough to survive them. “Then I will knock until I am answered.”

[Morrdh]

Tournament of Shadows
November 8th, 1888, Evening
Whitechapel, East London

Since the meeting with Michael to persuade him to drop his vendetta against the Kindred, thus preventing an all-out war in London's supernatural underbelly, Dunne kept a low profile but still made trips to his office at the police station on Leman Street to keep current on the Ripper case. Since the double slaying of Liz Stride and Catherine Eddowes, the Ripper had kept quiet during the month of October. The slain Kindred that was found had thankfully remained out of the newsheets and thus was not public knowledge, it also meant there was some constables that Dunne could potentially rely on if the need arose. Tough the men killed in the abortive raid on the nest of kindreds, thanks to MIchael using them as a lure, still weighed heavily on Dunne and a dark cloud hung over him most days. It would probably be some time before he could forgive the Garou for his marked betrayal and how callously he used Dunne and the constables.

It was a dull and cold night with the hint of rain in the air as Dunne made his way along the gaslit streets, it was long past dusk and the end of the working day for most. Being a Thursday, it was the quietest night of the week for the bulk of the city's taverns and public houses as the majority of labourers and factory workers were low on coin until they received their pay packets on a Friday. Despite all this, there was still a healthy crowd thronging the streets as Dunne made his way along dodging the horse-drawn carts as well as the pick pockets and street urchins. He'd noticed over the years that the unwashed masses that festered on the lower rungs of society tended to harbour a general disdain towards those in uniform, be them constable or soldier. Dunne hazard a guess that it stemmed from the mistrust and hatred that the lower classes had for those in authority and viewed those in uniform, the poor copper on the beat or the red serge coated rifleman, as merely tools that enforced the rule of those of a much higher station. This was straying into the realms of politics, but the old rumblings of the working class had been stoked in recent years and Dunne imagined things would come to a head there one way or another.

Partway along Whitechapel High Street, just past where the Gardiner's department store with it's distinctive clock tower sat on the junction with Commerical Road, something triggered Dunne's sixth sense. The sensation was similar to a prey animal catching whiff of a predator lurking close by, it made Dunne spin round in panic drew strange looks from passer-bys but he couldn't spot any immediate threats. It was a ripple in the crowd, not quite as grand as the sea parting before Moses, but it was a noticeable ripple where the crowd were parting as a man strode through them. The man seemed well dressed, but Dunne was too far to make out any particular details but his instincts him told that this was the....person behind the Ripper killings. It left Dunne with a dilemma, he could race back to Leman Street to summon some constables but risked losing sight of the man whilst at the same time this man was a dangerous individual even though Dunne carried his Webley revolver.

Recalling that there were still silver bullets loaded in the weapon made up his made.

He trailed after the man as they made their way onto Whitechapel Road, but the crowd frustrated Dunne's efforts. It was by chance that Dunne glimpsed the man ducking into the opening of an alleyway. The detective sallied up beside the entrance and hesitated, had the man spotted him? Dunne couldn't be sure, though surely the crowd had obscured him as it did the man? Steeling himself, Dunne stepped cautiously into the alleyway and drew out his revolver from where he kept it under his jacket. Entering the gloom of the alley felt like he was crossing over into another world, the ambient din of the street fell silent and the dimly lit darkness engulfed him. With revolver to hand, he edged along the alley, gun ready to fire as he checked every doorway and corner. Footsteps echoed through the claustrophobic maze of alleys and side streets, seemingly taunting him as he tried to peer through the murky gloom. Dunne flattened himself into a doorway when he heard the footsteps draw closer, a few tense minutes passed by and the footsteps receded without Dunne catching sight of anyone. Cautiously, he stepped out from the doorway with the revolver held out in front of him and proceeded along the alley in what he hoped was the direction of the footsteps.

A little further along he entered into a small, enclosed courtyard littered with discarded waste nestled in amongst some tenant blocks. He could still hear the footsteps, growing closer and fading away again seemingly all round him. Warily glancing round, Dunne crept across the courtyard towards the alleyway on the fair side, highly sprung and ready for the man to burst out of the shadows. The footsteps seemed to be growing louder and louder and louder...

Dunne sharply spun round ready to fire only for a startled cat to cry out and dash down the alleyway, it took alot of self-restraint on Dunne's part not to shoot the wretched creature as his heart pounded like a steam engine. Taking a moment to steady his breathing and pulse, Dunne strained his ears to try and make out the footsteps again only for the yowling of the aforementioned cat to fill the brick lined warren. Grumbling under his breath, Dunne pressed on and soon found himself nearing one of the main thoroughfares of Whitechapel with it's familiar hustle and bustle. He holstered the Webley under his jacket before stepping out onto the street and into the great unwashed masses of humanity once more, his quarry seemingly vanished into the murk. It left him both relieved and frustrated at the same time, but also concerned as it appeared that the Ripper wasn't quite done with the East End and still lurked in it's poverty stricken pit of despair.

[Luminesa]

Co-Write by Lumi and Oblivion2

Snakes and Diamonds
November 13th, 1888, Night
Melodious’s Estate, Kent

Melodious knew how to plan a party quickly. He was definitely glad that he would be able to rub this opportunity in Harry Kane’s face, and so he brought together a very varied group which included him. Harry, several Ventrue with significantly less scruples, some fellow Toreadors, Sybille and her Brujah band, and even some outsider Malkavians. The more, and the stranger, the merrier.

Vasily and Etienne would be wandering something of a minefield. With so many paths to choose, and so many powerful faces, they would find themselves the whispers of many shadows with long, connecting tendrils. The latter already knew how to dress and act. The challenge would present itself more to the former, who had to rent a suit and tie and hope it mostly fit him.

As he stood in the doorway and knocked, he adjusted his bowtie for the tenth time that evening. He hated how the sleek fabric seemingly cut into his neck, but appearances were appearances. “Rich blokes pick the most masochistic fashion. Bloody hell,” he murmured to himself as he waited.

“The nobility like to suffer in their clothes to make up for the lack of suffering in their lives.” Etienne would say as he answered the door. He, did not look uncomfortable in his ruffled shirt and black tails, an emerald-green neck-tie bringing everything together with a similarly coloured vest and a black top hat. “Here. You’re going to ruin it.” Etienne turned and adjusted the man’s bow, shifting some of the pressure off while keeping the dapper appearance. “Now, show some dignity and I'll float you home in whatever top shelf booze suits your fancy. And for God's sake, don't wander off with anyone you don't know. Man or woman. You've never been to a party like this before, I assure you.”

The Russian felt better with some of the pressure off his throat, but he had to release a groan as he stared down at himself. “Alright. Anything for good booze, and for a friend.” He gave a half-grin to Etienne, and then looked over his shoulder. “What’re you snickering at?!”

Sigrid stood on the stairs watching, in her nightgown and bed robes, and she could not hide the dainty giggling which peeled behind her hand. Her eyes twinkled anyway, giving away her amusement.

“You try wearing a collar like this and tell me how you like it!”

“Oh no, you look lovely, Vasily.” She walked down the steps and moved toward the duo. “You just need to relax your posture a little.”

“One of you says to stiffen up, the other says to ‘relax’. How do I ‘relax’ in clothes stiffer than the bloody Thames in January?”

“Vasily, think for a moment about whom Sigrid is seeing and what she might like done with her neck, mmm?” Etienne jested softly, circling the man to make sure the rest of his attire was suitable. “I see your mother shined your shoes. You'd have made a botch of it, but these are lovingly done.”

He came back around to Vasily and squared the man’s shoulders, then curled a finger under his chin to get him to hold it up higher. “Mmm… Something missing.” He searches the Russian man’s eyes for a moment before snapping his fingers. “Of course. You haven't gotten the attitude yet. Sigrid, love, tell this foolish man how positively dashing he looks and how many heads he’ll turn.”

The lovely woman blushed brightly while Etienne’s back was turned, but Vasily noticed and snickered back at her. When the Ventrue noted his shoes, however, he nodded. “Yeah, my mum said for me to ‘make friends’. I didn’t tell her what sort of party it was, but I think she’s just glad to see me in something beside my usual rags.”

He looked back at the Promethean, who smiled sweetly to her lover before putting her hands on Vasily’s shoulders. “You look wonderful. You are a Mage, and you are blessed with the ability to do amazing things. Only if you believe you can.”

“Like survive this night?”

“You’re young, handsome, and spry on your feet. And you’re not smoking or toting your gun under your coat.” She took a hand and pat his cheek with a firm couple of taps. “Show a little more color in your face. You’re going to be just fine.”

“Alright, alright, I got the message!” Now he was blushing, if only from the mild embarrassment at having his friend dote over him like a mother hen. “And don’t worry, Etienne, I’m not gonna wander off. I have some survival instinct. Just tell me where we’re going and what to do, and give me a heads up if someone’s causing you or I any trouble.”

“It's your other instincts I worry about.” Etienne would say with a shake of his head, “Kindred thrive on the instincts of the Kine, very rarely are we prey to them. Those particular Kine however are a different breed entirely.” He'd wave that aside, “Anyhow. You're ready, yes? No need for a bit of liquid courage before we go?”

“I think I’d rather stay sober and alert, if this was some sort of bachelor outing between the two of us I wouldn’t care.” He frowned. “But I’d rather keep an eye on the people around me. I’m not a fan of strangers, and I’ll save the alcohol for when I see how much of a mess we’re in.”

Etienne adjusted his hat before walking over to give Sigrid a slow kiss. “Don't wait up. I could be all night. Maybe longer. Worry if I'm not back by nine tomorrow night.” He gave her a reassuring smile, having gone over all of this before, but it never hurt to say it again.

“Right then!” He'd say grandly, beginning his march towards the door and their waiting carriage, “Let's find out just how much London’s high society has heard about our little misadventure, eh?” by

The Mage gave them a moment to themselves, turning his eyes more toward the carriage out the door. He knew Wayland would worry, though he would never say it. Marianne would take care of herself. MacKenzie would simply be glad that the bookstore was quiet. But the blacksmith who had seen him go out in his fanciful suit would definitely fear for him. He had every reason to.

Sigrid enjoyed the kiss which had become a home for her these last few weeks, taking a hand which had been holding her robes around her and caressing Etienne’s cheek as he held him for just a moment. She would have him again in the morning. “Be careful,” she whispered, before she let him go with her friend. A slight sense of tension came and left her hand as she thought that she would not be able to be near him and protect him. But he knew how to take care of himself in such circumstances. She just gave him a faithful nod as he started away for the carriage, and she gave a playful wave to Vasily. “Have fun!”

“Yep. Maybe by the time we get there people will invent more comfortable clothes.”

He got in the carriage as the door closed to Etienne’s home, and he sighed as he looked over at the Ventrue. “Looking forward to seeing Sir Melodious again?”

“Honestly?” Etienne said, giving one last look to his little flat before they began their way down London’s streets. “Not really. He's far too flamboyant for my tastes. Plays with his servants like dolls. Don't get me wrong, I play with my food sometimes too, but I refuse to put people on strings, you understand?”

Etienne sighs and taps his waking stick on the chair in front of him, almost a nervous tic. “But he or someone at that party is going to have the influence and power that I need to keep climbing the greasy rungs. If it turns out I can't climb them here, I'll have to look for greener pastures.”

“I suppose that’s something most Mages and Kindred have in common. We have to climb or else we stagnate. But if it’s with someone beside Melodious, at least they’ll be glad to have you and you’ll be able to escape…that. Unless he has some other intentions with you?”

“Oh I have no doubt he does.” The Frenchman said nonchalantly, “The thing with Kindred, as opposed to Mages, is we all have ulterior motives. We all have differing ambitions, but once we taste that ambition we can't stop tasting it. We eat and eat and eat and nothing else satisfies. Some are worse than others. Melodious is… he's up there. Not the worst, of course, but he's lost sight of what it was like to be human a long time ago. He’ll try and use me to advance his position, because that'll mean more delights for him to sample. That or I'm his next delight.”

“Is that why you didn’t want to bring Sigrid along?” Vasily inquired. “Worried he’d try something with her?”

“I know he would.” Etienne said without a seconds hesitation. “She's Promethean. She's the fire of creation in mortal flesh. What ambitious man wouldn't covet that? Look at what Von Achtoven did to her. A man, a mortal, breathing man. Not some creature of the night animated by whatever fell curse lives within us. A man. Not only that but Sigrid is an innocent- her only fault being the fire that burns so bright in her as to make her love unwisely. Think of how it would delight a debauched soul to corrupt, twist, and ultimately discard a thing like her? No. I wouldn't bring her within five miles of the place if I could help it. This is why I keep saying she deserves a better thing than me by her side. A real man of flesh and blood who would give her a real life worth living. Not this… Game.”

“Your life isn’t a game, it’s just different. Different goals, different needs.” Vasily nodded. “But I think I get it. They see her, they see an innocent lamb with a Magic spark. They see me, they see a jaded young academic with a drinking problem. Not that different from what they already know. Unless they don’t like the taste of blood with nicotine in it, then I might be fine. But uh…” He watched Etienne’s darkened face, wondering what else was plaguing him. “Expecting any Ventrue friends you know?”

“Friends?” Etienne asked thoughtfully, “No. The only friend I'll have there will be you. I'll know people, or at least know of people. But for the most part, my sire kept me apart from these sorts of functions. Perhaps to keep others from stealing me away, or because he felt I wasn't ready or I needed controlling. Too late to ask him now. You may like Sir Harry, however. He's a reasonable sort. Not a very large fish, but connected. Honourable, decent, as far as my kind go.”

“Ah well, someone good to keep in our group for the night.” Vasily leaned back in his seat, glad to know they would have at least one more potential ally. “Maybe someone who can repel Melodious a bit if he gets to be too much. Or, uh, his friends. Any idea what the rest of them will be like?”

“You've heard all about the high society parties full of Debauchery and decadence?” Etienne asked casually. “They're the people who throw those. But they're also artists and romantics twisted by the curse of Caine. They’re easily captivated by things. Obsessive at times. No one really gives the Toreador credit for how truly, singlemindedly, dangerous they can be. So, you'll either be hounded like prey all night, or you'll have the time of your life. It really depends on the mood and what sort of attention you attract. Were I you, I'd check every drink you get your hands on for Vitae or other illicit substances.”

“Oh fun, a guessing game! Am I going to be Ghouled, drugged, or both? Might as well just drink the wine and get drunk, seems like the least-bad of the three,” Vasily half-joked. “Given the sort of attention I usually attract, I couldn’t tell you what I would attract if I actually acted civil.”

“With a Toreador, you never know what will attract their notice.” He explained, “Could be the shade of your eyes. How you walk. The cadence of your R’s. Who knows? Just… be yourself but be more cautious than you would normally. When in doubt, distract them with whatever senseless drivel you think will buy you the time you need for me to get there.”

“Oh. I should tell them the story I told Dorothea then.” He chuckled, thinking of the stunned look on her face just a week or two ago. He could hardly believe that same woman, and most of her cult, was now dead. “I would have liked to have been the one to shoot her, funnily enough. Just…turned me wrong until the very end.”

Etienne could only give a noncommittal grunt as the sound of hooves went clitter-clatter in the cobbles. “We’ll arrive shortly I wager.”

“Welp.” Vasily adjusted his coat’s shoulders and tried to look sharper, less vulnerable and uncertain. “Time to prepare ourselves. I can hear the chamber music from here.”

Indeed they could. The orchestra was large and swinging, as much as a team could “swing” before the 1920’s. Melodious was not afraid of experimentation in almost any sense of the word, whether it was music, the flavors of Vitae in the many champagne flutes, or the extravagant clothing of his guests. He himself wore a magenta suit with a huge, lopsided collar and coat of matching tulle. His makeup somehow made his face look even whiter, enough so that Vasily and Etienne could both see it as he stood greeting a bundle of guests ahead of them.

“Lady Willis!” He kissed her once on one cheek, and once on another.

Her gold dress lined with peacock feathers was enough to please even the pickiest Toreador eyes. But with her large size, her body looked like a tree trunk swirling in feathers. She fortunately carried herself well. “Such a pleasure, darling. You look stunning.”

“You look like you’d be the bride and the belle of the ball all at once,” Melodious drawled.

“Is that a compliment or an insult?” Vasily murmured as he got out of the carriage with Etienne and observed the woman from a few yards away. “Honestly, she looks like she’d be the parade float, if anything else.”

“Best not mention that to Lady Willis.” Etienne said dryly, knowing the woman by reputation. He stepped down from the carriage and adjusted his jacket and tails. “You'll know which ones are Toreador and which are Ventrue.” He murmured to his friend as they walked up the drive. “The Ventrue will look like the rich and powerful, but they’ll still seem underdressed. The Toreador will look like her, and him.” He nodded vaguely in the direction of their host. “He's coming over now. Remember that charming smile of yours.”

“Sir Etienne! Right on schedule as I expected!” Melodious had allowed Lady Willis to hustle through the door with her manservants, and he had glided across the walkway to meet the two men. He grabbed the Ventrue’s hand for a shake, and then gazed from him to his guest. “And who is this?”

“Mr. Vasily Mikhailov, sir.” The Russian indeed remembered to smile, a little less crooked than usual. “I’m a friend of his.”

The Toreador looked him up and down, holding his chin and giving him an additional look at his face and posture. He seemed to know something was different about him, but not enough to make him a threat of any kind. “Charming! And such a ruddy face! Health is as much of a wealth as anything, am I right?”

Feeling he had just been backhanded himself, Vasily still managed to nod. “Aye, it’s important to keep one’s head about themselves. I’m an academic, if that’s of any interest. Study biology and flowers.”

“Flowers!” He clapped his hands. “Well, Mr. Mikhailov, if I’m not too busy with your lovely associate and other friends, I might need you to look at one of my flower arrangements in the dining room. Last-minute planning, always stressful. Come in, come in! Plenty of wine and drink to go around, so many friends waiting for us!”

As if he knew they had no chances of escaping now, he wrapped an arm around each of them and railroaded them indoors, before he slid his arms away from them and grinned down at Etienne. “Behave yourselves, sweeties, I have more guests to greet and a cook to go scream at.” Leaning his head back with a laugh as he hurried away, he vanished as a whirl of bright-pink in a crowd of similarly-bright colors.

“…Uh…wow.” Vasily blinked for the first time in what felt like a century, and then he grabbed a flute of actual champagne to sip. “Doing alright so far?”

“Vasily… if you think any of that was bad, you really are going to need more liquor to get through the night.” Etienne said dryly, plucking an errant hair off of his jacket. He glanced around the gaudy surroundings, looking for a familiar face in the middle of all of this.

“You know…” he said absently, “Maybe I should have brought Sigrid after all. She'd pull me into a nice, quiet room somewhere rather than make me suffer through all this.”

“You ought to mention that to her when you get home,” the Mage mumbled as he eyed the room. Kindred were dancing with each other, maidservants dressed in beautiful dresses were gliding mechanically among them with drinks and appetizers, some crowds were chatting amongst each other, some others were smoking in a corner. “Where do you think Sir Harry would be at a party like this?”

“In a corner, sulking.” Etienne ventured, his face kept passive so he doesn't have to show his distaste and how the maidservants were being treated. “That, or with other Ventrue or notable sorts. Harry doesn't quite play the game- but he still likes being close to people who do. So, look for a well dressed, yet seemingly underdressed cluster of folk. I suspect he’ll be in their midst.”

“I can do that.” He kept his eyes open, knowing that any moment, someone could sweep through the crowd and throw their search.

Someone did, but not in the way Vasily was expecting. A pale hand grabbed his arm and pulled him in a wide circle, dragging him away from Etienne before he could even realize where he was. “AH!”

“Hi there, stranger. You’re rather warm for a place like this.” A young Toreador man, with strawberry-blonde hair and freckles over a bright-red suit, grinned at him. He was not wearing a tie. “Came for a funeral?”

“Eh, you never know when there’s gonna be one, I suppose,” he responded casually, trying to hide the panic in his eyes at losing Etienne so quickly.

At the same time, the Ventrue would notice someone else chattering away in the crowd, not too far away. Tall, pale, her emerald eyes surveying a new lover and the group of Kindred around her. Long, slim black gown around her figure, throwing soft curves under a towering neck of pearls. Lady Elise, barely giving attention to the man flirting with her.

Etienne cast her a brief look; one couldn't not, really. She had one of those airs about her that demanded your attention, so Etienne gave it got a brief moment and then turned his attention elsewhere. “Alright, so do you see him anywhere?” Etienne asked over his shoulder. When he got no answer, he turned about and swore softly under his breath. “One job, Vasily…”

He shifted through the crowds, making sure not to bump into any of his societal betters when he found the young Russian being cornered by some maroon suited fool. He smelled of neonate. Maybe younger.

“Excuse me.” Etienne said flatly, tapping the man’s shoulder. “You've something that belongs to me.”

“Uh?” The young Kindred turned to the Ventrue and raised a brow. He did not move from Vasily, but instead gave Etienne a disinterested stare. “Belongs to you, you say? Ghoul of yours?”

“What's it to you?” Etienne sent the same look back, only polished by seventy years of undying apprenticeship to the world’s most exacting Spaniard. “Maybe I'll be embracing him. Maybe I'm wooing him. Maybe he's my little flesh puppet and I like the way he squeals. What's important is you've got your rude little hands all over him, and I'd like for you to leave him be, boy. You didn't ask, you don't get.”

The all-too-honest Mage barely hid his quickly-reddening face, while the young Toreador who had tried to claim him looked displeased. “Oh. Is that right? What a shame. You won’t even share just a little bit?”

Slowly, Etienne began to pull his fingers out of his glove, giving the boy a significant look.

With the direct threat of action, the young man took a step away and gave him a wounded look. “Fine! Fine. Gods. Be selfish, then. Not like other people are going to care about your scruples anyhow.” The boy sauntered away into the thralls of other young Toreadors, and Vasily gave a sigh of relief.

“I wasn’t even looking at him! It wasn’t my fault!” He pleaded. “I’m trying to find our man! Also…‘meat puppet’?”

“You're in a room full of predators, Vasily.” Etienne said, as he straightened his friend up. “I know it's not your usual inclination, and I don't fault you for it, but this is not the place to look like prey. I need you to dig deep, and find just a piece of your inner predator, or I'll have to keep baring my teeth all night long to keep you out of trouble. Meat puppet won't be the worst thing you hear me say to see that through, either.”

“Fair enough. I can do that.” Shrugging away the sudden shock as well as he could, the young Mage turned back around to search the room.

“You're my friend, Vasily.” He said, finally putting the words out in the open for him to hear. “So find some spine. I don't want you to end up being used as a chew toy tonight.”

Vasily could not help but allow himself to blink once or twice in shock. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. I uh…” Taking a deep breath, he tried to steel himself. The way he had done thinking he would face the Black Spiral Dancer, and the way he had been prepared to act toward Wilcox. The least he could do for a friend was show some bravery. “Alright. I can do that.”

Lady Elise and her posse moved past in a slow train, and a few more Toreadors laughed with each other in a drunken revelry. The band played a less bombastic tune for now, giving everyone’s ears a slight rest. In this moment of respite, a hand found its way to Etienne’s shoulder.

“You made it here unscathed, Saint-Francis?”

Etienne patted the hand, recognizing the voice. “You should be careful grabbing shoulders in a party like this Sir Harry.” The frenchman turned and offered a slight smile. “My friend Vasily and I were looking for you actually, but I suppose you spotted the show. I swear, I'm not all that old, but some of these youngsters have no respect.”

“I noticed. And so did a few others, I imagine. He’ll be getting a scolding from whoever his Sire is,” Harry sighed, before he looked at Vasily. “…And you brought a…ehem. You brought a Kine?!” He whispered the words, both baffled and intrigued by the young man with Etienne. “You might as well have brought gravy to a potluck! What’s the plan, Saint-Francis, give Melodious a gift to curry his favor? Or just in need of a familiar face?”

“Vasily is *special*.” Etienne put emphasis on the word. “Not only that, I can count on him to watch my back, even if he acts like a lost puppy sometimes. No, he's not a party favour. You and he would get along well, I think. He's an intelligent young mind, with a rather sideways bend to his thinking. I find him terribly refreshing amidst the trudgery of Victorian society. Go on- ask his opinion on the current goings on. He’ll surprise you.”

“I recognize you!” Vasily responded quickly, jumping with the boost of Etienne’s confidence in him. “I’ve seen you in the paper.”

Harry looked a little surprised, and pointed an index finger to himself. “Me? Have you?”

“Yeah, you were speaking about Irish home rule, I was actually rather pleased at your speech. I never really thought about the topic much, but I found your speech to Parliament refreshing myself. It’s not easy to hold an unpopular opinion among a bunch of nonces who don’t see that we aren’t all that much different.”

Harry blinked and glanced back at Etienne, before giving a nod to Vasily. “Why, thank you. I appreciate the support. At first glance I wouldn’t have taken you for a Tory.”

“Most people probably wouldn’t. Though I don’t use political parties to identify myself, I think both sides do a good enough job at certain things. You’re quite the eloquent speaker.”

“Much obliged, Mr. Vasily.” He shook the young man’s hand, and then smiled at Etienne. “Planning to meet with the host with the most soon, or just mingling?”

“I'm going to make him come to me.” Etienne said with the confident nonchalance of his French ancestors. “And then we’ll see which sharks come swimming in after him. I saw Lady Elise and her entourage. The Brujah delegation is here too. I thought I spotted Viscount Montblanc as well- anyone you think I ought to prepare myself for, Harry? It's quite the spectacle.”

“I haven’t seen the Prince of Kent, so you might be alright in that regard. If he does show, though, expect things to get worse. Lord Valle might be here, if you’d like to look for him. Fellow Ventrue who might do better at shielding you from Melodious than I will. He’s used to me, not Lord Valle. But yes. Hopefully Nicholas will not show. And all will be well!”

“You know he will, just because you said that.” Etienne replied dryly. He gives a soft theatrical sigh before asking, “You wouldn't happen to have a little flask of your own for the evening, eh, Sir Harry? You know how these Toreador parties get.”

“I have had a little Vitae to bolster myself, just in case I may need it,” the Ventrue Elder answered in the affirmative. “It’s going to be a long night if we have to deal with that.”

More chatter erupted, and Lady Willis appeared to crash near the group. “Look at all of you just standing around!” She passed glasses to the group. “Have fun! Be merry! Don’t be so glum!”

Vasily looked down at the glass placed in his hand. Red, swirling liquid. When he sniffed it, he knew the irony smell was not Vitae. He made a show of nodding to Lady Willis, who seemed happy with the gesture of respect before she sailed away. Her posse behind her handed Etienne and Harry each a glass as well.

“Uhhhh either of you want to switch?” He asked when the group was out of earshot.

Etienne sniffed his own and instinctively turned up a nose. “Probably not. This one smells of suffering artist. It won't agree with me. How's yours, Harry?”

“Someone’s intern. Such a shame, so much potential. But the blood is…rather strong. Better not to waste it.” He took a long sip of it, as painful as it might have been, and then he shook his head as he handed the empty glass to a maid. “You’re acquainted with how Ventrue’s tastes work? I can only drink from other politicians. It’s rather easy, given my position…but also not. Given my place in the government, I don’t get a free moment to feed often.” He gave a side glance to Etienne. “I’m sure you’ve experienced what I’m talking about.”

“Dynasts.” Etienne says with a sour face. “They need to be part of a legacy of some kind.”

“That’s even worse.” Harry shook his head and looked around the room. “You want to avoid Melodious, right? Well he’s over there in the dining room, storming out now.”

Melodious indeed was storming out, in something of a huff, but he quickly regained his calm demeanor as he was away from whatever had angered him. He then seemed to look around the room for someone.

“He’s looking for you. He’s been chatting about you all evening with the chef.”

“Then I'd best make sure he can find me.” Etienne says, putting his still full glass of blood on the nearest flat surface. Someone would be by for it eventually. “If you want to make yourself scarce, Sir Harry, I wouldn't mind. Though, I'd consider it a personal favour if you took Vasily here with you. Maybe introduced him to some of our less… volatile cousins? He could put in a good word or two for me, and he was after all helpful to me in this whole Von Acthoven mess. He could tell you a few stories, I'm sure.”

The older Ventrue raised a brow. “I can do that. Are you sure, though? You don’t know what’s going to happen when he gets you alone.”

