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VtM: Pretty Requiem(Chap. 15 - Final)
Posts : 478
Join date : 2010-10-03
Age : 29
Location : Normandy SR-2
|Subject: VtM: Pretty Requiem(Chap. 15 - Final) Wed Nov 24, 2010 5:06 am|| |
Chapter I – Poetic Embrace
[W.I.P Character Sheets: View @ Google Drive]
Kyria sat herself on the park bench, savoring the chill in the air. While she was quite used to the feeling, she never quite got used to New England winters. Even if there were times she could stand outside and enjoy it, others times, her thoughts centered on going somewhere much warmer, whenever it was a possibility. Central Park looked like something on a postcard, the grass covered with snow, the trees barely holding up the snow on its leaves. Aside from her, the park was deserted. Though this was due to the hour, even though the same could not be said of the city around it. The bench she sat on, along with the rest, were all illuminated by a single lamp. The scene was completely inappropriate for what she intended to do, but that was of no concern to her. It was more suited to kids playing in the snow, couples walking through the park, but her purpose here, was nothing like that. She'd given up on living her pointless life. From losing her boyfriend to the war, to getting the job at the museum, and then to get shot down with every single attempt to paint, sculpt or photograph something of worth. The paycheck was enough to get her by, but she wanted more. Not much more, but still, more. But maybe there was something else for her. Something that would come to her if she waited a few days, weeks or months more. But she'd already sealed the deal, at least in her mind. Maybe she'd be the highlight of the news soon enough, perhaps something to cause some other artist to make money, or inspire the once piece to make them famous, but sadly, none of the art she might posthumously inspire, would not bear her name. In fact, if things went as she thought, the only other thing that would bear her name any time soon, would be a grave marker.
She hated to admit that there was more. It was obvious that she'd been almost lying to herself about all that happened, even as the reality of it had been constantly slapping her in the face for the past few months. From the subtle reminders, to the various people who asked about it, and of course, the memories. It didn't hurt to recount them, well, when she wanted to do so. She'd snapped at several of her friends when they asked, if only because they had asked at these various office parties for Thanksgiving and Christmas, or during the days between. Either way, the story was firmly set into her mind, and contemplating the events wouldn't hurt anymore.
It was this Halloween party her family chose to attend. Her costume was slightly obscure, as it wasn't something that could be readily identified. Though she'd only read the book once, she'd loved the character of 'Mina Murray' in the novel Dracula. Her only gripe was that Dracula didn't get Mina in the end, or so she remembered. The party itself was nothing unusual, though it was a Halloween party, where it tends to be unusual for a reason. Compared to what happened afterward, she was used to the sights of the party. But as some would say, certain things in life happen in the blink of an eye. She found this out to be true, when simply talking with her younger brother in the back of her parents car. The next moment, after her vision became nothing but a black void, she awoke to find herself laying outside the car. As she found out, she wasn't injured, but the same could not be said for her parents, or for her brother. While her parents where nowhere to be seen, she could see her brother. Laying next to her, he wasn't moving at all, aside from his eyes, which looked straight at her. How he was hurt, she never found out, but having her little brother die in her arms, was a sight, a feeling, and a moment that she'd never forget.
But it was just recently that things became even worse. Three days before Christmas she was fired from her job, after learning that she'd been replaced. Perhaps they found someone more qualified, or they were downsizing, she didn't know. The exact reason faded from her mind, just as fast as the letter had fallen from her hand, as she read the words. Without a job, it wouldn't take long before she'd need money, as the world would demand of her. But this was the final straw.
Turning to the case at her side, she slowly reached a hand towards it. Gently caressing the cold metal, she adjusted herself, so she could use both hands to unlatch the case. Inside, was the pistol she'd used her last paycheck to buy. Nothing about it was special, but it didn't need to be. It would be the reason she would end up in a box, the end to torment that seemed never ending. Even if it was just internal, she knew it was there. From her Desmond’s disappearance, her sister being taken by Leukemia, and her families death, it seemed fitting that she would soon join them. Either by some upcoming tragedy, or by her own hand. Taking the gun in her hand, she also picked up the single clip.
Sliding the magazine into the weapon, she pulled the slide back. With that, she raised the gun to her head, and the hesitation that followed was her realizing that it was never like the movies, or even the news stories. Where someone in a movie would have pulled the trigger already, it was like every fiber of her being was screaming, the realization that the body they made up was about to expire. It was obvious to her why most did get it over with quickly. The more time one devotes to anything, the more thought it can be given. In this case, one realizes the various factors involved. All of them obvious, but the one that would stop someone, is the pain – no matter how brief it would be.
“It is the hesitation, which you already know. I'd let you go on, as it would be a poetic scene that you would create. However, I think there is a better purpose for you.”
She turned, her eyes widening. “D...Desmond?”
“An obvious thing to say, though not untrue. I am, and yes, I am alive, in a way. And no, this is not a dream.”
To say she was angry would be wrong. It wasn't an easy feeling to place. She'd been told near the end of the war that he'd gone missing, and she'd been given what many like her had, even though she wasn't Desmond's wife. He had no parents, and no other people to give the flag to, and the small sum of money, which didn't do much to help her. That aside, she wanted to know what happened. If it was a month, she could've taken anything. But five years since the end of the war against the Nazi's, and she was waiting to hear his “bullshit” excuse. A dozen ideas waltzed into her mind, him having a floozie in Europe at the forefront.
Desmond sighed. “I know how this is going to sound, but it is the truth. I owe you that much, and lying would only be in line with the Camarilla – who I hate above all.”
“The...Camarilla? What the hell is that?” She crossed her arms.
“A group of Kindred that disguises themselves among humans, trying to keep Kindred out of their knowledge.”
She sighed. “What the hell is all this crap? You still haven't explained why you've been gone so long?”
Rather than speaking, he took her hand. His reason for doing so became obvious, when she pulled away, saying “Your so cold.” Sitting on the bench with her, he removed the sunglasses he'd been wearing. This allowed her to get a good look at his eyes, which were a vivid blue, and far brighter than they should've been in the darkness. “The way I've acted since my own embrace, doesn't line up with what I feel now. I know what I want from my new life, and unfortunately, it includes you. But for this to happen, you cannot be as you are.” He sighed. “You must become a Vampire, like me.”
“You have to be joking-” She started, but he stopped her.
“You've seen the signs. I'm freezing, even in this weather. My eyes aren't human, and these fangs are not a Hollywood fake. I didn't believe it either, but from what I've seen, what I've done, its something that isn't a question to me anymore. But I've, missed you. Perhaps it is because of my clan, but I lament the loss of my humanity, and hate that I even have the wish to take yours.” He pulled away,
“Take my...what?” She hesitated to say it, as it was clear she understood. “You want to...make me a...”
Turning back, the way he looked as it said it, almost drew pain into his very soul. “I want to embrace you, to make you a Vampire, like me.”
Standing, she took a few steps away. Without looking at him, she asked “Do I have a choice?”
Gently grabbing her from behind, he held her tightly, the feel of her warm body drawing up feelings he thought lost. “I want to give you a choice. But I am afraid. Afraid that you will say no, leaving me to live this life without you. Forgive me, but I cannot face that.” Bearing his fangs, he sank them into the side of her neck, drawing her sweet blood into his mouth. He'd never embraced before, but he was not ignorant of the process. Taking most of her blood, he stopped only when he felt her pulse slow to a crawl. Holding her against one arm, he bit his other wrist, a trickle of his own blood flowing out from the bite. Placing his bleeding wrist over her mouth, he softly said “Drink from me, and you will live forever.”
With the deed done, Desmond sat her next to him on the bench, their activities unknown to any. He hated the thought of facing his own Sire, since he'd almost fought tooth and nail with her, pleading for the allowance to seek out Kyria, and embrace her. His Sire thought him 'not ready' for such a thing, namely since he'd first asked only a year after he himself was embraced. It was only recently that it was agreed upon, even though his sire still thought it a bad idea. Mostly because Kyria seemed weak to her, one who would fail quickly. Even with this approval, Desmond could still sense that it was only to end the argument, and possibly, to teach Desmond a lesson, should Kyria be as expected. Even if he was Sabbat, he would not let her go easily, namely since he had to kill her once.
The next few hours were silent. He didn't relish the time it would take for her to adjust to this life, but perhaps it would be better than how he himself took it. For days, he thought of nothing but what he'd left behind. His fellow soldiers, his goals, his life, and more importantly, Kyria. Since he disappeared, he knew that eventually, they would just consider him dead. Rather than thinking more of the past, he checked his watch. Six in the Morning, on Christmas.
“Desmond. I see you've done as you wished to.”
Turning, Desmond's eyes befell the sight of his sire. The expression she wore wasn't angry, but she didn't look pleased either. “What, exactly, do you think is wrong?”
His sire smiled. “She was the one you wanted so bad? Perhaps I do not know enough about her, but from the way it looks, she will be just like any Toreador in the Camarilla. I'll give her time, but I hope you know what you will be tasked with, if she will not accept the various facets of un-life.”
Desmond sighed. He knew, but it was something he didn't know if he could bring himself to do. Sure, it wasn't like he knew how she was going to act, but the mere possibility that she could reject everything, was frightening. After all, he already was forced to kill her once, all because of his desire to have her in his life again. To kill her again would mean that she would be lost forever. This would likely make him suicidal, and possibly do far more than just face the dawn. However, his sire did not have to know that.
“Of course. I will deal with her, should that situation arise.” If his sire could sense the lie, he could not tell, either way, nothing more was said about it.
It was a few hours later that Kyria finally woke up. Desmond had taken her to an apartment, one that overlooked Times Square, but it was obviously not her own. The windows were covered, though that wasn't what truly shocked her. It was what laid next to the bed. Perhaps in movies, it might've been cups of water, or some sort of food. But in this case, she laid eyes on two IV drip bags, which were sitting just inside a small cooler. The substance inside was unmistakeable, the red coloring making it obvious that it was human blood.
Within seconds, it became like the preface to the gunfight scene in a movie. Where the two cowboys stare each other down before they draw. The human instinct was to question the reason for the blood being there, but otherwise to leave it alone. However, there was another. Something else that was actively salivating, like it could see through her eyes. It knew there was blood, and it wanted it. Worst of all, it was driving her to want it. She could feel the tugs of her muscles, this 'other', trying to make her go for it.
Choosing this 'other', she grabbed one of the bags, noting how cold it felt. Almost unsure of how to handle it, she simply bit into it. The taste of it was, unexpected. Though she felt it was wrong to say it, it felt like drinking life. Where she'd been feeling dead since she woke up, the blood was making her feel alive. And driving back that voice in her head. Even then, she didn't think that voice was ever going to completely shut up.
Upon finishing the blood, she could feel it. More was different about her than just that 'dead' feeling. Looking at her arms, her skin was damn near white, and just as cold as a porcelain doll. The only thing that broke that image was the scar she got in the crash, though it was still no more than that. A look in a mirror said that she had a reflection, but the face that looked back, was a doll. But her eyes, almost the same vibrant blue she'd seen on Desmond, though hers were slightly different. The worst part, was what she found in her mouth. Though she didn't really feel such when she bit the IV, it was apparent now. Her eye teeth were fanged, pretty sharply at that.
“Did I agree to this?”
Last edited by Maxus Corvin on Mon Jan 26, 2015 11:37 am; edited 21 times in total
Posts : 478
Join date : 2010-10-03
Age : 29
Location : Normandy SR-2
|Subject: Re: VtM: Pretty Requiem(Chap. 15 - Final) Fri Dec 10, 2010 11:36 am|| |
Chapter II – Childish Development
“Mind explaining just what we are doing here?”
Kyria asked this just after Desmond stopped the car outside of a random building. But comparing it to the others around it, it stood out. This was mostly because it was made from alternating black, gray, and white marble, and its design made one think that it should be sitting somewhere in Europe, or at least it was designed by someone with European styles in mind. It did look like most buildings around it, only it had a design that almost matched that of the Chrysler building, though it didn't have the same crown detail at the top. A large plaque over the silver-trimmed doors gave her the idea that it was a hotel, but for some reason, it looked like much more. The engraved text on the plaque named it as the “Schakal “ hotel.
Desmond sighed. “I want out of the Sabbat. But then, I don't want to embrace the Camarilla's 'Masquerade' either. “ He paused, sliding his sun glasses on. “However, you don't just leave the Sabbat. For most, its because they are bound by blood. In my case, I am not – at least not yet. I could just run, but that would cause more problems. Anyway, I have someone to see – and from what I've heard, he's taken a interest in you, as well.” He smirked upon getting out of the car. She followed, but something about this whole thing was, just off.
The inside did look like the lobby of the hotel. But the windows were all blacked out, for the somewhat obvious reason, and the lighting was sparse. Large paintings hung on the walls, the work depicted from various era's, from the Renaissance to more current styles, all of them displaying dark themes, though none of them displayed Vampires in an obvious light. The interior did look like any other modern hotel, though it was noticeably darker. Kyria noticed a few vases, along with larger pots – all of them holding some sort of plants. The small vases mostly contained various types of roses, while the larger plants were unknown to her.
The front desk had a single female behind it. Upon walking up to the attendant, Kyria noticed the purple aura, along with the black and silver uniform she wore. Desmond had the same thing, but for this female, it was different. She'd knew this color aura meant that any with it was a Vampire, and if she was right in guessing, the building was full of them.
“Hallo, Kindred. How might I help you?” Her accent sounded German to Kyria, but she couldn't be sure.
Desmond removed his sunglasses, sliding them into the pocket of his leather jacket. “I'm here to see Jackal. He should be expecting me.”
The woman looked a bit surprised, but still checked a clipboard on the desk. “Ja. You are correct.” She looked back up at Desmond. “He eagerly awaits you. Take the elevator to the penthouse, and you should find him there – along with some refreshments for yourselves.” She smirked, replacing the clipboard on the desk.
The feeling between Kyria and Desmond became tense during the elevator ride. Though Desmond had told her a great deal about what she was, it still seemed like there was much she didn't know. The things she was told did much to change her impression of herself, even as she did still feel like she was someone else. Even as he was a bit distant, he still was careful in telling her what she asked, if he knew. He did this mostly because some things about Vampires were not pleasant details, and even he didn't like hearing about them from his Sire.
“I'd tell you more about Jackal, but I don't know that much about him.” He sighed. “ However, one detail I will tell you myself. I told you of our clan, but I neglected to mention that there are many more. I don't know them all, but its Jackal's that is more important. Namely since it is unlike the others, even though you might not see this upon first meeting him – or you might, depending on how he looks.”
She fussed with her hair a bit, overly-satisfied that she'd never have to give it much care. “How different?”
“Jackal, is a Malkavian. To most they are just insane. But spend enough time around even one, and you begin to see that their madness is more than just a detriment to their social skills – even if some Malkavians can speak just as well as any Ventrue. But its the fact that this madness can tell them truths that, well, some don't want coming into the moonlight.”
Upon reaching the penthouse, the sights within it were far from what either of them expected. Kyria assumed that this 'Jackal' was some sort of business-man, but the state of his haven said he was either that and much more, or something else entirely. No matter what it was, a party went on around them, set to a type of music that Kyria didn't recognize, but it was striking several chords with her. But it was more than a party – much more. People were dancing, others were drinking, Vampires fed from all too willing humans, and she wasn't sure, but Kyria thought she saw a few having sex.
Unlike her, Desmond paid little attention to the events around him, and continued to what looked like a circular bed in the middle of the room, made from black leather, trimmed with purple. A single female Vampire sat on this, her stare locked onto one person. Her skin was darker than any of the others, but still pale. Approaching this bed, the Vampire broke the stare to look at him. “Ah, yes. Desmond Crane. He is expecting you, but I -” she paused, scanning the room.”-seem to have lost him. He can be such a baby sometimes, it can hardly be considered cute or funny. But he always comes running when he smells new blood, so he should show himself soon.” She smiled deviously. “Oh, and if you are wondering, my name is Akhet.”
Rather than seeing this 'Jackal', Kyria laid eyes upon a dog, who seemed interested in her. It looked at her with these dark eyes, obviously wanting some attention. Bending down, she rubbed its head. Doing this, she noticed that its eyes were both different, and that the dog didn't...smell right. Maybe it was her new senses as a Vampire, but the smell wasn't just saying 'dog'.
“Schakali. He's a Ghoul. Which is the servant of a Vampire, who requires his or her blood to survive just as long. Both humans and animals can become them, though most Vampire chose humans. In Jackal's case, he told me he found the dog sometime after his embrace, and it was apparently wounded in some way. I've always seen him with it, and I don't think he wants to give it up. With his blood, it won't die, so he won't have to go through that traumatic loss. He would probably embrace it, if that was possible.” Akhet said, not really looking at Kyria.
Scanning the crowd again, made easier by the fact that she could see which were Vampires, she spotted one that...just didn't fit. Not exactly because of how he looked, but because of how young he seemed to be. She thought at first that her discipline was lying to her, but the fact that this boy was latched onto the neck of a female, it couldn't possibly be mistaken. Though unlike the aura she could see on other Vampires, his was, tainted. Not only was it this deep shade of violet, it had these black streaks throughout, though whatever this was, she couldn't tell. All she could think of was that those streaks didn't seem like they belonged there, even though they blended in perfectly.
It was only when the boy's stare met hers, that his eyes changed, focusing directly on her, and she could see them pointed at her like a pair of pistols. Unlike anyone else, it wasn't like he was looking at her. It was like he could see right past her face, and into her mind – even though it wasn't intrusive.
Sliding the female aside, the boy wiped his mouth and stood. Wearing mostly leather, he lacked only a shirt. This only served to show off the toned muscles and chest, which could rival that of any Greek or Roman statue. His long jacket flowed behind him as he walked towards the room's center, and the sight of this would've been enough for Kyria to start running the other way – if she even had the slightest idea that he was about to attack her.
“Two more lost souls enter my Elysium. One with purpose, the other with questions. Both of them relevant to my interests.” He smiled, his fangs prominently displayed. Kyria also noticed that his eyes were both different, like Schakali's.
