Character Sheet: Steven Alister Appearance Prelude Journal Entries:
Name: Steven Alister Player: Andres Medrano E-mail Address: asm-mail@mail.utexas.edu Chronicle: Santa Cruz/Vampire Nature: Autist Demeanor: Jobsworth Clan: Ventrue Generation: VIIIth Sire: Sir Michael Lethbridge Haven: Concept: Doctor ATTRIBUTES: Physical: Strength-2, Dexterity-3, Stamina-3 Social: Charisma-2, Manipulation-3, Appearance-2 Mental: Perception-2, Intelligence-4, Wits-4 ABILITIES: Talents: Alertness-2, Dodge-2, Brawl-1, Intimidation-1, Leadership-1, Subterfuge-2 Skills: Drive-2, Etiquette-3, Firearms-2, Melee-2, Music-1, Security-2, Stealth-1 Knowledge: Finance-2, Investigation-2, Linguistics-3, Medicine-2 DISCIPLINES: Dominate-3, Fortitude-2, Potence-2 Backgrounds: Generation-5, Resources-4, Herd-1, Retainers-2, Mentor-2 Merits & Flaws: Anachronism (Steven has problems when using technology invented after WWI, though he tries to keep up with fashions and world events.), Ward (Priscilla Alister, Steven's daughter. She is currently missing.) [Also of note (No points involved) - Steven is bloodbound to his Sire, and Priscilla is bloodbound to Steven.] VIRTUES: Conscience-2 Self-Control-5 Courage-3 Humanity-7 Willpower-6 Blood Pool-11/15 Appearance: App. Age: 19, Eye Color: greyish-blue, Hair Color: dark brown, sometimes died black, Height: 5'9", Weight: 8.5 stone (137 lbs), Voice: soft and even, with a 'masterpiece theatre' upper-class English accent. Dress: Steven wears very expensive designer suits that are custom made for him. In style, they are all modern, but with designs derivative of styles from the turn of the century. (thin ties, big collars, tails) Notes: Stephen looks pale and gaunt, but unmistakably young. His eyes are long and narrow, and he has a paper-thin English mouth (with faintly crooked teeth). His favorite posture is standing with arms crossed akimbo. His hair is very short, as was considered proper for one of his position at the time of his embrace. Steven wears wigs from time to time, but in general is embarrased to put on too much of a fashion statement. Though unlife has liberated his habits considerably and lent him a certain subtle flamboyance, at nature he is still of a servant mentality, and would sometimes like nothing more than to be a pair of invisible hands. (Think of the butler in Remains of the Day as a young man, looking more like a plainer Leonardo deCaprio than Anthony Hopkins.) Feeding Limitation: Steven will drink vitae only from kine of the aristocracy. In America, this is a more difficult judgment call than in England, but most rich, refined people will do. Every city has at least a few families that qualify, if not of the level of the Kennedys or Rockefellers. Background: Steven was born near Kew, England, in 1879. He followed his father, and his father's father, into 'service' at age 15 in the household of Lethbridge, which his family had served for centuries. The centuries-old lineage of Lords Lethbridge were in fact all one individual, a very old Ventrue Kindred who had come to England with the Normans. When Steven was 19, his father was killed by a cabal of kine 'hunters' who mistook the senior Alister for Lethbridge and decapitated him when he went outside to feed the master's new harriers in the stables. Steven, as his family's oldest male, was promoted to the position of butler for Lord Lethbridge and was told the 'secret of the dynasty'. In order to better serve the master, Steven was bloodbound to him, and made a ghoul. For 21 years, Steven served as Lethbridge's primary retainer, feeding off his ancient vitae and never growing old. He married in 1911, with his master's permisssion, and was very happy for a time, though this ended when his wife died giving birth to their daughter in 1916. Steven consoled himself in raising her. In 1919, everything changed. The same cabal of (now elderly) hunters again tried to destroy Lethbridge. They planned very well, and attacked during the day when the servants were expected to be away. Their attempt would have succeeded had not Priscilla become ill the night before, forcing Steven to cancel the outing he had planned to take with his daughter. He was thus in the mansion when the hunter's came and foiled their attempt to destroy his master. Lethbridge was grateful and decided to reward his ghoul (without consulting him about the matter) by Embracing him. This was an honor, for only one of Steven's ancestors had ever received the Kiss. It took Steven some time to adapt to his new existence, but he eventually accepted it, coming to feed exclusively on the blood of his social superiors as a gentle form of revenge against his Sire. Relations between them remained very