“If you don't see me in an hour or two, you can assume something nefarious has happened and ring the proper bells.” Etienne tells him nonchalantly. “While you do the politically intelligent thing, Vasily no doubt will feel the need to do the foolishly brave thing and one or both of these things will see me either saved or suitably avenged.” Etienne grinned, a soft, Cheshire smile. “See Cousin, I've already thought this through.”

“Right. We’ll be around then.” Putting his confidence in the younger Ventrue, Harry took Vasily around the shoulder and started away with him. “Let’s go fine Lord Valle.”

“You better not get yourself killed,” Vasily warned with a hiss as he moved away.

All the while, Melodious was now chatting with a woman decked in an emerald gown and many jewels, though he peered away from her every now and then to look for something.

Etienne took a soft breath of air to calm himself, fixing his goals firmly in his mind before crossing the floor and placing a coy smile on his face. “Looking for me?” He'd ask casually as he stole up on the Elder Toreador.

“And I told him, the absolute nerve for him to think that blood of that quantity should not be served ICE COLD, I told him EXACTLY how much to chill it, and he…”

He stopped in a slow, dramatic way as he heard the voice he had been waiting to hear. He almost seemed to freeze himself, and his expression changed once again to a cool, graceful smile. “Pardon me, Madam. In order to clear my head, I must speak about…other matters, with other people.” He left her without so much as an acknowledgement, though given his incredible Presence, she seemed to have been happy just to speak with him as she walked away.

“And how did you know? Goodness, hosting can be a wonderful exercise, but it is oh, so stressful. I need to speak with people about more exciting things.” He tuned his charms to make the rest of the room seem quiet, a lull, compared to the two of them. Even in his blindingly-bright clothes, he was almost softening to watch. “Like whatever is on your mind, dear Etienne.”

“I have a sense of people and atmosphere.” Etienne would say with a shrug, doing his best not to be distracted by the masterful use of presence. Etienne did so by taking mental notes on the technique- it could be useful some day. “I'd also heard from a little birdie that you couldn't stop talking about me, apparently. Well… I can't help but enjoy the occasional bit of ego stroking, so I thought I’d stop being a bad guest and come seek you out.”

“Being a bad guest?” Melodious raised his brows and widened his smirk. “The only way you could do that is by not enjoying yourself! This is a place of luxury and excess, dear boy. Whatever your heart desires.” It helped that he was at least a couple inches taller than Etienne, and could bend his posture and body in stage-like ways to appear to take even more space. Like a spectre more than a humanoid-man.

“I enjoy a good mystery, as I so told you. And you have given me one to ponder. And ponder I have. You’re an oddly…emotional young Ventrue. One would think that being in that world would sap the love of love right out of you.” He curled his hand under his chin, and then out toward Etienne, as though he was summoning a flame from a candle. “But you have a fire about you. I’ve told the chef how you seemed to arrive with something of a romance about you, your mind in the clouds. And yet you’re the hero who killed that arrogant Elder Mage. How does your mind shift between the two so easily? Without losing your…sense of self?”

Etienne couldn't help but smile at the grandiosity of the man in front of him. A mixture of natural charisma and supernatural presence. “Well, like the many faced god of old, Janus, I have many masks. I play as many parts as I need to. With that in mind, how many people do you think have seen my true face? Would you even recognize it if you saw it?”

Etienne let out a good natured laugh, “Certainly, my Lord, you've seen more than most. And in that, I suppose I have entrusted you to a degree I haven't others, but how else can you expect one as young as I to survive, let alone thrive? Especially without the protection of sire or patron. Truly, I have to be exceptional just to get by, lest I be ground down by all that is our society. So… I wear many faces. I appear to belong everywhere I choose to set my feet. And if my other qualities are easier noticed through this false familiarity? So much the better.”

Melodious loved teasing as much as he loved a tease, and he could smell one in the wind. Masks, many masks, one face. He knew the play quite well. “Ah yes, and if anyone saw my true face, I hardly think they would believe it at all. I just find it a beautiful little sight. Not many Kindred dream by the time they have survived to be your age. Those who do are still too young to understand their predicaments, or old enough to know their ambitions. And you told me yours. To have the world in your hands.”

He grinned, keeping that image in his mind. Not the warrior, but the dazed young man staring at the chandeliers, wanting…something. “Company, perhaps, is what that longing seems to be. And your dear friend, as charming as he seems to be, was not very much enough, was he?”

“He's a good lad.” Etienne would say with an easy shrug, “But his sort don't last forever, sadly. Still, he is loyal in his own way and I appreciate that sort of thing. Hell, I treasure it. There isn't enough loyalty in our world- or any world for that matter.”

“That’s certainly true. Look around you at this room.” He waved his hand, painting a picture of some of the revelers. “Beautiful, shimmering, glamorous people. But how many of them will be alive in the next hundred years? And how many of them will remain allies? I dare say most of them will die, or drink too deeply of their sins, or each other. The curtains fall on most, and loyalty is the weight that keeps that heavy curtain from falling on the few. Allies, friends, lovers. Why do you think I have so many lovers?”

He gazed back around and watched Vasily, spotting him in the crowd talking to a barely-interested Lady Elise. “He would be a desperate, thirsty little lover. Young men at that age always are. And you told that nasty little Neonate to get away from him. Are you sure you’re not lovers?”

Etienne shakes his head. “He's a friend. Men aren't my fancy. I've tried once or twice but…” he struggles for a moment, feigning looking for a word. “It never feels like the sort of conquest or submission or… hell, even a chase I want. He’d certainly like it, were I of a different persuasion. He gives me the look from time to time. Poor thing, wouldn't know what to do with me if he caught me. But as I said, he's loyal, and that counts for me far more than anything else. I appreciate having someone I can count on who I don't have to cajole or be dishonest with.”

“Ah, yes, the chase is key. The chase is part of what makes romance or any endeavor worth it. What is the fun of having something simply brought to you? That’s simply a luxury.” He seemed to receive a goblet of blood right on cue, as though he had planned for the maid to walk toward him right on schedule. He drank from it and smirked. “There is no luxury in love. Only the constant chase. When the chase ends, the love ends. If there is nothing to fight for, what is the point? It’s been sucked dry and left for dead.” He stopped himself and then shook his head, though Etienne would notice some theatrics to his movements. “My apologies. I must be thinking of an old flame of mine. I’ve had so many, but some have left their marks. Some left me far more bitter, but bitterness is what gives wine its flavor, hm?”

“Variety, I think my lord.” Etienne disagreed gently. “Wine would be dreadfully boring if it was only bitter. Same as it would be dreadfully boring if it was only sweet or only sour. Life- lives even, are much the same. There's a reason you sample different vintages, no? They even say that her Majesty's empire was built on the desire for variety- though that was likely more spice and resources than most anything else, but still if you can see it in men you can see it in the institutions they build.”

“Of course. A man is what he loves, and if he loves to build civilizations and empires then he will do it. Only the greatest loves build those empires, as I told you a few days ago.” He turned and watched Elise shoo away a man who was interrupting her conversation with Vasily. The man would not stop kissing her arm.

He went silent for just a few moments, which felt like an eternity, and he shook his head at an internal thought. “If you decide to take my partnership, Etienne, I can certainly help you to build the empire you’d like. I almost invited the Prince to this party, but goodness, would that not be so much pressure on all of us? But I must admit, since you appreciate honesty, I had considered a romance of sorts. I miss being able to seek dreamers among men whose dreams are dead. But alas, it’s not entirely necessary.” He gave him a smirk, one that let the mask slip just an inch. His eyes were beautiful and his face was clear, in the strange, revealing light of a Toreador lifting away the heavy makeup.

Etienne felt his breath metaphorically hitch. It would be so easy to tie his star to this man’s. To let someone else guide his fate once more. After all, it was difficult out here on one's own. So very… very hard.

But these thoughts, they weren't his own. No. Not really. Independence was something Etienne craved. Something he needed more than blood or power or even love. He needed to be free of the shackles that sought to bind him. And that's what Melodious would be in the end- silken shackles to be sure, but shackles nevertheless. Etienne closed his eyes and let the Presence wash away from him. It was time to turn on his own, slow and subtle, like the gentle flame of a candle in a window. To make his words not feel like a rebuke.

Etienne let out a soft laugh, “My Lord Melodious, you are indeed a talented man.” He opened his eyes and grinned, “You nearly made me forget that I do not prefer the company of men over women. Ah, no doubt you would treat me sweetly, but being what I am and knowing what I need- I couldn't mix business and pleasure in such a manner. It would get messy, and I rather enjoy keeping my head on my shoulders.”

The Toreador had to chuckle in return. In a way, this was still very much a game to Melodious. He could see the way he had commanded the young man’s attention for just a split second. How he longed for something. But he could feel the young man responding with part of that game himself. In this sense, Presence was an exchange all its own, a currency that proved one’s worth and splendor. “Oh darling, I would treat you exquisitely. But I understand. Ventrue are so different.” He glanced at Harry, who seemed to be following Vasily, or sometimes leading the young Russian. “He would never. Too worried about ‘the common good’, the will of the people, blah blah blah.” He rolled his eyes. “All loves are selfish. A need to plant our own love of ourselves in the world. But if I cannot love you, then let me assist you.”

He took Etienne’s hand, his motion fluid and glinting in the chandelier light. “You want me to help you to find another Ventrue to work with you? Or do you wish for me to give you an audience with the Prince? Of course, anything I do for you, I’d ask for something small in return.”

Gears turned in Etienne’s head. He placed a thoughtful mask upon his face, though it was closer to his true thoughts than any other he has worn that night. “I see.” Etienne said at last. “That's why you didn't invite our darling Prince of Kent down here to begin with. You want to arrange it yourself. To have him see you for how useful you are, but also to indebt me to you, so that you might see just what it is I'm capable of. Perhaps to tie me to yourself.”

Etienne smiled a wide, knowing smile that had just a touch of the predator in it. “But I know something that many kindred my age haven't figured out just yet. I know the patience of the long centuries. I don't have to get you to bring me to them. They're already interested, aren't they? You invited a few of them on my name already I'd wager. And after the rest of them hear about the attention you've paid me this evening, how could they resist? You've done me a favour already, my Lord Melodious. Let me do you a small favour of my own.”

Boldly, Etienne looped his arm through Melodious’ and patted it. “Come. Show me off. Let's give them something to talk about. Even if our partnership goes no further than this evening, we can still paint you in quite the exquisite colour as the man who first brought Etienne Saint-Francis to high society. I shall never forget it, will you?”

A Toreador showed emotions as easily as he might have spread petals from a fallen rose, but even for a Toreador, Melodious’s glee was unmistakable. “You are a well-spoken young man. I would be more than delighted. After all, what is as good as romance except a good show?” He gladly took Etienne’s arm, and he looked around the room, as though he was trying to remember everyone he had invited. “Ah, the issue of having such a large guest list. Elise is such a bore with those men. Wallace might be here. Valle is…talking to your friend? Where would you like to start?”

“Tis your party.” Etienne said casually. “Who's tongue do you want wagging first?”

“Oh well, Valle’s Sire actually came, believe it or not.” He raised his brows and flashed his fangs. “Lord Burke, he’s almost my age. He’ll be less dour than Valle. Come along!” Melodious strode with him through the colorful crowd, through every shade of the rainbow, through fierce, glinting light that he could find. Eventually, they would find Lord Burke, who dressed in plush violet robes over his suit and smoked in the corner. Hopefully, they would find many more for the evening.

[Luminesa]

The Afterparty
November 13th/14th, 1888, Twilight
Melodious’s Estate, Kent

At Melodious’s residence, Fortuna had the most unfortunate task of the day: cleaning the mess left at her boss’s parties.

The mess was an untamed graveyard of excess. Shot glasses, wine goblets, champagne flutes, all of them glittered on the floor like spilled jewelry tossed around a huge ballroom. They were the first thing to catch her attention, and she had to stand and stare at them for a few moments to comprehend just how much she would have to clean. Again.

She started with sweeping away the broken glasses, which also came with the unyielding task of taking inventory for everything that had been broken. Just thirty minutes into her work, in which she was aided by two other young Ghouls, she found at least forty broken glasses, and then thirty-three broken dinner plates. The dinner plates had any matter of blood, Vitae, or fat staining the pieces, and those were only the ones in the living room. She hated lifting her head to gaze around the room, looking back at the Ghoul who was taking notes, and then noticing the feather boas, glitter, hats, and removed clothing sitting all around the couches and loveseats. As if her master’s opulent world had gained a new atmosphere, one of layers and layers of waste which layered high to the unshakeable heavens.

“We’re going to be here all day,” Fortuna murmured.

“And all night,” one of her compatriots added, as she scribbled more notes. “Lady Willis left that feather boa, I see.”

“Yes, and it looks like someone chewed on it.” The head Ghoul pointed to an article of clothing on the couch, which had once bloomed with peacock feathers from every inch of fabric. Now the feathers indeed were torn and even bloody. Someone had gone into a Frenzy and had started to feed on her, right near the spot on her neck where the boa would have hung.

“I always thought that sort of feeding was illegal unless it was sanctioned by an Elder.”

“Lady Willis is an Elder, that’s the problem. She has no real rules, except what the Prince has given her.”

The third Ghoul rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t count for much.”

“Do not speak of The Prince that way!” Fortuna quickly scolded the other Ghoul, before her eyes scanned the room to see if their Master had heard his insult of Nicholas. When the trio believed they were safe, Fortuna then continued. “We simply must clean. This will happen again in a few nights, if our Lord is to be believed.”

“Another party? Just like this?!”

“Yes. Just like this.” Fortuna spoke with resignation, as another young Ghoul ran into the room and grabbed her attention. Lady Elise had left a purse of her makeup in the bathroom, and had smeared a huge rose on the window with her lipstick. Her dress had also been lying in the bathroom as well, thousands of dollars of that beautiful silk. The head Ghoul rolled her eyes. “That’s not going to come off, and she’s not going to come back for it.”

Perhaps what had disturbed Fortuna the most about the event, as she moved from the living room to the dining room, was Melodious’s attraction to Etienne.

The young red-headed Neonate, the one who had tried to take Vasily from Etienne’s side, had run into the Toreador host not too long after Etienne had left the party. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” Melodious had scolded, though his voice had been far too smooth to be only a rebuke. “You have had so many eyes on you this evening, though I must say. Even if nobody else had noticed you, I did. And that’s two eyes too many for you, dear boy.”

The Neonate had said nothing. Fortuna had seen his silhouette in the dining room, the way he had bowed his head without so much as a muttered retort.

“You’ve embarrassed your Sire as well, I’m sure. And he couldn’t be much older than Harry. For goodness sakes.” A long shadow of an arm had reached for the young man, and had taken his chin. The head Ghoul had motioned for Lina-the young Ghoul standing next to her now-to move out of the dining room when she saw her sweeping. The sweeping could wait.

“Do you know, I was trying to take my chances with the young man you were antagonizing. And we can’t have that, can we?”

“No sir.” The Presence was so strong that it was seeping out of the dining room and into the hallway. Just Melodious’s voice had frozen the two women in place, both in awe and in horror. Nobody else had seemed to care. The dancing and the music had still been alive and well in the ballroom. Another Kindred was feeding on a Ghoul a few yards away. The world was still revolving.

“Exactly.” Now came the Toreador host’s growl, the teeth of his consonants. “Because I always will get what I want.”

In a moment, Melodious had taken the young Neonate close, and they had both “breathed” before the Toreador had whispered something in the younger man’s ear. He then had begun to feed, his silhouette strangely gentle in the light of the hallway. Fortuna had wanted so much to close her eyes and to run away, but she heard the younger man mutter Melodious’s name to bring him to a pause.

“Yes, dear?” The Toreador paused his feeding, his voice heavy with persistent hunger.

“If I’m…not him…why do you still want me?” The youthful Kindred was practically on the verge of sobs from The Kiss.

He never got his answer.

Catching her breath in her throat, Fortuna silenced her mind for a second and started into the dining room. Vitae, now browned with time, had splashed all over the dark-pink carpet. It was a hideous stain, a moment’s pleasure gone, and the smell of iron was almost too much to bear.

“Lina, get Georg. We’re going to have to clean this one together.”

“Mhm.” Lina nodded and ran down the hall to find the other Ghoul.

In the room alone, Fortuna had seen him. Melodious, covered in Vitae and viscera. He had been smiling, adjusting his collar before his head Ghoul had appeared. She could not even find the young man from whom he had fed, until she had realized with horror that the man was on him.

“You look so afraid, my darling.” His grin had grown even wider, and he had wiped what looked like tissue off his feathery pink shoulder.

“Ah…ah…”

“You’ll have to forgive me just this once for the rather sloppy midnight snack, Fortuna. I was feeling rather…scorned.”

For a moment, Fortuna had come to her senses just enough to challenge her Master. “I thought you were fine with Etienne not actually courting you! I saw you!”

“You saw me. You did not know what I sacrificed to play the role. My wants and needs are absolute, darling, and I gave away that authority to assist this young Kindred in his own goals! Does that sound like my usual self?”

“Not unless you’re getting something from it.”

“Exactly! Pleasure, food, money, any of those things!”

Fortuna had raised a very skeptical brow. “Did you not get pleasure like you said you did?”

“Oh I did. But I want more. I always want more.” His eyes had glowed red at that moment, and he had eyed another young Kindred walking behind his head Ghoul. A young woman, dressed in a sapphire-blue gown and wearing her hair high in brunette curls. “Always.”

She had shuddered at that look. That hunger to which he submitted so freely, so easily. He had decided to end the conversation there, moving past Fortuna to go get what he wanted down the hall.

On the evening of the 14th, long past the cleaning of the mansion, Melodious was still asleep in his bed early into the sunset hours. His arms were wrapped around the same woman with brunette curls. He had decided to keep her for a little longer than the young man. After all, she had a sweet, docile personality which allowed her to just follow the orders around her without too many questions.

Then a knock came to the door, and the Toreador’s ears perked. He opened his eyes, alert but unwilling to move.

“It’s just me, Fortuna.”

“Come in, my darling.”

The head Ghoul had slipped into the room, only for her eyes to dim at the shameless display in front of her. “You’ve been with her all this time?”

“The poor dear fell asleep! Or perhaps I drank too heavily. She’s quite alright, either way.” Melodious pulled himself into a sitting position, careful to whisper and to let the younger Kindred sleep.

“She couldn’t be more than 50, Melodious, she needs to go home!”

The Toreador tilted his head dangerously. “Why?”

“B…” Fortuna felt her tongue caught in her throat, but she charged onward. “Because you can’t just keep her, her Sire is probably looking for her!”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because her Sire was at the stupid party I just spent twelve hours cleaning!”

Melodious frowned. “Oh dear. Well. I’m sure her Sire will understand. I’ll even apologize, if she needs me to.”

“Can she even get out the bed?!”

The Toreador gave a small grin, and he leaned over to tap the young Kindred on her shoulder. “Millie, my sweetheart. Millie?”

Millie blinked her eyes, and she sat upright in a slow, dreamlike state. She was much paler now than she had been twelve hours ago, but she was recovering nonetheless. She had enough awareness to cover herself with the bedsheets, when she saw Fortuna’s judging stare at her Master. “S-Sir?”

“My dear girl, you have to go home now.”

The young Kindred’s eyes widened. “Do I have to? I…I was comfortable!”

His grin stretched a little more. “My poor, worried Ghoul wants to make sure you arrive safely home. And she might be in need of some attention herself.”

Millie’s expression switched from confusion to clarity, and then to jealousy at the Ghoul, whose own face was now split between indignation and shock.

“What?”

“You heard me. Please hand me my robes, and I will get this poor girl a carriage.”

The head Ghoul did as she was asked, dodging both of their eyes as she hurried to get the robe, and something to cover Millie. A carriage came about thirty minutes later, after quite a lot of cold, awkward waiting. But Millie left without too much more of a word, and as soon as Melodious saw her away, his tall, graceful figure turned back toward the inside of his manor. He glided back indoors, and he caught his head Ghoul standing in the corner of the living room, trying to make herself small.

“Fortuna?”

“Uh?”

“Courage, my dear, you know I’m not angry with you.” He walked toward her, a more doting smile on his face. “I could never stay angry at you.”

She gazed at him with a wary expression, but she was not immune to Presence. When she felt it, like a mist filling the room, her expression flinched in just the slightest.

“Fortuna…” He held her cheeks in his hands, drawing her close and fawning over her facial features. “You’ve always been my better half, sweetie. But sometimes you doubt my intentions, and I wish you wouldn’t. You know what I need, at this point in my life, don’t you?”

She could not help but nod.

“Of course you do. And so, I think you need a reminder to trust me.” He took a free hand, and as he kept his eyes on her, he bit into his palm before holding it toward her. “Drink, Fortuna.”

Her eyes grew huge. A shudder moved through her, as she seemed to remember a select row of memories from not too long ago. How she had been afraid, and then in a second had felt nothing but elation. The change frightened her more rational mind. But his Vitae was sweet, and he had a warm, patient gaze for her. After a moment’s hesitation, she drank.

Just as she had remembered the first time, her scruples vanished and her mind became clear. When she gazed up at him, her mind then filled with the image of him. Melodious was already beautiful before she had ever drank from him. Now he was glowing, astonishingly gorgeous, wrapping her in an embrace and smiling proudly at her. “Good girl. No more fears, hm? Do you trust me?”

“Yessir.” She whispered back, her heart racing. “Yessir, I do.”

“Perfect. And so you will help me to get my claws around Etienne Saint-Francis.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Splendid, darling. Absolutely splendid.” He breathed the words in her ear, and she felt nothing else. The thinking part of her mourned what she had become, how it had fallen into silence, unable to scream at how Melodious could pull her back to him with a single kiss. And kiss her he did, as though he really loved her.

But his mind was elsewhere, on plans of eternity and hereafter.

[Oblivion2]

The Twilight’s Glow - A collab between Luminesa and Oblivion2
November 13th/14th, 1888
Etienne’s Apartment

The letter had come later in the night, assuring Sigrid that Etienne was well. She was glad to read the news, and she gave a deep sigh as she looked around the otherwise quiet home. The clock pointed out that the time was definitely after two o’clock, and she was surprised that she had been able to summon herself to reach the letter. Then again, she had not been able to sleep well. She slept in increments, and when she was awake she read one of her new books-on Italian, as she wanted to learn with Tabitha-or she sewed her dress. Some new lace details she was adding, details which required long, careful, delicate stitches.

But neither activity had helped her to sleep, though they had temporarily drawn her focus elsewhere. She had been worried, even as she had told herself to just rest. He would be back. She knew he would be. But she did not know how he would return.

And so the letter was a relief. Just a few more hours, and he would find himself home and well. For now, she needed to relax. “Huhhh…Vasily did take good care of him.” With the sigh and comment, she looked toward the drawn curtains in the living room. The dim glow of the night sky through the thick fabric. How she had come to love the night.

Hanael seemed to love the night as well, though for other reasons. The lights of the chandelier seemed to glint more brightly as she stood reading the letter, and then as she stared out the window. Maybe the Angel saw her siblings, those above in the presence of the Beatific Vision, and her thoughts had mingled with those of Sigrid’s. The Promethean could feel the odd sensation, the dichotomy in her mind. Floating, singing, bodiless beings at one moment, and then Etienne’s cold, gentle arms around her in the other.

After standing in a daze and holding the letter for a few minutes, she seemed to jolt herself back to the present. “What should I give Vasily as a gift?” She asked nobody in particular, though her Angel always seemed to be listening.

“The suit he was wearing seemed quite uncomfortable.”

Hanael spoke in her soft, thoughtful manner. Sigrid smiled to herself at the sound, like wind chimes to a fiery soul. “New dress shirt?”

“And a new tie. Maybe one or two.”

“Are you interested in human fashion, Hanael?”

“You dress very beautifully, I believe I’ve told you before. But he should not pity himself so much. There is more to him. There is more life to all of you.”

“To Etienne as well?”

The Angel paused, not in a negative way, but to think of her answer. “There is the life that all of you choose, and the longest life is the one chosen with the most care.”

Sigrid continued to stand in silence once again, gazing down at the letter and at Etienne’s penmanship. She wondered who had watched him during the night, who had spoken to him, who had tried to search his heart. None could search him the way she could.

“Sigrid?”

“Mm?” She jolted to attention once again, and noticed that the lights in the sky were moving. The moon was before her, high above the city.

“It is continuing to get late. You must go to bed.”

“I…I should.”

She would put the letter away, in a little wooden box which was hers for keepsakes, and then shuffle back to bed. The shadows followed her, as her slight, pretty presence brought light into the dark apartment.

***
It was evening the following day when Etienne returned. He would have to make his apologies to Sigrid, but self-preservation and a touch of paranoia had meant he needed to stay somewhere that wasn't home. The last thing he needed was a ghoul or a mortal servant of some vampire snooping about the place. Now, if they followed Vasily to his place, whatever magical defense he and Wayland could concoct would keep the Russian mage pretty safe, or even alert him to spies.

Etienne had mentioned as much to Vasily on their return trip, and while he wasn't happy, he agreed that it was one of the better ways to keep Sigrid out of things. This naturally led Etienne back through the maze of just what the hell he’d do regarding the whole situation. More and more it seemed like the best thing he could do for Sigrid was to help her return to mortality and then have her forget him. It was safest. Most decent. It didn't mean Etienne liked it at all.

Stepping up to the little landing, Etienne slid his key into the lock of the door and stepped inside. “Sigrid?” He called, hanging up his jacket. “Porter? I'm back!”

The Ventrue could feel that life had moved back and forth in the house. A couple of books were on the couch. Lacy fabrics were on the kitchen table, a much bigger space than Sigrid’s bedroom table. Dishes were washed and cleaned for the evening, but there had been at least two teacups. She had been awake, keeping herself busy, keeping herself relaxed. But now all was quiet, unmoving. Porter might respond, but Sigrid did not immediately appear.

The ghoul wasn't there on first inspection. Sigrid could be out at this point in the evening, but it wasn't typically how she did things. Perhaps she'd gone to tutor Tabitha and stayed for a late dinner. The Frenchman would grunt and begin to look around the flat for signs that Sigrid was out, or perhaps even asleep in her room.

As the Ventrue began to search, he would not find her in her room or the bathroom. All silent. As he walked toward his own room, however, he did hear soft breathing. Inside, the Promethean woman was asleep in his bed.

Etienne smiled softly, shutting the door behind himself and slipping out of his now wrinkled party clothes. Clad in only the essentials, he gently lifted the covers and slipped into the bed beside his lover, pressing a soft kiss upon her brow.

She stirred just a little, nudging her head as she came to. Her hair still laid long and pretty around her shoulders and face, and her eyes sparkled as she awakened and stared at Etienne for a long minute. “Hello, dear,” she murmured, glad to see him. “How was your trip?”

“Wretched.” He complains, though half in jest. “Truly, I’ve never seen such a vulgar display of wealth and power in my life. But I think it'll be worth it.” He shuffles in next to her, though his body was cold rather than filled with the heat of the false life he sometimes pretends to carry. “Sorry for making you wait a day and a night. I thought it best to obfuscate my movements from any overly curious eyes. Did I miss anything while I was gone?”

“I got your letter, and I suppose I am still waiting for a response from my mother.” She leaned a little more against his arm, watching the private way he gazed down at her. “I do not know when she will respond, or if she will do so with any acceptance. As for what has happened here, I’ve been keeping myself busy, I suppose. Tabitha wanted to continue learning Italian from Dante and some other books, so I’ve started teaching myself along with her.” Her smile glittered a little more at the idea. Something sweet and fanciful. “And just my work on my little project as always. Porter and I had tea this evening, and I’ve been trying to help him to practice reading again. I don’t want him to be discouraged.” She reached a hand to hold Etienne’s cheek. “How was Melodious? Did you get what you wanted from him?”

“Melodious is…” Etienne frowned as he looked for the words. “Parts of me want to like him- truly. He's a skillful player of the game, and his Presence is magnetic. But there are parts of him that I find so reprehensible. The excess… how he uses his pretty little maidservants like dolls on strings. I don't think I shall look to him for patronage. But he introduced me to some of the players in the area. Others will no doubt have heard of my appearance and the seekers will come to feel me out. Still… I shall have to be cordial with him. He wants me, I think. Both for what I could do to his prestige and for… whatever attracts him to me. I don't know. What I do know is I made the right choice in not bringing you, even if I hated the idea of leaving you behind.”