The look of shock on Desmond's face was unlike the unchanged look on Kyria's. While she wasn't too surprised – to the point that she said nothing about it, however, Desmond clearly didn't think Jackal would be any less than himself, at least when it comes to looks.“You're a...kid? I'd heard of that, but I thought it was, well, some kind of taboo?”
Jackal kept smiling. “One would hope for such a thing. But these hopes sometimes come to naught, as the world is darker than humans tend to think – and even many Vampires do not comprehend just how much of a dark world we live in. I am one who comes close to understanding such a thing.” He paused, taking the time to pet the dog's head. “My mother's blood entered my veins for reasons I don't understand, but I do not question it. I regret nothing.” To Kyria, something about his voice when he said 'nothing' was frightening. Not only because of how it sounded, but because him saying such meant one, single thing: He likes what he is.
“Yes, well...I was hoping that you could offer me some help...” Desmond said, carefully taking a seat on the leather 'bed'. Kyria did the same, if only to remain casual.
Snapping his fingers, two females with black leather dresses brought Jackal a chair, along with providing them with 'refreshments'. Taking his place in the chair, Jackal swirled the blood in the glass he held, before adjusting himself. “Of course. But your problems are many, even as it is only one you bring before me.”
“I'll just get to the point. I want out of the Sabbat. I know that isn't an easy thing, but I don't want to risk them coming after her.” Desmond pointed a finger in Kyria's direction. “I haven't been bound by blood yet, and I don't want to be.”
“The blackest of hands do not let their weapons be discharged easily, lest not to other owners, or to themselves. But no corpse is ever perfect, and thus do the hands lose more than just their fingers.”
Not entirely sure of what Jackal said, Desmond adjusted himself. “Then let me be the one of the many that got away. Something is going to happen within the Sabbat soon, and I do not want to be a part of it.”
Jackal smiled again. “At the turn, a harbinger arises to meet the joy of many, only for him to be put to an unknown fate.”
Desmond looked puzzled. “What? This wouldn't have anything to do with that...um...Anezka, would it?”
Jackal smiled, slightly nodding. “Perhaps, but I care more for your problem, than for that lovestruck nun's. Burning the black hands away is to want death, but perhaps you can escape the flames.”
Last edited by Maxus Corvin on Tue Aug 20, 2013 11:21 am; edited 3 times in total
Posts : 478
Join date : 2010-10-03
Age : 29
Location : Normandy SR-2
|Subject: Re: VtM: Pretty Requiem(Chap. 15 - Final) Sat Dec 18, 2010 8:57 pm|| |
Chapter III – Truth At A Price Of Blood
“But even you know that Kindred do not work out of the heart's kindness, even though it is possible for them to do so. Quid pro quo, otherwise, there is no point in helping.” Jackal smiled.
Sighing, Desmond stood. “Well then, what is it that you want?”
Jackal looked puzzled, but quickly shed this look for a laughing grin again. “You are mistaken. You have nothing I want, since I've figured you out already – at least as much as I can from you. But it is your childe that I want to know about. As she must be, there is something about her that makes her unique, even though she should be just like any other.” He shot a look at Kyria. “I've always been one to know whatever I can. With this information, I have helped Kindred and Kine alike. But I find that Kindred bury secrets more, and finding these secrets is always satisfying.”
Kyria stood, slowly walking over to him. “What is it that you want?”
Sitting forward in the chair, Jackal smiled. “Come closer.”
Walking closer, to the point that his eye level was with her belt, or at least her stomach. Kneeling, she looked straight into his eyes. Rather than speaking, he closed his eyes and sniffed. “More than the blood, but the lingering smell of...sadness...fear...and, might I say, a very icy aroma that reminds me of winter – perhaps because you where embraced while it was snowing?” He open his eyes before saying, something that forced Desmond onto his feet. “Show me your wrist.”
“Don't you dare do that.” While the look on Desmond's face might've scared anyone else, Jackal was laughing.
“Why would you want to stop me? I have no intention of causing her any more pain that would be expected, and even then, you know what I plan to do. I am curious, and fortunately, not a feline, so why do you protest?”
Snarling, Desmond pulled a pistol from his jacket. Pointing it at Jackal, he tried to pull the trigger, but found himself unable. Not only that, every movement that went on around him and Jackal had stopped, like everyone was frozen. Aside from his inability to pull the trigger, he could move as he pleased.
Laughing, Jackal smiled. “As always, Kindred will be Kindred. I may not yet know your secret, but I will soon enough. Maybe her blood will not tell me what it is, but it will give me a clue. Your actions suggest that you are hiding something, even though I cannot find it out from you. But you need to understand one thing – I am not as stupid as I might look. You will not speak to me again, unless I address you first. In fact, why don't you find yourself someone to drink?”.
Walking away to join the party that went on around them, Desmond quickly realized that this wasn't going as he had planned. Even if Jackal would help him, it would not matter if Kyria finds out about what he did. It is possible that she wouldn't care, but he doubted that. Whatever it would take for her to stay in the dark, he would have to quickly find out. Though now, the problem was twice what it was before. Not only did he have the possibility that Kyria would find out, he had Jackal barking at the back of his mind, trying to figure out just what he did. Facing this, he had to consider this situation harder than any of his battles in the war. Mostly because Jackal's addition to his problems meant that he had a over seventy year old Vampire that could kill him, should there be a reason to do so.
“What exactly are you going to do?” Kyria asked Jackal, as he gently took her wrist in his hands.
He smiled. “I want to know you. With most, I do not ask or require, but something about you is...different. The reasons are many, but the most important is the fact that I find you most interesting. Which means your Sire is correct, at least about what he said when you arrived here. My first look at you, and that told me much. But what I seek to know, requires...what is now your most valuable possession. What sets you apart from any other kindred. In short, I wish to...taste you.”
At first, his request was obscure, but when he put it like that, it was quite obvious what Jackal wanted to do. She didn't think he meant to hurt or kill her, even though she wasn't entirely sure of why he wanted to drink her blood. It was odd though, considering she wasn't human anymore. Whatever she thought of, she didn't think any of it could come close to understanding. Thus, she took what he said as the reason, and hoped that he would be true to his word.
“I suppose...”Looking him in the face as she spoke, she watched his face contort into a smile, though this was almost his usual look.
“Excellent. But I would suggest that you brace yourself, as what you will feel will be...quite potent.” Holding her wrist, he quickly bit down on it.
Her only thought was that he was right. Rather than feeling pain from the bite, she felt only what she could describe as this immense amount of pleasure, which she could only equate to an orgasm. Even after a few seconds, she could hardly think that she was being caused the slightest bit of pain.
As such, she was unaware when he pulled away. He only recaptured her attention when he licked the excess blood from the wound, the look on his face akin to a kitten lapping up spilled milk. It was almost like he was just a child, looking just as innocent as he should. But pay more attention to what he looks like, how he speaks, and how he acts, and it was impossible for her to even think that he didn't mean it all.
“You taste...wonderful.” He licked blood from the sides of his lips, as she watched her wound close. “That Icy aroma is so delicious, though I cannot get myself addicted to it. It would lead somewhere that I do not wish to take you – or myself.”
Almost ignoring what Jackal said, she felt something. Maybe it was how much he drank, but she felt somewhat weak. A little drained even. Sure, she could keep her composure, but it wasn't exactly her that was about to lose it. She didn't know what to call it, but it was forceful. It was her, and it was hungry. She silently fought it, even though she was unnerved by the constant, deep yelling voice that didn't come from her own mind or lips, but rather from somewhere deeper.
To say that she didn't lose it, was wrong. It seemed like keeping her eyes closed helped, but the few seconds she look to stare at Jackal, and any measure of control she was able to keep, shattered. She moved to pounce on him, almost like a cat about to catch its prey. It took all of two seconds for him to both figure out what she was doing, and move out of the way. She fell onto the chair, crushing it. A snarling laugh escaped her mouth, when she noticed the broken piece of wood that was pretty much a stake – missed her. Springing to her feet, she again eyed Jackal, her intent all to obvious to him.
“Perhaps I took too much? Ah, can't be helped, I guess.” Jackal said this calmly, almost like he didn't care about the raging monster before him.
A loud snarl echoed from her, before she tried to grab him again. This time, she found herself slammed and pinned to the floor so quick that she could've blacked out. He placed himself so he could look into her eyes, saying “Calm yourself, and you will be replenished.” Carefully allowing her to rise to her feet, her movements were jerky and somewhat sluggish, though this was nothing he hadn't seen before. Giving her a crystalline glass filled with blood, she eagerly consumed it, feeling more control over her body.
“If I were something such as a Camarilla Prince, it is likely that something such as this would be taken as a grievous offense. However, I am not, so therefore, no harm done. I would do no damage to you that I would regret, and death should not be cheap – at least not for our kind.” Gently touching her face, he smiled. “Worry not. I offer you whatever you wish, but never anger. Though now, it is rest that wish, do you not?”
“Somewhere away from this madness, which I can't help but soak up for my own purposes. But you have no need for it, at least not now. Chose a room at your leisure, and I will come find you latter.” He drifted back into the party, and Akhet only waved at Kyria as she left the party room.
Offered one of the suites in the penthouse, it took some time before she could really think of herself as just that. Even then, she still was weary of a fact that this had brought to her. Something about her that Desmond didn't mention. She couldn't know what it was, but she was still scared of it. But no creature wants that. Nothing with sentience of any form wants even the slightest possibility of being unable to chose what to do. Namely, when one is forced to do something, when they would refuse – if they could. The very thought of a presence within her that could take control, was frightening. This aside, she still knew that certain things about her new life was...unavoidable. Her mind was trying to give her alternatives, all of them ways that lead to some sort of mistake. Avoiding blood, avoiding the use of her powers. Foolish, given that Desmond did mention something called the 'Jyhad' – a perpetual war amongst Vampires, where all of them tries to use one another, either for some unknown purpose, or just for some form of betrayal. Complicated as it might be, she could easily see that struggling with this 'beast' within her, was a mistake. Rather than that, she would use it, force it to fight with her, if the need would arise.
Laying in the semi-darkness on those silken sheets, she finally drew herself back to the memories. A clear indication of what she was, though none of it could make her tears flow again. Something was wrong, however. Thinking back on them now, the clarity by which she could view them, vividly, almost like watching a film. The memory of the car crash, even though it went quick as she lived through it, it now seemed to drag on, almost watching herself laying on the grass, clutching her brothers smaller form. Unseen to her before, she now viewed a dark form that pulled her from the grass, leaving her brother. Though unseen, it seemed familiar, but just on the edge of her sight. Enough that the mere sight of a dark form in the doorway caused her to sit up and snarl loudly.
“Even angered as you are, the doll is still there. But please, I am not here for that.” It was Jackal, who had slowly entered the bedroom, now wearing only the pants and boots he had on before, along with a open robe. “You've seen it, haven't you? The dark form that saved you from a horrible fate, but left your younger brother to die?”
She gasped. “How did you...”
Smiling, he sat next to her. “I saw it, just as you did. But my problem, is that I do not know what that dark form represents, or if I am simply not looking in the right direction. Perhaps, this heralds more than just a dark savior. Something happened that night, I cannot go to long with out knowing – and once I know, you will as well.”
She sighed, before rubbing her eyes. “What exactly is this 'beast'?”
Jackal stood, walking over to the floor length windows, and staring out into the early morning sky. “A demon, born when the fifth tenet was first broken, and thrust into the body of our dark father.”
Puzzled, she said, quite flatly “What?”
“When Caine killed his brother, Abel, he was banished from Eden. Later visited by four Angels, his refusal of them made us what we are, along with making him the first. The beast is within all of us, able to take control when we are deprived of blood, frightened, angry, and fearful that death is near. Some are able to make use of this, able to fight with the beast against a common enemy, rather than against the beast itself. But most combat this with humanity, even though one who obeys such a path is still susceptible to the beast.” She saw him smile when he finished speaking, and he turned to face her.
“Honestly, that is it?”
“Many do not believe it. In fact, I am unsure of its truth, even though much might suggest it to be. Common rumors even suggest that Caine himself isn't at all interested in the dealings of his progeny, and thus he never gets involved with it, the Jyhad. Others, that speak of the end, suggest that the thirteen clan founders plan to awaken at some point, to consume all there is. But it is these things that some believe, some refuse to, and others simply don't care. While several others might not even care, or simply search for whatever could be called truth.”
“How would anyone make sense of it? Wouldn't one go insane trying to understand it all?”
Jackal laughed. “Yes, and thus do you stare at one who has tried. I have not yet failed, but I do know things that could ruin many, Kindred and Kine alike. But I am not one who uses information without reason.”
Laying back down, she saw him cross the room. “I'll leave you to sleep, as the fact that you need it has not escaped me.” He closed the door behind him.
Though she would've liked to hear more, she felt tired. She would leave any more thinking for later, after she is able to get some sleep. Nothing about it was special, or different from before. Soon enough, she felt her eyes close, and let the softness of the silk carry her somewhere else, where all the troubles in the world couldn't bother her.
Last edited by Maxus Corvin on Wed Feb 09, 2011 2:59 am; edited 3 times in total
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|Subject: Re: VtM: Pretty Requiem(Chap. 15 - Final) Sat Dec 18, 2010 9:10 pm|| |
It's cool seeing that people are still writing stories and posting them here!
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|Subject: Re: VtM: Pretty Requiem(Chap. 15 - Final) Mon Jan 10, 2011 4:18 pm|| |
Chapter IV – In The Presence Of a Fiend
The name for what Jackal felt, was unknown to him. The sweet mixture of anger, annoyance, and hate, was something he knew well. But the place and time, didn't suit the emotion. He wasn't one to preach the Masquerade to those loyal to him, but he was also not one to break it. Neither he, nor the man who was currently accosting him could do anything. He couldn't, because he'd expose himself. The man couldn't, because attacking what looks like a child in public, just doesn't look good – no matter what excuse one might come up with. Perhaps his choice was foolish, but then, it was warranted – since he was able to consume regular food, he'd make trips to various restaurants around the city for various reasons, but it was usually on a occasional basis. In this case, it was those around the famous train station in the city, of which, the food was excellent. But the man standing before him wasn't thinking he didn't pay. The man was from the infamous Society Of Leopold, famous for one, single thing: killing Vampires.
“You want something, don't you?”
The man was not worried, at least about knowing a Vampire stood in front of him. How he knew, was the subject of his curiosity. But then, any humans that knew, but still wouldn't expose him, would still want to kill him. Either way, the man still had this smirk on his face. The same he'd seen on many, who now lie dead.
“I thought, that I'd seen the worst your kind had to offer. But I was wrong. How could one do this to someone so innocent?”
Jackal smiled. “Because I was the very thing that she could not have? I am what I am, and you are lying if you think my death will be easy to cause.” He disappeared from the man's view, though this was due to his power, and the convenience of the many passing crowds in Grand Central. The man only spotted him again, when he burst through the front doors. Evading him would be easy, but then, he wanted to play. So, he'd lead the fanatical priest somewhere that he could do whatever he wished.
The city's Sewers were mostly controlled by the Nosferatu. He did have good relations with them, but he wasn't going down there to hide. Though most of the sewer tunnels were commonly traveled by the Nosferatu, many of them saw little use, except by some discolored water. Which isn't surprising, given the main purpose of a sewer. Either way, it was safe from prying eyes, and an environment which he rarely placed himself in. But it would serve his current needs, perfectly.
He hid in the darkness of the arched ceiling, waiting. He was unsure of what he should do with the priest, even though it was likely the man would force the same that all of them wish for. It was no surprise, as these were men who were likely trained to hunt and kill Vampires, along with hating them with a fiery passion. He did not meet them until after he'd set himself up in the city, and even then, it was annoying to think that a whole group had it in for every Vampire they could find. He'd been elusive before, even putting a few in the hospital, some in graves, and others into pits so deep that they were never found. Did he want to kill this man? No. But he would not let this man kill him. His death would cause far more problems than just derailing his life, among other things.
“I would wonder why you chased me down here, but you need not tell me. I know of your pitiable 'Masquerade'. But even then, I can't help but think that whatever creature made you, needs to die – along with you, of course.” The priest entered the same room Jackal was in, but saw him nowhere.
Jackal smiled from the darkness. “If that would be your goal, you would be to late. My mother is dead, and I killed her myself.”
The priest looked both shocked and puzzled. “Your 'Mother'?” He chuckled, realizing what that meant. “Oh yes. You mean the Vampire who embraced you. But if you speak of her with such reverence, why did you kill her? I heard the respect in your voice, so your reason must be something I can't possibly expect. Aside from the likely-hood that you did so because you hated what you'd became.”
“Perhaps, but I have never thought of myself as such a fool. My reason for killing her would be one your feeble mind isn't likely to comprehend. Morality is irrelevant in many cases, but your warm-blood makes you care about it far to much. But my animosity is due more to who your work for, and what you likely believe.” Jackal smiled, dropping from the ceiling. “I killed her because she asked me. I drank all of her blood and consumed her soul. Still think I am a a mere blood-thirsty child?”
“Oh no, you mistake me. My thoughts are clear on what you are. Unfortunate as it is, you are still the very thing I am pledged to kill, so therefore, you need to die. I'd begin last rites, but I know forgiveness isn't what you would ask for, if only because you aren't likely to understand what god has to offer you. However, if you would accept, then you might be granted entrance into heaven. How, I don't know, but perhaps there is hope for one such as yourself.” The man kissed his necklace.
Jackal's eyes widened, and his mouth contorted into a wide smile. “Do I hold out hope that, when I meet my final death, that I would be ushered into heaven, instead of cast into hell? Nay, for I am not such a one to believe in that empty promise. I prefer un-life, if you don't mind.” Holding out his hand, a sheathed sword fell from the ceiling. He caught it without effort, and gingerly grabbed the hilt. “Though I am not ignorant of your kind. You want fight me. You want what you've already made clear. To this, I simply say...No.” He slowly slid the blade from the sheath, dropping the sheath to the ground.
In a nearby tunnel, just above the room, a strange looking young woman laid in a pile of dirt, next to a black coffin with silver trim. At first glance, she would be considered dead by any who would have even a few seconds to look at her. But that illusion was shattered the second she opened her eyes. A pair of red eyes stared at the tunnel's ceiling, a sight which made her know she was safe. Sitting up, she flexed her arms, each movement slightly sluggish, but as always, she felt the familiar feeling of her body awakening as she made use of it. It was always the same, as the events that lead to her embrace was too organized, or at least that is what she was told.