good, however, and Steven continued to serve him, now more as a lieutenant than servant. For years Steven had intended his daughter to lead a 'normal' life, but he became increasingly enchanted with her as years went by, and decided on her twelfth birthday that she should forever remain a child - his child. He did not embrace her (he was not given permission by London's Prince) but did make her his ghoul. This went on for decades. Little changed in the Lethbridge household, and though Steven increasingly travelled about Europe to take care of his Sire's affairs, he remained the more or less docile, youthful (in appearance) servant that had been his decreed role in life since before he was born. All changed for him in 1990. It was Priscilla that was the undoing. Though blissfully affectionate of her father because of her bloodbond to him, she had become increasingly resentful at being deprived of life beyond childhood. She was still the twelve year old girl with long red hair (like her mother) that she had been seventy years before, and had long become addicted to vitae so that mortal life would be forever denied her. She knew that her father would eventually receive permission somewhere for her embrace, and she did not want to live beyond death before she had even had the opportunity to experience life. The day before her birthday, on the 13th of July, with the aid of an Anarch fugitive she had clandestinely befriended, she fled her father, the Lethbridge estate, and England. Steven was dismayed by this change in affairs. His daughter's love was the one happiness in his dreary unlife and the thought of forever losing it proved unbearable. Lethbridge was hesitent to let him leave, and for two years Steven remained in England, until hearing news of his daughter from America, and begging with threat of commmiting suicide before his Sire the permission to pursue her. Lethridge relented, knowing that his servant would become useless unless allowed to leave, but ordered Steven to return with Priscilla as soon as he found her. His daughter's trail was cold of course by the time Steven resumed searching for her, and it took several years before he discovered that she was in California and involved somehow in the Anarch movement there. That is how he came to Santa Cruz, on basis of a rumor that a girl with red hair had been seen there, running narcotics out of Los Angeles. Some reports said she was now a Kindred, the Childe of a Brujah rebel, others that she was yet of the Kine, but had grown slightly older, possibly freed of her addiction to vitae. Steven feels he is now very close to finding her, and will not relent in his tireless pursuit of the only object of love he has known since the death of his wife so many years ago. At the same time, he has come to love the freedom of the past few years, and knows that when he finds Priscilla, he will be forced to return to his lord and master. This then is his dillema, and the source of the new passion which rages within him, perhaps destroying forever the manequin behind the invisible hands which existed to serve only the will of others. Notes: Steven has two retainers who are always near him, or at least at his beck and call. One is a blood doll, Audrey, a pretty debutante he picked up in New York who he has dominated into loving submission, and who takes care of cleaning his haven and looking after his other personal needs. The other is Raul, a young man who once tried to rob Steven, and almost lost his life for it. Raul is a ghoul, and quite an effective street-brawler when the need arises. usually, however, he just drives Steven around in his various antique sports cars (Steven always buys a couple when moving into a new city) and performs the more menial errands required for Steven's continuing search for Priscilla. Steven will have a luxurious condominium for a haven, in Audrey's name. His small herd rating represents the vitae supply he has secured thus far from socially acceptable Kine. Steven will also keep a second haven, a run down house in as secluded an area as possible. This is in a fictitious name, and kept secret even from his two retainers. The second haven is used as a refuge for when times get rough, and also for activities that Steven wishes to conduct with utmost secrecy. In his recent years of freedom, a disturbing streak of cruelty has surfaced within him, and he has come to discover that pain inflicted on others can be a source of amusement, useful for whiling away the hours when there is no news of his daughter. He had to leave a Texas city with some haste because of these activities, and though their occurance is still very rare, they have become more common in recent months, perhaps a macabre symptom of Steven's underlying despair of ever finding Priscilla, despite the optimism he reveals to even those close to him. June 30, 8:59 PM He was dreaming of a girl, with long red hair and eyes that smiled. She laughed and ran to him, holding out her arms, palms spread, as if to catch her father. 