Attraction. She knew he would not leave her for someone as strange as Melodious, but she did find the idea concerning. Etienne had to weigh unwanted attention with his own goals, and she mostly had to watch. “He didn’t…try to hurt you any, did he?” Of course, she wanted to say a slightly different word than “hurt”, but it did not come to her lips.

“No, he didn't try to force himself on me.” Etienne said, dealing directly with her hidden worry. “I think he suspects that would be a bad idea, and I let him know in no uncertain terms that my interest lays only in women. Besides… Vasily would have burnt down the whole mansion if it happened. That boy might seem harmless, but he's got the Russian winter in him.”

“I was glad when I got the letter, but I feel even better hearing it directly from you. You of course know that men that powerful will try anything.” She still thought about the mansion, whatever Etienne had seen. “What other sorts of people were there?”

“Oh god, you could take a census diagram of all the upper and middle class in London based on who was there. Brujah delegations, artists, posts, nobles, visiting foreigners. It was almost more menagerie than party.” Etienne explained as the sights of the evening rolled by in his minds eye. “Half the guests were so garishly dressed- more than a few took a shine to Vasily too. Between you and I, I think he enjoyed the attention once I showed him the secret of punting off the unwanted attention. He even took a run at lady Elise-the lady from the Savoy.”

“Oh no, not her. She would be too fierce for him.” Her eyes widened with a little teasing. “And I’m sure she was being chased by more men this evening as well. Goodness. But I’m sure Vasily enjoyed being able to be the star just a little. And then of course you were the star. But you are also exhausted. I can see it in your face, my dear.” She paused to reach for a curl behind his ear, to toy with it between her fingertips. “I know you didn’t want me there…but I would have enjoyed being with you, darling.”

“I know you would have… but you're here now. Or rather I’m here now.” Etienne would say with a soft sigh. “It was… probably not a good place for me to bring you. Too much politics and power can make the head swim.”

Sigrid continued to smile softly, interlacing her fingers of her free hand with his. Etienne lonely in a crowd was a melancholy image, one she pondered often. The idea of catching him staring into the distance, being caught in his thoughts until something or someone summoned him back to the living world, was an oddly romantic one. “So who will you be meeting with next?”

“Hopefully a few Ventrue.” He says with the slightest threat of a smile. “Melodious is dangerous in the way any with powerful obsessions are. Ventrue can be no less obsessed but they are rules and forms of address and niceties that are seldom broken. It's… safer in some ways.”

She nodded, though she had a hint of worry in her eyes. “Especially since you will probably also have to see Melodious again. I’m just concerned that he will try to hurt you.”

“It's possible.” Etienne admits. “If his obsession with me runs deep enough, he may destroy me rather than allow anyone else to have me. Elders at times can be petulant when their games are disturbed- few more so than the Toreador. I have to mind my steps with him. Decide if his favour is worth it or not.” He takes Sigrid’s hand and presses his cold, dead lips against the back of it. “This is the world I am trying to protect you from. It's not a kind one.”

Sigrid shivered at the thought, but also at the way her lover drew so close every time. “I know. But if it helps in any way, As for me, I learned something that Melodious loves, something from which you can maybe take some leverage.”

“Oh, words I so love hearing spoken.” He says with a soft laugh, pressing closer to Sigrid. “Ok, go on. Talk politics to me.”

She blushed as his attention was perked, and she thought about what she had learned. “It is probably not surprising that a Toreador would like fine art, but it seems that Christie’s, the auction house, would be a place to find some of his dearest connections.” As she remembered her interactions there, she raised her eyebrows a little. That stained glass window she had seen was still on her mind. “And more specifically, the items he covets the most are a group of stained glass windows being kept there in a private collection. They’re from old castles, churches, and nobles’ homes, and they’re quite priceless. And beautiful.”

“That is interesting.” The Frenchman muses, “But I'm not certain how I can use it to my advantage at all. If I threaten the gallery, it wouldn't go over well. At best I could maybe arrange for someone to steal a piece of two and then have them returned for some sort of reward or notoriety. Either way, I'm not really certain how to make that work for me.”

“Perhaps if you found something new to add to the collection and bought it, and then held it for him to have if only he did something in return?” Sigrid suggested.

“I have money, Sigrid.” He says thoughtfully, “But much of it is tied up in investments. I have to be careful how I manage it presently. I'm not sure I could get my hands on the sort of thing Melodious might be interested in. Not easily anyway. It would mean pony trading- in favours or services or other similarly interesting goods. The best thing I have is my coat, and I'm not about to trade that away… I don't know. I'll have to think on it.”

Sigrid’s eyes looked away at the curtain, as though she was trying to see something beyond them in the night. “Hm. Well, if that doesn’t work, there must be something else he wants quite badly. And anyway, it’s a good way to determine who else might be close in his network. Aside from other Toreadors and the Prince, who else might be his allies. Then again, I would guess that most of the opera houses and music halls in Kent probably have his patronage as well.”

“Or there's a few that are holding out on him.” Etienne would say thoughtfully. “Maybe he has a rival somewhere… someone I can play him againstor help him with. It stands to reason.”

“He must, someone who would also vie for the same riches or the same people he wants.” She looked back to him, her eyes gentle despite the less-than-gentle topic. “Was there anyone at the party who stood out to you as someone he might consider a rival?”

“I was too distracted to really get a chance to look.” Etienne admits. “Besides, that's not something one does in front of the host of a party. I'll have to make inquires- quietly.”

“He might just tell you if you ask him, or he might not, if he believes it would be revealing a vulnerability. But maybe some of the friends you’ve made would know.” She ran a hand through his hair as she suggested her idea. “But if he likes you that much, who knows. You might be able to just…manipulate it out of him.” She could not decide between “manipulate” or “tease”, and she was not sure she liked either word. But such was politics in Etienne’s world.

“You mean tease.” Etienne says, patting Sigrid’s hand. “The word you're after is tease. He likes being teased- I think it's because he's used to doing the teasing and then the taking.” He waves that away with his free hand. “But enough of politics for the night. You were going to cuddle up to me until you fell back asleep.”

“Very well then.” She rested her head against his chest and smiled contentedly. Her long wavy hair tickled under his chin and around his back, and the quiet flame under her skin warmed her. “I thought I would share some of what I had found, whether or not you could immediately use that information. But now you’re here, away from that world and in my arms. None of them can keep you the way I can.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way.” He says fondly, craning his neck to press a kiss upon the top of her head. “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

[Luminesa]

Co-Write Between Lumi and Oblivion 2

Valle’s Old Flame
November 15th, 1888, Night
Chapel Down, Tenterden, Kent

Lord Thomas Valle was as much of a wine-drinker as any wealthy mortal, but drinking wine was not enough for him. He had to have his wines made in a particular place in Kent, one in which he had his stocks and his partnerships in the British wine industry well-kept. Lord Burke had taught him how to manage his partnership with such a business as Chapel Down, one of the most famous vineyards in all of England. Now he could possibly form a working relationship with this upstart from London-or from wherever he was supposedly from.

With a knit indigo vest over a looser dress shirt and indigo slacks, he was dressed semi-formally this evening, as he needed to look both like an authority and like an approachable fellow Ventrue. Then again, Ventrue oftentimes were not approachable at all. But he was not sure if the young man who had been on Melodious’s arm had been intimidated by him. The young Kine he had brought with him certainly had been an experience. For now, he stood at the entrance of the vineyard with a maid, who unlike Melodious’s own servants dressed modestly and waited with a small smile on her face for the younger Ventrue to show.

“Seven o’clock on the dot, he better be here,” Valle sighed as he stroked his beard and mustache and twirled his cane under his hand.

“Come now, my Lord…” Etienne would say, appearing as though by magic only a handful of paces from the Elder Ventrue. It wasn't magic of course, but merely a trick of his wonderfully enchanted jacket. The truth was he had arrived twenty minutes earlier, using his coat to blend in with the servants and make his way through the vineyard to the main entrance to make this little trick a reality. It was important to Etienne to maintain an image and an atmosphere of impeccable ability. “Who would dare be late for a meeting with your honourable personage? Certainly not some young upstart.”

Etienne bowed gravely, despite his jaunty words, showing the man all the respect that his station deserves. “Etienne Saint-Francis, my Lord Valle, pleased to finally meet your acquaintance.” He was clad in a dress shirt of his own, complete with ruffles and cravat of deepest maroon, as well as black slacks and shoes. His jacket he kept draped over his arm with his walking stick.

“Ah! Wonderful. And with plenty of spry in your step, excellent.” The man twisted his cane under his hands a little more, and smiled under his neatly-trimmed mustache. He then also nodded to his maid servant. “This is Ella, she will be out and about this evening, please do not mind her. She’s often almost as busy as I am, scurrying around.”

The young lady with curly black hair and her long, grey dress curtsied and nodded. “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Lord Valle nodded his approval to her, and then looked at Etienne. “We’ll just be walking around the path of the vineyard, if that’s fine by you, Mr. Saint-Francis. I’m not particularly good at sitting in one place, especially not when there is so much to discuss.”

Etienne bowed right back at the young woman before standing upright once more. He favoured her with a smile before turning his attention to her master. “I rather enjoy a moonlit stroll, my Lord. I would be delighted.”

“Good! After all, you’re quite young, I would expect you to have plenty of energy.”

The Lord Valle started forward into the orchard, which was vast and richly green. Now was near the end of the harvest season, but workers would still be quite busy in the morning. For now, Ella was the only other pair of feet moving through the orchard, aside from the two quiet Ventrue.

“I must ask, I know you were invited by Lord Melodious to his manor, but I would not have expected to see you on his arm so soon. Harry mentioned that to me and I was curious. I’m an old man, so I have to presume there is at least something of a catch.” The Elder spoke the way that only Ventrue appreciated and understood, earnest and straightforward. But he did have a hint of mischief in his sparkling brown eyes, as though he was eager to hear of any trickery that might have been afoot.

Etienne can't help but laugh lightly. “If you can keep things between you and I, my lord, just a touch of mischief.” He gestured back towards the entrance as his feet crunch along the gravel path. “Much like back there, for which I am deeply apologetic if I overreached. You see, I may be young, but I understand that my betters hear so much talk but so seldom do they get to see the proof. I wanted to show to you that I am clever and capable. In Lord Melodious’ case, I wanted him to know that I understood that appearances can often be as powerful as the real thing. He wanted a show, and to all who witnessed, they saw the show. It was, however, merely the appearance of a show. I've not aligned myself with him, romantically or otherwise. But the rumors will spread and he’ll benefit from them, and I might also. Did they not help me secure this little conversation with you?”

“Oh they most certainly did. It helped for me to get a good look at you, because before then I had only heard about you from Harry. About your…exploits?” He raised a brow, not in a judgmental manner, but rather as though he was searching for the word. “Depending on who’s talked, you’re either a firestarter, some sort of young rogue taking the Clan’s future into your hands, or a champion of the Camarilla for killing that Mage. I have a right mind to think that the truth is somewhere in the middle, and based on your explanation, that seems to be correct, hm?”

“Well… Like appearances, stories are powerful things.” Etienne hedged, looking thoughtful as he walked with the man. “I've heard some of the stories they tell about your youth, sir. Your naval career was surely very interesting. Are you asking me how my story actually goes? That sort of information doesn't come cheaply, I'm afraid. Especially if you're the first at Court to have it.”

“Ah, I don’t need all of the spicy details. Not necessarily at the moment, anyway. What I do want to let you know, though I’m sure you’ve probably understood, is that Melodious is head over heels for you.” He stared down at his cane with something between amusement and exasperation, and he gave a deep sigh. One could not genuinely be angry in a place as beautiful as Chapel Down, so he kept his stronger feelings close. Even so, as an Elder many of those feelings were not so easily hidden. “I watched him at the party and how he looked for you. Harry did not like it, and I found it suspicious.”

“Ah, so my suspicions are probably on the mark then.” Etienne would murmur. “Well that is both good news and bad all at the same time. It means he may be inclined to give me what I wanted, but on the other hand he may be dangerous to spurn. A pickle, to be sure.”

“Yes, indeed.” His brows flashed as he looked up at the moon hanging in the sky above. “Though how badly that goes depends on how smoothly you handle the matter, of course. You survived one night, so that’s a start. Especially since you’re so young.” His eyes hung toward Etienne with both some gravity and some surprise. “How else are you planning to curry his favor? I figured that since you are here talking to me, you are interested in my offer to work with me, but I know Melodious is a man who has to be kept…sated.”

“Again, respectfully my lord, I plan on at least entertaining most offers I get.” He admits, seeing no reason to lie to the man. In fact, Etienne suspected he enjoyed the Frenchman’s calculated boldness. “The appearance and all that. I have a few ideas for Lord Melodious; showing up for a few more of his parties, indulging in his love of the arts, perhaps one of his rivals would like to see me and I can sell the information I learn back to Melodious.” He pauses and gives the man a significant look, “Of course I could also give information on Melodious to his rivals at court if I feel my time with him is at its end. It's all very mercenary, but that's how it must be without sponsor or sire to help me with my good name.”

“Well, if you’re looking to sell information back to Melodious, I would hope it wouldn’t be from me. We haven’t been on the best of terms since…a falling-out about twenty years ago.” He shrugged. “Others like Elise might be better. Elise and Melodious might be on the same clan, but they’re not quite friends. As for indulging the arts, there’s plenty I can recommend, but did you want any specific art to gift him?”

“I'm given to understand he keeps a gallery of treasured art quite close to his heart.” Etienne would say conversationally. “I would likely see about getting him something to add to that if I were to go that route at all.”

“Mm. Stained glass, framed art, sculptures, he really does have everything. You’ll want it to be something old, and something very dramatic, obviously. There’s some pieces he’s been fighting to get from the British Museum, but also some collections of stained glass he’s after at Christie’s. I’m sure you’re aware of that if you’ve been doing your research.” He rolled his eyes toward the moon. “He will fight with anyone to have whatever it is he wants, especially ancient artwork, even if he doesn’t have any authority to claim it.”

“That sounds about correct. Is that not really our way when all is said and done?” Etienne would ask thoughtfully. “We are, after all, competitiveness unbound by mortality.”

“That’s quite true, but Melodious is a certain kind of greedy. Elise could tell you all about that.”

Valle stopped on the path, looking over at the hill as though he was waiting for something to bloom. His stillness was strange in the moonlight, with no raising of the shoulders or of his chest. But to Etienne, his tall sailor’s posture was as natural as anything else. “You have to keep an eye on him in the same way, in case he wants to take something from you. Like your silly Russian friend.” He turned slightly to Etienne, pivoting his wrist on his cane. “You don’t have anything else he would be after, would you?”

“Many things.” Etienne said honestly. “Many of which set me apart from Kindred of my age. What those things are, who could say?” He gives the man a gallic shrug of such casual nonchalance, it wouldn't even seem like he was at all bothered by the question. “The question is, Lord Valle, what is it that you want from me? The rumors that you are out of the game are quite false, I think. I'm more inclined to believe you are biding your time. Waiting for something.”

The older Ventrue gave a scoff and a laugh. “If I was out of the game, why would have stock in a vineyard of this size?” He motioned to the vast fields of grapes around him. “Oh no, it’s just as you have said. I’m waiting to see how Melodious and Elise will respond to your decisions. They’re a couple of sharks, the two of them, and God knows what else is waiting to try and pull you under the current. What do I want?”

He pulled his cane into his hands and held it horizontally. “If you can get any piece of artwork he would be interested in, and get it to my possession, we will have a way to make sure he backs away and will give you the freedom to choose that you would like to have. Does not have to necessarily be the most expensive thing you can find. But it does have to be exotic. Now, what else I would want from you that doesn’t involve Melodious? I want for you to give me, specifically, the reports on Mr. Wilcox.”

Etienne laughs softly at the request, as if caught entirely unexpected. “You mean to tell me that the actual contents of the report haven't leaked out by now?”

“Well, yes and no.” He frowned a little more, as he was caught in his thoughts. “Harry managed to get some of the information because of his proximity to Mithras, being in the London Court and all. But I’m not. And as much as Harry and I get along, we both figured that for the sake of the Clan we would be careful about giving it to the Court of Kent. Nicholas is…not as powerful as Mithras, but nearly as volatile. I want it so that I may have a copy of it on hand, in case the Court of Kent asks. If you’re able to complete getting the artwork, and I’m able to spin the story a little more in your favor, then Clan Ventrue benefits both for you and for all of us. We have to keep the Toreadors at bay, because they want everything. And you see, I did know Wilcox, though I was not his closest associate.”

Etienne raised an eyebrow at that. A struggle for power between Toreador and Ventrue couldn't go well at all. The Toreador would overreach and be brutally quashed by the Ventrue, awakening both in the long run. He had no doubts that Mithras would do just that in order to see any challenge to the Order he has set absolutely crushed.

Still, Etienne could sense the cogs moving around him, and he knew that Valle wasn't perfectly his friend. He's been honest so far, but what comes next would require trust. A dangerous proposition. Valle doubted that Etienne had killed Wilcox himself, and rightfully so. It wasn't exactly something such a young kindred should be capable of. But he needed to be sure before he confirmed the man’s thoughts.

“Did you know my Sire?” Etienne would ask, almost as an aside.

“Your Sire?” Valle pondered for a moment. “I heard from Harry that it was Torres.” He winced a little, and shook his head. “Aside from the name, I know that I’m quite grateful for my own Sire. And I would not blame you for wanting to have your freedom from him. But apart from that, you came as a shock to most of us.”

“Guillermo is a creature of raw ambition. Intense control. Shocking cruelty.” Etienne said with no particular inflection. “A being that does what he does because he sees everything as rightfully his. Sound familiar?”

Etienne would reach into the jacket draped over his arm and pull a legal sized envelope from the folds within, offering it to Valle. “The report. Unabridged and unedited. You'll see that I did not kill Wilcox myself, but I maneuvered others to do it for me as he was a danger to not only us but others as well. I had to minimize our exposure. If he was your friend, you have my condolences.” The report of course, would only mention those known within the community of mages in London, leaving any mention of Sigrid out as well as the secrets he had been made privy to regarding her creation.

“I give this to you out of good-will. I'm more than willing to use others to advance my personal standing, but I shall -always- stand with Clan Ventrue when it comes to braving the storm. Without us, the entirety of the Masquerade fails. This is your counterweight against Toreador overreach, and I expect you'll do right by me by not using it without due cause.”

“Of course.” He put it in his jacket and smiled once again. “I must say, if you’ve already been able to get other people to handle the dirty work of killing a man like that, at your young age, I’m curious to see what you’ll be like when you’re my age. No shame in it, at least not among our kind. The Toreadors might find it distasteful, or at least not dramatic enough for their liking. But ah, Jack Wilcox lied about much of his life.”

He tapped the folder with a free hand in his coat. “I want this in order to determine what exactly he was hiding, and whether or not any of his estate can be salvaged. If the Consilium finds whatever documents or studies he’s been hiding, it will be a nightmare for you and for anyone else who’s been around him. And that is something that need not be your concern, given you’ve done so much of the heavy lifting. And you’re about to be doing more.”

“The Consilium has a headstart.” Etienne explains. “Much has likely already ended up in their possession- Mages move quickly, as you know. Maybe that will help you, but then again, it might not.”

Etienne would reach into his jacket once more and retrieve his pipe. “Do you mind if I…?” He trailed off, not wanting the elder to think he was about to attempt to immolate him or anything.

“Not a problem. Harry was smoking a pipe as though he was a freight train, what with the way he was explaining everything to me.” He chuckled and shook his head. “But yes, I knew that man well. We were in the Navy together, though he was much younger than me. Jack Wilcox changed his legal name three times. On the third time, he made it his Mage name, the name you know now. Probably the name on his marriage certificate as well, I would imagine.” He watched Ella’s shadow scurrying through the fields in the distance, and looked thoughtfully at Etienne. “How has his wife been handling everything?”

Etienne took a moment lighting up his pipe, noting mentally that Sir Harry also seemed not to fear the concept of a small flame. He also needed a moment to figure out just what he would tell Valle about Marianne Wilcox.

He turned to give Valle a long, searching look, his thick brows furrowed in thought. “She's taking the concept of her husband having become a thing she despises as well as one can. She cooperated with my plan in the end, though it hurt her to do so.”

Etienne would pause, puff on his pipe and exhale the sweet tobacco smoke. “I think she would appreciate your visit, if you intended to slowly press your suit once more, my lord.” A guess, but an educated one.

Valle raised his brows, taking a moment to think about the way Etienne had curved his words. He then sighed deeply. “I would almost ask for the pipe, but I don’t trust myself with fire. Then again, I trusted myself with boats full of raucous men, which is arguably much worse.” He shook his head and turned away, keeping the spark out of his eyes. “I would hope it would not alarm her to see me. Her husband hadn’t seen me in the last month before he had died, and I think I did the right thing by keeping away. Too many alarms get raised if there’s more than one Ventrue in a room at a time. But yes…he hid himself so well that not even his own dear wife could have known he was secretly a wretch.”

He looked almost mournful of the fact, though he did not elaborate. “Which is why I’m not entirely sure about everything he hid from the rest of the world, or what died with him. If it’s property-books, clothes, Magical items-those can be bargaining chips with the rest of the clan. Especially Tremere.”

Etienne chose not to comment about Marianne, showing more than a little tact. He puffed silently before continuing, “I won't be much help to you regarding anything with Clan Tremere. Bad blood between my Sire and the few notable Tremere that call London home, I don't know much about it, but I don't see me meeting any of them going well.” He waves that away dismissively.

“No, let us get back to the matter of Melodious. I'm going to make sure I heard what you didn't say accurately- you would like me to spy on him for you. To help you confound him in the name of averting any power play he might make against Clan Ventrue. What I would like to know is who asked you to put me in play in this manner. If I am to be somebody’s rook, I think it only fair I know who is pulling my strings.”

“My Sire made the suggestion,” Valle admitted freely, “Lord Burke was impressed by the way you handled him, and Melodious is about a hundred years older than I am. He and Burke have known each other for much longer than I have. But he won’t bother you directly. I make the suggestion to you because I think it will benefit both of us, if we play our cards right. And if we keep Melodious properly contained. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Only if Lord Burke doesn't sacrifice me in the end to placate Melodious’ temper.” Etienne said softly, understanding finally that this had all been an interview of sorts. “But I suppose even that tis better than being Melodious’ whore and being discarded or even broken once he tires of me. If there's one thing I abhor, it's people feeling as if they have any right to grow tired of me.”

Etienne puffed long and quietly on his pipe before exhaling and putting it out. “Very well, Lord Valle. I shall be your agent in this. But I expect to be suitably compensated. I may very well have to flee London when this is all over. I shall devise a method of getting information to you quietly, as well as going forward with this little art scheme of yours. What I want in return is access to the higher echelons of court, as much protection as you can grant me without blowing our little charade, and whatever boons that you and your Sire see fit to grant me. For this, I shall gladly be an agent of clan Ventrue.”

“Oh I doubt he would sacrifice you to Melodious of all people. Especially not if I’m the one putting you under my wing.” He grinned knowingly. “My Sire knows better than to make his 200-year-old Childer angry. Besides, if he wants to kill Sir Fisher for whatever reason, he’ll do it himself and make sure you get out of London. But that’s nothing to worry about now. I think we’ll have a grand old time, and in return I can possibly get you an audience with the Prince.”

“You turn possibly into most likely, and you've got a deal.” Etienne says, turning his tone into one of gentle mocking. “My lord, I may be young but I know my worth and I'm worth the same as one twice my age at the very least.”

“Likely it is then.” He held out his hand. “It’ll take me a couple of days, but it’ll be worth the pain, I think.”

Etienne clasped the Elder's hand and pumped once before returning it to his side. “I can wait. It'll take more than a few days to get anywhere with Melodious. Going any faster is going to be certain suicide.”

“Works for me. Enough time for me to let my Sire know of your decision, and enough time for me to read this report. If we have any bumps in the road, we’ll have to deal with them quickly.” He smiled a little more broadly, and then caught Ella as she was rushing past them. “Ah, Ella! My dear, can you bring us a glass? Wine, please, the least I can offer him is a part of the vine. Unless you’d prefer something else?” He raised a brow back at the younger Ventrue, and his maidservant waited with big, doe-like eyes nearby.

“No, wine sounds lovely. I've seldom had an opportunity to sample a product so close to its origin.” Etienne admits with a laugh. “A Cabernet-sauvignon, if you've got one you consider worthy.”

“I’ve got just the thing. Ella!” He nodded to Ella, and she ran away toward the manor somewhere in the distance. She almost ran like a squirrel, though with much more grace as she vanished into the night. “Hmmm. Yes, that stained glass collection might be a start. Unless you have something even more unique in mind.”

“Perhaps…” Etienne said thoughtfully. “I've got a few friends in France, and I think there might be a way to get my hands on some current work from a master artist who might tickle Melodious pink.”

[Luminesa]

Autumn Studies
November 14th, 1888, Day
Von Achthoven Residence, London

Every day, Sigrid found her routine pierced by the sharp lull of ordinary life. The further she moved from Wilcox, from Gerrit, from all of those nightmares, the more she found her life almost human in nature. She still taught Porter when he was not working, and she still went to teach Tabitha her reading and sketching.

Except the focus now had turned to piles and piles of books of essays and mathematics textbooks. Tabitha could write, she could compose small poems if she wished, but she had never written her thoughts on the many scientific texts she had read. Now, she had so many ideas, and she needed structures for them. At the same time, she had practiced mathematics herself for quite a long time. Sigrid had never had the same proclivity for the subject, nor had Myra made it a priority due to the proposed “masculinity” of the subject.

Yet when Sigrid found the girl today, she had books open all around her father’s study. She had come here to work as she always had, finding even more comfort in continuing to learn in this comfortable room. Melba had brought her tea and sandwiches, and the girl’s Promethean teacher could smell the citrus-scented beverage as she slipped into the room.

“Hello, Miss Sigrid!” The girl looked up from her notebooks and beamed at her teacher.

“Hello, dear. What are you studying?” Sigrid sat in a chair nearby and helped herself to a cup of tea beside her student.

“Geometry! I went to Vasily’s shop to ask him about the test requirements, and he said there was a lot of Math! Then he gave me some of his textbooks.” She picked one up and showed it to him. It was full of notes, reworked equations, and personal comments, all in Vasily’s very thin and script-like handwriting. “I only wish he wouldn’t have written such crude comments in it.”

“Oh?”

“He drew a picture of one of his professors on one of the pages, right here.” She flipped a couple of pages and showed Sigrid a crude sketch of a man in a suit and vest stretched to fit an egg-shape. “He called it, ‘The Circumference of Professor Daly.’”

Her teacher could only chuckle and shake her head. “He would have been an interesting student to have, if I was his tutor.”

“Certainly so. Though I think he would listen more to you than to Professor Daly.”

“Oh I do not think he would enjoy most of the topics I would have to teach him.” Sigrid gave a joking smile. “But for this entrance exam, his notes I imagine are invaluable.”

“Yes! And then I was practicing writing essays as well. They require a personal statement.”

The woman’s face became more thoughtful and serene. “I see.”

Tabitha nodded, eagerness sparkling in her eyes. “I have to explain what I want to study in the Natural Sciences program, and my experience studying the Natural Sciences. What makes me anxious is that I haven’t had an education like the other applicants. They all went to schools and learned all their subjects there!”

“An education at home is not somehow less valuable, especially not if you are teaching yourself the material. Most people would struggle with such a method of learning.”

“And I have to learn all of this in about a month!” The girl took another sip of her tea. “I’ll be busy day and night!”

“Well you need to make sure you rest as well. You must take care of yourself, or else you will not be in any condition to take an entrance exam to Cambridge.”

“But it keeps me busy, Miss Sigrid! Staying busy is so important for me these days.” Tabitha protested.

“I know.” Sigrid knew why she was keeping busy, and did not elaborate much further. She would follow her student’s lead on that matter. “But busyness and productivity are two different things. You can be busy without being productive, and you can be productive without being busy. If you choose the former, you will frustrate yourself and you will be unable to accomplish your goals. But if you choose the latter, you will be happier with yourself for completing tasks.”