What covered her body was...very little. Aside from the tight-fitting top and shorts, her body was covered with various markings, ranging from scar-like marks to actual tattoos, all of them either tribal in nature, aside from the one at the top of her chest, just below her neck, that depicted a serpent biting its own tail. Most of her unmarked skin was very pale, while her hair was black, about neck length, and mostly slicked back, aside from a few strands that kept hanging over her face.
Standing, she grabbed the leather dress that was folded on top of the coffin. Most of her clothing consisted of things she had tailored, and this was no exception. Current fashion wasn't her concern, as it most of it was made for people that constantly stressed a form of 'casual' style, that was becoming far too common. But then, she wasn't in favor of old styles either. Even the dress was unusual, since it was cut in places where it would not only allow her to walk easily, it was comfortable. This aside, most of her concern wasn't to her clothing, as her current appearance suited her perfectly. Many other kindred had expressed distaste, but both her clan, and the fact that she cared nothing for their words that allowed her to laugh in their face. After all, most she'd dealt with are fairly recent Kindred, and even the city's Prince was obviously eying her like a poisonous insect, but said nothing of it.
Taking a drink from a bottle that had also been atop the coffin, her graze lingered on a fight happening below her. Though it wasn't a unusual occurrence, one of the people involved, made it so. She could clearly see that he was a Vampire, but he looked like a kid that had came home from school far to late into the night, and was attacked by a Vampire. She knew it wasn't something common, but she had heard of it before. Likely not something she would do herself, but also nothing she'd be against. That aside, she'd done far worse things than make a teenage Vampire.
As she was about to return to her own business, she saw the kid look directly at her. Even though it was quick, that one look told her more than if he'd said something. She actually knew who he was, and it was apparent that he could use some help. Though she was never the type to hand out favors, she did owe him a perpetual boon, as his help had saved her from some nasty business during the twenties – the kind she was still trying to forget.
Finishing up the contents of the bottle, she secured it inside the coffin. Flipping the box over, she picked it up, threw it down where the fight was going on, causing it to pause. She jumped down herself, and looked into the human's eyes. He backed away from her, as Jackal slowly approached the coffin, sliding a finger up the smooth surface.
“I should've known you would have friends, but I would've thought them to be...better looking.” Even as he didn't sound scared, his face said that he was.
“Ask me if I care what a human thinks of me, and I will always tell you that I shall never care about such a thing.” She looked straight into the man's eyes. “You want to approach me.”
He walked up to her, mesmerized, and she savagely tore into his neck, a fire burning in her eyes. Maybe it was the fear, the belief, or perhaps the fact that they knew what was coming, but the blood of the faithful was like expensive wine to her. She didn't make a habit of it, but its easy to do so when you are embraced because of their kind. It was just like the first blood she tasted, just after he tried to stake her. He failed, and lost all of his blood. It might've been rage, but she crafted his body into some unspeakable creature, which she later threw into the light of the morning dawn, and watched it die.
Dropping his body to the floor, she noticed Jackal, who sat atop her coffin – which he'd obviously laid down the proper way. “Why did you want my help? You are even older than I am, and he wasn't even a challenge for me.”
He smiled. “I didn't want to stain my leather skin.” He adjusted his collar. “But I knew where you slept, and it was easy to lead the warm-blood down here.”
She shrugged, as she bent down to wipe her mouth with the man's clothes. “Yeah, sure. I doubt that, but then, I was hoping to run into you. Mostly since I'm not to fond of sleeping down here.” Taking a quick look at her coffin, she also added “I might need more...um...” she trailed off, as the fact that she had to sleep in dirt every night wasn't something she liked mentioning so casually. She found this odd, namely since the Tzimisce seemed to favor royalty, something which she felt was somehow right, even as it didn't seem to fit.
“Then thank Caine that you currently reside in your homeland. But if you want more...royal surroundings, then you can enjoy the hospitality of my Haven as you wish. But I do have a request of you, given your connections to the Sabbat.”
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|Subject: Re: VtM: Pretty Requiem(Chap. 15 - Final) Fri Jan 21, 2011 6:40 am|| |
Chapter V – Where The Rabbit Hole Leads
Jackal stood before his office window, looking out at the night sky. He lacked a shirt, and the lower half of his body was clad in leather, including his boots, which where riding boots, even though he never had an interest in horses. Picking a up a glass from a table, he swallowed the last sip as he thought of the recent events. He understood that secrets where plentiful here, but like always, there was more. Desmond had done something, but how it relates to Kyria's memories, he hadn't yet figured out. He was close, but there was one more element, one more mind to spill words that he needed to hear.
The door opened, allowing two Vampires to enter. One of them was Faith, and the other, was one Jackal had only heard about. A Toreador that was well known in the Sabbat, and in line to be the next new Archbishop, or so the gossip went – even though none of it had told him her name. He turned to face them, as his mouth spread into a wide smile. “A black rose, not yet in bloom. Tell me, what name would fit your very bountiful form?”
“Alexi. Alexi Valentine. Not my original name, but I think you know this all too well, don't you?” She smiled, as did Jackal. Aside from her intimation, she had no idea what Jackal's real name was, but it was obvious to her that he wasn't called Jackal from birth.
“Pretty. But I asked you here for a simple purpose, and I do hope you are willing to talk.” He walked over to his desk, and poured each of them a glass, and sat down in his chair. “I want to know about Desmond. He seems to be filled with secrets, and I have reason to know some of them.”
She seemed puzzled, but still started throwing out facts. “I embraced him after the end of the war. Perhaps you might consider it brutal, but I did what I had to, in order to make him think as I did.” She took a sip, and continued. “However, as soon as he starts regaining his humanity, even the smallest bit, he thinks of only one thing - the girl he left behind, here in the states. He didn't talk about her much, but then, a year later, he asks me about embracing her. I denied him, but even I knew that he wouldn't stop there. You could say that I made a mistake in bringing him back here in the first place, but by then, I though that having another to help the cause would strengthen our position here. But he acted stupid, as he knew how it had to be done.”
“You mean how she had to be embraced? He must've known by then how it works, so it couldn't be that.” Faith asked, while leaning against a wall, a half-full glass in her hand.
Alexi shook her head. “From what I told him, and from what he remembered of his own embrace, he knew. But he also knew that he couldn't just embrace her – not so easily, anyway.” She paused. “I found it odd, as after I agreed, he waited. Then, I find him looking at a newspaper article, describing a teenage girl, who died of leukemia, and then I hear about this car crash just outside the city last Halloween, the same night I couldn't find him.”
Jackal set his glass down, and started laughing. “You are going to say, that he was involved, aren't you?” He was still laughing after he spoke.
She went to ask how he knew, but she stopped herself. “Of course you know. But even after that, he still didn't do it. I would've been pissed, but it was clear to me that he wasn't about to let her go.” She paused, sipping the blood. “But then, he tells me that she'd just lost her job around Christmas, and that she'd bought a pistol with her last paycheck. I then knew what he'd done. The same thing one would hope for, if you'd intend to embrace a human, only he'd helped it along. The reason she bought the gun is obvious, and then he waited until she went to the park, and intended to use the weapon, to actually embrace her.”
Faith snickered. “Now I see why he has been avoiding her.”
“Of course he has. Not only that, he wants to leave the Sabbat – which is likely why you haven't seen him recently.” He finished the contents of his glass. “What I wonder, is what happens next. I am unaware of punishments the Black hands can unleash, but they are not for my ears.”
“What do you think he will do? Even if he's been avoiding her, he isn't likely to find it surprising once she finds out.” Faith said, as she finished her drink.
Jackal closed his eyes. Without opening them, he spoke. “There is more to this story than a mere confrontation. Soon it comes, but then time will pass before this is resolved.” He opened his eyes. “All that's left for me to do, is to allow the feline from the box. Beyond that, even I cannot say.
Setting her glass on Jackal's desk, Alexi stood. “If you'd excuse me, I must leave. Truthfully, I don't care what happens to Desmond, and I doubt any of the others will. Although, some in the Sabbat might just start gunning for him, once they hear he is no longer one of them. I won't be sending any to eliminate him, but someone is likely to.” She left the room, as Jackal sat back in his chair.
Faith shrugged. “Likely no worse than the Cam's blood-hunt. Either way, I don't think he is going to last very long. Unless he manages to hide himself somewhere.
He smiled. “No, the hands will avoid him, but the icy doll will not. It all begins to unravel very soon – precisely how, is only for one such as Caine to know, even if he is likely to be uncaring.”
Faith refilled her glass, and sat in one of the chairs before Jackal's desk. “If she and Desmond do end up fighting, how can she possibly stand up to him?”
He smiled again. “I've been...teaching her various things. Perhaps I should've made that clear before now, but it is all very trivial details, though I'm sure some would find it interesting. But to sit here and explain what I've taught her would likely be boring, and I hate to do such a thing to anyone.”
“No need. That does explain a lot, even though you could say it says very little.” She finished her drink again, but did not move to refill it. Instead, she stood, walking over to the door, her intent of slumber all to apparent to Jackal. Just before she opened the door, she turned her head to look at him. “Will any of it help?”
He looked directly into her eyes. “I do not make her fate. My beliefs aside, the only one that chooses that, is her.”
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|Subject: Re: VtM: Pretty Requiem(Chap. 15 - Final) Sun Feb 06, 2011 5:12 pm|| |
Chapter VI – Lament For The Lost
Two months since she was embraced, and it was still snowing. Nothing she cared about anymore, as she only wanted the warmth when she also wanted blood. Unlike before, she had a jacket over her button-up shirt, but even the shirt was only buttoned enough to cover herself, even as she wasn't trying to be decent. The fact that she could use her visage and her powers to get the things she wanted, was the icing on the cake, even though Jackal did mention using them sparingly, lest she keep needing blood. This aside, she wasn't devoid of her emotions, nor was she the “Icy Doll” that Jackal kept calling her. She still cared about her family, and wouldn't hesitate to kill whoever caused that accident. If it was a human, or a Vampire, she didn't care. It was a simple emotion, and possibly one that was overdone. Even so, it just seemed right.
Pushing the gates open, she walked slowly into the Cemetery. Doing so brought back the vivid memories of the funeral, the last time she saw her family. The fine details she cared nothing for, but that day was forever etched in her mind. Even as it was clear to her that no one thought her wrong for being able to stand there. To her, the feeling wasn't clear. On one hand, she did feel that it was one, but on the other, she realized how foolish it seemed. She wondered if her brother, or even her parents would think in such a way, but only answer she allowed herself to come out with, is that they would not have wished her to die along with them. It just seemed like the easier thing to believe, and thus, that was the end of it. At least, until it went sour twice over, and she now stood before the graves again, but this time, the last thing on her mind was death – even as she'd been told that she already is.
Kneeling down, she gently slid her hand down the stone that bore her brother's name. She was almost terrified of even having a brother, at least when her parents first told her. Perhaps it was the fact that she was so much like her mother, in some ways, but she changed her mind about him, at least when he was old enough to look up to her. It was more than just the loyalty that family brought, as it wasn't just the fact that he was her brother that formed the bond, but something more. Whatever it was, she didn't understand it. Trying to understand now, could be considered pointless.
“I'm....sorry that I couldn't....” She couldn't finish. Feeling the tears coming, she sank to the ground, unable to stop herself. Putting her face into her hands, she leaned against the stone, lamenting something that she had no way to prevent, but this thought did nothing end her sadness. In a way, she couldn't help but think, that if this wasn't her failure, why did she feel the weight? Perhaps it's the fact that these things do happen, but it becomes much harder to take, when it happens to you.
“Sister, your bleeding...”
Hearing this, she looked around, seeing nothing. As she moved to stand up, she noticed her hands. Rather than being simply wet, they were spattered with blood. This prompted her to try and fathom a reason for this, along with along with taking a cloth from her pocket to clean herself up. It wasn't very much, even though it felt like the blood had turned her skin completely red, based on how much she cried.
Standing, she looked around. It was unlikely that someone would also visit the cemetery at this hour, even though it was possible. Though she didn't consider herself part of the Camarilla, she didn't want to find out what they did to those who broke the Masquerade. Which, as Jackal had told her, was a rather simple concept, even though centuries of rule had allowed the Camarilla to make it sound far grander than it actually was. Though, for what its worth, she was told that various developing technologies would make it increasingly difficult to uphold the Masquerade in the coming years, even as she wasn't specifically told what these were. Likely camera's and the like, but right now, there was no one around who had a reason to snap a shot of her.
Opening her shoulder bag, she took out two bouquets of roses, the larger one white, and the smaller red, inhaling the scent. She bent down, placing the larger bouquet on her parent's grave, and the smaller on her brother's. Removing a single red rose from the smaller bouquet, she kissed it, the feel of it on her face, lips and even tongue was almost satisfying,.
“That makes you look pretty, sister...”
She turned her head, only to stare at something that was supposed to be impossible. Her brother knelt before her parents grave, gently sliding his hand over the engraved words. It didn't take long before he turned his head to look at her, and he smiled.
“But how are you...”
“You know what I am. If what you are is possible, why not this?” He slowly crawled over to her, as she put the rose back on his grave. “I feel so...unsettled. I thought this would be hard, but something is wrong. I know how it sounds, but...” He looked into her eyes.
“Can I help?”
“You have to. Its all his fault, you know. He took them away, and made you that way. It him that you have to end.”
Aside from the fact that she was talking to the ghost of her brother, she understood that he, couldn't rest, or whatever the right idea was. But his problem puzzled her. He spoke of someone, but was vague on exactly who. She couldn't help but feel angry at this, since everything else had been so simple. Pulling her sleeve back, she stared at the two curving scars that ran the length of her left arm, from her wrist to just below her shoulder. It looked much worse just after the crash, even though she was told that it wasn't bleeding very much, for some reason. Not only that, to both her and the doctors she'd seen, it didn't seem like they were made by jagged metal, much less anything else that could come from a car. The doctor had suggested an animal, but she'd said that wasn't likely.
Looking at her brother again, she realized that he seemed, distant. She couldn't hear anger in his voice, but at the same time, it was obvious to her that whoever it was that caused the accident, would be someone he would want dealt with, even if he couldn't do anything himself. She could, but he problem should be obvious by now, and that was the only thing holding her back.
“Do you know who it is? If I don't know, I can't help you.”
She saw her brother sigh. “Thats just it. I can't tell you. Aside from what I've already said, I can't be the one to tell you. Even worse than that, you should know it already!” He stood, and started walking away. Once he was a few graves away, he stopped, and turned his head. “I don't know what you are going to do, and I don't know how long it might take. Just, please, for my sake, find him, and deal with him, however you feel is right.” After he finished, he kept walking, disappearing seconds later.
“First time I set eyes on a ghost, and I expected it to be much worse.”
Kyria turned her head toward the Cemetery gates, only to see Jackal sitting atop a grave, smiling as always. The only thing different about him was the fact that he wore a black button up shirt, with silver buttons. Maybe any other time she might've wanted to see him, but he was of no use to her now, so she hardly even felt the need to converse with him. She stood, and moved to leave the Cemetery. Or at least, she tried to, but Jackal stopped her.
“I can't say I'm going to stop you from leaving, but I do have something to tell you. Something I believe you would die to learn – though I won't offer up that price for the information. In fact, I give it free.”
She turned towards him. “What is it?”
He smiled. “As per the words of his Sire, the one you are looking for, is your own.”
Kyria's eyes widened. Just as before, she saw the memory of that night flash across her mind. But now it was different, as she saw Desmond standing in the road, forcing her parents to swerve off the road, and then see watches as he pulls both herself, and her brother from the burning wreck, moments before it explodes. He then separated her from her brother, and cut his wrist, allowing a few droplets of blood to enter her mouth. She saw herself awaken, only to see her brother take his last breath, and Desmond quietly sneak away into the night.
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|Subject: Re: VtM: Pretty Requiem(Chap. 15 - Final) Wed Mar 09, 2011 2:15 am|| |
Chapter VII – Going Into The Night...But Not Quietly...
Days of searching around the city, looking for any information that could be freely given, and a few pints of blood, both from veins and some donated blood. All it had yielded was some passing rumors, along with some who had an opinion of Desmond, and one or two that had seen him recently. Her idea was, that if he was no more than one of the Sabbat's lackey's, getting to him shouldn't be this difficult. Namely since Jackal had specifically mentioned his sire practically disowning him from her charge, and not caring very much, if at all, if he became dust within the next few months. No matter if other Sabbat would want nothing more than to snack on him, or if his only childe dusted him. At this point, it was the second that Kyria was after. If she had gone another few years without knowing, and Desmond was killed within that time, she might not care so much about what he had done. Since she knows, however, letting it just pass her by just wouldn't be fun.
The first one she found with information about Desmond, was a rather shady Vampire that asked her to meet him near Times Square. Their conversation was short, and he told her exactly what she wanted to know. Desmond wasn't exactly hiding, but he made is haven, or so it seemed, at a church in lower Manhattan. She wasn't told Desmond's reason for being there, but she didn't care. Now, she had a place to point both her anger, and a pistol.
As the outside said, the church was called “Trinity”. Pushing open the doors, she slowly walked in, as they closed behind her. She saw a man in priest robes kneeling before a row of lit candles, praying, or so she could hear. He was human, and obviously more concerned with something else, other than Kyria. The man knew she'd entered, but didn't acknowledge her. Walking forward, the man finally spoke.
“If you are the one he wants, I would suggest you leave.”
She smirked. “Why? I am here to kill him, so what does it matter to you?”
He didn't turn around, but the man's anger was clear. “If I was able, I would kill both of you. But fear takes my power to do so, and if I so much as move, I am likely to lose my life. I care nothing for either of you, but I do care for myself.”