'Daddy..' said a distant voice, unclear through the haze of the azure sky. 'Daddy..' it repeated, with notes of longing entangled in the syllables. 'I'm here,' he whispered 'I'm always here.' He began to run towards the girl. But now she was gone, and there was a fog all around and motion underneath the very land. 'Priscilla,' he cried out. 'Where are you? Where have you run off to now?' He got no response. 'Priscilla,' he yelled, more desparate and more pained. 'Where...' "Mister Alister..." "What.." He turned, the dreaming world began to shimmer and then to melt. "Mister Alister..." "What?" He jerked forward, sitting abruptly upright on the cabin's bed. "Priscilla?" "No hefe, it's me." A man's voice said, rough and so unlike his daughter's. "Raul?" "Yeah hefe." His sight cleared. Before him stood a man, not that much more than a boy, dark haired and dark complexioned. "Raul, what time is it?" "Nearly nine." "Where are we?" "Almost there hefe." "Santa Cruz?" "Yeah, Santa fuckin Cruz." "Alright," he said, running his hands over his short hair. I'll be out in a tick. Let me put myself together." "Sure hefe, babe 'n I'll wait for you on deck." "No, tell Audrey to come down here. I'll need some refreshment." "Been long enough Hefe?" "I haven't touched her since before we were in San Francisco, she'll be fine. Don't question me! Send her down." "Whatever you say." He stood as soon as Raul closed the door. He went to the closet to pick out his nicest suit- best to look well- the yanks live on first impressions- or die on them as was more likely the case. After hanging his grey Aramani on the outside of the closet door he went to the mirror and began tidying himself. Lethbridge had killed him at the end of a long day, and he awoke every morning looking disheveled and tired. After a moment there was a soft knock on the door. "Come in," he said. It opened cautiously. A pretty young woman with straw-colored hair and a long white dress with lace accents entered the room. "Hullo Audrey." "Sir." "Steven, Audrey, always Steven for you at these delicate moments." "OK." She crossed the cabin to him, slipping her arms around his waist. Even after all these cold years he could tell she was desirable - but he couldn't feel it. "That"s a nice dress Audrey." "Thanks Steven, I got it at the VS in San Fran." "Perhaps you should slip it off dear, you wouldn't want a stray drop to soil it would you now?" "No, of course not" she said, and obeyed. June 30, 8:59 PM The air was brisk and alive when he stepped onto the deck of the Sea Dancer. In the distance he could see the shore, lit brightly in many colors. So this was Santa Cruz, he thought, the city in peril, of so much concern to all the masters, but of such inconsequence to himself. The glistening lights on the shore and the carnival twinkling of colors were a grim eyesore, so typical of the landscape of this California. Even the graceful Kindred of the haughty bay city had no conception of their vulgarity. He'd waited on hundreds of men of far more bearing and status in his master's drawing room than that pathetic prince. Their every countenance and expression was a masterwork of restraint and deception. His wide eyes and curved tongue bespoke only of a child, who has just learned he can kill slugs with salt and feels it makes him king. And to think the prince of this shanty-town was supposed to be inferior even to that Vanevar fool! A meager remnant of Caine's blood he must be indeed. And yet there was something of comfort in the lights of this city. What did it make him recall? Ah yes, Brighton, of course, the long beaches and watercolor skies, the cool winds and the pale children. His mother had taken him there as a boy, never in the company of his father, who despised trivial amusements, but always when she was happy and unburdened. He would ride on the mechanical ironworks and she would wave at him from the crowd- a whisky in her hand bought by one of the many strangers who was kind to her- enjoying the fruit of weeks of saving - a single afternoon of pleasure- and an evening as well, when he would fall asleep to the sound of her laughter in the adjoining room. He could not remember his mother well at all, however, and this was bothersome to him. Whenever he thought of her he saw only his daughter, smiling coquetishly for one so young- but still like a child- as she would always