Tabitha frowned and nodded. “I suppose you’re right. So not all of the geometry needs to be studied today.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

At that moment, the door opened, and Myra made her quiet entrance into the study. Still dressed in her mourning black, she nevertheless gave a warm, polite smile to Sigrid and to her daughter. “How are your studies progressing?”

“I am going to practice writing essays! They need to be about five hundred words. But I need to determine how I would even start.”

“I’m sure you will have no problems with doing so. Do you mind if I borrow your teacher for a few minutes?”

“Of course! I’ll still be here when you’re done with her.” Tabitha looked up at her teacher, who at first looked uncertain. She and Myra had not had many opportunities to speak to each other alone since she Gerrit’s death and Sigrid’s own illness, and so she was not sure what had crossed the matriarch’s mind.

“Wonderful. Please, Miss Sigrid, if you will come with me.”

Sigrid rose and followed the woman, much the way she had in months past. But nowadays she walked with more confidence. Shoulders back, eyes up and alert, with purpose and poise in her steps.

“You’ve worn your hair upbraided so often, I forgot how unusually long it is.”

“It’s more comfortable this way,” Sigrid suggested. She noticed that Myra herself wore her own hair in a half-updo, not the usual tight bun she had worn in the past. It was still neatly rippling over her shoulders, as dignified as ever. “You look more relaxed yourself, Lady Myra.”

“I suppose I must try.” She gave a sad smile to the younger woman. “For the sake of my child, there must be some sense of normalcy. It is why I have not disturbed her studies so much. I’m…quite proud of her, actually.”

“As am I.” The girl’s teacher smiled back, and took the older woman’s hands. She was not sure why she did it, but she could feel that Tabitha’s mother needed the kind gesture.

Myra’s eyes sparkled with something behind them, gratefulness or grief or some other emotion she could not define. But she only lingered for a moment before continuing. “When will you begin on Tabitha’s dress?”

“Whenever you would like me to. Does she know how she wants it to look?”

“She does. There’s a dress she wants, but she wants you to make it from that pattern.”

Sigrid’s smile was soft and understanding. She could see the way the light flickered in the woman’s eyes. “Of course.”

A moment of silence passed, and Myra then wrapped the younger woman in an embrace. Tears fell down her cheeks, and for a few moments they both stood still as the firm-yet-weary mother communicated her sorrow through her hug.

“I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Lady Myra.” Sigrid answered her easily, stroking her back. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I’ve allowed you to suffer for so long, I’ve caused you to suffer for so long,” Myra sobbed.

“No, no you have not. You didn’t know.”

“I learned and I still took so long to respond.”

“But that is only natural. He was your husband,” the younger woman whispered. “We expect for our lovers to be good people, and we are rightfully afraid when they are not.”

The matriarch let herself weep for a few more moments, before she wiped her eyes and pulled herself away. “And it will never happen again,” she declared. “No man will ever again make me feel inadequate, and no man will ever harm you under my roof.”

Sigrid herself had tears falling down her cheeks. She was not sure why, but she knew that a release of emotion had followed her, even as she had said there was no need for the apology. “Thank you, Lady Myra. I do appreciate that deeply.” She wiped her own tears, and felt a gas light in the hallway flicker to life next to her.

Luckily, Myra did not seem to take much notice. “A man will never be my head-of-household here any longer. Coen and Matilda will never get their hands on this home, I will make sure of that. And you will always be welcome here.”

“That will be a long fight.”

“Even if it is, I will not let anyone take anything from me or my child ever again.” She stared toward the study, thinking deeply. “For too long I feared what other men might think of her for being so intelligent, and I suppose my fears have been rounded by my own experiences. But I hope, I believe that she will be stronger than her mother.”

“But you are a strong woman, Lady Myra.”

Myra frowned and shook her head. “A strong woman would not have fallen for the traps that Wilcox had laid before me. I would not have fallen for those temptations or evil desires. I do not want my child to fear such things.”

“But you have protected her from that same man. And you have kept her happy in this home, in impossible circumstances. You are strong, my Lady.”

She then paused and looked down, lost in thought for a few moments. She could always remember a little of her old self, but she still found herself hitting a mental wall. Even so, what she did find was enough-an image of her younger, more emotional and springy self. The self that had died so horribly, but who at one time was full of life and dreams and who fell in love with hapless young soldiers. “As we get older, we grow stronger. We cannot expect ourselves to have the strength and understanding that we were expected to have when we were little. Now, we know better.” Her voice was quiet with the stillness of the midday sun, and slow with the passage of time.

The Von Achthoven matriarch pondered those words quietly, looking down the hall and listening to the footsteps of the servants as they moved about their daily chores. “All I want for Tabitha is to simply understand from me what it means to take care of oneself. Whoever marries her next year, I hope they will understand that I did not raise this child the way my mother raised me.”

“And how did your mother raise you?”

“Weak. Desperate for affection. Desperate to be treated with any kind of respect and belonging.” She looked up at Sigrid again. “She of course did not think so. She thought she was raising me to be a woman. And I…I thought that I could protect Tabitha from feeling helpless by keeping her away from the sorts of people who made me feel that way.”

“But Myra, you do not need to apologize to me about those things. You are not a criminal.”

“Then what can I do?” She felt strange asking that question a woman who most likely knew less than her how to answer that question. Sigrid did not have children of her own, nor had she experienced the same difficulties in being a mother-like figure to Tabitha. Her troubles had been much, much different, and she had not experienced the same strife in trying to understand the young girl who had been so much different than Myra had been at her age. “I also feared…well, that if she was not more like me, then she would be more like…”

Sigrid gazed at her, and then the understanding shadowed her eyes. “No. You’ve seen your sweet child. You know for a fact that did not happen to her.”

“But it was my fear when she was a child. Now that she’s a young woman, I see that I was wrong. And all I can hope is that it was not the ruin of her.”

“It hasn’t been.” Sigrid put her hands on her shoulders. “She has survived so much, and now she hopes to thrive. It will take time for her to process it all. But that does not mean she is standing still, does it? And neither are you.”

When Myra seemed to take time thinking over the other woman’s words, the Promethean woman gave her a gentle hug, and the woman returned the hug. Quiet fell between them, and both women wondered at this serenity which now covered them. Motherhood was a strange, fluid thing, an entirely different experience for both of them. Bu in this moment, they seemed to understand everything that needed to be understood.

And Tabitha continued writing, practicing her essays and smiling down at her busy work as she found herself liking the results more and more.

[Finsternia]

High Society Blues
November 13th/14th, 1888, Twilight
Wayland’s Bookstore, London

Vasily tore off his tie as soon as he could, though even tearing off the tie took longer than he hoped. The knot was tight, and he needed to pull it apart with some force as he walked through the door to the bookshop. He pushed it open with his shoulder, whirled around, and threw the tie on a nearby coffee table all in one smooth movement. “Finally. Ah. Bloody hell.” He took a breath, and the air did not smell like Vitae, wine, and musky perfume. “I can actually breathe. OY! Wayland! You still awake?”

The door to the back of the bookstore opens with a slight creak, letting in warm light into the dark room as Wayland’s dark figure stands from within the Sanctum. “It is already past midnight, Cereus.” The taller man sighs behind his mask, marching silently through the shadows as his body weaves through the tight space. As he arrives in front of Vasily, he gestures and a gust of cold wind blows for the blonde Mage before he holds Vasily’s pallid face in his gloved hands. “...Are you drunk?”

“Drunk?” He shook his head. “No. Somehow I’m not. Though I guess I was a little intoxicated an hour ago. But Etienne wanted me to be aware of my surroundings, so I was.” He grinned up at Wayland. “But I guess I did a good job, helped him make some friends.”

“And it seems that you’ve survived a gathering of the Kindred.” Wayland holds his face for a moment, in silence as if he’s trying to read something off of Vasily’s features. No bites, no blood smears, everything seems… clear and alright. “...Let’s come inside the Sanctum. It’s warmer there and Olivia can brew you tea.”

Vasily let him take a look, keeping still just as he had with Etienne and Sigrid. He could read the barely visible worry in Wayland’s eyes, especially since he now knew what his features looked like. He then smirked and followed him into the Sanctum. “A couple of Kindred did try to get a bite out of me. Etienne shooed away the first one, and then Sir Harry and I managed the rest. Pretty good for my first time out at a Kindred party, eh?”

“...They must be a bunch of idiots.” Wayland spoke out in a candid and harsh tone and he imagined blood-drunk Kindred, young and fresh out of their sires’ grasps, who knew next to nothing of restraint and temperance. They revel in their new state of undeath, the power of the Blood within their veins, and their idea of the apex predator. Perhaps they thought that Vasily is simply one of the pretty drinks upon the Primogen Melodious’s table, not knowing that he is an honored guest.

’And ignorance is a crime that one often pays with their life, or unlife in this case, in our world and profession.’

Wayland takes a bit more time to assess Vasily’s state, which the Thyrsus would be amused to notice the pings of his Mage Sight be alerted by several activations of magical discernment from the Moros, before gently and reluctantly letting go of his face. “...Come. Let’s have some tea for you to relax and freshen up.”

The young Mage was amused at Wayland’s concern for him, just as he was amused at how Wayland had helped him get ready this afternoon. He had expected for his mother to help, of course, as she was more-than-thrilled to know her son was attending a party. But the blacksmith had never been so meticulous and careful as he had been this evening, and in the last couple of weeks. Almost as though he had been afraid to break something, or someone.

“Tea sounds delicious. Along with any food we might have sitting around. Melodious didn’t exactly provide a lot of food for Kine, and I wasn’t about to go rifling through his fridge,” Vasily explained.

“It’s because you’re a second priority in his book, it’s the Kindred who's put first.” Wayland sighs as he finds his hand wrapping around Vasily’s own, pulling him to the back door and into the warmer interior of the well-lit Sanctum. “As an Elder he has his own principles at stake, and he will not let any harm befall on you. It will be a stain on his reputation and a challenge to his pride. When you’re that old, that's all that you have left.”

The Moros brings Vasily to the usual small parlor, where Olivia has already found herself seated at one of the chairs. She is knitting more clothes, and it seems that the Revenant maid has made it her duty to make winter’s clothing for the new friends that her Master has made. She has a new cookbook propped up on her lap as her knitting needles clack together, and she looks up as the two come in.

“Olivia, I am sorry for interrupting you but I’d like to bother you for tea and pastries.”

The maid frowns as she looks at Vasily, and then at Wayland. “...Master, have you eaten the dinner that I’ve brought to your workshop?”

The Mage could only reply with a cough and a clearing of his voice before the maid sighed, placing her yarns, needles, and supplies on a side table. “I will reheat the leftovers and bring you two your meals. Please wait for a moment.”

Olivia bows to them as she shuffles away in her soft pink ruffled dress, and Wayland sits down on the couch and motions for Vasily to sit beside him.

The Mage pulled himself onto the couch with a grunt and a sigh. He then chucked off his Oxfords and pushed them under the table, making a mental note to retrieve them later. “Melodious is exhausting,” he grunted, as he laid against Wayland’s shoulder and enjoyed not having to move. At least, not until someone needed him again.

Wayland pulls down his mask, putting it aside as he leans against Vasily as well. He wraps an arm around the other Mage’s shoulder, and he begins to gently comb his gloved fingers through Vasily’s hair. Simple repetitive movements to calm him and let him relax, running his fingers into his scalp and untangling knots in his hair. “...Welcome home, beloved…”

“Thank you.” Vasily closed his eyes and felt a sigh escape him as Wayland massaged his hair. He let the silence embrace him, and he was ready to fall asleep. But he wanted to talk before he nodded away. “Melodious is going to want to know more about Etienne and I, since we went to that stupid party,” he murmured, “we’re going to have to increase the wards.”

“That’s just how Vampire society works. They value making friends more than us Mages.” He sighs as he thinks of the future for the both of them. Wayland and Vasily are both loners, and by circumstance they found and allied with one another. They have correspondences with other Mages, Masters and colleagues, but rarely do either take the initiative to play the social game. Against Melodious, a Vampire who has played this game for centuries, the two Mages stand to both gain a patron as well as a terrifying Sword of Damocles hanging above them. “...We just need to be smart. Melodious should know that we’re more valuable as friends than enemies.”

“I don’t think someone like that sees ‘friends’ the same way that we do. He has more ‘puppets’ than friends,” the Mage suggested. He looked at Olivia’s pastries and took one off the plate. He then stretched back and started to eat, giving little care as to keeping his suit and jacket clean. “I should get out of these clothes and into pajamas…but I also don’t want to move. A Toreador dragged me onto the dancefloor, she was bonkers.”

“Allow me.” Wayland begins to help Vasily off his business clothes. Using his Magic the physical matter of his suit and jacket, they quickly slip off from his shoulders.

“BAH! Not like that!” Vasily almost felt it was too much, and he started to tear off his jacket on his own. He then started to unbutton his shirt, though Wayland’s Magic got it off of him. He then pulled off his suit pants until he was finally in a shirt and shorts. “That’s better. I’ll need to do something with those, but not right now.” He grunted and laid back once again, staring at the ceiling as he continued to eat the pastry. “I got a terrible feeling from these people, Wayland. They’re gonna come for us, and not in a good way. I’m scared what we’re gonna do if they discover Sigrid.”

“Melodious has lived long enough to know what things he shouldn’t pry into.” Wayland leans back into the couch as he claps his hands for a moment. Cold winds blow in the room, before slipping out of the door. Another ghost, perhaps? “...And even if he does, he will be losing a partnership with you and me, and don’t forget that there are also several people eyeing Sigrid. Even if Melodious is an aficionado for things that catch his fancy, he’d still need to think of the consequences. You and I have our Mentors behind us, our Legacies and the Consilium, and I am sure that even without the Doctor looming over her… I am sure that someone’s looking after Sigrid.”

“I mean, yes, Etienne, but he’ll have a nervous breakdown over it I’m sure. Which is why we need to make sure that we can bat that bastard Elder away if he tries to make a move toward knowing her, finding her, or doing anything to move toward Etienne and I. That’s why I asked about wards. And what about weapons?”

“You can always choose from the armory, whether it’s an Imbued Item or one made from Perfected materials. It’s free… for now.” Wayland smiles at him, clearly teasing as he leans against Vasily. “As for the wards, yes the Sanctum is fully warded. You should also know that I have contracted ghosts under me, as well as Olivia and MacKenzie now.

“...How about you? Have you found Spirits to contract and deal with? I suggest Spirits of Fire, those that can help with and protect from mental manipulations, and others that you feel like would serve you well.”

“I’ll need to look for that. If you’ve got any in the forge I can borrow I’ll do that. Or in my fireplace.” Even six years after becoming a Mage, some of this life seemed almost farcical. He could not believe he was asking to bond with Spirits, to use their powers, to summon those powers against Kindred if necessary. He shook his head. “Just not right now.”

“There should be, and Spirits with the power to shield your mind… perhaps you can find one at Master Metis’s clinic.” Wayland leans down to plant a soft kiss on Vasily’s forehead, holding him close as the Thyrsus relaxes and eats his pastry. “We’ll work on it tomorrow or the next day. What’s important is that you are safe now.”

“Yeah, Metis…” He was not looking forward to seeing her. Seeing her was seeing the Consilium, and seeing the Consilium meant learning about what they knew. He had to give a smirk as Wayland hugged him tight. “I’m going to need more alcohol to think about that one.”

“You should learn how to craft your own. It will save you money.” The Moros murmurs as he rests his head on Vasily’s, the exhaustion of today’s work now catching up on him.

“Not when I now have an excuse to fully give myself over to my love of alcohol and spiral further into being a waste-heap of a man,” Vasily argued, his voice now a murmur as his eyes were closed.

“Shhhhh.” Wayland gently combs his hair, the repetitive motion lulling both into a comfortable stillness. “If you speak about yourself in that tone more, I…” He pauses, his voice trailing off into the silence, before he simply gives Vasily another kiss on his forehead.

The Mage started to nod to sleep, and he just continued to smirk. He had no answers, just thoughts that split and sauntered into fragments of dreams. He was not spiralling in this moment, when he laid still and did not have to worry about Kindred Elders, raucous parties, or falling victim to a wicked Kiss. He was here, with someone who cared deeply about him, and that was enough stability for him.

Soon enough Wayland, too, is lulled to sleep by the combined harmony of their slow breathing and heartbeats. To the tune of the clock on the wall the two Mages slowly float into dreamland, away from the stresses of work and responsibility. The door opens to the salon, with Olivia wheeling in a tray of heated dinner, only for the Revenant to stop and admire the sight.

These two men, constrained by so much from the time she’s known them, seems to have found a way to actually open up and embrace one another. She remembers the years long bickering and sideway glances, and finally, finally, as if she was raising a tree it has now bore fruit. Silently, Olivia went back to her seat, taking a heavy knitted blanket she has folded on the side, and making her way to the two.

Gently, she places it over Gerard and Vasily, smiling as she does so. “Sweet dreams, sirs…”

[Luminesa]

Co-Write between Oblivion2 and Lumi

Dinner with the Devil
November 18th, 1888, Evening
Melodious’s Estate, Kent

Melodious had put his Ghouls to work making the preparations. He had studied and executed every decoration, every design, every beautiful hint of details he could think about, anything which might catch the eye of this young Neonate. He did not know him incredibly well just yet, but he had gotten some information from others who had heard about him. Those notes played a role in the way he fixed the living room and the dining room, and he hoped with all his heart that his gamble would be successful. It had to be.

“Fortuna, put the roses out there, make sure the arrangement is spick and span!”

“Yessir.” The head Ghoul worked quietly, keeping her head down as she examined the violet and blue flowers. Nicholas had silk, Melodious had velvet. Of course he would try to one-up the Prince, even if it was in a very subtle manner.

“Are we going to be cleaning a murder tonight again?” Georg questioned as he walked past her with some sort of golden structure under a cloth.

“I hope not.” She looked back at him. “I think Mr. Saint-Francis is better at surviving than a younger Neonate.”

“If he’s survived this long, we can only hope.” The younger Ghoul walked past her, and Fortuna was left alone with her thoughts and her Master.

He stood in the hallway, preparing his tie, fixing his hair, gazing at himself in a mirror he had tailored just for him. In his mind, wealth and luxury could break free of some of the societal pains of being a Kindred. He hoped it would also break him free of having to wait for this new Kindred to fall in love with him. “Patience, Melodious, patience. It’s one night. Not the end of the world, nor the beginning of a new one. Just a date.”

“A date?” Fortuna murmured.

“Yes, a date. Or courting.” Melodious flipped some hair off his shoulder and smiled at his own image. “Perfect. And you look stunning as well, darling.”

In her dark-blue suit-the Ghouls were dressed in identical suits, according to their Master’s designs-she did look more sharp and formal. Just the way the Ventrue seemed to like an outfit. But she was not in the mood for compliments. She was afraid that the worst would come, and Melodious and many others would find their fates crashing down on their heads. But just like her Master, she had to be patient and aware.

Etienne was, as always, perfectly punctual. It had been his calling card ever since his Sire had drilled it into him- occasionally painfully. If your transportation was getting you there early, you made him go around the block once more. If you were running late, you borrowed a little presence to smooth things over with the driver and you made it on time. There were no valid excuses, nothing short of a cataclysm of some description was acceptable.

He'd informed Porter and Sigrid of his dinner with Melodious, of course. If he wasn't home by this time tomorrow night, alarm bells would be rung. And after his conversation with Lord Valle, Etienne was bringing an extra bit of protection; a revolver stashed away in one of the magically hidden compartments in the wondrous cloak that Wayland had made for him. He didn't anticipate using it, but the few times in his life Etienne had been wrong about this sort of thing, he'd regretted it. He didn't intend to regret anything tonight.

He'd dressed sharply- his coat transfigured to have the clean lines of a tailored dinner jacket. Charcoal grey and looking woven of fine Italian wool. He had pants to match and wingtip shoes polished to a high shine. He didn't keep a hat tonight, preferring to show off his thick hair, slicked back with a measure of spicy smelling pomade.

His carriage dropped him off at the front of the estate, and Etienne left a sizeable tip to keep the man nearby in case he needed to make a quick exit. Striding smoothly across the grounds, Etienne made for the door and knocked proudly upon its surface to announce his presence.

Fortuna made her way to the door, and she answered it in her lovely suit. She smiled up at Etienne, fixing her expression to be polite and neat. “Good evening, Mr. Saint-Francis. Please come in.”

Indoors, the arrangements of the furniture would have been done with some of the colors Melodious had noted to be favorites of Etienne’s-indigo, blue, and hints of gold on the flowers and accessories. Melodious was never one to under-decorate, and he did not want to overwhelm the young Ventrue’s eyes with the same blazing colors he himself preferred.

Likewise, Melodious appeared not too long after Etienne arrived, dressed in a black silk suit, double-breasted, and his accents were both silver and gold. He almost looked more austere, if not for the long, draping tail of his coat and the gold-tipped shoes he wore under his suit pants. He was grinning, but in a more subdued manner. Presence was not necessary, but he applied just a little to make his clothing and ambiance seem generally warmer. “Mr. Saint-Francis! You’ve made it here safely, I see. Excellent. Rather strange to see this place without so many people, hm?”

“Indeed.” Etienne says with a nod, having fixed Fortuna with his warmest smile before reaching out to take Melodious’ hand in a familiar handshake. “I was rather expecting you to have at least some company besides myself- I didn't realize you were doing me such a singular honour in devoting me the lion’s share of your attention.”

He looks around and fixes the furniture in his mind's eyes, “Nor did I realize you would redecorate just for me. You like to put on a show, don't you, my lord?”

“Oh, every guest I have is important to me in some shape or form. But I figured you would not like…the sort of decorations we had last week. Just a little gaudy.” He smirked and chuckled. “I decorate to please myself as well as my company. But the Ghouls will be here working, so we will not be completely alone. Though most of the talk will be between the two of us.”

He continued to smile, his eyes sparkling with quiet mischief. But of course, he was not going to try any unusual business yet. For now, he would only continue with the usual ceremonies. “Sometimes it’s much better to not have so many people around. They can be very overwhelming.”

He continued to lead Etienne toward the dining room, all with Fortuna following them. She kept her eyes on both her Master and on Etienne. “You did get a chance to talk to Lord Burke at the party, did you not?”

“Briefly.” Etienne would say, casting a glance at Fortuna for a just a moment. He turns his attention back to Melodious and his surroundings, “But I spent most of the evening with you, as you'll recall. The London social scene is already buzzing about you and your new blonde-haired lover. Apparently I'm a Danish nobleman or some such- that was the most amusing story I've heard.”

“Danish! My, my. I suppose I can see it. But yes, the rumors are quite lascivious, and you did a marvelous job acting the part.” He grinned a little more, showing his fangs for a moment while Georg walked into the room with two Goblets. “What do you desire for a drink? Wine? Liquor? I also recently acquired some excellent Vitae. Though I do know your tastes, I have taken a look into the source.”

“Well, I'll tell you what, start me with a cup of ice water and tell me more about this source of yours.” Etienne says with a soft smile. “And yes, my lord, you heard me right, I did say water. Occasionally it's a treat to have a taste of something pure and simple.”

“Georg!”

Melodious nodded to his Ghoul, who hurried to fulfill his request. He then pivoted back to the Ventrue with a grin. “I met with the Prince earlier this week, and he gave me a gift for my troubles. He does live quite far into the country, after all, and he does not see very many visitors without a party.” His tone was secretive, as he knew he was flexing his ability to see such powerful people in a moment’s notice. “Believe it or not, it is quite funny that you mentioned being considered Danish. The beautiful Ghoul he gave me is an heiress somewhere in the Netherlands. And she has been perfectly willing to give me the blood that I have asked for, for this meeting. I would hope it is to your liking.”

“Well, I suppose a taste in a little while wouldn't be amiss. I tend to have a little before these things-just in case.” Etienne explains. “It's not that I doubt the quality of a table you set, of course. Not after our last little soiree. No, just an old habit. I've had a few banquets in Portugal and America when I was really rather young on some business with my Sire. They were… rather uninspired things. Sometimes, tables are set in a rather efficient way. I appreciate efficiency, don't get me wrong, but when your palate is as unfortunately discerning as mine… Well, one gets used to finding their own meals.”

“Of course. Finding quality is important for any gathering, whether they are large gatherings or small ones. But I can assure you, I only provide luxuries.” He nodded to the young Ghoul as he reappeared with two glasses. One, a plain crystal glass, had the ice water, and the other one, a small glass flute, had the Vitae. “He had renamed her Etoile. Much more fanciful name than what she had before, I imagine. But that is what we do, we make things more beautiful than they were before, do we not?”

“What is beauty?” Etienne asked, attempting to tease at the man’s philosophical side. “Is it in appearance? Is it in use, or function? Such a shame we can not even begin to agree on what beautiful is universally to properly define the word.” He took both glasses, sniffing at the Vitae first and nodding appreciatively. “Top notch, this. A rich, well-bred scent to it. Perhaps I may trouble you later for a little free-range bite. Then again, perhaps not. I try to keep my indulgences limited where I can.”

Melodious of course could not hide his glee at being asked such a question. A question he would have answered for free, even if Etienne had not asked about the topic. “Beauty? Beauty is in the essence. In the existence of something.” He waved a hand to his living room. “Nothing in this room is without beauty. All hand-crafted, all made with love, all made from the indulgence of my desires and my imagination.” He put emphasis on the word, as though to gently tease how Etienne seemed unwilling to give into such excess. “Beauty is in the time made for creation, the motions to make it, the very process! Even the Ghouls I have employed have been required to bear witness to that excess! I had each of these suits tailored for each Ghoul. And are they not lovely to behold?”

He gave an ingratiating smile to Fortuna, who blushed and hid her eyes from his gaze. He thought she was beautiful-or perhaps he was merely trying to lure her along, to keep her happy, to warm her chest so that she would do as he asked. Nevertheless, she could not help but feel a little proud. Yet she had to keep her composure, and so she only let her eyes flicker to Etienne before letting them move back to the floor.

He dropped his voice a little, partially sly and partially honest. “And of course, if you spend enough time around me, you’ll notice that I do not intend to harvest anything except beauty.”

Etienne nods at the explanation and gestures for Fortuna to give him her hands. “And you’ve done a wonderful job, my lord. But in this, I believe you are a little wrong. Your indulgence hasn't created beauty, merely highlighted it in a fashion you though I would find appealing.” He squeezes the girl’s hands and lets go. “And I do, admittedly. In this you indulge me, rather than yourself. As she indulges the both of us with her beautiful smile, and those shy eyes. I see why you like her.”

He turns his attention back to Melodious, “But I have been a victim of indulgence. I have been forced to be something I am not for the amusement of others and only their own amusement. It is where you and I stand on different grounds, despite our mutual respect for one another. I choose not to indulge because I know just how deep my indulgence might run. I would hate to subject another to such things, having been on the end of them myself.”

He gives Melodious his kindliest smile. “Should I come to dinner again, if you intend for us to be any sort of friends at all, I'd only ask that you decorate in a manner that you find pleasing. Or that your ghouls find pleasing.” He points a clever finger towards Fortuna. “This one, I suspect, would have grand ideas for how to dress up your home for the evening.” Etienne kept his eyes on Melodious, curious as to how he'd react to such a rebuke, soft though it might have been. It would also tell him much about the Ghouls of the household, and whether they could be useful to him.

Poor Fortuna could not contain her shock and her blush. Her face, usually firm and muted, lit with the sort of life that Ghoulhood had once taken from her. She was not sure how old she was anymore, when her birthday was, who she had once been. But she could not recall someone looking at her with such kindness, and she barely heard Melodious as he himself started to respond with a wondrous look on his face.

“Why of course! I am not the creator of all beauty, even I cannot claim such an honor. But I can claim that I pick Ghouls as those who have that beauty inside and out. And she has been nothing but faithful and lovely to me. I am sure, if it brings you happiness as well, that I can arrange for such a desire to be met. Both for her and for Georg…”

He looked behind him at the male Ghoul standing in the doorway, who moments before had been standing rather unceremoniously with his jaw dropped open in shock at Etienne’s flattery. Now the young man straightened himself, and gave a quick nod to his Master. Satisfied, Melodious turned back to the Ventrue. “And for myself. And if I can avoid making you feel uncomfortable, but rather, desired in such a place, then I will make sure you are not reminded of the things which made you feel like a victim.” He took a step toward the younger Kindred, but still gave his space. His voice remained warm and sweet, laced with just enough Presence to bloom in the Ventrue’s ears.