Looking around, she sensed that something was wrong. Backing up, she saw Desmond fall from the rafters, and grab the priest, tearing into his neck. Within seconds, he dropped nothing more than a corpse to the ground, and turned to face Kyria. Blood stained his mouth, his hair was disheveled, and his eyes were ravenous. “They say many things of a woman. Namely, that fury is at it's worst, when it comes from a woman who as been scorned. Perhaps, but I don't think that your fury is going to kill me.”
“Do you? Given what you've done to me and my family, I think that all you deserve is final death.”
He seemed quite amused. “I don't care if you know what I've done, I am not going to let you judge me for it – or anyone else for that matter.” He snickered. “Perhaps if that crazy kid had accompanied you, maybe he would've been able to help you, the cold, little, bitch.”
Raising her arms slightly, water encased her exposed wrists and hands, slowly freezing, her frozen fingers extending into sharp, icy claws. Her bright blue eyes became pale, and she smiled, before launching herself at Desmond, swiping at his face. He fell back into a pew, causing it to buckle at the middle, and she crashed into the lit candles, but seemed unharmed by the fire. Turning, she saw Desmond trying to stand, to which she leapt in his direction, driving her claws into his shoulders. “You know you deserve this. I don't care why, so don't start explaining.”
“I shouldn't have to. But, you really think it is going to be that easy?” He threw her off and stood, smiling he watched his hands grow into sharp claws. “Now that the field is even, lets play.”
They both ran at each other, their clawed hands locking together, both of them trying to overpower one-another. Within a few seconds, it seemed that Desmond was going to fend her off, but he noticed his hands were freezing, though it wasn't like what happened to Kyria's hands. It was obvious to him that she was doing it, though it was just another of the magics spawned of those who stole their immortality, and whose magic constantly falls into the hands of other clans, even as the Tremere will believe that no such thing ever happens. Here he had thought that Jackal was just another insane Malkavian, and he proved to be that, along with someone who knew his share of tricks.
Kyria broke her hold, and lept backwards, over the small pyre that had grown because of the fallen candles. “How does it feel? Unable to move something that is precious to you?”
He looked puzzled for a moment, before he sighed. “Are you honestly going to begin the lament of your fate...NOW? Are you seriously going to tell be that you miss something? You, who had already been set by yourself, fate, and possibly god himself, to die? You brought that pistol with the intent of using a single bullet to end your pain.” He paused, trying to break the ice that bound his hands. “And it is here, and now, that you would use this pithy magic-” He shook his frozen bindings.”-to intimate that there is something you will never get over. And lastly, you expect me to give a damn that your human bloodline died that night, and care that the blame rests in my shoulders?” He tried freeing his hands again, and this time, he succeeded, shards of the ice falling to the floor and shattering. “If it does, then perhaps when I do die, it will be something else that I will be punished for. But I will endeavor to make my final death occur only after I've done what I wish, and maybe not even then.” Her eyes widened as she saw the flames that emitted from Desmond's hands. “Yes, you aren't the only one to know something of usurper’s magic. In fact, I want to know how you can deal with what you don't know.”
“So you can play with fire. All it means is that you'll just get burned.” She rushed at him, intending in severing his neck. Instead, he rose his hands, sending two balls of fire from his wrists, forcing her back, and she felt that urge again, but quelled it the best she could. Forming a fist, more water rushed from her sleeve, and she watched as a the ice formed a knife in her hand, which she threw at Desmond. The blade of the weapon pierced his shoulder, something which he found amusing – to the point that he grasped the handle, pulling it from his skin, and admiring the weapon, before she saw it melt in his hands.
“So you can survive balls of fire. How about a ring?” He put his hands parallel, and then clapped them together. A small beam of light came up from the floor, expanding into a ring, which she felt the effects of the second she was within it. Once again, she felt the pull of the beast, and really didn't think she could hold it back much longer.
“I'm getting tired of this-”She started, but stopped as she felt the uncontrollable urge, which wasn't going to be held back. She snarled, raising her claws again, and again launching herself at Desmond. This time, she missed, and felt herself pinned to the floor. After several times of trying for him, she saw him leap for her, pinning her against a coffin that was behind the fallen candles.
“As am I. So, why don't we bring this act to a close?” He reached into his jacket, pulling out a pointed piece of wood. At the sight of this, she slashed at him, opening a large gash on his stomach. Holding her down again, he smiled. “No, no more of that. You might be skilled, but it takes more than skill to win in this dark, dark world. I thought he was lying when he said it, but since then, I've done things I like, even if they are the worst of things.” He twirled the steak in his fingers, stalling for some reason. She knew what it would do, and even the beast seemed frightened. “But my prattle is going nowhere.”
Snarling, he thrust the stake downwards, driving the point into her heart. At this, a look of intense shock prevailed on her face, but it didn't last long. Soon enough, it settled down to a more calmer look, and her eyes closed. Standing, he bent over to pick her up. Throwing the coffin open with his boot, he softly laid her inside. Once again, he saw the flowing water, but this time, it first encased her skin in ice, then filled the inside of the coffin, and froze over. Closing it, he smiled. “Icy doll? More like frozen bitch.” He turned toward the door, and sighed.
“As I expected, you dealt with her quite easily.” The Vamp before Desmond noticed his wound. “Aside from that, of course.”
“Khristan. I do have to thank you for your assistance, but why exactly did you want to help me? Your Camarilla, remember?” The one Desmond spoke to was a Tremere, one who was in line to become a Regent, and soon enough, a Primogen for the Tremere clan in the city.
“Simple. I want to make sure the Tremere have power in the city, and based on our deal, I will...allow the Sabbat to have some presence within the city, as you asked – though I don't know how they will view you, since most of them believe you defected. But even so, that is nothing to me.” He pulled down his hood. His slender face was unmarked, aside from a scar-like mark that was in the shape of a tilted swastika. His black hair was neatly pulled back, and a pair of unobtrusive, but otherwise obvious rings clipped to his ears, both of them a small, occultic symbol.
“I can accept that, but what about the Malkavian? You know, Jackal?”
At the sound of the name, Khristian snarled loudly. “Soon enough, I will find a way to deal with him. Did you know about him? His history is far more, sortied that yours. His Sire was known for her own brand of our magic, that didn't make her liked among our circles, though he knows none of it. However, his worst offense, is that he killed his Sire through diablere, and those within the Camarilla, those of his own clan, did nothing about it. It didn't help that she asked him to do it, because otherwise, it would be final death, ironically because she killed the Tremere Primogen who had the position then.” He looked at the coffin behind Desmond. “But enough about the lunatic, what about her?”
Desmond sighed. “I don't know. I don't want to kill her, though what I've already done should be enough to kept her out of our plans for some time. Other than that, I don't know.
Walking up to Desmond, Khristian patted him on the shoulder. “Don't worry. I'll have the staff bury her in the basement of this church, and make sure that she isn't found, at least not for a few decades.”
Outside the Church, atop a nearby building, Jackal sat, along with Akhet, who stood next to him. He knew what was going on, as always. The Tremere wasn't anything to the one his mother had killed, yet he sought Jackal's death. Perhaps it was something else, something he had yet to see. It was forever true, that the actions of Caine's children where sometimes predictable, but it is their reasons, that can always be different.
“Do you really think this is the way it should be?” Akhet asked.
Jackal nodded. “The time must pass, and only after will the time be ripe for her to kill him. His death, as I though, is inevitable, but only after she arises from her slumber. Days, months, years, decades. The exact length is unknown to me, even as someone deep in my mind has the answer. When that voice will speak, I cannot tell, but it, like the doll, needs time.”
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|Subject: Re: VtM: Pretty Requiem(Chap. 15 - Final) Fri Apr 01, 2011 6:18 am|| |
Chapter VIII – Blue Rose
Entering an office, a distressed man closed the door behind him. Looking towards the desk, he saw the chair behind it was facing the opposite wall, and it was obvious to him that his employer was occupying the chair. Taking a few seconds, he adjusted his clothing, which was simply a white dress shirt, black pants, a pair of black dress shoes, and a long, open Cassock. Approaching the desk, he couldn't help but feel a slight bit of fear, as he wasn't exactly used to working for someone like her. Many things about her had shifted his faith, and even more-so the fact of the minor blasphemy he had to subject himself to, if he wished to remain in service to the church. Even thinking about it made the entire memory that much clearer.
Officially, the one he worked for was nothing more than a Reverend Mother, even if it was true that she never lead a service, nor did she ever deal very much with the direct operation of the Church. That is, aside from her ownership of the building. She was met with some curiosity, when she first arrived, since she knew much about the faith, even as she had no wish to take up services herself. It was sometime after that he learned of a truth, that he seriously feared. Perhaps it was his time in the Vatican, but he found out what she really was one night, and that changed their relationship forever. He'd been suspicious of her since she'd bought the building, but they proved true that night. She is a Vampire, and this was something that he sat on for some time, contemplating what he should do. Rather than him taking action, she did so. He intended to leave, even as he had no wish to quit working for the Church. She stopped him, and forced him to work for her. There were perks to such a thing, but he hated the fact that he was going against everything he had been told since he joined the Church.
“Tell me. What is your problem? I hope it is something of importance, and not some trivial matter that you should be able to handle.” He heard her voice from behind the chair, and as always, it was so sharp and quick, that he couldn't help but jump when she started, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“Um, I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, but I've come from the basement. The work to clear it for your...” He stopped himself, since he hated speaking of the jargon that she'd spat at him, upon entering her service. “...your clan mates use. It has been going well, but as we where relocating some of the crypts, we found a sarcophagus that isn't nearly as old.”
The chair turned, and he looked straight into those sickly, green eyes. She always wore clothing similar to those of his own, though with her own, distinctions. The outer robe she wore was white, and vastly differing from his own, in that hers was made from leather, rather than cloth. Her face stood in sharp contrast to his own, since not only was it unblemished and thoroughly unmarked, it was completely white. She was also quite young, likely no more than twenty-five, or so he'd guessed - though this was only the way she looked. This aside, the single object that he hated of her clothing, was the unusual skull pendant that she persisted in wearing. She told him several times that it was merely a trinket, and nothing that had a thing to do with 'blasphemous magic', but he doubted that.
“Oh? How recent are we talking?”
He sighed. “I cannot tell you an exact number, but I would guess that it was made some time after the second World War. Which is unlike the rest, as most of those are over one-hundred years hold, if not more.”
She stood, and placed the book she held on the desk. “If that is all you have to say, I think it might be a matter for the clergy to deal with, and not me. Unless...there is something more you believe about it?”
He felt himself sweating. Wiping it from his forehead, he casually ran his wet hand over his hair, trying to hide his fear. “Yes...I...can't be sure, as I am not like you, but it may be one of your kind.”
She smiled, and he once again glimpsed her fangs, along with seeing the interest in her eyes. “Now, that is interesting – and something I believe worth my time. I doubt its one of my clan, but perhaps it might still be worth it to have a look.” Moving from behind the desk, she came uncomfortably close to her servant – close enough that she lightly grabbed his neck. “Shed that fear. I am the last one that is going to kill you, and I doubt I will find a reason. In my service, you need not fear me – even if you still cling to the words of your god. Remember this...” She looked straight into his eyes, and his mind briefly went blank, hanging on her words. “...you worship your god, but you still take orders from none other than me.”
A few minutes later, they both entered the basement of the Church, and upon entering one of the darker rooms, the both stopped to stare at the single coffin, which sat on the floor. It was completely black, and trimmed in silver, with a crucifix and a number of rose designs decorating the lid. Only showing age in the lower parts, nearer to the floor, it seemed to be, shining far more than it should. The woman bent down, running a finger over the top. When she looked at her finger, it was wet, almost like she'd touched ice. Which she found to be true, as tapping the box resulted in the sound of ice breaking – even though it would freeze over seconds afterward.
“Jones, go up to my freezer, and bring me at least four bags of blood.” She tried to lift the lid as she spoke, but found it impossible, as it would keep freezing shut with the slightest break.
When he returned with the blood, she placed her hand upright, and it caught fire, yet did not burn her skin. Running it along the visible seam, the ice finally started to melt. Lifting the lid open, her eyes took in the rather familiar sight of a kindred in torpor. Also inside was a fine mist, almost like snow. Once it dissipated, she noticed the Kindred inside was female, and from the look of her, she'd been like this for quite some time. Her clothing seemed to be about a decade or so out of date, though the long jacket she wore was not so, and most of the fabric, aside from the jacket, was either tattered, or no more than small scraps of cloth. “Hmm...who are you?” Taking one of the bags, she attached a line to the stopper, placing the line in the female's mouth. Squeezing the bag slightly, she saw the stream of red flow into the girl's mouth. The girl's skin slowly lifted from her bones, her features filled out, and then the blood wasn't being pushed into her body, it was the girl who was drinking it. The girl reached her hand out of the coffin, and grabbed the bag from the woman's hands. Once it was drained, the girl opened her eyes, and a set of pale blue eyes looked severely angry – even if the face didn't match it.
“Who exactly are you?” The girl asked, in a voice that obviously didn't care if she was talking to Caine himself, and held no respect at all.
“I am Selene. You know what I am, but I am at a loss. I don't know who you are, or why you are down here.” Selene pointed to the room.
“I am...” The girl paused, her memories faint. “...Kyria.”
“Well then, Hello, Kyria. Now might I ask how you ended up down here, and when this was?”
Kyria sat up, and then removed herself from the coffin. She couldn't help but stumble for a few seconds, almost like she was a newborn calf. Looking around, she felt her memory slowly coming back. The car crash, with the understanding that Desmond caused it, and saved her that night. Her choice of suicide, and Desmond's alternative, which lead her to find out what he did. She found where he'd been hiding, and he put her where she was. “My sire did this. The last I remember was fighting him, trying to kill him in a Church.”
“You do realize that this is the crypt below one, do you not? Below Trinity Church in Manhattan, to be exact.”
Kyria sighed. “Perfect. All that for nothing.” She hung her head, only to notice her clothing. Selene noticed her almost break out in tears, but held it back.
“You might not know how long you've been here, but what year did that happen?”
Again, she couldn't remember. She knew Desmond was in that war, and that he disappeared for five years. “About five years after the last...World War.”
Selene thought for a moment, before she sighed. “Then you might be in for a shock. That was...thirty-five years ago.”
The look on Kyria's face was almost indescribable. Selene could see that behind her eyes, lay an anger that sought to release the beast, but somehow, it did not come. Instead, she watched Kyria tear the ruined fabric from her body, and close the still intact jacket to cover herself. “Forget it. Instead of worrying about that, there are other things. Perhaps you have something I could wear?”
After some clothing was retrieved for Kyria, she and Selene locked themselves in the office to talk. It was obvious to Selene that something more was going on with Kyria, at least more than could ever be obvious. What she intended to find out, was if it would inevitably cause trouble for her. She had already done much in the city to cement her place, and avoid trouble with the Camarilla, so more problems could be difficult to deal with. She knew of the talk that something big was about to happen quite soon, and it was her hope that she could avoid it – even if a key element had just been awakened within her haven.
“A Toreador? Yes, I understood that already. But even so, you seem to understand more than the average. Whoever taught you, must have been someone special.”
Kyria sat back in her chair. “It was only one person, and not my sire, who only taught me some basic things. I was turned just a few days before the New Year, and thus I was only a few months old when I was sent into torpor.” She drank from the crystalline glass. “Aside from what I already knew from my embrace, and the powers I learned from my Sire, another, a Malkavian, taught me things that helped when I fought my Sire, but it seems it wasn't enough.”
Selene nearly spit out her drink. “A Malkavian taught you? That...sounds rather...unusual, in the least – though I've heard much worse from other Kindred. What exactly was this Malkavian's name?”
Selene's eyes widened. “You mean...” She seemed unsure of herself, before she sighed. “You mean the same that owns that Hotel? The one who looks like a teenager?”
Kyria nodded, and Selene sighed again. It was obvious to her that she seemed to have gotten herself into something, which could turn out to be something much more involved than sending this girl on her way. If she had said any other name, she could've simply let the whole issue go. But mentioning Jackal, the same who helped her with various things, meant so much more. What, she didn't yet know. In fact, she was at a loss, since it was unlikely that Kyria knew how things had changed for Jackal. But perhaps that was something for Jackal himself to relate to her.
Finishing her drink, Kyria set the glass back down. “So, what exactly is your story?”
“I...” Coming out of her stupor, she leaned back. “I was embraced when people still had the idea the world was flat. Only a few years before the western world was discovered, in fact. I was living in Italy then, and I was the daughter of a weapon-smith. I entered that trade myself, once I was old enough. But I didn't just make the swords, I made and trained myself to use them.” She poured herself another drink, and continued. “But a few years after I started the work, my father was accosted by the men who wanted to control the business. At first, he agreed to it, as long as he'd get a nice share of the profits – only sensible, since it was his family, mostly just him, me, and my brother, doing the work. But then, they came back, and somehow, I could tell they wanted to alter their deal. They wanted too much from my father, or so it seemed. They wanted the entire shop, and my father refused. They would still let him work, but the percentage they were offering, wasn't enough for us. So, they made another deal.”
“Let me guess. They where ghouls, right?”
Selene nodded. “Yes. They were such for the Giovanni clan. Maybe you haven't heard of it, since it isn't a part of the Camarilla, or the Sabbat. You could say that they are like the Tremere, but not exactly the same. They took over another clan a number of years before I was embraced, and eliminated most of them, though only a few where converts – though they were bound with much more than chains to the Giovanni. However, the deal they made with my father, was that they would take me, in exchange for the deal to remain the same. I wasn't embraced for a time, only ghoul-ed. When I was, it was by someone who, well, wasn't as cutthroat as the rest. I later found out that I was only embraced because of my human lineage, which, by then, I'd lost touch with.”
“What about this place? Surely you aren't going to tell me you are still...religious? I suppose it is possible, but...”
Sitting up, Selene poured more of the wine into her glass. “Not in the strictest sense. Perhaps I was such when I was human, but as you know, our kind usually doesn't need faith to keep us going. It may help to have it, but considering that most humans, at least the ones who would like nothing better than to see us extinct, would laugh at the idea that we could be just as faithful. However-” she swiveled the glass in her hand, before drinking a fair bit. “-I simply admire the anesthetics. Some would think it is posing, but I have studied most of the popular religions, and even as I don't adhere to the rhetoric, I still find them quite interesting. Even as it is quite the few that would find a problem with my very existence.”