be, of that at least he could be sure. But didn't his mother also have red hair? Wasn't she also the most beautiful of women? Surely she must have been - far more beautiful than the half-starved waifs passed by the so called culture of today as the heirs of Venus. The most beautiful of women- married to some pathetic servant through unhappy chance quite beyond her control- yes, surely that was the way of things. His daughter always looked as if she was of noble blood- certainly it hadn't come from her mother- the poor weak creature, buried so long ago. But no, he thought, rubbing his long-dry eyes, this was not Brighton. Where was the austere woodwork of the decks and verandas, the smell of burnt sugar, the noiseless crowds? No, as all things American, this Santa Cruz had been overwrought to the point of self-destruction. A short stay it will be, he pledged. If Priscilla has gone, then no time need be spent here. The will of the masters be damned. 9:20 p.m. The Sea Dancer docked without incident, at an abandoned dock far from the lights further up the shore. A competent man, at least, is this captain, thought Steven. That may be useful if haste is needed. This ship should serve me well indeed, kind of Vannevar to 'lend' it to me. Would he be angry never to get it back? Perhaps, but probably not. The masters know well not to complain about a little honest embezzlement. Surely Lethbridge knew Steven's fortune had not been built from thrift alone. Well stuffed servants are the most loyal, he had commented gaily at times. Perhaps I should let Raul steal more than the pennies he does now- though that may very well be the extent of his ability - or ambition. To business, though, to business, Steven rebuked himself. There should be a car waiting there according to Raul. To take me to this fellow Crown. I wonder what his mettle's worth. Not much if his sire was any indication. "Ready to go boss?" "Hmm? Oh, quite," Steven said, turning to his ghoul. "Get Audrey, would you, she should be done with her lie down by now." "But hefe..." "Raul.." "I know, don't question you, aye-ya-aye." "Raul, you sound like the buffoon married to that pretty redhead with her own telly show. Go get your sweetheart now so we can get a move on." Raul went below for several moments, then returned with a nicely flushed Audrey, brushing out the lace on her gown. Steven climbed down the ladder to the dock, his servants following. They walked to the top of the pier and waited. A great deal of time passed, then at last a car came, long and black. "Get in," the laconic driver said without blinking. "Certainly master,"Steven replied, sliding into the back, where he was joined by Audrey. "In the front Raul, and keep an eye on this chap's road-sense." "Yeah, yeah..." The car sped off. It was not a long drive, but Steven found it tiresome because the car avoided the shore-lights and drove around the outskirts of the city, with darkened fields and traffic lights for scenery. "Red lights don't mean the same here as in England then?" Steven asked after several had been ignored. He got no response. 10:19 p.m. The car eventually turned into a long driveway and pulled up in front of a dimly lit mansion. "Here you go." the driver said. "Charming. A fine job chappie. You should consider trying out for one of those driving licenses sometime. I hear they're quite prestigious in these parts." He didn't wait for a reply. "Don't let him leave, will you dear," Steven whispered to Audrey. "Raul and I'll see what's up here." The young woman nodded and leaned on the car, smiling pleasantly at the driver, who quickly forgot Steven's attempt at wit. Raul followed Steven up to the door of the house. "I'll hold back a little," Steven instructed. "Keep it simple, tell him we want to speak to Crown and that we're expected." Raul nodded. He went to the door and rang the bell. He was received after a short time by a valet dressed in a ridiculous period costume. Steven looked around at the mansion. Within, someone was playing the piano, rather well- but seemed to be enamoured of the Moonlight sonata. Get your mind off the classical Top of the Pops old man, Steven thought. Give us some Rachmaninov or something civilized. The music stopped. After a pause Steven thought he saw a curtain of a third-floor window recede a little, and though it was very dark, he fancied he saw the shadow of a man observing him. Steven smiled and nodded towards the window. The curtain fell back. After another moment the music began where it left off. "Hefe." "Hmm." "He won't let us in." "What?" "He said Crown's busy, that we should come back. I think he's full of shit." "Lovely observation," Steven mused. So, this fellow Crown