Etienne needed to take a moment to focus his thoughts. Once he realized it was the Elder's masterful Presence at work, he waggled a finger as one would at a naughty kitten. “None of that, you witty devil you. I'll not have you befuddling my wits with your clever charms. I've worked very hard to keep them sharp, and I'd very much appreciate if you could let me continue to keep them sharp.”

He'd take the flute of vitae and have a long appreciative sip to further fortify himself. It was… exquisite. “Delightful…” Etienne murmurs before raising his voice back to a conversational tone. “As I was saying, my Lord. This,” he gestured to the room around him, “Does not make me feel uncomfortable. On the contrary, you've perhaps hit my tastes right on the head. What I am saying is I am a simple man, at heart, and that you needn't go so far out of your way for me. I already know just how desperately you'd appreciate having me at your side, and that to me says more than any of the finery in the whole world. It's the part of you that I find beautiful. Your dedication.”

Now was Melodious’s turn to catch himself. Of course he had been called beautiful many times. He expected it. But the playfulness of his wording and of such encounters was also something he had experienced many times. If nothing else, he believed in the script. Yet at the same time, he had to keep himself poised and proper.

“Why, I must say. You do have a way around with words. Then again, I saw that at the party. Just not so up-close. Your confidence and ease are beautiful, and those are strengths that most of your fellow young men do not have.” His eyes flashed with the violence of a recent event, and settled with an equal flash. “Sometimes that lack of self-knowledge can lead to death, as you know. But we Elders, and I myself, wish to see such as yourself thrive. We are not all monsters.”

He gave his soft, doting words a moment to fall like feathers, before he noted the flute. “If you would like more while we talk, I can bring the girl out for you.”

“No, not yet at any rate.” Etienne declined graciously. “I've still this lovely glass to finish, and I'd hate for the good crystal to be put to waste.” He gestured to Fortuna, still hovering nearby, “This one might think me ungrateful. We wouldn't want that, would we?”

“Of course not. Please, enjoy your drink. Do not mind me, I am simply over-eager at times.” He continued to grin, looking around at the decorations he had placed in the living and dining room. When he turned back to the Ventrue, he nodded. “I must say, as much as I like a good festivity, a smaller gathering like this is equally as pleasant. I did not have the best time…wrangling that young man who had bothered you and Mr. Mikhailov. Or any of the other troublemakers at the party.”

At that statement, a hint of fear came back to Fortuna’s eyes. She looked at Etienne with that frightful gaze, before she turned away again to keep her eyes toward her lord.

“Yes, it’s calming to not have to worry about such dangers or troubles. To truly be able to appreciate the quieter pleasantries.” The cruel twinkle in his eyes faded, and then he chuckled to himself. “That poor young man must not have thought you were anyone important. I suppose he did not get the message.”

Etienne understood then. The girl had been staring at him all night not because she'd been afraid of him, but afraid for him. Melodious had disposed of that child simply because he'd inconvenienced Etienne. Before Fortuna’s eyes left him, Etienne would lock her with his gaze, trying to give her the feeling that it would be ok before his attention turned back to Melodious. He needed to hear her confirm the truth, and to do that she would need to trust him or atleast not want to see him fall to harm.

He finished his flute of Vitae and set it down, wiping his reddened lips with finger and a thumb before sucking them clean. “Well you needn't have gone to such trouble on my expense. I handled him then and there, and I would have been glad to have dueled him in the gardens if I felt my honour had been impugned.” He waves a hand dismissively at that. “But he was right on one account, my Lord. I am not important. Not in any way that counts at Court, anyway. For now, I'm merely the curiosity of the hour.”

“Nonsense! That is not your job. It is the host’s job to insure that all goes well in his own affairs.” He smiled dismissively. “As much as I would have loved to have seen a duel in my palace, especially from you, unfortunately as an Elder I have to keep the violence to a quiet minimum. Sometimes, that means taking care of an issue myself, away from the rest of the party. And besides, I enjoyed it.” He tilted his head to the side, his eyelids just a little heavy, as if to make a point of how much he enjoyed being an executioner of those who had made his job more difficult. “Beauty also exists in order.”

“Well, I won't pretend to disagree with you in that regard.” Etienne said cautiously. “But job or not, I prefer to be seen as a man who can handle his own problems. You recall what I said about perceptions before, yes?”

“Certainly. And of course, all you would need to do for me is to say the word, and I would let you have at it. I can understand that need to take care of such troublemakers yourself, if that is your desire.”

He shook his head at a memory. “Valle was once a troublemaker, I should say. When we were younger, we had plenty of scraps. And a little bit of a fling, which caused more of the scraps. But he is much more fiery than me. His Sire has done an impressive job of…subduing it out of him. You’ll find that sometimes the years are the best teacher, but that’s not a very glamorous thing to say, is it?”

“I've heard that experience does wonders for one's faults.” Etienne admitted. “But I've also heard it can grow them larger still. In my Sire’s case, it was the latter.”

“Yes, Lord Torres. Goodness.” He saw Georg in the kitchen with the gift, and then he smiled for him to move away for a few more minutes. “Come, let’s sit, we’ve been standing here for such a while. Let’s talk just a little more business, as the Prince likes to say.”

He walked toward the dining room, and the bouquet on the table flourished with the same colors Melodious had used to decorate the rest of the two rooms-indigo, blue, violet, white, and hints of gold. The decorations, despite being a little much for an evening with one person, were still put together with care, and Fortuna blushed again as she watched Etienne’s reaction to the arrangements. The Toreador Elder then turned around and smiled at the younger Kindred and asked a question that had been itching his brain for some time. He had no idea whether or not the Ventrue would have an answer. “Did you know, Etienne, that I was told someone came for the stained glass windows in a very private collection of mine last week?”

“Yes.” Etienne says casually, looking around with casual disinterest. “I had someone make inquiries as to what sort of art you might be interested in. A sort of quiet arrangement to see which collection was yours and what sorts of things you appreciated. Admittedly stained glass is out of my current price range, but I've arranged for a piece from France to come up for you. Should be here in another week or so. A new artist, his work is certainly different. Underappreciated, in my honest opinion. I'm hoping you'll agree when you see the piece.”

“Oh, a new artist? How fascinating!” Melodious’s attention perked, and as he sat down with his goblet, his grin grew wider. “Someone who has not been discovered yet! Yes, yes, as soon as you can give it to me. Can you tell me anymore, or will you keep it entirely a surprise?”

“An entire surprise.” Etienne says with a grin of his own. “I'm only telling you it's coming so you don't go around thinking someone is spying on you. It was me.”

“Oh, I’m sure someone has already tried to spy on me. I’ve had so many attempts on my life, dear Etienne, one more would not bother me. I only asked about the stained glass, for instance, because I was curious if that person was…aware.” He twisted his wrist a little and gave a nonchalant smile. “But I know the painting would be from you, because you said it would be from you. Which sounds simplistic, but come now.” He reached a hand for his, giving it a light grasp. “We know it would be quite silly for you to lie to me about a gift.”

“I don't know if they are aware or not.” Etienne said casually, his first blatant lie in his whole encounter with Melodious. “Occasionally I prefer to work through intermediaries and those intermediaries have their own. It reduces exposure. But since you asked, I'd hardly insult you by saying that I didn't send someone.”

“Good.” He gave Etienne a long, thoughtful gaze, as though he was searching for something in his face. Or perhaps he was just admiring it from a closer angle. “Perfect, actually.” Whether or not he knew that the Ventrue was lying, he seemed to be enjoying the mystery of it all. The chase. Fortuna seemed to take a step back, nearby, but she kept her worried eyes on Etienne. All the while, Melodious kept holding the Ventrue’s hand in his. “It’s also refreshing that your Sire is not around to ask too many questions. Burke used to be so persistent about knowing my business with Valle. With you being on your own, and with me not having anyone watching over me except for The Prince, everything feels a little more fresh and untraveled. Perhaps one gift will lead to another, hm?”

“You know my opinion on the subject.” Etienne tells him with a soft smile. “I am not terribly interested in having relations with a man, even one as handsome as yourself.” Playing with fire time, it seems.

The Toreador Elder had to walk back just a hint. He clearly looked just a hint dissatisfied, but he was not about to cause trouble when The Prince had asked him to behave. Even so, his internal desires ticked in his un-beating chest, he turned his head away and motioned to Georg. “Etienne, you mentioned you’re a duelist, correct? Guns? Swords? Both?”

“I prefer swords.” He says with a sharp nod of his head. Combat always brought out the best in him- even the threat of combat seemed to sharpen his mind and make everything clearer. He thought it had something to do with how he managed the Wilcox incident as well as he did. “But I'm a fair shot too. Still, prefer swords and happen to be better with them. My Sire took me for a better duelist than even he. Still, he could have been padding my ego and I wouldn't have known the difference.”

Georg stepped forward as his lord beckoned him, and he uncovered the small, gold statue. It was of a crown, and the Ghoul put his hand to the diadem. Out of it, he pulled a small jeweled dagger. And then from the back of the crown, he pulled a slightly longer sword, also jeweled at the hilt. They sparkled and shined with masterful construction, and they were light to hold and flawless to cut. “A gift for you. Not to end our conversation, of course, but to give you something to perk your interests in turn.”

Etienne felt a small tic pull at the side of his face as he took up the sword. He tested its balance and found it to be nearly perfect. It was truly a product of masterful mortal production. He set the weapon down before following up with the dagger and found it to be of similar make. “These are lovely, my lord. But perhaps altogether too flashy for my tastes and station alike. I'd look like some strutting youngling attempting to impress the ladies with my jewels.”

“Oh my, I see.” Melodious gave a serious look to Georg, not a threatening one, but one that instructed him to take note. The young Ghoul’s glance to Etienne was both cautious and relieved, as he had also thought the weapons were gaudy. “Very well. Next time I see you, perhaps I’ll have something more to your tastes. That’s not an issue. We are still learning about each other, are we not?”

The young Ghoul held the crown and the weapons, and while his Master was not looking, he mouthed a ‘thank you’ to the Ventrue before moving away. Then, two more Ghouls appeared as Georg moved away. Motion never seemed to end in Melodious’s mansion, even when their Master seemed to be in a mental place between caution and infatuation. But he was also concerned about details, about what did and did not work with Etienne. He was determined to pick him apart, to find what nuts and bolts made him click. The Ghouls helped to move away the weapons, and the Toreador smirked at the Ventrue.

At the same time, Etienne would have caught the eye of a pale, blonde woman who had started to pass the room with three more Ghouls, and who had stopped in the middle of the walkway. She was tall and swanlike in figure, but with eyes that seemed almost deadened. Even with dead eyes, however, she could not help but examine the scene in the room.

“This is her then?” Etienne asked, his spirits dropping internally as he saw the lack of life in the woman’s eyes. Another puppet snagged up in Melodious’ grasp and used as a plaything. It hurt Etienne to see, but he was determined not to show it.

Etoile continued to stare at the Ventrue, and a hint of something resembling curiosity or fear showed in her eyes. She was tall, taller than him, and wearing a different crisp, ivory dress. Her hair was in a bun, and she looked every inch like an heiress. All that would have told him that she was a Ghoul was her ghostly skin and her weary posture and gaze.

“Yes! This is Etoile. It seems she got away from the servants before we were ready for her. Sweet thing, and her Vitae is delightful, as you’ve noticed. An expensive gift from Nicholas, as well.” Melodious grinned, giving no concern to the way the girl tried to keep her poise and still flinched as the younger Kindred looked at her.

Etienne gestured for the girl to come closer. She was new to Ghouldom, it seemed, and she would need to be coaxed out of her shell. “Hello.” He'd say in a soft tone of voice he saved for spooked animals on the farm. “I am Etienne. I am told your name is Etoile. It is a very pretty name, it suits you.”

She came closer as he asked, though she was still afraid to speak at first as she watched Melodious’s unblinking gaze. When Etienne spoke sweetly to her, however, she looked back to him. “Thank you,” she whispered. At the same time, as she lowered her arms and stood with her shoulders straight, he could see scars peeking from under the collar of her dress. Ugly marks from a quick closing of some wounds. “Did you wish to feed?” She decided to cut to the chase, as she knew why the Toreador had taken her. She was a bargaining tool, a pretty toy, and she was in a pain she did not fully comprehend.

“Not until you're comfortable.” Etienne would say with a shake of his head. “Would you like to sit next to me? Perhaps have a drink or a bite to eat?” He looks at Melodious as if asking for permission. He didn't want to be presumptuous in a home that wasn't his own.

Etoile felt her shoulders giving in relief. She nodded to him again, and Melodious smiled at the two of them. “Of course you may sit with her.” He motioned for the woman to sit with the Ventrue, and he winked at Fortuna. The head Ghoul straightened herself, though she hid her eyes and emotions on the matter.

“Water, please,” she murmured, as she sat next to Etienne. Melodious called to Georg again, and he ran back and forth to bring her water. She looked at the Ventrue, still nervous but less so.
“Nicholas can give plenty of wonderful gifts, once I am able to arrange for you to meet with him,” the Toreador explained to Etienne as the Ghoul next to him drank her glass.

“Well, I'll just have to speak with him about that in the future.” Etienne would say breezily, though internally his stomach did flip flops at the idea of another person being given to him as a gift. The very idea was abhorrent. He knew societies could be like this, and Elders in particular. But Etienne didn't believe in chattel. He would hunt, and keep his skills sharp, or have someone return to him who enjoyed his Kiss. Not this slavery. He saw her finery for what it was; chains.

“This must all be very difficult for you.” Etienne said to Etoile. “I remember what it was like when I was first Embraced. It's similar to being a Ghoul. I did that too for a short time before I died for the first time. The difference is you're thirstier. Everything is much more raw. Your senses bristle as your mind tries to make sense of it all. I understand where you're coming from. I do.” He pats the girl’s knee gently. “There are benefits to this though, even if it doesn't seem like it presently. You'll find you're stronger than you were, before long. The Kiss can be very pleasant, depending on your partner. It's rather like laying down with someone; sometimes it's very lovely indeed, and sometimes it's very apparent it's not meant for you to enjoy.”

He offers her a soft smile. “So, until you've relaxed. Until you feel comfortable, I won't lay a single fang on you. Tell me about yourself. I'm very curious to hear your story.”

The girl felt soothed by his words. Nicholas had not spoken to her in such a manner, and she knew for certain that Melodious had not been this gentle with her. She tilted her head at Etienne, as though she was waiting for some sort of catch. When she found none, she did relax just a little.

She reached for his hand and spoke to him about her past. “I was from the Netherlands, as my lord did say…”

Melodious had been correct, she had been an heiress. Her father was in a printmaking dynasty, one which had been wavering in value with the births of new industries. As the youngest child, she had not had as many prospects as her older sisters, and her father had given her away to a wealthy man in exchange for an enormous sum of money. What Etoile had thought would be a marriage was actually just what Etienne had suspected, a sale. And from there, Nicholas had somehow come to possess her, due to her beauty and value.

“I still do not know why he gave me away, why he felt it was the right thing to do. But I did as he asked, as his obedient child. I had never known to stand against my father…”

As she told the story, her voice stayed low, as though she did not want the Toreador to hear her. But of course he did, and he knew the story. It meant little to him. To the girl who was holding back her tears, it meant everything.

“Should I have stood against him? Would I have died if I did? I do not know…”

Etienne’s heart breaks for this poor girl. He saw in her another Sigrid, used perhaps in a lesser way, but used all the same. He couldn't save this one. Not now anyway. He does all he can to soothe her hurts, patting her hand. “You might have. Or he might have beat you and made you do it anyway. Sometimes you have to save the fight for later. Sometimes we are challenged and there seems to be no way out and it is like that for some time. I too, know what this is like.”

He reaches and wipes away her tears with his cold thumb, being careful not to startle her. “But remember, you are strong. You have survived all of this, and you wouldn't have were you not. You'll find the strength that I see in you before long. I've literally tasted it in your blood.” He gestured to the girl, “Would you like to forgo this, tonight? I will make certain your master doesn't punish you if you say yes. I find fear and anguish to be an off-putting taste unless I am angry with whom I am drinking from. You would be doing me a favour by not pretending to be able to do this tonight.”

The girl thought for a few seconds, gazing down at the floor before returning her eyes to Etienne. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and opening them again. “If it be your wish, sir, then I…I would like to forgo this. Please.” That last word had an ounce of begging, as though the memory of a previous night or two had played in her mind. Even though this man had been kinder with her, she could not bear the way he had gazed at her with such sadness to match her own.

Etienne nods, looking to Melodious, “With your permission, my Lord? As I said, I cannot stomach anguish. It's like a sour grape in a fine wine.”

“If that is your wish. I am not one to force a meal on a man.” Melodious was curious, but he restrained himself from indulging his many questions. Something seemed off in the way he had turned down such beauty, such gentle sweetness. But the Toreador Elder remembered his mission. He was observing all of this to tell the Prince, and the Prince would determine his feelings on this meeting.

“My dear girl, if you so wish to remain with him for some time until he leaves, that is fine. But we will finish discussing what the Prince wants from him.”

She did not react to him, but her eyes gazed back at Etienne, and he thought he saw a shadow of a small, shy smile. Indeed, almost reminiscent of the girl he loved.

Etienne gave her a slight, Gallic shrug. He was leaving the decision up to her. It wasn't like him to force someone to do something so minute that they didn't want to. Not when it was unimportant. There were times to cross that line, and times to not. This was one of the times he stayed firmly behind the line.


“Excellent. Therefore, let me talk to you, then,” Melodious continued, pulling himself into a seat and grabbing his own goblet, “about what the Prince expects of you, if we manage to get an audience with him for you.”

Fortuna watched them, having kept quiet for all this time and planning to continue keeping quiet during the night. She was still afraid, but if nothing else, she knew that Etienne would survive the night. He was definitely special, and a light in a strange place such as this. She could see his own assurance in himself and in his plans without even asking them. And most of all, she could see the way Etoile seemed to finally give a small smile. The head Ghoul almost seemed willing to smile herself.

***
Ms. Sieglinde König
November 18th/19th, 1888, Night
Etienne’s Apartment, London

Sigrid looked at the dress on a mannequin for the first time. It was gorgeous, and the way the silk fabric gleamed in its fullness against the moonlight caused something to twinkle in the woman’s heart. From the spark of creativity to an almost-completed garment, or at least the completed body of it. Still it needed more details, but every day she drew closer and closer to finishing it. Now she was close.

She clasped her hands and looked toward the light of the candle in her room. It glinted with a gentle pink light, dancing along with her good mood. “Do you see it? Look how lovely it turned out!”

“Once it’s finished, it will look even better.” Hanael was simply glad any time Sigrid was not ill or broken, and for the last couple of weeks she had been riding a streak of inspiration.

She did not finish playing with the details for a few hours, adding more lace and beads, until she heard the door open again from downstairs. Struck by a need to keep this project a secret for a while longer, she threw a cloth over the mannequin once again, and she rushed out of her room to go see what had come through the front door. Whether Etienne was home, or whether something had followed him.

It was indeed her Etienne. He was hanging up his jacket with shaking hands, his eyes squeezed shut. The fabric misses the coat hook and he has to fumble to catch it. He does, but only just, and sets the coat back up where it belongs. With a tired and weary sigh the French vampire slumped against the wall and slowly slid down to a seated position right there in front of the door.

When he looked up at Sigrid and held her eyes, she would see he was tired, sick at heart, and filled with utter contempt. Silence filled the air as he opened his mouth to speak, shook his head, and shut it once more.

“Etienne!” Seeing his condition, she knew something had gone wrong. Gathering her skirts, she hurried down the stairs. She then knelt in front of him, her movements soft and dove-like. She could feel the exhaustion burning in his eyes, the fear shaking his hands. Cupping his cheeks in her hands, she gazed into his pained eyes. “What happened, dear? Did he hurt you?” She kept her voice low, not wanting to burden him with more panic.

He shakes his head, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He tries to speak yet again but the words just won't come out. “I need a drink.” Etienne would say finally, “Help me up.”

Sigrid gathered him up, and she pulled him to his feet. Luckily, he was not heavy. When he was on his feet, she stroked his hair and kept her eyes on him. “What do you want to drink?”

“Whiskey, gin. I don't care.” He grumbled as he moved to the kitchen and sank down into one of the chairs. “Not like I can get drunk anymore without spiking some poor Kine’s blood with the stuff.”

Thanks to both Porter and Etienne, she knew where the alcohol was, and so she went to prepare him a glass. She poured him some whiskey, and she brought him the drink. Cold and sparkling with ice. “Here.” As she placed the glass in front of him, she sat next to him, waiting for him to talk when he was ready, or when he had the words. Or she would just sit with him in the silence, letting him rest from the whirlwind that had been Melodious Fisher.

Etienne nodded and downed the whiskey without much thought for taste. Like breathing, it was the reflex action of the living man he once was that he has not quite managed to scrub out just yet. He sighs and leans over, resting his head on the rim of the glass. From his position he murmurs, “I think I hate him.”

Sigrid took a hand and rested it on his arm. “You were not sure how you felt about him last time. He must have done something to tilt the scales, then.” She could only imagine what. The Toreador had already been a baffling individual to behold. But for her lover to come home and to look so depleted, Melodious must have done something particularly cruel.

“He uses his Ghouls like dolls, I think I mentioned that before.” Etienne said. “But he also acquired this… girl, just for me to drink from. But of course he’s already sampled her himself. She looks half dead when he brings her in. I'm sure he's got a bottle of her blood in the other room just for me too. To impress me.” His words begin to fall from his mouth, faster and faster.

“And then that young fledgling who was bothering Vasily. He killed him, I think. The servants seemed terrified of having a repeat. Everything in that house exists to sate his needs, he just… consumes and consumes and consumes.” Etienne shook his head, his eyes growing distant. “In him I can see the same hunger that drives our most distant elders to do what they do, only with far less restraint. He's a walking Masquerade violation waiting to happen, and I don't think he cares.”

“I imagine not.” She could hear the way his words fell breathlessly from his lips, as though he felt that he would be finished with the affair sooner if he spoke faster. Meanwhile, her words were slow and serene. “He sees beautiful young people and he sees jewelry. He sees adornments and fashions, but no real or true friends. That is a weakness to him, ultimately. And as for the girl…”

She imagined this young girl in a similar place to herself, kept for comfort like a toy and not as a person. The thought made her eyes flicker with a glint of Hanael’s amber light-anger at Melodious’s wickedness. Nevertheless, she kept herself steady and took a breath. “Do you think it would be possible to save her?”

“Not without asking Melodious for her as a gift of my own.” Etienne answered, shaking his head. “This isn't at all like prying you away from some dabbler. Melodious is an Elder- well connected and powerful. Paranoid beyond mortal comprehension. It's entirely possible he's used his Gifts to arrange for her to spy on me without even knowing and he's arranged all of this to pull at my better nature. He knows I have one, he is no fool. Even if she wasn't, he would set people to watch for her and if she was found roaming the streets of London, free as a bird, what do you think would happen to her? She's a Masquerade violation. Melodious could have me killed for letting her go. He would be perfectly within his rights to do so in accordance with Camarilla law.”


“I see. A truly caged bird.” Sigrid whispered, dropping her eyes back toward the table. “And there is no way to free her from being a Ghoul? She would still be a Masquerade violation even if she was human again?”

“Absolutely.” Etienne says firmly. “Kine are not supposed to see the other side of the veil under any circumstance. That's why we use Ghouls. They can go places we cannot. Do things we cannot and provide us with a degree of separation from the world that the Kine inhabit. It's only those who have already breached the veil that can be trusted with the truth, for they tend to live by their own rules similar to the Masquerade. Like Mages and Paradox.”

She went quiet for a few moments, thinking. She hated to see Etienne look so defeated, or at least so distressed. Of course, defeat meant there was no answer, and distress meant the road was not particularly clear. But when she had another thought, she brightened just a hint. “Is there anything your other acquaintance can do? Lord Valle. You met with him, he seemed more personable at least.”

“There are…” Etienne looked thoughtful for a moment. “Rules. Etiquette for asking your betters in Ventrue society for favours. This would be no small one either… I would have to play it very carefully and it would likely take Melodious being removed or disgraced and his property seized. This is no small undertaking.”

“You would have to give him something rather large in return.” She decided to get the rest of the tea in the pot, and poured herself a cup. She gave a small sigh, and sipped it as she thought of the situation. “And an Elder being removed from his position would be a rather large change in the politics for Kindred in Kent. Someone better could move into that position, or someone worse. And then of course, what happens to the other poor Ghouls in the same position as that poor girl.” She turned to look at the Ventrue. “Does she have a name?”

“Etoile.” Etienne recalls, “Though I do not believe it was the name she was given at birth. Even that has been taken from her.”

“I’m sure it has been. As pretty of a name as that is, Melodious feels like someone who would give someone a new name like that. Like a pet of sorts.” She walked back to him, and she put a hand on his shoulder. A slight, tender motion to help Etienne’s spirits. “What would you have to give Lord Valle for him to help you?”

“I don't know.” The Frenchman admits softly. “I think the best I can do for her is put Melodious back on his heels. This isn't the Underground Railroad- I can't just whisk every Ghoul away into a better life. I have to play the game.”

The Promethean gave a sigh. Marianne had been a lucky opportunity, and they had struck just as the iron had been hot. They truly could not save everyone, that was the ultimate tragedy. Nevertheless, the idea stayed in her mind. She leaned down and kissed Etienne on the neck. “I know. And it would be too much to try and solve right this moment. But even bringing Melodious down a peg would be good. He would have to mind his business in order to avoid losing everything he has. And then more power to you, yes?”

“Yes.” Comes Etienne’s answer. “Unless of course my shaking up the establishment worries some of the Elders, which it very well might. They are typically conservative by nature.”

“Unless Melodious becomes unpopular with them. Though from what you’ve said, he seems to at least have a lot of associates. And what have his associates said about you?”

“I would have to dig around and find the answer to that, I suppose.”

“Nothing at the last party? Nothing from Lord Valle?” Sigrid was surprised, though at the same time she knew how new he was to much of the Elders’ eyes. Not to mention that his actions leading to Wilcox’s death should have had people talking.

Etienne waves that aside, “No one has said anything to me, so I couldn't know for sure. Some are probably speculating that Melodious is courting me, or I'm hoping to gain his favour with romantic attentions or some such. Valle seemed to favour that interpretation himself, but he worried I might have ambitions beyond my station that I cannot sustain.”

“Courting you. Hm…I see.” She tried not to pause on that thought, knowing it of course to not be true. And all part of the game. “That is all the more reason to bring Lord Valle this information, especially if he is a rival to him. Maybe that will edge him toward helping you, especially if he already likes you.” Despite the ambiguous nature of their conversation, she tried to give him an encouraging smile. If he was going to form a strategy after such a tiring night, he needed something to brighten his mood. “Your ambitions are growing carefully right now, so unless you mention that you somehow want to be above the Elders, I don’t see why he would need to worry that you are going to stagger and fall over yourself.”

Etienne let out a long, low sigh, letting his head drop down onto her shoulder. “Honestly, I think I need to just forget all about it for a night. A dabbler and his idiot friends was one thing, but now I'm taking on an Elder. It wasn't at all what I expected I would be getting into, and yet… here I am. I just need to get these jitters out of my system and start coming up with a clear plan.”

“Of course.” She now sat next to him, letting him lay against her and stroking his hair with a tender hand. “It’s quite frightening, all of it. But you’ve come this far. We’ve come this far, haven’t we?” Sigrid kissed his hand, which had been laying on the whiskey glass. “If nothing else, you’ve shown what you can do for me. And didn’t I say you would one day be a king?”

“You did…” Etienne answers hesitantly, lifting his head up to look at her. “Right now though, I really don't want to think about being a King. Right now I'd really just like to forget all about this. Can we do that? I'd really like that.”

She smiled a little more and she gently pulled him to his feet, holding him around his waist as she did so. “Certainly. Whatever you would like, darling.” Sigrid held him against her, knowing he was not willing to do much physically except relax, and she closed her eyes as she rocked him. “Right now, what do you want?”

“I think I need a bath.” Etienne admitted after a moment's thought. He even seemed to lean against Sigrid, as if drawing strength from her form. “I want to wash myself of all of this mess. I feel as though I've been contaminated by Melodious’ excess.”