“I have to ask, since I don't know very much about your situation.” She drank more of the wine. “What exactly do you intend to do?”
Kyria looked directly into Selene's eyes. “At the end of this drama? I'm going to kill my Sire. He isn't going to put me through that again.”
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|Subject: Re: VtM: Pretty Requiem(Chap. 15 - Final) Tue Apr 19, 2011 4:44 pm|| |
Chapter IX – Malkavian Hospitality
“Perhaps, but you forget the real problem. Which lies more in your worries, than in the concern of the Prince. You may have a problem with it, but it has nothing to do with your blood, so it matters very little to me.” Jackal put the phone down, as he smiled. His choice to accept the appointment was only because of the perks, but somehow, even that didn't seem to be it. There was more to his reasoning, even if he could offer little of it to those who asked.
The doors to his office opened, and a number of people entered, all of them a Primogen for each of the clans within the Camarilla. There were only five, as the Tremere's Primogen either had some other detail to attend to, or as Jackal suspected, had something against him. He has his suspicions, but for now, they mattered little.
“Ah, welcome. Please, have a seat.” Jackal stood from behind his desk, and slowly walked around it, to the large table that stood in the middle of the room, which was large enough to fit eight chairs around it. As the Primogen sat, three of the chairs remained empty. While a few servants brought them refreshments, they began talking.
“I wonder, exactly why you called us here. You're cute, but that doesn't make you Prince.” The Toreador Primogen, Andromeda Morgan, who spoke first.
Jackal shook his head. “Indeed, I do not possess that label. However, I am just as you are, and one could consider this rather friendly conversation. All of you might share some bad blood, but I cannot say I have any towards you. My wish is quite like yours, though you could say that I am more in line with Luna, than all of you. But I will keep my ideals about these things to myself.” Jackal took his place at the table.
“But you still haven't answered the damn question, you lunatic!”
“Calm yourself Ricky. You have no idea what a crazy kid can do.” Andromeda said, smiling.
Jackal smiled fondly at Andromeda, before looking at Ricky, of the Brujah. “Do you think I would go against Luna, in any way? Like all of you, she knows my story, and has a few Kindred face the flames of the morning dawn, because they thought I would be a risk.” He stood, his eyes casually darting toward the door. “In fact, I was only asked to take this position, and by none other than the one you answer to. Were there any other in this city that would be better fit, I would gladly step down for them. But in the passing years, I have had none of my blood, either one who spoke in an intelligible mess, or with the linguistic flourishes of the Ventrue, that even intimated a problem with me heading the clan in this city.”
“All correct, and thankfully, he is never wrong.” Luna said, entering the room with two other female Ventrue, both of them dressed just as fine as she was, although they wore black dresses. Her outfit consisted of a long, dark gray jacket with a leather bodice underneath, along with a thigh length skirt. She also wore high boots, along with a number of other accessories – namely the pistol that was strapped to her thigh.
“One could be so bold as to call you late, but the party has yet to begin, but you are the guest of honor, and therefore, it does not apply.” Jackal smiled at Luna, who took her place at the head of the table, right next to him.
“Indeed. But the more, pressing matter is, to be quite honest, one that Jackal only knows of. I was told, in a general sense about the issue, but more than that, I don't know. Care to enlighten the rest of us?” With this, every one of the Primogen, along with Luna, had their eyes on Jackal.
“Of course. However, this news might be quite typical for some of you, and others might just view it as absolute heresy, but I assure you, these are not ramblings.” He cleared his throat. “Look around you. One of our number is missing. Perhaps one of you already understands?”
“You aren't going to suggest that Khristian is a traitor, are you?” Andromeda said, even though she didn't know him very well.
“He may be, the fanged snake within our ranks. To say that he is betraying the laws of the Camarilla, is something I can only speculate on. However, I can mention that he has consorted with one who is, or at least, was, Sabbat.”
“It isn't bad enough that he is of the usurper's blood, he works with the Sabbat. I'd say he deserves no more than final death, just for that.” Ricky, said, obviously one who found a problem with the Tremere, though he wasn't the only one.
“Do you have any idea what he may plan to do, Jackal?” Luna asked him. Unlike the others, who where either enraged at the thought, or generally uncaring, she wanted to know more, before she made a judgment, no matter what it might entail.
Jackal sighed. “I hate to spout cliches, as I know those of the Magic-Blood are already such from their embrace, but it is nothing but the truth.” He looked around. “Khristian's goals lie within labeling himself 'Prince', and he plans to do so with Desmond Crane's host of servants, Kindred and Kine alike – along with some Tremere, that act on his behalf.”
“What? You mean that Sabbat lackey embraced a number of humans, without consent? If he is still Sabbat, we can't fault him for that. If not, however, then it is up to you, Luna.” Andromeda said, sitting back in her chair.
On Luna's right, beside the empty chair, the Primogen for the Ventrue clan sat. This was Hikari Ichikira. Unlike Luna, or her guards, she wore what most described as “Traditional” Japanese dress, which, even as it did garner interest by many, others continue to believe that she is lying about being Kindred. To those surrounding the table, none of them thought this way, as they knew such a thing was possible, and Hikari was likely not the only case. She leaned forward, clasping her hand together.“If this Tremere is not only working with Crane, but planing to become Prince through some yet unknown method, though the most obvious would be a mutinous action, then his fate is sealed. Perhaps he does not deserve final death, but if he is planing such a thing, then should be his only reward. However, the final decision is not mine.”
“Indeed, but your opinion is one I value-” Luna turned to the rest. “-as I value all your opinions. “ She cleared her throat. “With that said, what would you believe appropriate?”
“He deserves a punishment equal to his crime. If he intends to break the Masquerade, or has already done so, he deserves final death. In this case, I agree with Ricky.” Ivanna, the Nosferatu Primogen wasn't the usual Nosferatu, as she tended to be much more involved with the Camarilla's dealings, even as she still put the clan first.
“I've already said what I think.” Ricky busied himself with a drink.
“I guess it is my words that are craved. Caution should be taken, since this is likely to cause an issue with the Tremere, should this business become as tasteful as a lemon.” Jackal sighed. “But nonetheless if the Masquerade is threatened, the route that we have taken before, shall be taken once again.”
“Let me just get this straight.” Zachary, Primogen for the Gangrel, spoke up. “You all want to believe this fool? Not only that, the only evidence he has, is merely his word. Why should we even accept his word, when he doesn't have any concrete evidence to support Khristian's betrayal?”
Luna smiled. “That is entirely correct. However, you should understand that he spoke with me about this before, and thought it right to bring it up with you. Also-” She pulled a small cassette from her jacket. “-this might be enough for you. It might not be a confession, it is, what I could call a audio log of Khristian's activities. The only interesting part is when he refers to a 'Crane', of whom, Jackal has said that he knows much of. Any of you might think it refers to something else, all you need do is listen.” She slid this cassette into a small tape player, and hit a button – which played a few lines in Khristian's voice. 'The crowned title in this organization shall be mine. The Tremere Clan shall lead the Camarilla into the future, no matter what darkness we descend into. The church is no longer needed, and the rose in the basement is of no consequence. Crane's worry that she could become a problem is no more than a show of his inexperience. In the end, however, the goal is clear. If the need comes, I will dispose of him, as well.'
Zachary smiled. “Fine then. I agree with Hikari.”
After the meeting was over, Luna remained within the office, along with her two guards, while the rest of the Primogen left. She was curious about various things, and hoped that Jackal had some of the answers. Since she asked him to fill the role for his clan, it had strengthened the loyalty between their clans, at least within the city. It was something she wasn't expecting, but welcomed nonetheless. It was also due to Jackal, that she obtained such a standing within the organization, even though she did just as well before she learned of him.
“How exactly do you know so much about-” She stopped herself. Much about what Jackal, and other Malkavians knew, would always be suspect to suspicion, but they always had their reasons for not only knowing, but divulging the information. “No, I suppose the real question I need to ask, is what Desmond is really doing?”
Jackal turned to her, and the look on his face was, if nothing else, fear-inducing. “He, is scared. Scared, of something he realizes he cannot stop. While those of this order are sheltered among the veil of denial, the Black Hands do not feel such protection. They know of...Gehenna....and they fear it. Many among them would openly fight to stop it, as would any creature that comes face to face with their impending demise.”
Luna smiled. “Honestly? The fairy-tale that Kindred have been told about since the Dark Ages?”
“Is it a mere fairy-tale, or is it going to be part of our future? Either way, something is coming, that Desmond is willing to fight.”
Leaning back on the sofa, she swiveled her drink. To think that, before her embrace, she had nearly nothing to worry about. The family she belonged to was involved in the arts, and any within it had some talent, which kept the family wealthy. She was no exception, though in her case, her artistic talents were never displayed. The reason for her embrace wasn't out of desperation, it wasn't because she was chosen for it, but merely because she was asked, and she accepted. There was never a point that she came to regret it, even as she did look back on it and wonder why the choice was so simple. But even more pressing, was the fact that, with her acceptance of the the Vampiric condition, a number of others from her family had, for various reasons, been embraced. Likely because they were just the sort that any enterprising Ventrue, or Toreador would hope for. No matter if it was keeping order, or understanding what it takes to look beautiful.
Looking at Jackal, she thought of the tale she had been told, shortly after she was embraced. While it was something that was forbidden by the Camarilla, his use to it was evident, though many were uneasy about it, for many reasons. His appearance, his looks, and overall, the constant worry that he'd cause a serious problem. He'd proved that wrong, as he did not act like a child at all. He was perfectly sensible, understanding perfectly what the Masquerade meant, and some had the consideration to make him Primogen then – though he declined. But a question to her, was how he acted like he did. She'd seen those with his obvious problem before, and they kept their mind, which was always quite childish. But for him, it wasn't so.
“Can I ask about something...personal?”
Turning his head to face her, she could swear that his left eye was somehow bigger than his right, and the smile on his face was not possible. “A query? Pick about my mind, if you must.”
She sighed. “I know how odd this is going to sound, but...what did it feel like? Eh, not that I'd want to do such a thing myself.”
Something about his look, wasn't right. It was almost like she was talking to more than just him, even if his voice was all she could hear. “If there is anything, that we Kindred can truly consider Sin, what I have done would be it. But perhaps, the reason I wasn't consumed by it, would be that it wasn't forceful. It was a request that I could not help, but do as she asked. I would say that there is much more to it, but the voices refuse to tell me. However, that doesn't answer your question. I would not want to tempt you with the knowledge, even as you already know what would need to be done, should you ever wish to do so. You understand all to well, what it feels like to consume living blood. That feeling is close, but there is much more.”
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|Subject: Re: VtM: Pretty Requiem(Chap. 15 - Final) Sun May 15, 2011 5:00 am|| |
Chapter X – Back From The Darkness
The city streets where the same, but the sights, had changed. Among the crowds, she could pick out those of her own kind, some that clearly understood who she was, while others only took passing glances. That aside, none of them accosted her. To those that didn't know her, she was just another Toreador. To those that did, either thought she was a member of the Sabbat, or generally someone that is begging for conflict – if only because she wanted to work of some anger, though she would prefer to save it for Desmond. To do so without some form of help, would likely be nothing more than suicide. In some ways she would rather not, but the only one she could possibly call upon for such a thing, was Jackal. He wasn't annoying, nor did he really seem the type to even think of going against her, or anyone else that he knows. Either way, she still walked up to the Schakal hotel, noticing that it was somewhat bigger, and it now had a sign displaying it's name sitting atop a large canopy, supported by two columns near the end of the sidewalk. The doors looked different from the last time she saw them, though they still seemed to serve the purpose of keeping outside light from inside of the building.
Entering the building, a quick look around said the lobby was still the same. Some of the artwork and plants were different, but the rest was the same. Including the woman at the desk, though it was to be expected. The woman's notice of Kyria came quite quick, which wasn't a surprise. Though unlike before, it seemed that something about Jackal had changed, since the word 'appointment' never was uttered.
“Ah, the doll. Would you like to see Jackal?”
Kyria nodded, and was waved on. Entering the elevator, she hit the button for the penthouse, just as another person slipped on the elevator. Seemingly familiar, it took her a few seconds to remember the name. Faith, or so she remembered. She was dressed similarly, and the various details on her skin, the tattoos, scars, and such, were mostly the same. The only difference was the somewhat obvious weapons she was carrying – though most wouldn't catch them.
When she finally noticed Kyria, she didn't seem all that surprised. At least, at first. “From what Jackal said, something at happened to you. What?”
Sighing, Kyria simply gave her a short version. Nothing she said was really a surprise, aside from the fact that she apparently did fairly well in the fight with Desmond, and that she had been in torpor for so long. Faith knew that the city's changes would've been obvious, but many other things, wouldn't be so obvious.
“I take it something is different here? Meaning more than the city itself, as that I've already seen – though I doubt I would've missed it.”
Faith simply smiled, as the doors of the elevator opened. Following her down the hall to a set of closed, ornate doors, she grabbed the handles and threw them open. While mostly similar to the décor she had seen before, the air of the room was much different. She recognized both Jackal and Akhet, who weren't dressed to differently, though the two others in the room, she couldn't possibly guess.
“Hmm? Ah, die gefrorenen puppe!“ Jackal said, slipping of his desk. He looked absolutely ecstatic. “It has been far to long.“
She laughed “Don't I know it.“ Taking a seat, she continued. “So, what exactly is it about you, that's different?“
Walking over to the window, Jackal sighed. “I almost feel as if I have been caught doing something some would say I shouldn't. But that matters little. I have accepted an offer, and thus, I lead my clan in this city.“ He turned around. “This knowledge is not yet known to you, but you have heard of them. Perhaps the one here who holds the lighted staff, can explain better than I.“ He pointed towards one of the women on the sofa, who had black hair, and cold, piercing eyes. She wore what looked to be a black dress, with a white sash around her waist, and a robe of the same color.
Standing, the woman bowed slightly. “I am Hikari, Primogen for the Ventrue clan.“ She looked Kyria up and down, smiling. "I see we have something in common, but that is not the issue here. You've obviously heard of the Masquerade, and perhaps even the Camarilla. The Camarilla is the group of Kindred who enforce the Masquerade, which is the main reason why we have not faced extinction. As I am, Jackal is the Primogen for his own clan, as is Andromeda here-“ She pointed to the red-headed woman beside her. “-For the Toreador clan. We represent our clans in this city, among other things.“
“Indeed. My reason for becoming such, is simply that I was asked. But it is a trivial matter, since the problems you have with your Sire, are not as they were before.” Sitting back on his desk, Jackal picked up a small purple and white amulet from his desk, and gazed at it, as he continued. “Of the thirteen known clans, seven of them make up the Camarilla. Of these seven, none are more infamous than the Tremere, at least when considering their genesis, which, depending on how one chooses to think, does not begin with one of the Antediluvians, or the third-generation Kindred.”
“So how can they be Vampires, if they weren't embraced by the...antediluvians, you said?”
Smiling, Jackal kept going. “Originally, they were a sect of human Mages, that had possessed a brand of magic, as would be expected. In their search for Immortality, they happened upon Kindred, and thus, many of their number became Kindred. But now, it is a Tremere, a Regent and Primogen for his clan, that seems to be causing trouble...along with your Sire, of whom, he is working with. What's worse, is that you've met him before.”
Almost stumbling at this statement, she searched her memories, trying to think. The only one she could think of, was the Vampire that had told her-”You mean the one who told me where Desmond was?”
Jackal nodded. “Indeed. His name, is Khristian Wolfe. Much of his history is suspect, but given what I've been able to dig up, most would see a serious problem with him.”
“What exactly do you mean?” Hikari barked.
“You haven't seen him? Mind you, most would think it is just his style, it is certainly more than that.” He paused, sipping a bit of blood from a glass, which had been right next to him. “Most know that, in some way, we Kindred have something to do with human society, but never enough that it is obvious. With the Tremere, however, there is at least one point in history that this isn't true. Maybe they it was still a limited involvement, but I would guess otherwise.” He looked at Andromeda. “Perhaps you could enlighten us, as to what you know this is? You do know him quite well, if only because you admire his fashion sense...I think."
She sighed. “He has a swastika carved into his flesh, which never heals. Meaning, that whoever put it there, did so before his embrace.”
Kyria nearly fell out of her chair. “He is a Nazi? Really?”
“Perhaps not in the strictest sense, but for the most part, yes. Though, what matters, is that he plans to become Prince of this city, through some method that we don't yet know.” Jackal paused, again drinking more blood. “And as you might imagine, the Camarilla doesn't allow for such things – moreover that they would punish those who try it, severely.”
“So, if you know about his intentions, wouldn't the...Prince, or whatever it is, simply just deal with him?”
“Luna would, but since he has yet to break any rules, there would be no reason for her to do so. Along with that, in our last two meetings, he has failed to attend. Some of us have contacted him, but mostly for our own purposes, and not to understand why. Luna would be worried, but he has made contact with her as well, mostly to assure her that nothing is wrong – which may be true about him, but about his activities, it is a complete and utter lie.” Hikari sighed.
“All this, and you've yet to tell me the exact problem. I get this Masquerade thing fine. But the rest?” Kyria huffed.
Hikari smirked. “Within the Camarilla, there are more rules than just an adherence to the Masquerade. One of them, is that if one of our kind wishes to embrace, he or she, must obtain permission from the city's Prince. You have no idea how many times this precept has been broken, even by Kindred who know full well what the consequences are. Most, I will admit, are the foolish types, who either make a simple mistake, or think in the wrong direction when they accidentally drain the blood of a human. However, the reason for this, should be obvious.”
Kyria laughed. “Of course it is. But I suppose you bring it up, because either this Tremere Primogen, or maybe even Desmond, has embraced without permission?”
Nodding, Hikari continued. “Indeed. But it isn't solely for the obvious reason. It is because most do not react to becoming Kindred with the sort of zeal that is, needed. Some, may embrace the condition, and accept what they must, but others, ones who have no way to be told what is going on, become scared. They don't know what they want, but they will get it, and they will regret it, no matter what clan they are.”