“Sure. A bath sounds lovely.” She then gave him a soft kiss first, helping him to pull his mind away from such overwhelming wickedness and back toward something sweet. Back toward the love which had centered him.

[Luminesa]

Co-Write Betweeb Morrdh and Lumi

A Dance of Chaos and Innocence
November 8th, 1888, Night
East London

Though his time in the army had toughened him up, Dunne had gone to seed a little since he'd last put the scarlet serge on and it was something he was regretting as he hurried through the streets of Whitechapel drawing bemused looks from passer-bys. The Russian Mage, Vasily, had given him a address that they could be reached it. *Oh, what was it? Some bookshop wasn't it?*

Dunne had a rough inkling of where it was located, it was over in Wapping nestled in between the great docks of London and the Thames. He vaguely recalled some church, possibly St John's, laid to the south whilst a canal ran to the north. Like much of the East End, it was densely packed with grotty terrace houses and great big factories and warehouses. Though the docks had sprung up and sprawled out in the last century, the area had ancient roots with the church dating back to just after the Stuarts ascended to the throne of England.

The shop itself wasn't that difficult to find, it's Georgian facade stood it apart from the more recent rugged brick constructions thrown up in the last few decades. But it was late, the gaslights lining the street feebly fought back the suffocating dark of the Autumn night and Dunne wasn't sure whether anyone would come to the door at such an hour. Regardless, he needed the Mage and started hammering on the glass panes of the shop's door.

Vasily was asleep this evening, as the meeting with Melodious would not be for a couple of days. He was slumped on the couch, his eyes shut, and his snores loud. The night should have been otherwise peaceful, and he was not dressed for anything except getting alcohol from the kitchen.

Except then Dunne started pounding on the door.

The Mage fell off the couch and swore under his breath, before he rushed to the door while not even awake. When he opened it, he found Dunne looking at him, and he groaned. “Yes, Officer?”

"The Ripper!" Exclaimed Dunne. "By Gaia, the bally Ripper!"

"No more than an hour's ago over Whitechapel Road way." Dunne continued. "Swear I walked right past the bastard!"

Vasily sighed. He knew what might come from such an encounter. He might have to fight, or at least he might have to run a long distance. Either way, he nodded. "Alright. I'm gonna get dressed, give me a minute."

He did not need anything fancy, just a shirt, coat, pants, and shoes. He threw a button-down on over his undershirt, grabbed a light coat and pants, boots, and his Martini-Henry. He was glad now that Wayland had enchanted this thing. The fight with MacKenzie would have been impossible without it, and a fight with the Black Spiral Dancer would be even worse. He just needed to remember to put a Silencing spell around himself and Dunne before using any Magic that loud.

After he got dressed, he found a notepad and scribbled quickly on the paper. He needed to let Wayland know where he was going, and why. When he was done and ready, he hurried back to the door and lit a cigarette. After he put it in his lips, he grunted and nodded to Dunne again. "I left a note for Wayland. Let's go."

Dunne waited anxiously, his eyes warily watching the gloomy streets and alleys that surrounded the shop. His hand never strayed far from his revolver, though he kept it holstered for the time being but was poised to whip it out at the first sign of danger. At last Vasily emerged from the shop and Dunne's gaze fell upon the rifle as echos of sand, of heat, of the tang of cordite, of men screaming and drying, of wicked blades glinting in the sun....

No.

He shook his head to try and exercise the unhappy memories of the Sudanese wastes sparked by the sight of the rifle, but the ghost of them still lingered in the dark corners of his mind and haunted his dreams. His chance encounter with the Ripper had unsettled him and his nerves were raw after the events of the past few months, a convalescence by the sea in somewhere like Brighton or a quiet fishing village seemed rather appealing. Perhaps when the whole Ripper business was firmly dealt with he would consider it. Perhaps.

Vasily followed, continuing to smoke his cigarette as he held his rifle close under his jacket. "Here's what we're gonna do. I'm gonna keep this cig lit for now, but when we get close to the Ripper I'm gonna put it out. That's your cue to get ready to shoot, or to run, or whatever it is. I'll trace him from behind, you have a gun ready, right?"

All the while, he had his Spirit Magic activated. He was waiting to pick-up a scent, or a miasma, anything that would lead the duo in the right direction. "And where are we looking again?"

Attempting to retrace his steps, Dunne led the way back to the maze of alleyways which were the witness to the game of cat and mouse that he'd unwittingly played with the Ripper. Whether he wanted to face the Ripper again was another matter, the briefest of glimpses and the unpleasant aura that hung round the person had left Dunne unsettled. Whether his revolver loaded with silver bullets and the abilities welded by the Russian Mage were enough to tackle the Ripper was something that Dunne increasingly questioned with each step he took. Perhaps they might be better off rousing Michael and his pack of garou?

No, that would cost time that they could ill-afford.

The distant sounds of bells striking the hour echoed over the rooftops and seem to almost taunt as Dunne tried to puzzle out a possible course of action. The odds were very much stacked against the pair of them taking on the Ripper, Vasily's abilities were still an unknown quality to the detective sergeant and Dunne wasn't keen on finding out the limitations of those abilities in the heat of battle. But the question remained as to what they would do if and when they encountered the Ripper?

Could they track him? It would address the biggest problem anyone's had with trying to catch the Ripper and how damnably elusive he'd been. Least it would give them a bit of breathing room to assemble a band to deal with the Ripper for once and for all.

"Did you smell anything? What did you feel? Did you feel any Spirits around you?" Vasily did not like the way that Dunne had gotten so quiet. He was too quiet-not communicative, not looking at him, pacing as though he was afraid. He gave a light tug to the officer's shoulder, and he looked him in the eyes. All the while, the lit cigarette remained in his mouth. "Oy, look. I see the wheels turning in your head, but they're not making any noise. You've got to tell me what you saw beside, 'I think I saw him,' or we're gonna be running around London all night. And if we're doing that, I'm going to be upset, or I'm gonna accidentally shoot the wrong thing with this arm cannon under my jacket, and then we're both buggered. And neither of us want that. Got it?"

"Sorry...." Mumbled Dunne. "This whole affair has sparked some old memories, ugly ones at that, ones I thought long since buried."

"As fer wot I felt?" Dunne paused hesitantly for a moment. "Me old grandma was ta said ta have the Sight ye know? Call it a sixth sense if ye will, but seems ta run strong in me family."

"The Ripper walked right past me and I *knew* wot he were, an aura that hung heavy round him almost like oil and darker than the blackest night. Will carry bugger all weight 'fore a magistrate but I know tis were the Ripper."

“Physical appearance. What was he wearing, which direction did he take, what shoes? Any part of the face?” Vasily was glad to know there was an aura to follow, but he had already known that. What he needed was something he could now see.

Dunne thought for a moment and then replied. "Wore a long overcoat with an attached cap, dark like navy blue but well worn going by how dull it looked."

"Didn't see no face." Continued Dunne. "Had a dark brown, reckon maroon, but battered bowler pulled down at the front with an upturned collar."

"He wore ankle boots, similar ones I recall from me army days....though badly scruffed and I reckon they were secondhand."

"Encountered him on Whitechapel Road 'fore he ducked into the alleyways ta the north, followed best I could 'fore I lost his trail just east of Spitalfields Market."

“Alright. That’s much better.” The Russian gave a nod and started Dunne down a path toward Spitalfields Market. If he was not still there, then he would have at least left a mark. One more clue for them to follow, and hopefully the last. “Navy coat, cap, bowler, army boots…alright. Let’s see if he’s still fiddling around.”

Dunne led the way through the gaslit streets of Whitechapel, now quieter than they were earlier and with a mist snaking it's way in from the Thames over cobblestones and through twisting alleys. Perhaps still unsettled from earlier, Dunne warily eyed each doorway and alleyway as the pair past them. The shadows seemed to mock and taunt in the flickering glow of the gas lamps, ruffians and streets vagabonds peered like rats gathered behind cracks in the walls.

*Gaia damn it!* How had had he walked these streets?

He'd worked these streets as a lowly bobby after his time in the army, though it wasn't that long before he ended up becoming a detective sergeant and delved into the murky depths of London's criminal underworld. But that had been very human dangers he had faced, these past few months had proved that these paled in comparison to what *truly* lurked in the dark and preyed upon the souls and fears of man. Things that would've turn any man into a raving lunatic confined to the dreaded halls of Bedlam.

The duo rounded a corner and the great brick frontage of Spitalfields Market came into view, still busy at this hour with market porters and carters fussing over wagons and carts laden with produce originating from the fields and farms outside of the metropolis. Frowning, Dunne glanced round but nothing stood out and he doubted that the Ripper would be laying in wait in such a busy place. Turning to Vasily, Dunne suggested. "There's a few public houses nearby where ladies o' the night are known ta gather....chances are our man will be lurking close by if he intends to strike this night."

“Alright. I can handle that.” He grinned over at Dunne, almost cat-like against the shadows of the streetlamps. “Do you want to split-up, or just pick one place and stand around? I can still track him with my Magic, just waiting for his miasma to make an appearance.”

"Only caught a whiff o' the blighter, but I sure as hell don't fancy facing him alone." Replied Dunne as he recalled to recall the various pubs in the area and glanced up and down the street. His glaze soon settled upon the sign of the corner building next to the great market, the words proudly declaring it to be The Britannia. "Over there would be a good a spot as any."

Vasily nodded, and he used Spirit to shroud himself in the darkness. He then pulled himself into a corner by The Britannia, continuing to smoke. When the smoke vanished, Dunne would know that the chase was on.

Dunne picked a spot next to the pub from where he could watch the street, then rooted around in his pockets for a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches. He was soon rewarded for his efforts by finding a packet of Woodbines, a new and strong but cheap unfiltered brand of cigarettes he'd come across in some tobacco shop over near Aldgate. The match took a couple of tries before it finally took and Dunne lit the end of the cigarette and breathed in the harsh smoke, then leaned back against the wall and let his gaze wander.

A sudden nagging feeling made Dunne frown, like his sixth sense was trying to tell him something important. Glancing round, the only thing that stood out was a tall, slim, fair girl of fresh complexion, and an attractive appearance. The dim gaslight made it difficult to tell if her hair was an ash blonde or dark chestnut, though her clothes were well-worn and Dunne didn't have to guess much as to the pretty, buxom girl's profession. He spared the street walker a slight nod and mumbled greeting, which she returned with a small smile and a wink before entering the pub. Dunne tried not to spare the lass much thought, so-called 'fallen doves' were far from being an uncommon sight in Whitechapel, but the nagging feeling refused to go away.

Vasily saw the same woman, and he decided to let his better senses take him where he may. Crossing the street, he followed the girl that Dunne had seen into the pub, trying to remain discreet at the same time. Something told him that any lone girl walking around at night now was in danger, and he hoped that maybe he had even intercepted the Spiral Dancer in the process.

Having glimpsed the Mage heading into the pub, Dunne glanced round the street one more time before following. The lass wasn't the only woman to be working the streets at this late hour, he spied a few familiar faces i the company of others seemingly unfazed by the Ripper. Then again, they still had to earn coin somehow to pay the rent of wherever they happened to be lodging. But, least far as he could tell, there didn't seem to be any sign of the Ripper.

With a sigh, Dunne headed into the pub that was a ruckus with the noise of conversation and drunken singing and laughing. Approaching the Mage, he nodded and said. "Ye saw the lass as well?"

He nodded over his shoulder as he looked into the pub. “Mhm. I don’t know why, but I have a bad feeling. Unless she’s a red herring.”

He stuck his head back out of the pub, and he whirled around to look at Dunne. “And still no strange feeling. Nothing. Are we going to watch every prostitute in London until we find the one who doesn’t walk into a pub?”

As he griped, he kept his Spirit Magic ready. He sensed around for a miasma, something powerful. Something that would make his soul shake.

"Aye." Agreed Dunne. "Though she triggered me sixth sense, I'd bet a sovereign there's something....special 'bouts her."

"Still dozens o' lasses working these cursed streets despite all the dang-..." Dunne suddenly stopped mid-sentence and glanced round behind him, trying to peer through the fogged windows of the pub to the street outside. He swore, for a moment, that he sensed the same unpleasant presence that he felt earlier when he ran into the supposed Ripper. Nothing stood out and he wasn't entirely sure whether he'd glimpsed a dark figure ducking into an alleyway on the other side of the street or had imagined it.

“Did you see that?” Vasily could have sworn he saw a shadow. Deciding to take a chance on an otherwise eventless night, he whirled around to Dunne. “Wait here, watch the block.”

He then hurried down the street, wasting no time but also shrouding himself in the Gauntlet as he did so. He had to be a shadow, just like whatever this creature was. “Come out, come out, you bastard,” he murmured, cigarette still between his teeth.

As Vasily shrouded himself in the Gauntlet, the world took on a much more darker and gloomy aspect. The now grime-coated and decrepit streets were choked by Old London Town's perpetual fog, engulfing them and suffocating them to the point where the world only seemed to be the immediate area round the Mage with a grey cloud-like void beyond. There was very little noise, the sounds of life of the city was muffled and suppressed to the point where the Mage had to strain his ears to catch the merest tiny sound.

Tap, tap, tap...

It echoed all around, sounding so close but also so distant at the same time within the murky depths of the fog whilst being so frustrating to actually pinpoint the source. Just when Vasily thought he'd determined the direction, the tapping suddenly changed to a completely different direction as it seemed t draw close before sounding far away once more.

“Oh no you don’t.”

Vasily charged in the direction of the miasma, knowing as soon as he had felt it that he had found his mark. He could not verbally tell Dunne what he had seen. What he could do, however, was charge down the street and leave a quick flash of cigarette smoke behind him, which seemed to trail with the rest of the cloak of shadows.

That tapping sound was going to drive him insane. He kept listening for it, knowing that sooner it would be louder, loud enough for him to determine a safe distance. He felt for his Martini-Henry under his coat, gripping it with white knuckles and preparing to fire a shot. As long as he cloaked himself in the Gauntlet, he would avoid making noise in the physical plane. And he might have a better chance of hitting him.

The tapping grew louder and louder and then...it suddenly stopped.

An unearthly silence descended with Vasily seemingly alone in a world of brick and fog, let not alone as the Mage became aware of something else.

“…Hello?” He knew the moment of truth was now, and he cocked his gun. Aiming it into the darkness, he waited. It would attack, or it would not.

Tic, tic, tic, tic, tic...

The noise was more rapid and erratic than the rhythmic tapping of a walking stick on cobblestone, it was preceded by a rolling wave of almost nausea inducing corruption that oozed through the air. Eventually it came into sight, a pony-sized shape that loomed and scuttered out of the swirling fog. It shuddered and moved with jerk-like movements on long spindly legs like some enormous spider, though when it's body heaved into view it was mechanical but was corroded and pitted with unwholesome growths. From the fangs round it's mouth and from various joints in it's body, a black sickly oil-like liquid seeped and dripped onto the ground.

KARRRANG!!!

Being in the Gauntlet, Vasily had no reason to hesitate. He fired his weapon, which gave an earth-shattering boom around him as he fired into the creature with a bullet powered by Wayland’s enchantments. It would not have just put a bullet in a normal monster, but it would have blown away limbs, or a face, if it landed. Not to mention that it would have burned, as well. MacKenzie would have known all too well what this sort of pain was like-fast, heavy, and debilitating.

He could not call to Dunne, but the officer would feel something in the ground give a mighty shake. If nothing else, it would have been a sign to run to investigate the source of the explosion. But once he was close enough, the Mage would inform him of the location of his bounty. If only he could get it to hold still.

“I’M GOING TO BREAK ALL OF YOUR LEGS INTO TINY LITTLE INSIGNIFICANT PIECES, AND USE THEM FOR COOKING WOOD.”

The creature let out a sound much like a distorted train whistle, it's obsidian eyes locked onto Vasily and glowed with a green sheen. Thick, black oily smoke rose off it's body where the Mage's shot had landed whilst a sickly black fluid bubbled out of the 'wound'. It shrieked and shrieked again, the distorted whistle sounding like a demented steam train as it aggressively scuttled it's spindly legs.

Another shot. Vasily marched on the creature once he heard the sound of it being wounded. A bloodthirsty grin stretched across his face, and he refused to lower the weapon. “There’s a good rat. Now lay down and die.” Another shot.

The creature continued it's maddening shrieked as it scuttled towards Vasily at a fast pace, the 'wounds' from where the Mage's shots landed caused it to constantly trip over it's tangle of spindly legs making it's motion look like it was constantly falling over as it propelled itself forward. It went down, hard, when a shot blasted through the joints of it's legs on one side of it's body. Though the shrieking continued as it attempted to close the distance by using it's remaining legs to literally drag itself along the ground, leaving a trail of the sickly black liquid behind.

“DUNNE!” Vasily screamed from the Gauntlet. He had the monster on the ground, and he needed for the man to hear him. He could not step out entirely, but he could yell now that he knew the Black Spiral Dancer would not run away. He still managed to fight away the monster by shooting, aiming for its last couple of legs. “GET OVER HERE!!! DUNNE!!!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Whilst Vasily contended with the strange spider creature, Dunne was growing increasingly anxious after losing sight of the Mage outside of the public house. The woman who'd triggered the detective's sixth sense was in the process of leaving and Dunne was torn between following her to ensure the Ripper didn't get her or tracking down the Mage. Additionally he had a nagging feeling that something else was demanding his attention, though nothing obvious presented itself and the woman was already halfway down the street.

Dunne made his decision, stubbed out the cigarette he'd been smoking, and trailed after the woman. His instinct told him that sooner or later he would have a run-in with the Ripper thanks to this woman.

“DUNNE!!! DUNNE!! Son of a…” Vasily did not have time to finish his swear, as he pivoted around and continued to shoot at the beast on the ground. If the officer was not going to arrive, so be it. He would finish the monster himself, and would have full control over the story of the creature’s legacy.

The creature took a respectable amount of damage before it finally perished, shrieking it's mad whistle right to the end. Oozing everywhere was the sickly black liquid that was seemingly it's blood, seeping here and there changing whatever it touched by turning it into a darker and more decayed looking version of what it had been. Up on the rooftops two more spider creatures had appeared, they were both metallic but appeared to be in more pristine condition and were staring down with what could be described as curiosity.

Of the detective, there was no sign that he'd even heard the Mage.

Seeing that the creature had seemingly died, Vasily stood back and stared at the pile of goo. He blinked once, and then twice. Silence overwhelmed, once the screams were done. He stared behind him, and then back at the spot. He needed to scoop the remains, in order to have proof.

“Damn pig never showed, what sort of credit should he get,” he murmured, as he knelt down to get some of the goop.

He did not have much for collecting, but he did have an old pipe. He gathered the substance in it, and took a cork out of his coat pocket from a long-emptied bottle. After gathering some of the blood for Wayland to examine, he then turned up toward the roof.

“HEY!” He aimed his gun upward. “WHY DON’T YOU TWO BASTARDS COME DOWN HERE, AND EAT BRASS LIKE THE GOOD LORD INTENDED.”

But they did not. Before he could look for a way to traverse to the top of the building, they had disappeared in a mist. If he had fired a warning shot into the air, it would have informed the public and created a scene. Instead, Vasily found himself munching harder on his cigarette, grinding it until the still-burning piece fell to the ground. Immediately, he stomped it with his foot.

“DAMN IT!”

His shout was met with silence. He had killed one…phantom, anyway. He could not be sure if what he had killed was actually the Black Spiral Dancer, or a piece of it. And there were possibly more little minions running around, like nocturnal insects trying to avoid the light. But as one had just learned, they could not avoid the light forever.

Neither would they be able to escape Vasily once he actually got a hold of backup. If Dunne was not going to respond to help him, then he would go and find Wayland. Without another word, he lit another cigarette, took his pipe full of blood, and marched into the darkness alone. He would let the cop know in the morning, and of the possible consequences ahead.

“Gonna need a bigger fire for all these roaches…”

[Finsternia]

Dancing Days Are Here Again
November 8th/9th, 1888, Night
Wayland’s Bookstore

Vasily arrived back at the bookstore with a storm and a knock. He did not even wait for Wayland to open the door. In fact, the person behind it was MacKenzie, who staggered back as he saw how angry the young man was.

“I’m going to presume you found either nothing or something serious?” The animatronic Mage asked, a little nervous.

“I’m guessing something of both. I know it was something, but I don’t know if it was OUR something. Possibly a spectre of what we needed to find. WAYLAND!”

Once more, Wayland is to be found in his workshop, tinkering with a queer-looking fluid in a flask. The Moros is in all of his Mage regalia; all in black leathers, face concealed by a beaked leather mask, with an addition of an apron. With a pair of tongs, Wayland picks up the flask from its perch above a bunsen burner, with the fluid inside swirling with pulsing colors and hues. With slow precision, he brings it into another beaker, one with a singular dull grey crystal at the bottom, and he gently pours it in. Thin plumes of sparkling smoke which rapidly deteriorates into a brackish green-black smog with silently screaming indistinct faces evaporate from the reaction, which the Mage immediately contains within another flask with a mystical gesture. He was about to screw in the cork when Vasily’s shout traveled into the room, making him almost drop and spill his alchemical concoction.

Wayland stares at the flask in silence, eyeing the screaming mist from within, before he corks it into safely. Only once it was down on the work table did the Mage let out a sigh, followed by another equally tired exhale as he leaves his apron on the nearby chair before exiting the workshop. Heavy footfalls echo in the corridor as his stark appearance comes into view as he rounds the corner. “Cereus, we’ve discussed your shouting many times already…” The Moros remarks, but his monotone voice has a hint of softness into it as he meets Vasily and MacKenzie in the hallway. “Has something happened?”

“I FOUND IT! Or part of it!” Without delay, the man pulled his flask out of his jacket. Inside, the insidious black liquid pooled and sloshed. “You know how Dunne called me out to go help look for the Black Spiral Dancer, right? Well, a shadowy being had been stalking the Gauntlet, so I chased it there and shot it to Hell. I tried to get Dunne’s attention, he was busy patrolling, so I just ran back here. Need a better pair of eyes to look over this substance while I telegram Dunne and Marianne separately.”

“Have you sealed it?” There comes Wayland’s first inquiry as he inspects the flask of black liquid, which seems to move with the same physicality as that of liquid tar or oil.

Without waiting for a reply, the Moros fiddles with the necklace of miniature swords around his neck, caressing one that is made out of lightless black steel, and from the walls apparate the dusk-like glow of furnace fire. He taps on the flask thrice, and MacKenzie and Vasily hear the phantom sound of hammers beating hot steel before the apparition of Wayland’s Nimbus fades away. “Have you confirmed what manner of creature did this come from?” He asks as he takes the flask, now sealed by the Alchemist’s magic, holding it up against the light of the electric bulbs on the ceiling. Behind the mask, Wayland’s slate-grey eyes turn deep black as the Supernal intersects with the Phenomenal, bringing forth the Sight of Death.

“It was in the Gauntlet, so it definitely was not human,” Vasily confirmed, “and it moved with this strange, spider-like tapping noise. It hissed and squirmed like a bug. I don’t know if this is THE Black Spiral Dancer, but it certainly looks like one.” He took a puff of his cigarette and scratched his head. “And what made it even more suspicious was that it appeared not too far from a brothel and a pub. You know, where there’s lots of girls for it to chase. And it looked like it had almost decided to chase one.”

The smell of blood immediately assaulted Wayland’s senses. It was acrid, too heavy compared to that of normal bloodshed, tinged with rot and corruption. Worms seem to wiggle and swim in the dark fluid as Wayland accepts the revelations of the Supernal, yet the Realm of Stygia does not speak of its association with it, but rather of its current status as one of the dead as well as the symbols of rot and decay in its being. Wayland blinks a couple more times, before the Sight is dispelled. “This thing is not of Death. It is not a Ghost, but most likely a Spirit because it is from beyond the Gauntlet. I can sense that it is already dead however, and it is involved in many deaths one way or another.”

“The problem is that there were more of them, and I could not catch them,” the Mage huffed, “nor could I get Dunne’s attention. And honestly, he seemed about as confused as anyone might be in such a situation. But what he did help me find was the general area of where these things seem to be congregating. So we need to get together and see how we want to hunt the rest of these buggers down.”

“I will be honest in my opinion that you and Gladius are more suited in fighting a creature of the Shadow, but I can still assist you as long as either of you would support me and be able to bring me across the Gauntlet.”

“I can bring you across the Gauntlet. I don’t know if Marianne can do that.” The Russian Mage frowned and stared at the floor. “She’s a great Mage, but someone doesn’t just use the Gauntlet after never having traveled into it before. Unless that was what she was able to use to hold her baby?”

“It is through my enchantments that she was able to give her ghostly baby a means to manifest.” Wayland shakes his head in return. “I do not know about her accomplishments in the Spirit Arcanum, but I believe that she is quite skilled in Life, as her garden testifies. If she is amiable, she will be our medic when we go venture across the Gauntlet.”

“Amiable, I hope she is.” He sighed shortly, worried about the events of the last two weeks. “I mean, I know we’ve put her through a lot, a lot is an understatement even. But she wants to be our ally, she wants to help, I’m just…I hope you’re right.”

Shaking away his worries, he looked at the stack of burnable notes on the front desk. “I’m going to send a message to Dunne and to Marianne. Think we can all meet here tomorrow night and discuss how to chase these things? Because if one of them kills another girl, that’s gonna be a complication we have to figure before we actually kill a Black Spiral Dancer. But if we can stop them first, maybe we can be done with the whole problem.”

“If Miss Gladius would accept our invitation, MacKenzie,” he turns to the Mage within the living armor, “I trust that you have already grasped the layout and the occupants of our Sanctum. We will shut down the library as well as the operations of the workshop during that time, so please cooperate with Olivia in regards to the security measures of the Sanctum while most of our Cabal would be gone.” He keeps his gaze steady on MacKenzie, giving the reborn Mage a chance to prove his trustworthiness as well as his new station as a member of the Wallflowers. “If anyone comes, only allow the Disciple of Master Metis, Clementine, the Promethean Sigrid, as well as the Ventrue Etienne into the Sanctum. They have earned the right to be members, or at least as treasured partners, of our Cabal.”

“Sure thing,” MacKenzie answered with a nod of his armored head, “though I just hope Olivia will be willing to tolerate me for that much time.”

“She’ll be fine, she deals with me on a daily basis,” Vasily assured him.

“Yes, but I haven’t exactly made a fine impression, and I feel she’s been looking for a time to try and kill me again!”

“Well this is the time to prove you’re worth keeping around. If there wasn’t a time earlier, anyway.”

MacKenzie just gave a shuffling sigh. Wayland and Vasily were right, this was a way for him to demonstrate his worth to the Cabal. If he could not even guard an empty bookstore on a hopefully-quiet night then th/ey had spared him from his curse for nothing. “Alright. Just put me in the right spot and I’ll guard it with my life.”

“She is extremely protective of the Sanctum because for her, this is a second home.” Wayland speaks with another hint of softness in his voice, one that almost sounds brotherly that Vasily would certainly perceive. “She provides for us by her own choice, and she isn’t just a servant of the Sanctum.” He pauses for a bit as he regards MacKenzie for a moment. “If you wish to win her approval, perhaps gift her a cookbook or a set of sewing designs.”

“Or cook her something. Or offer to clean the kitchen while she rests,” Vasily suggested.

“Hm.” The armored man shrugged. “That may be more doable, since currently, I cannot exactly go out in public. After all, I’m not exactly a…regular human man anymore. But anywho, yes. I can watch the Sanctum with her, and I will make sure Olivia does not have to do all the work.”

The blonde Mage nodded and smiled. “Good! In that case, I can go send a message to our two people-of-interest.” He then looked to Wayland. “What’re you going to do with that flask? And uh, my now-contaminated pipe.” He handed the other time to the blacksmith, careful not to touch the end that was dripping that black, shadowy substance.

Wayland makes a glance at the corroded weapon, and he makes the same warding gestures as before, sigils and burning text encrypting themselves upon the barrel in order to seal whatever supposed adverse effects that the black liquid could have done. “I’ll run some tests on it, and I may need some assistance when it comes to the field of Spirit Magic. Other than that, go ahead and get yourself some of the messaging parchment and address them to Officer Dune and Miss Gladius.”

“Roger that,” Vasily nodded and started to look for the parchment. He knew that the road ahead to killing this monster was still not entirely clear, but at least now they had a path forward.

Now they just had to find the last missing piece.

[Luminesa]

Planting Seeds
November 9th, 1888, Daytime
Vasily’s Store, East London

Marianne walked into the store, just as Vasily had asked in his note to her. She had brought the infant in her arms, careful not to let people see into the bundle she was carrying. After all, she was an older woman walking alone, and even in the daytime she was something of an oddity. Luckily for her, Pots and Ends was just the right place for an odd person.

“Well, isn't this a lovely shop?” She spoke the words that would inform the shop owner that she had arrived, even though he was not quite at the front of the store. He was near the back, watering plants, when he heard her.

“Oh!”

With a prompt turn he put his watering can to the side and rushed to the front of the store-gloves, apron, and all. He smiled at the woman and nodded. “Good morning, Marianne!”

“Good morning,” she answered, returning his smile with a polite one of her own. Even with her usual composed expression on her face, anyone could see the joy that came to her eyes as she scanned the flowers and plants around the younger Mage. She was eyeing all of them with wonder, and she let Innocence peer from her swaddling clothes to see the many plants. “You keep everything so fresh and green, Vasily. It’s delightful, I must say.”

“Eh, something I offer has to be of quality. Wayland does Magical tools, I run a greenhouse and sell old knick-knacks.”

“A very fine greenhouse!” She eyed around the shop, forgetting for a few moments about the conversation to come and eyeing the variety of roses and other blooming flowers. “Jack always thought it was funny, to see me in trousers and a shirt, wearing gloves and digging the soil to plant all of those roses.”

“Working in a long skirt or dress in a garden doesn’t sound very prudent,” Vasily suggested.

“Not at all! And my mother had raised us in farming clothes! We had two day dresses, and a church dress each, but she stitched for us trousers and shirts because those were easy to fix!” She gave a little laugh and shook her head. “But he knew he was marrying a farmer woman. It was just…oddly charming that the shock never truly left him.”

“Well what did he think he was gonna do, turn you into a socialite?”

“He had no hope of that from the beginning. He got pale when I had him help me to deliver a calf!” Then she became somber again for a moment, as she did frequently these days. “…It’s hard. To imagine that the same man felt so comfortable looking at, cutting at, doing all of those things to…”

Vasily understood. “Magic changes people. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worst. And people try to make each other look like cattle all the time. I go to church at Bethnal Green, and I can imagine how all the governors and ministers look at all the people coming for food. They climb so far up the ladder, they forget they too could have once been food for the people up top.”

Marianne went quiet, thinking on his words but not expressing her thoughts. She eyed one of the bushels of daisies, and then came to her senses. “The Black Spiral Dancer. You found one in East London last night?”

“Yeah, or something like one.”

“And there are possibly more of them?”

“No, there are more of them,” Vasily explained, “the problem is that I don’t know if they are all in the same area, or if they are waiting for the next murder, or if they are all headed to the place of the next murder. The only thing we know now is what they look like.”

“And what do they look like?”

“Well, these look like little shadows that climb around walls in the Gauntlet.”

Marianne nodded.

“Good, basically what Wayland used for Innocence. The thing that helps you to be able to see her. Well, they hang in there, but apparently they are able to get out from there. But this one didn’t look like the man that Dunne had described, so we need to find that man still.”

“So you fought maybe some of its miasma, but not the man himself.”

“Correct.”

The older woman frowned. “It’s likely that he’s either killed or will kill someone else again then.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. We either need to stop him before he does it, or we need to be at the scene of the next murder.”

“I see.” Marianne looked down at Innocence, who was trying to see the flowers better. She walked closer to a patch of daisies to let her see their bright colors. “What do you need for me to do?”

“We might have you be our healer. Wayland and I can fight, but-”

“I’m quite sorry to interrupt, Vasily, but I can also fight. In fact, I am a much better fighter than a healer.”

Finding himself stopped mid-sentence, the younger Mage seemed to forget to close his mouth around the last word he spoke, and he closed his lips and decided to let her continue to speak, if she so chose.

“I can certainly help with any healing, if the two of you are hurt, but I am a swordswoman first. Now, I am not a person to concern myself with the opinions of others, nor am I one to assume malice before misjudgment. And I am far too old to feel a need to prove myself and my abilities to anyone. However, if Mr. Wayland requires a demonstration, I am quite willing to give him one.” Underneath all of the stoic demeanor and gentle wisdom, Vasily could see what had made her such a strong Mage in the first place. The fire of a long-suffering woman, one who had been misjudged herself for far too long.

The younger Mage just blew from his lips, and he looked down at his hands at his pockets. A small grin formed at the corners of his lips. “You’re gonna have to explain that to him. But that’s gonna mean we’ll need someone else to heal. Might need to call Cynthie. Otherwise I’d ask Sigrid, but it’s better to get people from inside the Cabal first.”

“I agree. But first, we will need to map the location of the last creatures you saw, and determine if there is a path to their behavior. We know all of the women who are currently dead, yes?”

Vasily nodded. “Yeah.”

“Then all we need now is just to spread around and to find some way to communicate around East London, without being next to each other. We cannot all congregate in one place if we do not know where he will strike.”

“Yeah. That’s our biggest problem.” The Mage thought for a moment. “Can you, uh, find some way to have your plants maybe…work for that?”

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” Marianne assured him. “Let’s meet tomorrow to discuss what we will do next.”

“Well, we’ll need a response from Dunne as well, and that won’t come until Monday at the earliest,” Vasily suggested, “but the rest we can do on our own.”

“Good. I believe so as well.” She paused, and then nodded to a bushel of white roses. “May I have those white roses?”

“The whole bush?!” Vasily inquired, his eyes wide.

“No, just a bouquet. I would like to put them in Innocence’s room. I have been decorating for her.” Her smile came back to her face. “I could always make them myself, yes, but I feel that I should support your business. To pay you back for being so kind.”

A lump of emotion rose in the young man’s throat. He was not sure what emotion, but he did not feel like he should have been thanked. “Honestly, ma’am, you don’t have to do that.”

“No, no, I insist. And some pink daisies, yes?”

“White roses, pink daisies.” Vasily’s more creative mind went to work. “I’ll throw in some baby’s breath in that, and deliver it to you tomorrow. How is that?”

“Sounds splendid. And I will pay you for your services.”

“Ma’am, I’ll come paint your home for free if you ask.”

“No,” Marianne chided, “I still have a little money. Take some.”

“I can’t take from you! You’ve got just enough to live!” Vasily argued. “Listen. You can pay me back just by helping us with the Black Spiral Dancer. That’s all we need. Both of us make livings, and we want to make you comfortable. You deserve much more than ‘comfortable’, but we’re going to do our best.”

Finally, Marianne backed down. She gave a soft sigh and a grateful smile. “Very well. If you so insist. I will be happy for the bouquet. And…”

“And?”

“If you could, perhaps, help me to paint her room. I suppose a fresh coat of white for the walls?”

Vasily chuckled and grinned. She had indeed taken his offer, however joking, but he was happy for it. “I’ll be glad to. Just say the word.”

All the while, Innocence gazed at the beautiful white roses. They reminded her of a place, a place she did not have anymore. But they also reminded her of softness, of the living way her mother held her in her arms.

[Luminesa]

Co-Write Between Oblivion2 and Lumi

New Wine and Old Wineskins
November 20th, 1888, Night
Chapel Down, Tenterden, Kent

Thomas Valle had started to become worried. His correspondence with Etienne had requested for an immediate meeting, or one as soon as it could be held. This young man had been confident on first meeting, never a bad sign in itself. But when Ella had read to him that the subject was Melodious, he had fears brewing in the back of his mind. Fears for the much younger Ventrue and his sanity.

“Ella, darling, Mr. Saint-Francis is going to be here soon, get the good wine and the good blood that we have.”

“Do you think that will make him nervous for the talk to come?” The young Ghoul girl inquired, her eyes wide with concern as she saw her master smoke his pipe.

“Nonsense, my dear. A little indulgence is necessary to calm the senses, but nothing obscene. We should have something to help the young man to keep his senses about.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “Be your sweet and kind self, and that will make all the difference.”

Like a balloon refilled with air, the young woman nodded and hopped away to her work, leaving Mr. Valle alone in the living room to stand and think. He usually did not like to smoke, as fire still made him anxious. But tonight gave him many reasons to ignore those fears. He had a young Ventrue about whom to concern himself.

Etienne did not arrive with his usual fanfare or playfulness. If anything, he seemed to lack his usual vim and vigour. He kept his clothing simple, professional and business-like. Certainly they were fine clothes, but there just seemed something… missing.

The young Ventrue paid his carriage driver off without so much as a word and trudged up the steps to Lord Valle’s home, knocking the brass knocker upon the dark coffee shaded wood of the door. He needed to speak to someone who understood the dangers of what Melodious represented. Sigrid, for all her loveliness and wit, simply didn't quite understand the Masquerade or Kindred politics. She was after all, mostly still Kine. What could she know in such a short time when it had taken Etienne the better part of a decade to really understand the depth and subtlety of his people.

With quick grace, Ella came to the door and greeted the Ventrue with a smile and a curtsy. “Lord Saint-Francis,” she greeted, “Lord Valle is expecting you.”

Thomas Valle looked up from his pipe, and quickly put it out as he saw that his company had arrived. He responded in kind, without too much fanfare, and strode with wide steps to the door to shake his hand. “Etienne! It’s good to see you. I’ve been working on my end of business, and I am eager to hear what’s been on your mind. Come in.” None of Melodious’s overwhelming swagger, he was a Navy man first and thus a man of business. Cordial business, however, all the same. “What do you wish to have as we have this conversation? Wine, blood?”



“Blood, if it please my lord.” Etienne said simply. He shook the Elder Ventrue’s hand with as much energy as he could, which given the circumstances wasn't all that much. Etienne stepped inside the door and doffed his hat, handing it off to a nearby servant without any of his usual aplomb.

“You'll forgive me, my Lord, but my subject has a way of draining the energy from me.” He said by way of apology.

“Understandable. Ella, darling, with haste?”

She indeed hurried away, and returned just about two minutes later with a glass for both of them. Etienne would have noticed, with a little more of his usual spunk, that while Valle lived in luxury, it was less grandiose and more comfortable. Hints of deep, gem-like blues and emeralds on the couches, the upholstery, and the artwork. Even the glasses were not the priceless goblets he had seen elsewhere, but simply quality glass.

“I understand once again that your proclivities are to more fanciful blood. I can assure you I don’t draw blood frivolously, but I do have a supply ready for guests when necessary. Drink, and we shall sit and discuss what needs doing next.”

Etienne took the offered glass with a grateful nod and a murmured thank you. Slowly he drank and felt a measure of his strength and confidence return to him. He detected the hinte of sugar and Caribbean spice and determined this particular batch had come from a son or daughter of some sort of plantation owner. Not as potent as he'd have liked, but hearty enough after a fashion.

“I don't believe this strictly needs saying, my lord…” Etienne began, “But the man is a Masquerade violation waiting to happen, if he has not already broken it in some small ways somewhere. He's going to make a move for me sooner than later too, I believe. Try and use me for his ambitions and pleasures both.”

Valle nodded, and he sipped his drink. “That seems to be even more apparent, then. But it seems something specific about this dinner has convinced you of that fact. After all, this is Melodious, I imagine he’s done at least one thing to go too far.”

“He's willing to throw just about anything after me, just for my attentions.” Etienne says with a shake of his head. “He keeps his girls like puppets, using dominate to play with them and make them so all manner of things. Not illegal by our conventions of course, but he went and procured a girl just for me. Rich. Her parents powerful. I don't even know if he managed to make her a ghoul for five minutes before throwing her at me. If this trend continues, it won't be long before he takes someone the Kine will not stop looking for. If they have even stopped looking for this one.”

“If this Ghoul is the one he got from the Prince, she’s been a Ghoul for at least a couple of months,” the older Ventrue guessed, “so no, she probably was not procured simply for you. However, Melodious learned plenty enough about you at the party, and probably the first time you met him. I get the feeling he wrangled her from Nicholas, who probably was not as willing to part with her as our Elder Toreador acquaintance might have suggested to you.”

He kicked his legs back, giving a deep though unnecessary breath. “She would have come at a pretty high price. Prince Nicholas doesn’t just go out of his way to interact with Kine, not unless he has business reasons or…serious aesthetic ones. He is also a Toreador, after all. And he probably prized her quite well. My stinging suspicion is that he got her with the promise that he would be able to sway you into an apprenticeship under himself. To put you more under Clan Toreador’s influence. Or there’s something else Melodious has paid which would make him anxious enough to throw one of the Prince’s very own at you. The question then is…what.”

Etienne rubbed tiredly at his face, seeing the outcome for what it was. “None of this is enough then. Not by itself. I have to figure out how it all ties together and why.” He drained his glass and set it aside, “Pardon my cold feet, Lord. This part is always the hardest part of the game; playing the pawn. I've no choice but to let him take me then, do I?”

“Not necessarily,” Valle explained, seeing his weariness. “Remember, I’ve been doing my part. Your reports, of course, have been very helpful to that end. Now, a week is not a ton of time, but Ventrue already knows that you’ve played quite the role in bringing down one denizen who’s almost caused a Masquerade violation. And Nicholas is not going to be happy with the report that Melodious is going to bring him. If Etoile did not convince him, then he is going to be less enthusiastic about Sir Fisher’s subsequent attempts at wooing him. That gives more of an edge to you and I.”

He nodded to Ella, who was taking some notes of the conversation. When she was noticed, she gave a cheery nod to both men. “What I’ll be able to do is, hopefully, beat Melodious to that conversation, and explain to the Prince that Sir Fisher has been as irresponsible as you’ve suggested. I’m going to presume the pretty Ghoul was not in the best shape when she was shown to you?”

“Seemed disoriented. Drained. Possibly drugged. I didn't exactly get a chance to inspect her for bruises.” Etienne would say dryly, recovering a measure of his wit and charm after some blood and reassurance.

“Well, assuming none of that plays, the ideal move would be to let him take me into his trust, wouldn't it?” Etienne asked shrewdly. “If that happens, and I get you what you need, what guarantee do I have that I'm not left hanging at the end of this? Things don't typically go well for the pawn, as I'm certain you know.”

The elder Ventrue nodded and gave a dry cough behind a fist. “I see. If you’ll forgive the crude metaphor, this goes under what I said about Nicholas’s deal with Melodious. If you…donate a precious gift, say, a diamond necklace or a beautiful set of silverware, you would be quite disturbed if it returned to you dented, unpolished, and possibly spat upon. Yes, Nicholas is going to be quite displeased. Not to mention that the Prince had probably intended to keep her a secret from the rest of the Clan. You did well turning down the offer. God only know what will come of it next.”

Taking another sip, Valle nodded. “That information, and a little more research on my part, is enough to make sure that Lord Burke and I can hold that Sword of Damacles over his head, if he ever tries to come for you. After all, you would be accepting his offer on the grounds that he would provide you protection and the wisdom that an Elder of the Camarilla should provide. If he does not uphold the end of the deal, he makes a rather sorry Elder, does he not?”

“While you're not wrong, my Lord,” Etienne answered after a hesitant moment of thought, “I suppose I am simply more used to a more… cutthroat manner of business. I've seen many a young Kindred thrown away without a moment’s thought once their usefulness has run up. What else do you require of me?”

“What I require of you is to keep the act up for some time. Distract him, make yourself and your image look good and respectable. After all, the point is to convince the Prince that letting you fall into the hands of Melodious, if that happens, will require for him to strictly behave. And if he deems that your talents would be wasted with such a being, that you end-up with your own Clan-myself, and Lord Burke-who would better understand how you tick.”

He nodded to Ella, who paused her writing for a moment and waited for his signal to continue. He then looked back to Etienne with a serious look. His brown eyes almost had a ruby tint in them, as though to remind the younger Kindred that behind all of his good nature and careful consideration, he could still harbor quite the Beast. “I can be quite the cutthroat, which is why I’m gathering all of this information. But I am rarely a cutthroat with people in my own inner circle. To others who may cause trouble for the Camarilla in the end, however? They must understand, as I do from both military and Kindred politics, that the most terrifying weapon one can wield against a ne’er-do-well is the chain of command.”

A wave to Ella, and the maidservant began to write again. Valle’s expression became normal and amicable once again. His eyes lost the darker hue, and twinkled with scheming thought. “Now tell me, how is the transfer of that artwork going?”

Etienne relaxed fully now. Perhaps something in London’s more genteel conduct had worried Etienne that he was misreading how things functioned here. Valle’s little tirade had shown him how he knew exactly what he was dealing with in the end.

“I'm expecting the shipment in the next day or two.” Etienne said with a nod of his head. “They're from an artist down in the south of France. I'm rather convinced his work isn't being given the credit it deserves; Melodious should think he's the next big thing. I believe it to be perfect.”

“And who knows? You may be correct.” Valle grinned a little more. “All the more reason, perhaps, for you to give that artwork to him. Especially after his own little gaffe. And I’ll be sure to let the Prince know as well, in our correspondence. Having a step over a Toreador in terms of style and fashion can be difficult, but if he feels you’ve accomplished it, you may even be able to steer some of that favor before ever stepping foot into his castle. And that would be the best for you.”

He lifted a hand for Ella to stop again. “Now, and I don’t ask this to worry or frighten you. But as you have spoken so much about pawns, and making it across the chessboard, we must make sure that you are protected on all sides from any unexpected attacks. Is there anything you fear Melodious could use against you, anything you think I can do better to protect on your behalf? My job is to make sure that all your work, and all my work, goes smoothly. And if something needs to be covered or erased from his sight, or changed in your story to ease your work, I’m happy to help.”

This was where things could get… difficult. Etienne couldn't exactly let this man into his past. He'd be dead as could be if he did. “Respectfully, Lord Valle…” Etienne began cautiously. “I do not want you to feel as though I'm a child who needs coddling. You've not done anything to make me feel as though you specifically might not come through for me- it is merely a circumstance of my education. I understand the calculus of warfare also, sir. I know that casualties occur and that no one is without risk. I just…”

He sighed, slipping one mask off to reveal a piece of another one. “I worked very, very hard to be free of my Sire. To be in command of my own destiny. It's only been a little under two years that I have been on my own, I do not wish for my freedom to end so soon. In final death of servitude to another master not of my own choosing. I hope that makes sense, Lord, for I have no better way of explaining my nerves but that. I remain fully committed to furthering Clan Ventrue and her agenda here in London. We are the Camarilla, after all. Where would the world be without us?”

“Indeed. We uphold something that the rest of Kindred society seems to have forgotten.” Valle put a finger to his lips and looked down, nodding with interest. “Keeping you free is something that can be done. But it means that our work against Melodious cannot fail. And if he does come in possession of you, it means taking you away from that possession. Which, of course, might mean his own Final Death and disposal.”

His eyes flickered back up to Etienne. “The disposal of another Lord is a very serious matter of business, and a very tricky one. But if it comes to that point, then we will burn that bridge when we get there. My concern is more that Melodious might first seek to blackmail you into that dreadful position in the first place. Whether by your good nature, your youth, through friends or acquaintances whom he would benefit from harming, or through force if he decides that is necessary. I do not doubt that you could hold to your freedom with an iron fist, if you needed to. But while I am not your master, I certainly am still responsible for your well-being. Is there anything, or anyone, you think might need more of my protection as we move forward in this endeavor?”

A frown split Etienne’s face. None of this was exactly going how he wanted it to. “Might as well come out and ask me how you would apply pressure upon me, your Lordship.” The Frenchman shook his dark blonde head. “Respectfully, I prefer to keep my cards close to my chest. It's kept me safe so far. However… if Melodious puts me in that position, sir, I would expect that he would suffer quite an attempt on his life. It would likely mean the end of my time in London one way or another, but I simply refuse to leave the clutches of one bastard to end up in the clutches of another. Oh, I'll play the game where I have to, to be certain, but if the threat of bondage proves too terrible to consider any other option, I'll take my swing at him. Either way, you'll get what you want.”

Valle gave almost a chuckle at Etienne’s last remark. “That sort of spirit is a gift. If you can continue to apply it, who knows. You may be free to the end of your days. Such a reward is rare among us, but for those who reach for and claim it, kudos to them. Very well.” He nodded to the maid, and she continued to write. “When you get the artwork, or before you get it, write to Melodious asking for a meeting. I would suggest sending it as soon as possible, to make sure he does not get to talk to the Prince right away. You will give me time to schedule with him, and then after this meeting you should be able either to see him or to see me with any other information you find. One way or another, you’ll get your reward of seeing him. It just depends on whether it requires one more meeting or two more. But rest assured, you will receive a just and fair reward. And if you need myself, Lord Burke, or even dear Ella,” he motioned to the pretty young Ghoul, who beamed once more to Etienne and gave a small, curly-headed nod, “you will have our services.”

Etienne thought for a long moment. His expression was contemplative and calculating. “I think, Lord Valle… if I meet with the Prince, I should like you to come with me. You deserve to claim a good chunk of the credit for all of this too, do you not? And in this way, you won't have to worry about the Prince attempting to turn me against the House of Ventrue. It may also very well stoke the Prince’s interest; if he cannot speak with me on his own, it make put some interesting thoughts in his head. Perhaps open up a line of vulnerability for you to use at your leisure?”

Valle raised his brows, and he once again motioned for Ella to stop writing. He then leaned forward, and took a sip of his drink. “…To make vulnerable the very Prince of Kent himself. Well, Etienne, you may just be more devious than even I had determined.” He sat straight and fixed his jacket somewhat. “Though, in that line of thinking, you do seem to see something that maybe I have ignored. Or maybe I had never considered possibly observing Prince Nicholas in such a fashion. But yes. I can go with you. Perhaps even Lord Burke may join us, to sweeten the intrigue. Regardless of his power, prestige, and skill, everyone knows that Prince Nicholas loves a good tale, even more so than Sir Fisher.”

“And despite that power, prestige, and skill, he's allowed problems like the Ripper and Melodious to foster under his watch.” Etienne added, “Perhaps he is not so an astute player of the game as he'd like anyone else to believe. In either case, advancing your cause advances my own. Even if there's nothing to be gained by your coming, it will atleast make the prince appreciate your talents all the more, if he feels you set me to this purpose.”

“True.” He nodded for Ella to put away the notebook, and she did so. “Ella, one more glass for the two of us. Something to sweeten the end of a stressful evening.” He then turned back to Etienne. “I suppose I can put a card on the table, now that we’ve become more well-acquainted.” He sighed. “I have decided to…wait, on this action, since we are busy with our own business, and I shudder to think what may happen if I do not watch every corner of my own business first, but…I have considered, at some point in the near-future once things have settled, taking Miss Marianne into my own care.”

“Is that personal care, or professional care, your Lordship?” Etienne asked, curious enough to perhaps be a little too forward with his questioning.

“Well, as you know, ‘care’ has several dimensions. She of course is now a widow, and one in her fifties, I would guess. Despite all of her intelligence, charm, and decency, she probably has few to no official prospects. And very little legally to her name. But…” He waited until his Ghoul had brought his glass, and he drank it. “As you may have guessed from our previous conversation, I do care a good deal for her. Mortal men do not always seem to realize the precious gifts they have until they are dead. Jack Wilcox was no exception. And while I am limited in my capacity to show her love, I would hope that I could be of good company to her. Though I doubt she would wish for any sort of immortality.”

“So… personal.” Etienne said, risking a smile. “Do you need me to… smooth things over for you a little? I rather enjoy speaking with Marianne, and I would consider it a small honour to do you that favour. Something between junior and senior partner and all that.”

Valle gave another cough, and looked to his Ghoul. Ella just gave an encouraging nod, her eyes sparkling with interest and excitement. He then looked back to Etienne. “If you would find it so kind. While I am skilled enough at speaking, this is a rather fragile situation, and I would like to assuage any fears she might have before taking her into my home in such a way. You may be just the person to do that. And in return, I would be willing to give you a small favour if ever you asked it of me.”

“Consider it done.” Etienne says with a nod. “I'll drop by for tea tomorrow evening; it will give me an excuse not to see Melodious tomorrow.” A slight pause as the Frenchman considers just how he might play this to his advantage, ultimately deciding that his would-be patron being happy was advantage enough. “If I may be so bold, my Lord… I wouldn't discard your capacity to feel for this woman so flippantly. Perhaps I am young and still naive, but there is something to be treasured in those sorts of connections, even if they are inherently vulnerabilities that our enemies might seek to exploit. In this case… I think Marianne can be nothing to you but strength. She's not some fragile Kine maiden. She's full of life and wit, and dare I say it… she longs for the comforting arms of one who understands what pain can truly be like. Even if she doesn't want immortality, who knows how long her magics could sustain her for? Perhaps indefinitely.”

He glanced to Ella and gave her a wink before turning his attention back to Valle, raising his right hand. “You also have my oath that I will not speak of this to anyone else. Were it not for Marianne, I wouldn't be sitting in front of you as successful as I have been. I would sooner tear off my own arm than see her harmed.”

Valle gave an assured sigh of relief, while Ella practically skipped as she brought Etienne his drink. “Excellent. If you are indeed true to your word, and I believe you are, then I see nothing but positive things to come from this partnership. You seem to be a man of character, which is far more than can be said for many of my colleagues. And if I may be so bold myself, I would hope that I can be better to her than Jack Wilcox. Though I cannot give her children as she so desperately wanted, I believe she will never be wanting for anything in my care.”

“I think just this will be more than sufficient for her, your Lordship.” Etienne answers with a soft smile. “And honestly, tis hard not to be a better fellow than Jack Wilcox.”

“Fabulous.” He lifted his arm to hold his glass toward Etienne. “Then for all your labors and strides, let’s toast to a good future for our partnership, and for us as individuals. Cheers!”

[Oblivion2]

Honest Hearts and Lonesome Roads - A collab between Luminesa and Oblivion2
November 21st, 1888, Night
Undisclosed location, London Docks

Meeting with Marianne these days wasn't terribly hard. She seldom left home, really. It was to be expected, a woman widowed who had a direct hand in her husband's death probably didn't want to get out all too often. For that, Etienne felt genuine guilt about the role he had forced upon her, but there had felt like no other way. So, shortly after he finished his evening with Lord Valle, the young Ventrue had written up a brief mention of his desire for tea the following evening, some time around eight.

Marianne hadn’t declined, and while her home was still legally Etienne’s, he wasn't about to barge in some place he wasn't welcome. He liked the Mage. She had an otherness about her that lended her a type of foresight and wisdom that Etienne could appreciate. Still, there was the fact that he would have to set aside yet more guilt that he was using this woman for his own ends. Truly, companionship would benefit her, and Lord Valle despite having his own dark appetites, seemed to Etienne to be a just and honourable sort.

Besides, Marianne could choose for herself, couldn't she? She was an adult who knew what making the hard choices was like; or so that's what Etienne told himself.

He arrived shortly before eight, taking a brief walk around the block to ensure that the magical defenses that had been installed were still intact as far as his novice eye could see. Satisfied, he finally approached the front door and knocked knowing that it was the appointed hour, or only seconds to it.

Marianne’s new home was coming together swimmingly. Vasily had come in the evenings, in-between making plans for the Black Spiral Dancer, and he had followed all of her commands. Paint there, put pots there, chairs here, rug there. While the space did not need an immense amount of refurbishing, the room for Innocence resembled the sort of rustic, farmhouse dream she had always wanted for her little one, even if Innocence was still only a ghost child.

White wooden walls, a soft, dark-green rug from Vasily’s shop, and an assortment of wooden toys all lined carefully on little shelves surrounded Innocence’s crib. She now had a soft place to sleep, in a crib that had also been repainted.

All of these parts and pieces made for a better mood than usual. She could see that something she had been missing was coming together, and she felt a load slowly letting off her shoulders. It was in that mood that she came to the door, still in her jade-green working dress and apron. “…Good evening, Monsieur,” she greeted, as she saw him on the other side of the door.

“Bon soire.” Etienne said, doffing his hat and bowing lowly to Marianne in that grandiose way of his. “Might I come in?”

“You may.” She curtsied in return, before turning to lead him into the house. “Tea is ready in the dining room, I’ve got bread, sandwiches, and marmalade for it. Vasily is learning how to cook from me as well, and he’s helped with straightening the place.”