Last edited by Maxus Corvin on Tue Aug 20, 2013 11:26 am; edited 1 time in total
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|Subject: Re: VtM: Pretty Requiem(Chap. 15 - Final) Thu May 26, 2011 5:37 am|| |
Chapter XI – Meeting With the Camarilla
When Jackal, among others, said that things where different for him, she just thought that he was referring to his position within the Camarilla. He was, but it also seemed to refer to the various other things that she saw, in his effort to have her meet with the city's Prince. For the most part, she would've been fine with taking a cab, but this was something that Jackal simply laughed at, wondering why she would want do deal with such hassle. What he had in mind, was taking his limo, which went along with someone who owned a club – or so he said. She was expecting it to be like any other limo she'd seen, but she quickly realized that, not only was she behind the times on various accounts, she was also dealing with someone who had a very unusual sense of...well, everything. The car was black, but it had a violet trim, and a number of small 'mirror' decals, of which, were all broken. Other than the interior, the only other thing that stood out was the license plate, which read 'insane1'.
Just as surprising was the building they pulled up to, after a very short drive. The Empire State Building. It seemed odd, but then Kyria remembered that it was primarily an office building, and to think that it was the center of the Camarilla's operations in New York, wasn't that much of a stretch. From what she was told, those of the Ventrue clan, aside from being integral to the foundation of the Camarilla, most had something to do with money, primarily making it. They would embrace those who already had it, and where expected to make enough that the idea would be, 'What do I do with it?' not too long after their embrace. Not to mention the point, that they tend to get exactly what they want, and the only way they don't, is if they don't want it, or getting it would break the Masquerade.
In many ways, she was curious of the Camarilla, almost in spite of how much Desmond seemed to scorn them. As Jackal had explained, its structure was, fairly simple. At the head, was the Prince, whose purpose was to uphold the Masquerade in a given city, and deliver punishment to those who break the Masquerade. Then you have the Primogen, mostly older Vampires, who represent the interests of the clan. Of what she was told, it seemed infinitely better than the Sabbat, even though she was still on the fence about it. If there was a need to choose sides, she would likely do as Jackal did, though she didn't imagine she'd be asked to fill such a position.
“So...”She trailed off, finding what she planned to say, repeating herself. “...Why do I have to meet with this 'Prince', again?”
Jackal smiled. “You don't, but given you connection to Desmond, it may be of some assistance, and it would take a fool to misunderstand the fact that you wouldn't chose as I did, if there was a need.” He strode calmly onto the elevator, pressing the button as she, along with Akhet, did the same.
Stopping on the twenty-fifth floor, it was of no surprise to find that the area they entered into was almost like Jackal's penthouse, but it was lit much better. Before them were three branching paths, lined with doors. Jackal took the middle one, which lead to a single set of double doors, both of them having a scepter shape carved into the wood, and inlaid with silver. Rather then stepping any closer to the doors than he already was, Jackal sighed. The reason for it was not obvious, until they opened, and a hauntingly beautiful woman stepped out, the doors closing behind her.
“Ah, Ishizu. Is she available?”
Ishizu looked at him with a loving smile. “Of course. She did just return from a meeting with...a tailor, I believe. But she is simply reviewing a letter from a friend, and will not mind visitors. She thought you would be visiting today, as your mention of this childe-” she briefly looked at Kyria.”-was something she found interesting.” When she finished speaking, she walked up to Kyria. “It is a precaution only, but I will need to take that.” Ishizu pointed to the pistol Kyria had on her thigh.
“Fine. But I will get it back, right?” She handed the weapon over.
“Of course. I will find you before you leave, and make sure you get it back.” Ishizu took the pistol, and walked away.
Entering the room, it was fairly empty, aside from the few pieces of furniture, artwork, and two wardrobes. Behind the desk, a single woman sat, looking at a letter, though Kyria noticed that her left eye had seen them enter. At this, she dropped the letter onto the desk, and clasped her hands together. “I finally get to meet you, Kyria.” She looked directly at Kyria, motioning for her to come closer.
Jackal and Akhet took a seat on the couches, and Kyria walked up toward the desk, sitting in one of the chairs before it. “I have to ask – what is all this?”
The woman before her leaned back in the chair. “I am Luna Moreau. In this city, I am the Prince. I have no doubt that you have been informed of my duties, but what you don't know, is that I tend to not be like many other Princes. You have to know, that this job is mired in a sickening aspect of the human condition, which is confusing in a sense, as all those who have filled it, are not human. But what I mean, is that most Princes you will find are male, and even by the title, you would expect me to be as well. But I am not, and this causes many to believe I am not up to the challenge this position entails, and therefore, I am not worthy of it.”
“Why wouldn't you be?”
Luna smiled. “It is of no surprise that you have sympathy for me, and I thank you for that. But I do not have to worry about the leeches that believe that, since they cannot say much about my ability to preform the required duties, as I have done much to further my own, as well as the Camarilla's goals in this city.” She opened a small, silver case, removing a single cigarette from it, and putting it between her lips. Lighting it, she blew a puff of smoke before she continued. “But what I want to know, is what you plan to do. The fact that you want to kill him is to be expected, but for that, you may need some sort of, assistance. By that, I mean a few people to put your trust in.” She blew more smoke from her mouth. “In this world, getting loyalty and trust from a Kindred, when you don't have either a strong hold on them, or a reason for them to follow your orders, getting them to exhibit these traits is akin to getting blood from a stone – it simply is not going to happen. If only because they feel that they have a better purpose in serving their own foolish endeavors, when it is the simple following of orders that is going t keep them alive. Namely, if I am giving them.”
Kyria sighed. “So what you are asking me, is to join you? To become a dog of your Military?” She smiled. “Depends on what the position is.”
Luna's lips parted into a half-smile. “What I can offer you, is the knowledge that I will not hold you to anything other than what you already know. Beyond that, I cannot say. If you wish to remain, however, the privilege will come in time.” Taking a long drag, she blew the smoke out once again. “But what I can guarantee, is that I have no plans to screw you over – other Princes might be known for such things, but I have made a point not to be. This issue is of both our interests to quell, and therefore, I have no reason not to assist you. I have a rouge Primogen to deal with, while you have your Sire to dispose of. Sounds like a perfect match to me.” She stood, holding out her hand.
Kyria stood, and took it. They shook, and then released, though Kyria wasn't thinking of leaving. “I can't say I know how all of this works, but how exactly do you plan on dealing with this whole thing? Maybe I can deal with my Sire, but what about the Tremere Primogen? From what I can see, it seems the entire clan, or at least those in this city might see problems if you simply dispose of him.”
Luna sat down, and set her legs on the corner of the desk. “There are various reasons why any one, in any position can lose it. The main reason I can remove him, is simply the fact that the other Primogen have agreed to it. In the eyes of the Camarilla, my eyes, he is not a Primogen – though he still may be in the eyes of his subordinates. I haven't had the chance to speak with the Tremere Lord that oversees him, but I'm sure he would agree to what I've done, based on Khristian's actions. But I've taken steps for the assistance I might need, just as I have to gain the information required. It is of no doubt that the scar-faced bastard is hiding out within the local Tremere Chantry, though it wouldn't be very interesting if we stopped him now.”
She stood, walking over to the large windows, and looked out over the city. “As for how, I can't say I am one to sit back while I send my subordinates to do the dirty work.” She again blew smoke from her mouth. “But that doesn't mean I am foolish.” Turning around, her pale green eyes were livid, even though she had a cat like grin on her face. “I have my Sheriff, sure. But I've also taken other steps, namely requesting the services of a highly regarded...assassin, one whose reputation is nothing short of a long list of Kindred, who saw nothing more than a passing glance, and likely not any more than a word of his voice. He does nothing more than asked, as far as the stories go, has never failed. “
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|Subject: Re: VtM: Pretty Requiem(Chap. 15 - Final) Sat Jun 25, 2011 4:22 am|| |
Chapter XII – Hair of Fire, Eyes of Crimson
The doors behind them opened, only for an unusually dressed Kindred to enter the room. He wore a mostly white jumpsuit, with various sections that were black or silver in color, along with a ankle length jacket, the hem of which seemed to stay at knee-level, almost like he was in a strong wind. His face was almost frightening, with his red eyes taking only passing glances at those in the room, before they settled on Luna. To this end, he paid little attention to Kyria, even when she was close enough to touch him.
“Luna Moreau. Leader of the Camarilla in New York city.” He bowed slightly, crossing a hand over his chest. “My name is Nemu, and I am delighted to serve someone of your position.”
Setting her cigarette into the ashtray, she smiled. “Your reputation has nothing on others of your profession, even though they may be far more, seasoned, than you. However, it isn't your experience that I will question. Whatever you wish in return, is yours. The job is likely simple, and can be played however you wish.”
Nemu took this in stride. “Who is my target, and what would you want of him?”
“Your target is Khristian Wolfe, the Tremere Primogen. I don't want him dead...at least not yet. Perhaps he may find redemption, but that isn't my concern.” She lit another cigarette.
“A Primogen? That means he's went against the Camarilla, no doubt.” He smiled, showing of a mouth that consisted of nothing but fanged teeth. “And what I want in return, is nothing more than his blood. Being a Tremere, I may just learn something. I don't want his soul, you understand, I just want to sample his vitae. “
Luna nodded, then smiled. “Of course. Though, I must say that the situation is, a little more complicated than that.”
Nemu's grin didn't change. “I take it he has an, accomplice? Some other fool who cannot understand the use of order?”
Luna nodded again. “Yes. Desmond Crane – The very same kindred who sired Kyria here.”
Looking towards Kyria, Nemu smiled. “You wouldn't wish a contract with me as well, would you? I would be delighted to take them both out, if you so wish.”
“No. I'm dealing with Desmond. I don't really want your help, but I will ask you to kill him, if he happens to kill me first. Otherwise, watch if you must, but don't interfere.”
Nemu knelt before Kyria. “As you wish, I will do. But from you, for this, I will ask for something simple, but important to you.” He kissed the hand she had placed on her thigh.
Kyria smiled, then stood. To this end, she found that he was just about as tall as she herself was. Touching his face, she chuckled. “I've heard this before. But this time, I know the value of blood, and what it means for our kind. As such...” This time, her smile was wide, and the glint in her pale blue eyes suggested something that Nemu suspected, but did nothing to stop. She bared her fangs, and forcefully inserted them into the mocha colored, soft flesh of his neck. As she drew his blood, he did nothing but hold her, like this was nothing more than a simple hug between friends.
When she released her fangs, he gently sat her back in the chair, and took a-hold of her left arm. “You drive quite the bargain, and I cannot help but think that, no matter what scum it was that made you Kindred, you are an example to our kind.” He gently licked the underside of her wrist, before he slowly drove his fangs into her soft skin. He took very little of her blood, in comparison to the amount she'd taken from him, but he didn't seem to care. When he stood, he had his eyes closed, savoring the taste of her blood. “Nothing like the blood of a beautiful Kindred, and Toreador blood no less. Make's me feel pretty.”
“Not to mention that your wit is palpable. Though I can't scorn it, since I do find it funny.” Luna said, with what might've been a third cigarette in her mouth.
Nemu bowed slightly. “Though I may breed nothing but death, I tend to save that for my targets. Even if they may be these god-awful small affairs whose gains are so little, I question why I dealt with them.”
“We all do things that seem pointless at times. Hell, I chose to be embraced because I said 'What the hell' to my Sire, upon his offer. But what I wonder, is why you were embraced?” Luna asked, thought she seemed to ask out of simple, catty curiosity.
Taking a seat in the other chair, Nemu smiled. “Perhaps you know a Tzimisce called Faith? She is my Sire.”
Luna nearly dropped her smoke. “If you are a Tzimisce, then you certainly don't fit the stereotype. Though perhaps that is for the better.”
“As per the masque we wear, I don't usually bend my visage for my horns, but at times, it fits. Traveling in this city of lights, it does not. To many eyes that could catch, to many possibles for a fall. Some have told me that even as I appear now, it is too much. But this era does have it's eccentric people, and those are usually human. Perhaps I am merely mistaken for one of them?” He smiled, with a catty look in his eyes as he casually ran a hand through his red hair. “I find it amusing, the idea of what my pathetic, young and naive human self thought of her, even though fear was absent. Why she embraced me is something of a mystery, thought she did cite the reason of her needing some company, though she is quite young for our species, just as I am now. But since then, I've chosen a path of my own, no matter how bloody it is – though for our kind, walking a path paved with blood, is both to be expected, and handled carefully.”
Putting her cigarette out, Luna nodded. “You might be as bat-shit crazy as any Malkavian, though just like them it seems to be for the best.”
“What I am curious about, is what the pair of traitors intend to gain. From what I have seen, and heard, nothing good ever comes from crossing the Camarilla. Even if you get away, your just deserts are not long in coming.” Nemu said, as he ran his fingers across the smooth leather that covered his legs.
“As far as I can see, their goals, while in-twined, are rather different. Khristian would like my title for his own, while Desmond wishes the Sabbat to have more control over the city, perhaps to gain more standing within it. What bothers me, is all the damn talk about Gehenna. Not because I want to believe for even the shortest of seconds that such a thing is ever going to happen, but because I have been fed that fucking story by the same sort of fools since I was embraced, and almost doubly so, since I became Prince.” She sighed. “I don't know what perspective others might have, but I think that the entire idea is bullshit. Will it be at the end of the Millennium in fifteen years? Will it be at the start of the next? I don't care.”
Nemu seemed a bit put off, but still spoke. “That foolish idea? If the world was going to end, or whatever ill-conceived scenario it is, why would it wait? It would just end, and that would be it.” He stood, his intent of leaving all to obvious. “I hope you understand, but this is getting tedious. I am sure that, like myself, you have things to attend to, urgent or not.” He bowed slightly, before walking out the double doors.
Luna sighed. “This ends in one night. Whatever plans they have, they will either realize the folly, or be killed in the process.”
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|Subject: Re: VtM: Pretty Requiem(Chap. 15 - Final) Sun Jun 26, 2011 7:59 pm|| |
Chapter XIII – One of Two Minds, Both Crazy
“So at the end, my work comes falling down, into nothing more than dust and ruin. And do they care? Do they care at all that I wish to help this city? To think that someone such as myself has taken a goal that the public cannot understand. Such is the folly of leadership – knowing what is needed, even if those you serve, do not, and cannot.” Khristian set his glass down, only to turn, and stare at the moon's glorious visage through his window. He could hear the sounds of battle in the Chantry's corridors, the sounds of his kin being slaughtered because they believed in something that, in him, was faltering. For a time, he believed without at shadow of a doubt, that a careful action could hold it all against whatever comes. But, perhaps, it was his very idea that was foolish – since he was never truly the type to rule.
It had taken so much, so many years, so much shed blood, to prove he was worth something to his clan. To prove that he could further the cause, to prove that he could uphold the masquerade, and in truth, to prove that he could be just as deceitful as those who taught him. Even as noble as the Tremere desire to appear, they are just as bad as the other clans, without naming names. To think that the entire race began with blasphemy, and the very genesis of his blood, began with something regarded as even worse by Kindred. His own actions, while nothing he had hounds barking at his heels for, they were just as bad.
For him, it began that lonely summer, when he realized that it would be him, and only him, that was going to serve his life. Meaning, that unless he did something, death would be swift. Did it matter to anyone that he was cold, alone, and worst of all, hungry? Not in the slightest. It was odd, since he wasn't looking for the pity, even though everything he was, made him crave it. One is made to think that suffering is so simple, so easy to define. But it is not. Days of waiting, and nothing. No kind hand to, in the least, set him on his way. No kind soul to carry one that was lost. When kindness did come, it came with a forked tongue.
He was offered everything he could imagine. But there where limits to this. He didn't care what it was, he simply wanted his way into a life what would be far better than the squalor his lived in. This was easily obtained, but at the cost of something that he knew he'd both come to hate, and fail to care about. Did it matter to him that he was, almost what the books called it? He thought so, for a time. But as the years passed, and the glory of the war touched him, the care for such things left. What remained, was the loyalty to something he couldn't bring himself to hate, and the ever so obvious fact that this would always be it. He would always be chained to something that would never let go, if only because his captors were too smart to allow it to happen.
Picking the glass up again, he stared at himself within it's murky reflection. He wondered if the story would ever be different? The role he played allowed him, once again, to realize that he side he had chosen, wasn't the one that was going to end up alive by morning, no matter how one thinks that word applies to Kindred. Just like Berlin, he could to nothing but watch the drama unfold before him, knowing that, if he was lucky, it would be something he said, or possible clemency that allows him to continue his un-life. But then, why did he think this way? Why now, when it was merely those of his blood, that were becoming ashes, to defend the chantry, and not him that had earned that fate?
The answer to that, wasn't him. It was the bleeding rose, the Kindred who came to him, if only because there was no one else. A curious case, if nothing else. Desmond's goals seemed to lie in furthering the Sabbat's control of the city, but that obviously wasn't it. There was much more to it, and as it seemed, it was sensitive enough that, when he learned of it, he was at odds with himself. From the beginning, he knew that this neonate could be used for his own ends. But the truth seemed to run as deep as the blood.
Desmond had given up almost everything to protect Kyria, thinking that fighting in the war, was going to keep her safe. That his mere presence on the battlefield would be enough, that he would be able to see her eyes again, untainted by fear, hate, or anything else. To this end, he...failed. Not because he was foolish, but because he had no way to know of the very thing he would become, and why. The story was obvious, and even when Khristian learned of it, it seemed so pointless. Alexei Valentine...the same name of the woman he'd been infatuated with...the only kind soul that, briefly showed him heaven...only for her to cast him down, at the end of that lonely summer, where he heard her name for what was to be the last time...and heard the hellish drawl of the man, his magic bathed in blood, who was going to make him die.
The glass shattered in his hand, and he did nothing. Even has the blood stained his gloves, he didn't make the effort to care. Looking at his hands, it reminded him of the first time. The first time he set his hungry eyes upon a human, wishing for nothing else than her blood. That first time, he had nothing to compare the feeling to, but as he watched the woman fall from his grasp, he saw his own hands, covered in her blood. The animal behind his flesh forced him to avoid wasting it, and he could do nothing but obey. At that moment, he was nothing more than a puppet for a being that he was constantly told, within his form, did not exist. Maybe it was him, the boy who was forced to act on nothing but passivity for two and a half decades, taught by nameless faces that he was nothing more than dirt.