The rest of the house did indeed look better. Vasily had also helped with finding brighter wallpaper, and had supplied some of the antiques to decorate the rooms. Much of the house was still cool tones-pastel blues, greens, and whites, with tones of silver and gold. “Please, help yourself.”

“Glad to see someone has managed to domesticate that boy.” Etienne would say as he slipped out of his enchanted jacket and hung it up on the coat rack. Tonight he looked the part of an ordinary man. He'd changed out fine-spun cotton for the patched pants of a labourer, so as not to attract attention. Even his shirt and suspenders didnt seem so terribly fine, and yet Etienne still managed the regal aspect of his blood line.

“Before I sit down and make myself comfortable, I've a promise I need to keep.” He rummaged about in his coat before handing Marianne a sealed packet of documents. “The deed to the house, as well as a small monthly stipend to see to its maintenance and your own. It's modest, but it should be more than enough to meet your needs and wants without attracting too much attention.”

She looked at the documents and nodded. “Wonderful. Thank you very much. I’ll be sure to put these away safely.” She then poured him his tea and examined him after she poured her own cup. “You always seem more comfortable out of your fanciful clothes and more in working clothes.”

“I was born a peasant, but chance and cruel fate decided I was meant to be something else.” He said, looking down at himself, almost having forgotten what he was wearing. “Perhaps this is what I feel most human in. I've given it no more thought than that.”

He shrugged and took a seat across from Marianne, graciously accepting the tea. “You're settling in well here then? I worry about you, from time to time, though God knows you can keep yourself safe.”

“I have never had an issue with starting in a new place, as I have said. But yes, I’m doing well enough. Now that I have designed and finished Innocence’s room, I feel as though it’s almost complete. Some finishing touches here and there, and then it will be done.” She smiled, lighter than she had done in the past. “I think she is happier now. But I imagine you’ve come for something else, beside simply gentle conversation.”

“I actually wanted to talk to you about love.” Etienne said nonchalantly as he sipped from his cup, watching her over the edge of it to see her expression.

She raised an eyebrow a little, and put her cup back on the table before taking a sip. “Are you asking me for advice? Or…are you asking me about how I feel about the subject?” She kept her composure, though Etienne could hear the touch of motherly curiosity in her voice.

“How you feel on the subject.” He says, gesturing with his cup and choosing to remain a little coy.

She turned her head away toward the window, looking out toward the docks. Her teacup remained in her hand, as she spent a couple of moments lost in thought. “I suppose I am old-fashioned. Love for me was going to be whoever was the man either my parents gave me to, or whoever had asked for my hand. At least, that was when I was young. That was what I was told. But from my own experience, love…true love, anyway, is a tried-and-true process of watching the person in front of you become what they become, and still loving them. And hopefully, they receive you in the same sweet way. For years and years, decades and decades.”

Finally, she took a drink of her tea, and stared down at it. “And my Magic, I always saw, was meant to be a labor of love. Carefully shaping something into my gift for the world, for my husband, for myself to cherish. I have never been a particularly sentimental person. Love to me was in actions, in greetings, in the embrace I had with John. Even seeing that…his identity was not that of the man I had hoped for him to be, his wicked actions never stripped that from me.”

She looked at the young Ventrue, her eyes saddened by the thought, but then becoming warm again. “One day, young man, you will be called old-fashioned. My own feelings on the matter will be a distant memory to most, but you will be the generation the young men roll their eyes at, not knowing that you held a special time in your own life. One they have yet to know. In that way, love and youth are a strange, always-occurring cycle.”

“Well… Ignoring the fact, dear lady, that I am older than you…” Etienne said teasingly to her. “I think perhaps you may want to entertain the idea that love has not left your life completely. I think, perhaps given a chance, you could be happy. There is a man out there, who has watched you from afar and has come to adore you.”

Etienne sipped lightly at his tea before continuing. “He won't say so, not in so many words of course and certainly without gentlemanly bluster. But it is there, nevertheless. I've offered to sing his praises to you, but I suspect they don't really need much singing.”

Marianne raised another brow, and put her teacup back on the table. The idea of someone falling in love with her, now of all times, seemed preposterous at best. But then again, Etienne’s warnings about her own husband had been correct. In a mix of emotions, she exhaled and gave the Ventrue a curious look. “Goodness, Etienne, who could you possibly be suggesting? You make this person sound like a proper nobleman!”

“Have you no guesses?” He said, grinning with almost wicked glee. He was going to enjoy this.

He could almost see something resembling a blush rising in the woman’s cheeks. She had not been one to engage in silly, girlish crushes as a young woman, but now with the question presented to her, she felt almost shy. Uncertain in her own intuition. She searched around herself, as though she believed the answer was hiding on the ground around him.

“A man my age, or at least around my age…or at the very least a friend of my husband’s…oh goodness. Is it Harry Kelly? My husband knew him, a politician with a good head on his shoulders, I hear. Or ah…Sir Wallace?”

“Think grander, my dear. Onwards and upwards.” Etienne urges her, slowly stoking the flames for her. This was part of falling in love, the silly little games and stories one told about the other in the courtship. It was all about the build up.

“Come, come. You're a clever woman.”

She gazed at him, continuing to be incredulous, and yet also feeling oddly vulnerable. “Etienne Saint-Francis, by the way you speak of this man, I am concerned that I have somehow curried the favor of Prince Edward himself. I do not know how that could be, but is it someone in royalty? In the military?”

Etienne can hardly contain his mirth, so he allows himself a soft chuckle. Not at her, of course. But simply for having something to laugh at after such a week. Such a month. Such a life.

“Perchance, you'd be willing to allow Lord Valle to entertain you at his residence one of these evenings? I think you might find the experience… rather enlightening.”

Marianne finally paused her worried rambling, and her eyes widened for a moment with recognition. She blinked, putting the picture of the man in her head. “Thomas Valle? Lord Thomas Valle? Captain of the British Navy?”

“The very same.” Etienne said with a nod. “An ardent admirer of yours. My sponsor in Ventrue society, and perhaps the very best sort of gentleman cut from the old style of cloth. Admittedly, he is concerned you may find him to be… well, like the stories say vampires are. He is, no doubt atleast some of that. But he is also… very human, despite our shared curse. I find I rather admire him.”

She was stunned by this revelation. In her marriage to Wilcox, she had never paid any mind to anyone else’s attentions to her. Not even when she had been at her prettiest, with a full head of brunette waves and all of the stern youth she once had. She shook her now-greyed waves, still in shock. “Lord Thomas Valle has been a Naval Officer since before Napoleon. He served under Admiral Nelson. John knew him from his own very early days. He is a disciplined and respectable man, though he always seemed to be flocked to by both handsome young men abd pretty young women. I…are we speaking about the same man?”

“Yes. The very same man.” Etienne nodded seriously. “And so what if he was flocked upon by others once? Do not moths gather around the lamp light? What matters is that he is interested in you my dear. And he would be very delighted if you even hesitantly returned his interest.”

Marianne’s eyes met Etienne’s own, as now the idea seemed to solidify in her mind. “He spoke to John many times before he died. He did always like to inquire after me as well, from what Jack always told me. And now, he wishes to see me. And he wishes to see me in order to…woo me? When does he wish for this to happen?”

“He almost doesn't believe I can convince you to go see him.” He admits with a soft laugh. “But yes, I believe wooing you and making sure you were cared for was his intent. The better question is… when do you want it to happen?”

“Whenever is best for him, of course. I…” She chuckled a little at the situation. “I would not want to be the one to disturb him from much more important tasks. Yet if he is pining for me specifically, and wishes to see me so soon…and to possibly care for me…” She cocked her head to the side and looked at the lumps of sugar in a porcelain bowl on the table. “Perhaps I can grant him at least one visit and attempt. Maybe sometime this week, if he is up for it on such a short notice.”

Etienne retrieved a calling card from his hand and set it on the table for the woman. “Write the time and place here, and I'll see to it he gets it.”

A note. “Very well. Next Sunday in the evening. 7:30. I believe here would be a sufficient location. After all, if he is…” She trailed off, considering the suggestion which the Ventrue had put before her. She would not show it to the Ventrue willingly, but she had to swallow a lump in her throat as she thought of the next words.

“If he is truly wanting to prove his care for me, then I would like for him to do so here. That way, he may understand that at this point in my life, I would prefer a peaceful love. A love without pretensions and without too many secrets.” She herself was shocked that she was even considering this for herself, just a couple of weeks after her marriage of thirty years ended in terrible flames. Yet her view of Wilcox had permanently shifted, and she had slowly come to accept that she had not quite ever known the man she had loved. Yet that reality forced her to admit to the love she had always truly wanted.

“I'll tell him exactly that.” Etienne promised with a nod of his head. “Admittedly, I do not know what he had in mind when it came to courting you, but I suspect he wasn't about to parade you in front of kindred society or make you party to his politics. I think he just… wants a companion. Someone he can trust, who sits on a level similar to his own. Perhaps I'm reading too far into things, but he seemed lonely to me.”

“It would be quite strange for him to parade a farmerwoman, even if she is a Mage, in front of some of the most powerful people in all of England,” Marianne suggested, a twinkle in her eyes despite herself. “But yes. I will give him a chance. Perhaps he is lonely indeed, then we are one and the same.”

“Good. Excellent, even.” Etienne says with apparent relief. “It will be refreshing to be the bearer of good news for once. I shall send word to his estate and I expect he may see me either tonight or tomorrow, his duties permitting.”

“Very good.” She nodded, and took a sip of her tea. “I will have to think of what to wear. Vasily has helped me to buy some new clothes, but I’m not sure if I have anything…fashionable. I suppose I will make do with what I have.” She continued to hold her teacup, and smiled back at Etienne. “Since I have not seen you at least in a couple of weeks, if I may ask, how are you and Miss Sigrid?”

That puts a pensive expression on the Ventrue’s face. “Sometimes it's difficult to say.” He admits. “There are moments where I am deliriously happy, and though I don't really require it like I did when I was alive… she can seldom keep her hands off me. She's lovely. Witty, charming. Everything I could want. And yet… this murky unlife of mine threatens my moments with her. Someone will find out about her, I'm certain… unless I can find the strength to convince her she's better off without me. Or she's better off living her mortal life once more. I don't believe I can provide her with a happy ending- let alone one for myself.”

Marianne listened, once again patient and quiet. She recalled their previous conversation, how he had been uncertain about moving forward in their relationship. Sigrid herself was neither human nor Kindred, and that fact added all a more complicated mixture to Etienne’s many fears. “Well, as I have said, I do not know how she would come to her mortal life. That is not my specialty. But…what do you fear you cannot give her?”

“Anything resembling normalcy.” He admits. “No children. No life of bliss or idleness.” He gestured to himself. “I am a Ventrue, to my bones. I will always play the game. I -have- to. To sit back and let others take the reins when I am as talented as I am… when I have a unique mindset amongst my kind? It's unthinkable. If anything it's a disservice to any remaining humanity I possess. By playing the game I will always be a target and anyone close to me will always be a target.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “That poor girl has been used and abused by powerful men for years now. All it would take is a single mistake on my part and she could be right back there again or worse. She doesn't deserve that. She deserves her greenhouse and her books and her little house in some quiet end of the country- peaceful and comfortable.”

“Well…” Marianne stirred a little more sugar into her tea. “I think this is a universal truth, or one that every generation seems to learn. When we’re young, we work, so that when we are old we may have that peace and bliss. It is the hope of every family, of every child in that family, to have rest and not eternal work. Your life and mine do not follow that pattern, of course. Mine has been work even now, when I should be settling down, and yours has only just begun. In your world you might even live to be as old as Lord Valle, or even older. It is hard to say when you can rest, or seek rest and peace at all.”

She looked up from stirring, and her eyes had the sort of motherly compassion that came from recognizing that someone was suffering deeply from being both too young and too old. Etienne occupied that space in-between, almost like a young man coming home from the wars with the shocked earth and storming fires still behind his youthful eyes, knowing he would never quite be young ever again. “I suppose that is a path you must decide upon. And we work for the people we love, yes? That is the way it is supposed to be. You do not work for a master, but you do dedicate yourself to her. And for now, as someone freshly young and free, that is enough.”

“But it won't be enough; not forever. There are people out there too who would use her against me. Not in a week or in a year, but right now if they knew about her.” He shakes his head, “I had a master once. A crueler man than any I have ever known. The things we would do to see people remaining under his boot rather than free? Unspeakable. I have to play the game to keep people like him from hurting people like her. To arm people like her against the monsters. And I can't do that if she's with me.”

“I am aware that her situation is quite special, yes. And that makes more people willing to use her, or to use you. Because the two of you are special. You are also both kind, and caring, though you may not believe you are.”

She was resolute in her voice, knowing that he might object to that description. “But. You must remember, as you are advancing in years, not to let kindness be a weakness. Do not let others see it as a weakness, and do not let yourself see it as a weakness. You must have a strong kindness, a strong sense of yourself. Trying to avoid all of the people who want to hurt us, I believe, is impossible. But letting them know that your magnanimous heart has power and strength behind it will let them know that you are not a man simply of your time or environment. That is how I believe you may best protect the people you love. Whoever they may be. Because that is the kindness you have sought in your life, and in learning how to show that, perhaps you might heal something in your own heart.”

She stopped herself, and gazed at the moon outside the window once again. She could hear Innocence cooing down the hall, and the sound reminded her of her own words. Kindness had never made her weak, and she knew somewhere in her h

[Luminesa]

Co-Write Between Lumi and Oblivion2

The Hand Behind the Haunting
November 21st, 1888, Night
Saint-Francis Residence, London

Sigrid did not know how long Etienne would be out for the night. Marianne liked to take her time, and Etienne probably had plenty to discuss. Not to mention that he enjoyed her company much more than Melodious, as the older woman was much more agreeable and far less venomous. Therefore, she was more at peace with herself this evening.

Her envelopes and notepads sat on the desk in her room, with a couple of pens strewn about. A tape measure, pincushions, and sewing needles sat more neatly on the nightstand. Her silhouette was checking a soft pair of sleeves, how they felt on her arms.

For the first time in a few nights, she was comfortable. She was glad that her lover was not headed for Melodious’s estate so soon, though she knew he would have to return at some point. Such was the game that he had to play. However, if he was out looking to speak to Lord Valle, he would still take more time to return home. All the more reason for her to take her time with her own fun.

She found the antique pearls she had bought from Vasily’s shop, and she put them around her neck to see how they looked. When she looked in the mirror, she smiled. They were beautiful, glittering against the soft light of the room. Hanael seemed to approve in her own way, by making the lights around her room seem even brighter, and by making the pearls glow for a moment as well.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning the pearls. Don’t they look much brighter?”

Sigrid looked down and nodded. They did look better. Cleaner, with no dirt or dust. “You can…polish things?”

“Illuminate them. Reveal the beauty that is hidden underneath. I have not shown you because you have not asked.”

“With…any object?”

“Many objects, as long as they are not protected by some sort of strong Magic. And more importantly, souls.”

Sigrid thought on her words for a moment. Souls, whether they be Etienne’s or someone else’s. “Have you seen Lord Melodious’s soul?”

“I can, if you’d like. The next time that Etienne goes to see him.”

“But…how would you?”

If she could have seen Hanael’s smile, it would have been sweet and gracious, yet knowing. “From a distance. You’ll understand when it happens.”

The door to the flat opened and closed, accompanied by an unusual sound in the Saint-Francis residence; the Ventrue master of the house was whistling a jaunty little tune. Things had gone well today for once, and it was hard not to feel good about that.

“Mmmm, mhmmmmm, mmmmm….” He hummed, changing tact as he slipped out of his jacket and hung it up. “Sigrid?” He called out, “I'm back. Are you upstairs?”

“I am!” She called downstairs, and started to change her clothes. Or she was looking to change. Her dress was rather difficult to change out of herself. However, she was quite happy to hear that he was cheerful for once. She decided to peek out of the room, letting him know where she was. “Did your conversation go well?”

“Mostly.” He would answer, putting the kettle on for Sigrid. She tended to enjoy a late cup of tea with their conversations. “For once I didn't need to engage in any sort of skullduggery. Everything went exactly as planned too; Marianne said she'd allow Lord Valle to pay call upon her. So maybe, just maybe I've done something decent. It would be a nice change of pace.”

“Well, Marianne doesn’t seem very much like someone who would appreciate skullduggery.” Sigrid appeared downstairs behind him, now in her nightgown and bed-robe. She put a kiss on his neck and leaned against him, her body relaxing from all of the work she had done while he was gone. “You’ve managed to do plenty of good, dear. It’s simply a matter of how much digging we’ve had to do, in order to complete that good.”

“Let's not kid ourselves tonight Sigrid.” He said, trying not to shiver with delight at the soft kiss upon his cold flesh. “Mostly I operate out of my own self-interest. Doing good just… happens along side of it sometimes. But this finally felt like proper good.”

He turns slightly, wrapping an arm around her hip. “And it means I've returned at a reasonably early time for once. You won't have to lose out on too much sleep.” A wry grin accompanies his pause, “Unless you want to that is.”

She giggled and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I was keeping myself busy, so I’ve done better tonight than I have in previous nights. When I was waiting for you to return from Melodious’s home, I was certainly more anxious.” Her words were doting, and she gazed into his eyes. He was definitely happy, but there was just a hint of worry in them. Worry for the future, worry for the results of his own actions. She leaned forward and gave him a much slower kiss, trying to burn away all his current anxieties and fears. When she drew back, she leaned her forehead against his. “And I suppose I will have to be a little more brave when you go back.” While she was not ignoring his proposition, she did not know what pace he wanted for this evening. If he was calm and content, she wanted to savor his good mood.

“I am hoping that I will not have to return more than once or twice.” He admits to her before pressing a slow kiss of his own upon her lips, even teasingly dragging the tip of his tongue along her plump petals before withdrawing.

“But I don't want to talk about that mad bastard tonight.” The Frenchman announces, just as the tea kettle gets to boiling. “Almost anything else would be better.”

“Well, dear, tell me about tonight then.” She smiled warmly and went to pour both Etienne and herself some tea. “How has Marianne been doing? What did she think of Lord Valle?”

“She's improving.” He says, taking his cup and augmenting it with just a spoonful of sugar. He'd have enjoyed a drop a blood or two, but one made do with what they had. “She's really made that little bungalow a home. She seems… content.” He nodded, finding the word to fit just right.

“I suspect she's rather flattered by Valle’s attentions. It seems to me that Marianne is shockingly unaware of just the sort of catch she is.” Etienne gives Sigrid a knowing look as he seats himself at the kitchen table, “it seems to be a far too common trait with women in this country.”

“She is intelligent, she is strong, and she has a presence about herself. Someone like Lord Valle must be aware that the world is changing. Strong, loving, courageous women are what the world needs.” She sipped her tea, and the light danced in her eyes. “The world will be better for it. I only hope that sweet Tabitha’s future husband will see that.”

“Oh, I'll make certain of it one way or another.” Etienne said, taking a bit of dark glee at the thought of utterly destroying anyone who might hurt or abuse that poor girl.

She smiled at him, agreeing in the subtle way she occasionally understood his darker desires. “Many rich young men are learning from worrisome old traditions, I think, and are behind in learning. At least, from the ones I have seen. But they will. And if you ever required help destroying the poor soul who ever made her feel less than what she is, you have me.” Her eyes had a sparkle as she finished stirring more sugar into her tea. “And Myra, certainly. She is fully supporting her going to Cambridge now. She bought some essay books for Tabitha, and we have been practicing.”

“Good.” Etienne said between soft sips of sweetened tea. “Very good. I think we should keep an eye out. Perhaps a sponsorship for the young lady’s education is in order. These things aren't cheap you know, and a widow, even one of Myra’s stature might struggle to see the tuition paid.”

“Is the money from her father not enough? Or do you think she will need more?” Sigrid inquired, leaning forward a little.

“More couldn't hurt.” Etienne says, an amused smirk beginning to pull at his lips.

“Certainly not. After all, we’re helping to set her up for life. And then she can spread her wings and fly.” She leaned forward a little more and rested her chin in her hand. “You look much more pleased when you talk about being a benefactor. She has asked about you, about how you are doing. And ah, she told me not to say that she asked, but…” Her smile remained mischievous, in the way the smile of a young woman who could be both a mother and a best friend to a little woman like Tabitha would be. “When is your birthday?”

“Complicated question.” He says with a snort. “Do you mean my mortal date of birth or my first death?”

The woman paused and looked at her tea, thinking carefully. “Well, which do you celebrate? Or prefer to remember? Which one would you prefer to have a gift for?” She looked up when she asked the last question, hoping she had made it easier for him.

A long pause. A thoughtful pause. Pregnant even. “It's… typically in kindred society, it's the latter that's celebrated. I haven't celebrated mine, ever. My Sire isn't the celebrating sort and so…”

He trails off a moment before shaking his head, “My mother couldn't afford to do much for me, but every year she tried. I haven't celebrated that either in decades.”

“Poor dear.” She reached for his hand and held it, her gaze quiet and adoring. “Well, if you would like, since it is sweet Tabitha who wants to give you something, you choose. Or, if you don’t care for birthdays at all, Christmas is not very far away.”

“I'd… really prefer if we didn't get into birthday gift-giving.” Etienne said after another moment of silence. “Christmas will do fine… Though you tell that young lady for me that the best thing she could possibly give to me is just continuing to enjoy her life.”

“I certainly will. She’ll be just fine with that answer.” Sigrid brightened as she came to a conclusion with him, and she continued to hold his hand. Her eyes wandered away for a moment, as the thought of a Christmas gift did cross her mind. But she herself was not sure what exactly he would want. He had saved her life, he had fallen in love and was living with her, and she realized that Christmas was indeed a month away. How much time had flown. And how little he had asked for himself. “And what would you want from me, dear?” she inquired innocently.

Etienne felt the dagger in his heart twist yet further. The fight between selfishness and selflessness was a struggle for such a being as him. In a tiny voice he managed a soft, “I truly… do not know.”

She kept her eyes on him for a moment longer, and listened to the way his voice shrunk. How quickly the cheer went away when the topic came back to him. He wanted power, he wanted to be able to climb the ladder to hold his own in the world of Ventrue politics, but those were not the things that wrapped around his heart constantly. He was still a man, but one who had stumbled through his last few decades following the orders, needs, and desires of someone else. So much so that he had forgotten himself.

Sigrid sipped her tea, and then she stood and walked over to where he was sitting. She lifted his face and held his cheeks in her hands. For a few moments she stood in silence, in the oddly serene way her Promethean nature allowed. “Anything you would like. Whether you think of it now, or later. I’ll find it for you.” Her voice was a pretty, melodious whisper. “All you need to do is just tell me.”

Selflessness. His mother's voice urged this of him. All the lessons he learned in that little Tabernacle near the banks of the Saint Lawrence. The promises he made to himself to never, ever be the creature that Guillermo Torres had tried to groom him into being.

His hands slid over her own, his fingers interlacing with hers as he took one of those deep, fortifying breaths that he didn't need. A hold over from a time when breathing was essential to living. “I want you to… find your mortality again, Sigrid…” The words are so quiet and so small. Are they really his? Is that really his voice? It must be, because he keeps going.

“I want you to… live the life you've deserved from the start. Before cruel fate and even crueler men took it from you. Even if it means you have to forget me. That would be the very greatest gift you could give me- it would help me prove to myself that there's still a good man in here. Even if he's damned.”

Sigrid listened, her eyes still steady and her hands readily holding his own. This was not the first time they had this conversation. But his voice sounded shaken, fearful, unsure of his humanity. In his shaking was his love for her, his need for her. A battle in his chest, and his wish for her to be happy.

“I will…ask Wayland more about what I need to do.” Instead of fighting, forcing her way, or responding in anger, she answered in a similarly quiet voice, recognizing the delicate nature of Etienne’s fears. “I do not know how I would be able to find it. I do not know if it is entirely in his power to help me to find it. But…I will try.”

She leaned over and kissed him once again, her hands moving to his shoulders to steady herself. Sigrid had no doubt in her mind that he adored her. A part of her was terrified of being away from him ever in her life. But she did want him now, more even than she had when he had entered the door. She took a breath again when she pulled back, and her eyes were barely open. “I will try.” Her words murmured almost like a lullaby.

“Tell me what you want for Christmas…” his own eyes are half lidded, finding something utterly hypnotic about her voice. About how much she seems to understand how this hurts him. How frightened he truly was.

“I would bring you the moon if it made you happy… though it would likely require me selling my name and my power to some feyling on the other side of the veil.”

“How beautiful that would be. To see the world from the light of the moon,” she mused, stroking his hair as she pondered. She then giggled softly, and leaned over in his ear. “I’ll have to think about it. But I have thought a vacation somewhere would be lovely for the both of us. I’ll let you pick where. In the meantime…” She moved his hand to her collar, slightly under her neck. “While I am looking for myself, and before we look too far to the future…I want you to be selfish for me.”

Was that not the battle? Between choosing the best good and choosing the current good? Or did it really need to be a battle at all? Sigrid knew it was a balance. Perhaps that was some of that fierce, lively humanity she had either retained or regained. Her low, velvet voice held a queen’s command, a love for who she saw as a diamond hiding in the recesses of his own heart, and a tenderness mixed with the iron of knowing what she wanted.

“How selfish?” He asks, his fingers curling slightly and slipping just below her neckline. “Because there's a certain kind of selfish I'm feeling right now that means you won't get a wink of sleep…”

He steps closer, nuzzling his nose against her own as the strange mix of mortal desire and immortal predatory instinct begin to sweep him away.

“I don’t want to sleep,” she murmured, her voice swaying like music around his ears, “I want to be the Fey whose magic sweeps you from one world to the next. From the earth to the moon, to wherever you want to be.” In all of her pretty words, she enjoyed knowing that her little poetry had such an effect on him. Even with knowing one day she might not remember these moments, or where she was now, she knew that he still clung to that poetry, to whatever spell she had on him, with white knuckles and a proverbial bleeding heart.

She moved his hand up to her neck. “Nobody is here to tell you who you ought to be. What is necessary for survival or not. All I need for you to be is mine.”

Etienne moved then, faster than Sigrid would have expected to be sure. He sweeps the table clean with his right arm, sending cups clattering before picking her up by the hips and setting her upon the table. His hand returns to her neck and with a soft grunt, he tears her night clothes and reveals her to him. “Why wait?” He breathes dangerously before pressing his lips to her own and beginning the long descent into drowning in the passionate waters she has lain around his life.

“Oof!” She didn’t have time to realize her bed jacket was on the floor, or that the collar of her nightgown had actually been torn down to the chest. All she knew was that he had responded, and had pulled her into a whirlwind. The broken cups on the ground could be an easy fix much later. She wrapped her arms around him and held him in that whirlwind, protection against the storm that was whatever might have been outside.

When she did get a moment to breathe, and realized where she was, she laughed merrily. Her hair fell messily around her, around her face and bare shoulders, around eyes that now glowed with dizzy love. “See? Isn’t that much better?” she murmured. Her face and shoulders against the moonlight looked much more like a Pygmalion than even Jack Wilcox could have anticipated. He could have never defined the sort of light and spirit that whirled around her now. It was a magic that only she had. “You have so much you need to tell me, to say, to feel. That is what I want. I want you to drink me, and to feel loved and alive.”

“I'm going to do far more than drink you tonight.” He says, his eyes going deep and hypnotic. Presence. Presence and raw desire. His fingers begin to curl around the side of her neck, feeling the thumb of her life’s blood under his palm. “I need you Sigrid… and I'm going to have you.” He leans in and places longing kisses along the side of her neck, teasing and marking his meal to come all at the same time.

“Will you give yourself to me?” Comes his question, hot and breathy against her skin. “Sin with me?”

“I already have,” she answered, petting his neck as she knew what would follow. She smiled and leaned her forehead against his. “But if you would like an answer, it would be yes. Be selfish about your feelings and your needs, my dear.”

Another rain of kisses follow in the wake of her answer. Needier. More insistent. Teeth and tongue together until finally he split her flesh and began to drink. Began to drown.

Sigrid closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of the Kiss, now that she knew what to expect. She could only wonder at what mortals felt when they experienced the Kiss, but in the wave of emotion in the moment, she did not care. “I love you, Etienne…” She whispered as she now fell under his spell in return, The sort of inspired whirl of emotion that filled her chest and told her that he needed her this much, that in itself was euphoric for her. And no mortal or immortal could take this sweetness from her.