Then, there was the other woman. The one his clan seemed to despise more than any other. At first, the reasons seemed like an old grudge, but the truth, as always, bled deep. While not of their clan, she was known to consort with the mages that they were, and was known to practice their magic. However, these were mere trivialities, when he was told that she simply, knew. The details were complex, and frightening. What seemed to worry them, was the fact that she knew things about the clan, secrets that where never intended to be exhumed, and most surprising of all, that she was dead.
He questioned what that meant, and was met with dark looks, that precluded a tale, one that he found to be nothing more than irony. The fact that the genesis of the clan had to do with the same action that had killed the woman, seemed to be nothing. But all those who warned him through the years, made mention of her progeny, and how dangerous he was. In the years since, he came to find that his danger only came from those who where willing to create it, or those who were already on a highway that leads only to hell.
Standing, he watched the door as it opened. As he expected, it was Jackal's little group, along with Luna and Hikari. It was typical of them, and perhaps nothing but standard procedure, but he still found it amusing. Even if it was obvious his original goal was impossible, the thought of him being carted off to slaughter, wasn't a thought he could easily entertain. “Maybe I was one to doubt your slight, lunatic, but now I see that you are one of the chosen few that do see into the mess of voices your grand-sire spits into the minds of his children. Though, given your sire, you could say I was holding out hope that you wouldn't be nearly as gifted as it seems she was.”
Jackal smiled. “Yes, I do see very much. What I see now, is a corpse with very few options in front of me. But I have little say in your punishment, as that is...”He briefly looked at Luna, only for her to smile. “...not my choice.”
Hikari snarled. “Akuma no bitchi!“ Her rage was evident, if by no other fact that she eschewed English.”Watashi wa anata no shujin wa, watashi-tachi wa anata o korosu tsumorida to kangaete iru ka ki ni shinai.” *
Khristian laughed. “Like I care, even if you spew it in your mother tongue. Now.” He scanned the small crowd, and picked out Kyria from the group. She looked different than he'd last seen her, and the clothing she'd adorned herself with was befitting of the brooding, lovestruck roses like her, at least in his opinion. “So we meet again. However, on this occasion, I don't care about you. I will however, direct you to that door-” He pointed at a slightly open door.”-that leads up to what will likely be a fight worthy of Hollywood, though that depends on you. Go, and face either your destiny, or your sad fate.”
As was Khristian's want, she took his offer, and he turned back to the rest. Luna and Jackal stepped forward. “No, no, that isn't how we are going to play this game. Nor am I going to explain verbally.” He raised his arm, and Luna was flung towards the back wall, along with Hikari and Ishizu. At this, the entire wall froze, and the ice enveloped their bodies, making sure they wouldn't interfere. Next, was Jackal. He made a swipe in the air, and Jackal was forced to his knees. “Given your appearance, I almost feel guilty about even touching you with my power, but I can't leave you alive.”
Almost fighting his invisible bindings, he forced his head up.”Do not presume that it is going to be this easy...” His head was forced back down when he finished speaking.
“Seriously? Even you are going to try this bit? Think all you like that you have something, or some one to save you, but you don't.” Rubbing his hand down his face, he leaned against his desk.
Again, Jackal lifted his head up, but this time it didn't seem to take much effort. His left eye seemed larger, and the grin on his face seemed impossible.“You want to...kill the one who...wronged your power...Think again. This foolish endeavor will lead only to the same doors it has lead others, and those gates are filled with flames.” A second voice erupted from his mouth, one that was, strangely feminine, even though it was still shadowed by his normal voice.
A look of horror bled onto Khristian's face. “What in the hell is this?”
“I know your blood. I know your kind. They tried to kill me, and failed. Now, they cannot kill me, but we can still kill you.”
Snarling, Khristian rose both his hands, which sent a shock-wave into the air. Upon hitting Jackal's body, it disappeared, only for blood to explode out of every part of his exposed skin. His body went limp for a few seconds, before he lifted his head up again, merely smiling. Taunting Khristian into trying something else. Touching his face again, he sighed. “What would it take to kill you? I'm sure that I am not the only one in this city that seeks your death, but how does one kill one that cannot decide who they are?”
Jackal smiled. He struggled to stand, but it seemed effortless when he did. Looking at Khristian, he smiled. “You know what it really is. You don't see it, because of the delusion that makes you believe that the results came back the same as who made those of your blood.” Jackal smiled. “After all, why do you think I am here, almost a century after my Kindred body died?”
Backing up, Khristian snarled. A point launched itself at his mind, which was nothing more than the onset of truth. He was told that the woman known as “Helena”, was killed, and that it was her only progeny that made it happen. This is nothing short of the truth, but there was more. Helena was killed by diablere, a taboo amongst Kindred, at least those of the Camarilla. His reason for being alive after doing such a thing was the same as the reason for Khristian's own involvement with the war. Lies, deceit, lust, and overall, the general sense of use one finds in his pawns. But even as the stories mention similar accounts, none of them mentioned something like this. Perhaps the reason it could even happen, was their clan, their insanity. But it still seemed to hurt, even looking at the boy, knowing that behind him, always, was the very person that he'd always called 'Mother', and that he, no they, stood before him.
“You understand, don't you? Or if you don't, Mother can tell you.” He smiled. “There are those who die, and are forever lost to the darkness. But then, there are also those who do not, if only because there are reasons for their presence, if nothing else, to remain.”
Snarling, Khristian realized that the truth would never be known to him. Both, because he would rather not take the time to ask the question, and because the truth of it could be something he could not defend against – even if his knowing did nothing but give the knowledge to him. “Then I will just have to kill both of you.” He raised his arms, and watched as a encircled pentagram appeared beneath Jackal, and the five points emitted beams of light towards the ceiling.
Jackal did nothing but begin to laugh uncontrollably. His head whipped back, only for him to whip it forward again, the grin on his face unchanged. “YOU FORGET! I know this magic, and that what it takes, is more than you have. And, before you utter that I don't know what you have, think again.” He smiled, and his left eye went as far as it could go towards its side, and the sheathed Katana that sat on the frozen part of the room shook. Struggling at the bindings, he broke himself free, in time to catch the blade in his waiting hand. Unsheathing it, he made a swipe at the light-beams, only for them to crack, and fall to the ground, almost like glass. He smiled again.
“Then I see we have a bit of a problem here.” Khristian backed up again, only to feel himself hit the desk. Though he knew things that could get him out of this bind, using them was becoming less of a possibility. Both because he hadn't prepared for it, and his resolve was waning. It seemed that what he thought was true, even though he'd at least knocked Luna out of the fight, he was still going to fail. Not because of his actions, because of the choices that Luna had made, and those that Jackal had – no matter how insane most of them where. He sighed, only to watch the ice at the back of the room thaw.
“So there is no fight in you? What a pity.” Jackal raised the blade. “However, we are not done with you.” Sliding his hand down the blade's edge, blood coated it. Soon, it enveloped the blade, causing it to drip blood. It seemed pointless, until Khristian noticed an identical blade on the ground, spawning itself from the furiously dripping blood. Picking up this blade, Jackal flourished them, then charged at Khristian, knocking him over the desk, and pinning him to the wall with them.
Khristian winced, but other wise seemed unharmed. “Was that...really it?” He snickered as he asked.
Jackal smiled. “Why would that ever be it?” He walked over to desk, and sat himself on it.
Noticing the faint shadows that seemed to be darting around the room. He sighed when he realized it, knowing most, if not everything there was to this scene. Before, he failed to notice another Kindred in his office, for more reasons than one. Whatever marked this one, he could not see it. “So, who are you?” Khristian asked this to seemingly no-one.
“I am the assassin, who is never seen by my targets, and very rarely by those who employ me. The sound of my voice has been enough to send Kindred running into the dawn, and my face would be enough to send them into the very arms that would slit their throat. Namely, mine.” A figure emerged from nowhere, directly in-front of Khristian. Almost to the height and appearance of Jackal, though obviously older. From the dark, yet pale skin, the red hair, and the piercing crimson eyes, it seemed like one of the snakes. But the horns decorating his forehead said otherwise, as did the row of sharp teeth in his mouth. He looked directly into the mage's eyes. “I am Nemu, the very last corpse you are ever going to set your eyes upon...unless either your organization, or you clan deems that your life, is still valuable.” His fingers extended into sharp claws, and a single, almost unseen swipe destroyed Khristian's shirt. “And now, I take my payment.”
He snarled baring his fangs, then tore into Khristian's neck. Rather than completely draining him, however, he left enough that it would only face torpor. Removing the blades, Nemu staked him, and threw the real blade back to Jackal. “I take it that he wasn't the only one, right?”
“No, but it is curious that he was easily tricked. The other is upstairs, though you don't need to worry. He's being taken care of.” Jackal sheathed the blade, and sighed. “Most of what he saw was an illusion, though as far as I was concerned, he could have easily killed me.” He smiled, a slight feminine laugh coming out of his mouth. “But he chose to toy with me, and it is no surprise that he did. All part of the plan.”
Nemu seemed anxious. “Are you sure that Kyria can deal with Desmond this time?”
As he raided Khristian's store of blood, Jackal nodded. “Yes. Unlike last time, she is deathly sure of herself. I have absolutely no doubt that she will kill him, if that is what she truly wants.”
[“Akuma no bitchi!” - “Devil's Bitch!”
“Watashi wa anata no shujin wa, watashi-tachi wa anata o korosu tsumorida to kangaete iru ka ki ni shinai” - “I don't care what your lord thinks, we are going to kill you.”]
Posts : 478
Join date : 2010-10-03
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Location : Normandy SR-2
|Subject: Re: VtM: Pretty Requiem(Chap. 15 - Final) Thu Jul 21, 2011 2:04 am|| |
Chapter XIV – He has It Comin'
“I must say, this is not the surprise you might expect it to be. Why? Well, consider that, how I put you away, this was...inevitable.”
Entering the room, she noticed that there was no ceiling, and that Desmond had his hand on a button. Aside from that, he sat atop a ornate desk, wearing what looked like a Military dress uniform, but it was devoid of medals, along with having nothing to suggest its origins, and the jacket was quite long, the hem being tattered. When he stood, she noticed the jacket was open, as was the white button-up shirt he wore underneath, though it was still tucked into his pants.
“That doesn't matter. Perhaps you should've been smarter, or I should've killed you then. Either way, I am going to kill you now.”
Desmond sighed, then snarled. “Remember? I MADE you, and after all this, I find myself needing to BREAK you. Though, that doesn't mean I don't mean to kill you as well.” Slamming his fist down on the button, the floor beneath them shook, then began ascending. It only stopped when it reached the top of the walls, effectively putting them on the roof of the building. “You could call this dramatic, but it does present a problem – one slip, and you'd be lucky to survive the fall. Me, well, I doubt I have any need to figure out how I would.”
Kyria sighed, closing her eyes. Rather than saying anything else, she parted her lips into a smile. At this, the floor beneath her feet iced over, then it spread until it completely froze everything it could touch, aside from Desmond. Opening her eyes, she tensed her hands, casing water to flow from her sleeves, completely encompassing her hands, and froze, her fingers becoming clawed. Raising them, she made a fist, as four sharp, icy knives formed between her fingers.
“These tricks again? Ha. If this is how you want to play, then I just have to repeat myself, and nothing will be different. Although, this time, I will end up killing you, rather than forcing you into torpor.”
Kyria laughed. “What do think this is about? Revenge, and that alone? No, it's about much, much more than that. What you've taken from me, and what you've done to me. I am here both because I want to kill you, and because I want take payment for everything you've taken from me. With interest.”
Rather than saying anything, Desmond tensed his hands, only for them to grow into sharp claws. He waited, and found himself laughing them Kyria launched herself at him, feeling her cold digits bury themselves into his chest, as his own did the same to her. It almost seemed comical to him, since his claws where embedded into the things he'd longed to touch for so long, but not in such a way. She noticed this just as he did, though her reaction wasn't to jump backwards and call him a name. Rather, she was able to get one of her hands to his neck, and she grasped it tight. It was here that he threw her off, and smirked.
“It seems that to this level, we are matched. But that means nothing.” He smiled, and she watched his eyes change, taking on a crimson hue. She couldn't help but edge herself back slightly, as she watched the lower part of his face elongate, his fingers lengthen, his chest and arm muscles bulge, and all but his jacket and pants, shred into pieces. He looked much like a humanoid wolf, something that didn't exactly surprise her – what did, was his voice coming from the muzzle, even if it was to be expected. “Call me whatever you like, but will it matter at dawn?”
She sighed, and threw the knives she'd been holding, only for him to jump out of their path, and then at her. Dodging him, she grabbed his upper arms, and pushed him down, face first, with her boots. Grabbing his neck, she dug part of her nails into his furry flesh, before slamming him into the ground again.
“I don't have to call you anything.” She watched as he stood up, obvious that she'd already done a number on him. “Anything I might, should be obvious.”
He laughed, then snarled. “Just as heartless as the Sabbat. Like I thought you'd be. It is just what I wanted, you know. I never intended anything else. For what you are, the Camarilla would waste your talents, having you be nothing but one of their pawns. As much as I want to kill you, having you at my side would do more than give me back what I love.”
The idea was, unthinkable. No matter how brooding she knew she would sound, he'd done far too much for her to even contemplate such a thing. Add to the fact that he believes that she would be better as a member of the Sabbat. That idea was almost possible, but to think she wanted to be part of such a group, there was no reason. More than that, she'd already agreed to become part of the Camarilla, even if she had no intention of becoming someone's lackey, or pawn. But that would be the inevitable course, if she took up Desmond's offer. She liked her choice much better.
“Even now, you grovel as such? Now, when I've made up my mind to kill you, now, when I have no reason, not to rip you to shreds? HA.” The laughter was almost uncontrollable. “Not a chance in hell.”
His lupine face seemed to sigh. He then seemed to lose it, charging at her like he was in a frenzy. She smirked, waiting. The second he got close, she side-stepped him, and grabbed his legs. Smiling she launched herself into the air, and threw Desmond to the ground. As she fell, she watched him standing up. The look her her face was livid with a mixture of anger and pleasure, as she pinned him to the floor. Her freezing, clawed hand around his neck, digging into his flesh, and her lower body keeping him down, she knew it was over. At this, he couldn't sustain his wolf-like form, so he quickly revered back to his normal shape, though his wounds, and somewhat frenzied state remained.
At the sound of footsteps, she kept her hand around his neck, and avoided turning her head. She knew that it was Jackal and Luna, likely there to find out what had happened. As they weren't there to stop her, she squeezed Desmond's neck, savoring this feeling. The satisfaction that she was going to have in killing him. In may was, he was wrong. She wasn't heartless, even if her heart didn't beat. The reason she acted in such a way, was because of what he'd done. None other.
“I know how much you want to kill him, but I have a...suggestion.” Jackal said, breaking the silence.
Luna's eyes narrowed, thought she didn't say anything. Kyria turned her head to look at him. “And just what would that be?”
Kneeling next to her, he smiled. “I don't believe you know about me, do you? It matters very little, and later I will be glad to tell you. But for now, I want to tell you that, perhaps you could go for a different option, rather than simply killing him.”
“What are you talking about? I don't plan on keeping him alive.”
Jackal sighed. “No, I don't mean that at all. What I mean is, if you believe he owes you something for all he has done...perhaps he could make that payment with his power.”
Kyria smiled, the fact that she liked the idea, all to obvious. “How would I do that?”
“Drink all of his blood, and even then, don't stop.” Luna said. “Given the case, I don't care about him. Nor will anyone else. And I doubt you would ever break the Camarilla's rules or go against me, so if you wish for his power, then take it. If he will be able to fight you, I wouldn’t bet on those odds. It likely won't turn out like Jackal's case, but you will gain most, if not all of his power, and you will be much stronger.”
Looking down, she saw the fear in his eyes. He was prepared for death, but not this. Did she care? Not in the slightest. She could find no sympathy for him, and that was no more than she expected. Taking the advice, she viciously bit into Desmond's neck, feeling his blood pour down her throat. It was different from human blood, and it carried a sense of power with it, which even as she was unsure of, she knew that it was nothing to be concerned about.
Just when the blood seemed less and less, she felt it. The draw of power, and his death. Beyond that, there where no whispers. No voices. Just the same memories she had, nothing more than that. Even if she had Desmond's power, he was gone. The thought was pleasing, even more so when it came with his power. It was his end, but not hers.
Posts : 478
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Age : 29
Location : Normandy SR-2
|Subject: Re: VtM: Pretty Requiem(Chap. 15 - Final) Sat Oct 13, 2012 6:28 am|| |
Chapter XV – Not so Icy, Doll
“What I don't understand, is why. Not that I have a moral issue on my mind, but I'd prefer to walk away knowing, than not.”
Kyria lounged herself on the sofa in Jackal's office, while he leaned in the desk. For her, it was one tiring night, although Jackal didn't seem to show any sign that his needs lay only in silken sheets, if that was his choice. She would like nothing better than to curl up in some soft sheets, her head laying on a comfortable pillow, and drift off to sleep, or whatever actually happened. Against this, however, was her want to fill in the blanks of the story. Most of it she did know, but a few details were either inconsequential before, but now she was interested in knowing, or they were questions that she had no need to ask, until now.
Jackal didn't say anything, instead, he walked over to the wardrobe that sat just behind his desk. Opening it's silver doors, he sighed as he slowly dropped his leather coat off his shoulders. “Indeed. Few details have lacked in what you know, but what has, I will tell. But first...”
As he grabbed hangar for the jacket, Kyria noticed the scars on his arms. They weren't too noticeable, but they were there. She knew they were fresh, since she'd seem his arms before, and they weren't there. It did look like they were healing, since they seemed to fade even more in the seconds she kept staring. That aside, she also noticed that the shirt he wore was sleeveless, which was perhaps too obvious at this point, but still.
Her thinking was that he'd stop there. But it wasn't so. He slowly dealt with each snap, showing of more and more of his sculpted chest with each one. Once it was completely undone, he pulled it off, and placed it in the wardrobe, same as his jacket. Turning back to her, she couldn't help but marvel at his chest, and also wonder why it was so in the same thought. As before, his chest looked sculpted, as if it was a statue made by some ancient artist, that chose to use a living canvas. Her next was that he would take this even further, but this proved false. He simply walked over to his desk, and took a seat on it.
“So, it is me that you are curious about. As a start, then, I hope you are comfortable with disgust, although I won't be showing or telling you anything that will give you the urge to willingly vomit, as there is not only nothing to be rid of, and the feeling will be ghostly, if nothing else.”
She shook her head, laying back on the sofa. “I doubt that your story is that bad, but still, I'd like to hear it.”
“As you wish. But perhaps, I should not just tell you.” Sliding of the desk, he walked over to her. With a smile, he climbed up into her lap. “I want you to understand me. I want you to understand that I was never against you. Among kindred, I might be a sinner, but I did not do it because I wanted power. I did it because she asked, and because she had no other choice. You don't yet understand what I mean, but you will.”
Placing his hands on her face, his smile persisted. Sliding down to her neck, then to her shoulders, he slid his arms under hers. Placing his head gently on her shoulder, he licked her neck. Rather than biting it, he simply kissed it.“You might find this unusual, but bare with it. Now...SEE.”
Looking around, Kyria couldn't help but feel puzzled. Her eyes were set upon a large building, which looked quite old. A nearby sign proudly proclaimed the name “Rolling Hills Asylum”. Macabre in itself, she couldn't help but wonder the significance of this place. That is, until she felt a touch on her shoulder. Turning around, Jackal stood there, just as she had always known him. He was staring at the building, which prompted her to do the same.
“This is where I spent about two years. As a child, I was...different. Such minds was not what was sought among children, and thus I was cast aside, made to be another brick for these walls, though I never saw the metal boxes below, or the holes outside.” He sighed. “I was lucky. The nurses liked me, at least, until I began understanding them. They didn't like it, when I could tell they were lying to me, treating me like an ignorant child, who only deserves to be seen, and only told the truth when it was a necessity, such as when I needed my 'medicine'. But I cannot entirely complain, since the last one, a kind woman, wasn't this way. The mother I never really knew, at least, for a time.”
Snapping his fingers, she saw the world disintegrate into a while void, before changing. This time, it was a rather pristine hallway, very much like a hospital. The room before her was labeled with the name 'Alexander Cole'. Turning to Jackal, she saw him with a smile on is face. But he wasn't looking at the door. Instead, he looked down the hallway, at a dark figure that strode over corpses, coming right towards the two.
Obviously female, and wearing deep purple robes, with a skull hanging from her belt Kyria felt on edge just looking at her. As the woman came closer, the signs became obvious. The woman was a Vampire, and looking for blood, even though it already stained her lips. She passed up the two, instead taking interest at the sight of the door.
Taking a slight pause to stare at the name on the plate, her lips parted into a smile. Grabbing the handle, she pulled the door off it's hinges, throwing it aside. The sight within the room was just as unusual. A nurse held onto a boy that looked somewhat like Jackal. The nurse herself looked terrified at the sight of the imposing woman, were the boy's stares were quite casual.
Pulling the two apart, the woman threw the nurse at the wall. She sank to the ground, blinking as she passed out, blood falling from her mouth. The woman turned to the boy, staring at him almost like she intended to feed on him. Rather than trying to run from her, the boy crawled towards her. The smile on her face was almost motherly, rather than like that of a monster. Taking the boy into her arms, she buried her face into the boy's presented neck.
Her action was obvious, given the sound coming from her mouth, and the boy's moans. However, rather than draining him, Kyria watched as she released her fangs, and pulled him away, though keeping him in her arms. Sliding one side of her dress of her shoulder, she scratched her flesh with a nail, creating a wound that soon bled. Pulling him towards her chest, guiding him to the wound, he almost eagerly licked the blood like he though it was milk.
Snapping his fingers once again, everything changed, but this time, the 'void' was a mass of purple and black shadows, with red lines swirling all around. Turning to her he, smiled.
“A void of madness, indescribable to the sane. The sight we all see, and a rare one for humans, and other kindred alike. In this, we hear everything, although hearing and understanding are two different things namely when we either don't, or chose not to understand.”
With a sigh, he looked around. “She taught me everything. Telling me what I had become, what I must do, and what I could never.” He smiled, facing Kyria. “As you already know, I have no regrets, and certainly no reason to hate her. Not when I became so close to her, and even closer when I had to part with her.”
She couldn't help but ask. “Why did you have to? What happened?”
This time he didn't move. From the mass of swirling shadows, to the familiar streets of New York, though it wasn't from her time. Brick building littered the landscape, and the road was a mass of brickwork.
“You know that the Camarilla is a society that is built upon rules, rules made because Kindred fear the idea that humans could wipe them out. Which might not be impossible, given the display of power that was Hiroshima and Nagasaki. But in truth, the fear stems more from possibility, than what comes after. Although, the point, is that the adoration of power makes them have rules which condemn those who break them, to final death. As much as this may be warranted, there are those who constantly break the rules, but use their position of power to pin it on some hapless kindred, or just one they don't like. The instance I speak of, had a Tremere Primogen and Regent, constantly railing against my Sire.”
Kyria realized that one of the buildings stood out. Although it mostly matched the others, it was clear to her that the door's moving eyes was not something to expect from the others. The stare was almost piercing, as if they would continually watch anyone and anything that wandered into their field of vision, and perhaps, attack what was either a threat, or someone who did not belong there.
In an alleyway next to it, stood an elaborately dressed man, his black leather jacket littered with silver trimmings, and his suit was immaculate. Around his neck was a red pendant, which had a subtle glow, which was only enough to see it from a distance. Next to him, was another man, his clothing just as elaborate, although much more like the average businessman.
“You believe she is not a threat to us? That bitch is a century or two old, along with being crazy as the lot of them, and you think that she deserves to walk about your city?”
“What would you have me do, Erik? She presented herself to me upon entering the city, as the protocol goes. What wrong do you think she has done, or is going to do?”
The man with the leather jacket, Erik, was furious. “You know what she did. He followed her into your chambers, did he not? The child she embraced – and without your permission, might I add?”
The other, obviously a Prince from the way they were talking, sighed. “Perhaps, but she was not here when that occurred, and although I would never condone it if she had chosen that boy, but again, there is no grounds for it. As much as I understand, he is not the loose cannon you believe him to be, so why are you so worried?”
Erik laughed. “Why are you not? First, it is a child – which is an offense in itself, but she acts almost as if the boy is the product of her womb, and not that of her blood. Second, she has a history that is deplorable – which includes her escapades at that bloody Asylum.”
The Prince smirked. “Is that it? As much as I understand them, what I don't, is you. However, I have far more pressing matters to deal with, than your supposition that she has done wrong. Which, as far as I can tell, she has not.”
With a snarl, Erik slammed his fist into the wall. “Do you have any idea who she has consorted with in the past? The Order of Hermes. They gladly taught her their magic when she was human thinking that she intended only to join them, and her magic became much like our own power when she was embraced. Even Etrius has made mention of her, and it was not favorable.”
The Prince scoffed. “Of course. Etrius. The one which you have to constantly remind me of, when he is over three-thousand fucking miles away, if not more. Rarely have I heard of that pompous ass leaving Vienna, and if he has ever done so, it is news to me. But has he said anything relating to her being, dangerous? If only for the unique magic you say she possesses, or otherwise?”
Erik shook his head. “Why does that even-”
“Silence. Remember that I hold the title you answer to. Still, I will make you this promise, although in truth, it is the same with all Kindred, but it seems a certain sort of exception must be made with this one, given your concern. But if she does break the masquerade, or do anything against us, she will be dealt with. However, that is only if she does it while she is here. Should she move on, then it is someone else's concern, and not mine. And, should she do something, and we find that she is dead already, then the childe of hers will not be touched, unless he had a part in it.“
Turning to Jackal, she noticed the scene disappear, and change to another, different street. This one was more open, and deserted. He started at her, with a smile on his face. “Erik, was a fool. The constant pestering, along with the fact that he believed me to be the ultimate sin – when his kind had truly already committed such, having not only killed a saint among kindred, but destroying and taking his soul in the process. However, he thought he was safe. Pity my mother was more than he thought.” He turned, his smile taking a turn to insane, and Kyria turned, once again seeing the face of that woman, who had anger in her red eyes.
“You...TREMERE. You know exactly what I am here for. To ash a pest, nothing more.” Her voice was furious, and even chilled Kyria to the bone.
“What? You plan on bringing final death to a Primogen, and a Regent on top of that? Do you have a death wish? Although, if you wish to die, then I won't need the Prince to pass that sentence. He is a weak figurehead anyway. Even with his plans to find a successor, it won't matter.”
“You think I care about him? Fool. What I care about, is none other than you. I will stop your accusations, here and now. The consequences do not matter, since I know what my recourse is, once I am done with you.” She brandished a sword, snarling.
Briefly staring at Jackal, Kyria turned back to the woman, only to find the two fighting, each of them having a sword in their hand. Although it was obvious that the woman, Helena, was not fighting as hard, Erik was putting up quite the fight. Still, it wasn't that much of a surprise to see Helena grab his blade with her bare hand, snap a large piece off, and stab it into the side of his chest that wouldn't paralyze him.
Kicking him to the ground, she held the tip of the blade to his throat. “Perhaps they should not have spoken, and held their tongues as you say. But then, I care little for your thoughts, and even less for your presence. But don't think I hate Tremere. Your kin are one of the reasons I became Kindred, so that I would thank you for, but it won't do me any favors to do so, you snakes. What I hate, however, is you – although that should already be clear to you by now.”
He tried backing away, but he could not. Noticing her hand, it was almost frozen, like she held a rope that was tied to his neck. “As if that is going to work. A fledgling mistake, from an elder like yourself. Truly pitiful – though pity is the last thing I am going to give you. The first? The Final Death you deserve, several times over. An example made, which may never come to light. However, that isn't all I intend...” She smiled.
Pouncing on him, she viciously tore into his neck, spilling blood on the ground, along with consuming a great deal of it. When she stood, her mouth was stained with it, and her lips were coated red, even as she licked them and her teeth clean. Snarling as she looked up at the sky, her eyes lit with a different kind of fire. “Blood of Betrayers, Sinners, and above all, those who are not of Caine's making. No matter, I doubt he cares.” Picking up her sword, she paced around him as he snarled, delving into a frenzy.
“No, no, that won't do. Stop.” She only said this, but he found himself unable to move from that spot, but he could still writhe around. Laughing, she stepped over him, pulling a dagger from her belt, which looked like it had cracks engraved into it, the surface just as shiny as a mirror. Throwing it downward, it buried itself in his flesh, piercing him in the heart. His movement stopped, and he became much like a corpse.
“Now, face whatever hell is meant for us. Perhaps, I may follow you there someday, just to torment you.” Flourishing her blade, she stabbed it through his neck, then removed the bloodied blade. Watching move blood spill from that wound, she stepped to his side, and raised her leg. With a large amount of force, she kicked him in the head, severing it from his body. In seconds, his body burst into flames, being consumed in an ashen pyre.
Turning to Jackal, he smiled. “Perhaps I view it differently every time I recall it, but the idea always stays the same. Regardless...It took some time to become an issue, although at first I did not know what she had done. I could not curse her for it, but I did understand that it meant things were going to change. How, I could not yet know. In that moment, the voices were either silent, or ones that I had no reason to heed.”
This time, Jackal waved his hands. This time, there wasn't much to see, as it was only a dark basement, with naught but a few stone crypts, a single lamp that lit only half the room, and two familiar faces that both sat on a stone tomb.
“To tell me, was almost at the limit of her composure, and not just what she had done. She realized that they would not stop hunting her, and that there was really no way to avoid them, at least, no way that was easy. So, she told me the thing she had learned from the Order, what the Tremere had done to make themselves a clan, and give themselves more power. Briefly, I took it as before, but then, I realized it wasn't something I was being taught about – I was being taught to do it.”
Turning back to the memory, Kyria watched has Helena removed most of her clothing, then taking Jackal in her arms, embracing him like a child. Her words were incomprehensible, but the wince on her face was enough to tell what was going on. Only now did Kyria realize what it was.
It almost seemed usual. But within seconds, veins of black ran all over her skin, as she fell into the stone slab, taking Jackal with her. The sight of her smiling while obviously in pain was beyond horrifying, but she didn't scream, nor did she attempt to throw him off. She put her arms around his back, as a horrible scream echoed, but not from her lips, nor Jackal's. It seemed to come from nowhere, but within seconds, her face did have a scream on it, one that was frozen. Her skin looked truly dead, the black veins having reached her neck.
Jackal released her, only for him to fall to the floor, hitting his knees, snarling. Grabbing his head, his back arched, as his body writhed. Once his eyes were in sight, the pale blue bled into a crimson red. Then, his left eye bled purple, along with his hair streaking silver, and growing ever so slightly longer.
“Yes, and now you understand. My Sire's life was taken by these-” He pointed to his fangs. “-and I did the same as you, and we each have our own reasons. Neither of us wanted power, but we got it all the same. The difference, if you wish to know, between us and Tremere, is that we have them, where all he had was a wish for power, and the knowledge of one to give his brood the status of the other clans. But I would imagine that this is taxing for you, far more than it is for me.”
With a few blinks, she realized that she was staring at the large window's in Jackal's office, along with feeling his weight in her lap. She also realized that her body felt drained, almost as if she'd just gotten back out of that coffin, but she still felt calm. As he looked her in the eyes, he kissed her forehead. “All true, and if there are lies that I have to tell, I have reserved them for others.”
Standing, he sat next to her. “After, the obvious happened. I had no direction, no where to really go. Save for back to the city. It was to my fortune that I was spared, but then, I believe it was more than just luck.”
“What about all this?”
He looked around himself. “Many careful deals. I did not want to play the role of a child since my appearance is deception incarnate, and I truthfully am not a child. As such, I wanted to become something that could not be touched, save for when I wanted it. The few people who I bent to my will, mostly because they already found pity for what they saw, and were easy to help me do as I wish. The hotel came first, which gave me my haven, and could be one for those I could count s allies, along with a source of currency, which the times had long since demanded.”
Sitting back, he continued. “At first, it was difficult, and it was even more so when I found the club downtown. Almost tirelessly, I was told that such as pursuit was futile. But in my persistence, I gained not only another outlet for my provision of services, but it would be where I would meet her.”
Turning her head, she seemed puzzled. “Her? Oh, you mean Akhet?”
Nodding, Jackal looked out the windows. “An unfortunate woman, who, along with those as she, was cast aside by society, for quite some time. Her wish to be a dancer was interesting, even more so to me when she wished to dance at the Kabalt. I personally watched her as she proved her skill, and accepted her on the spot. Not because my thoughts were to embrace her, but because I could see that she had passion. However, she was liked, but only to a point. The other dancers cooperated, but I knew what they thought. But that was a trifle, in comparison to what happened next.
Adjusting herself, Kyria sighed. “Which is?”
“A mistake from her past, that had ideas of a sickening sort, thinking that her recent raise in finances was to be to his credit, and not to hers. She resisted him for some time, until he did what many have. I was not inside the club that night, but Hikari was. She had been visiting for some time, and understood that I was keeping an eye on one of the dancers, and she knew which. Upon finding her, she brought the woman straight to me, and I realized that I had a choice to make, although I realized that, with her, I would have someone to assist me, in many ways.” He sighed.
“Did you tell her, or did you even ask to embrace her?”
Nodding again, Jackal smiled. “I did not ask directly, but the question was asked, and the answer you know. I gave her the choice, and she accepted. To be simple, she took to it as I had, but she had the advantage I needed. Most she would deal with had the notion that if they crossed her, the one she worked for would not take to that so lightly – nor would she. So we both are misfits of a sort, although I do not consider her merely a employee, but rather an assistant and...well, the words fail me at the moment, but know that if I were to face my Final Death, this hotel, the club, and anything else that is mine, would be hers."
“Um, this might be unrelated, at least somewhat, but how do you run a nightclub during Prohibition?”
Looking at her with a smile, he laughed. “You don't do it if you are human, certainly. They tried a few times to shut it down, but none of them were successful – that that includes that fool Hoover, among others. Although, I forget if that was really him.”
Standing, Jackal walked over to his desk. Turning back to her, he stared at her jacket. The leather was littered with rips and tears, along with being spattered with blood. “Well, I have something for you. I didn’t really know if you would wish for it, but I had it made all the same.”
Walking back over to the wardrobe, he pulled out a jacket that was very similar to her current one, with a fur-lined collar, although it was more like his jacket, in that it was about her ankle-length. “I thought a cape would be far too much for this century, since that requires a certain sort of person to put on – since anyone can pull it off, it is more about weather or not they should put it on.”
Giving it to her, he returned to his desk, taking a seat on it. He watched as she removed her current one, and slid the leather jacket on, the fit being perfect. “I...like it. Thank you.”
With a beaming smile, he looked around. “Well, I find myself curious. What is it that you intend to do? In many ways, the world is open to you now, and I don't believe anyone is going to stop you, if you do intend on leaving this lavish, crimson apple.”
It was a thought she certainly had, but only when it seemed like a dream. In truth, the idea that Desmond still existed was like a chain that held her here, and now that was broken. As always, Jackal spoke truth, in that if she did had a want, need or the simple wish to go somewhere else, no one was going to tell her otherwise.
A while later, she stood on top of the hotel, staring at the ever lightening sky. The city that she was born in, grew up, and died in. Pity it wasn't so lasting. Still, as always, her wish was to continue. “So, what should I do? Perhaps Tinseltown? Maybe after a nap.” She couldn't help but feel a little like Jackal as she turned, the jacket catching the air and whipping around as she walked back to the door that lead down stairs. She could make the choice now, but if the world was truly open for her, surely it would give her some time to make that choice. She had forever, after all.
|Subject: Re: VtM: Pretty Requiem(Chap. 15 - Final) || |
VtM: Pretty Requiem(Chap. 15 - Final)