would strut before him, eh? Streuth, the nerve of these colonials- never aware of their station. The ego of the damned does not shrink with their corpse, he had observed long ago. It expands, like a cadaver in water- but is always ever so fragile, begging for rupture. He gently brushed Raul aside. "My dear chap," he said to the ghoul, looking ridiculous and proud in his foppery. "Tell your good master that it is of no trouble at all for me to see him later and that I quite understand that for one in his station it can be impossible to make room for an audience on so short notice. Be sure to inform him, however, that though I am at his disposal at any time, the message I bear is of importance and demands attention." "Cassandra will be most displeased if I am not able to deliver to Master Crown the next progress of his Yultherias. Tell him that, if nothing else, my good man. The mistress was most anxious to hear from him." With that he bowed and, motioning to his ghouls, returned to the cab. Confound the fool, he thought. By the time he is sure that neither he nor I have ever known of anything or anyone named Cassandra or Yultherias his curiosity will be master and he will seek me out on his own. A secret well learned over the years: those who think themselves powerful go mad when confronted by riddles- especially unsolveable ones. Even the suspicion that I know something more than he will drive him to grant me a speedy audience- less he look a fool later for turning away the emissary of some non-existant personage. Monday, July 3rd, 1995 11:03 p.m. It was absurdly late by the time Steven awoke. He arose with a gasp, then coughed instinctively, several droplets of vitae flying wastefully from his throat. He looked around his room. The heavy curtains had been pulled back from the windows and the sweeping panorama of Monterey Bay greeted him. The accomodation was alright in the faux-luxurious fashion of which the Americans were so fond. Far nicer in appearance than comfort. Still, it was glitzy and overdone. How he missed the musty elegance of London's hotels. And it was misnamed too. The Dream Inn, he thought, how odd then that my dreams have stopped since I began sleeping here. It is nearly a week since she has visited me. Sighing, he again looked at the view that the mortals thought worth three hundred dollars per night. He would get all his money refunded before he left of course; why be able to dominate the Kine if one cannot rob them?, but still, he hated to be cheated- even transiently. In the distance, the lights of a city much greater than Santa Cruz, Monterey, he supposed, glittered enticingly. That was the city which had recently fallen, he remembered. It might be fun to tempt fate by walking there. He could probably slip in unobserved on the Sea Dancer. It looked like the kind of place that Priscilla would be drawn to. Very bright and pretty, something of which daddy wouldn't approve. Yes, an expedition must be considered, Steven decided. She certainly isn't in Santa Cruz, the few leads Raul's efforts had unearthed had proven worthless. Amongst those lights, or beyond those mountains, Steven thought, that is where Priscilla will be. Anarchs, the masters spoke of, The Sabbat, they whispered more quietly still. All that is nothing to me. If I must travel to Hell itself to find my child, then to Hell it will be, and the worse for anyone who tries to stop me. There was something special about tonight, Steven mused, brushing the fabric of his burghundy pajamas. What was it... Streuth!! Crown. "Raul," he yelled. "Raul, Audrey!" His valet hurried in, dressed in a tuxedo, Audrey, in a demure blue evening dress followed. "Jefe, what?" "Why the blazes didn't you wake me earlier" Steven demanded, that idiot Crown will be here any moment." "He's already downstairs Jefe." "What?!" "We thought you were awake Ste- Mr. Alister," Audrey said soothingly, but unable to mask the panic in her voice. "We've heard moving around in here for the past hour." "What the bloody hell are you talking about girl? I've only just woken." "It's okay, it's okay" she chirped unbecomingly. "We can get you ready, just slip into.." "No, I'll receive them like this." "But sir..." "Hefe, you shouldn't..." "I didn't ask you for advice," Steven cried, "I'll receive them in the next room. Bring me my slippers. Now!" The ghouls hesitated for a moment, but then burst into motion, Raul racing down the hall to the elevator, Audrey putting some hasty touches on the suite after handing her master his slippers from where they had been on the floor, two feet away from him, looking quite worn. Damn and blast, Steven thought. I've gone too far this time, I know it. He had played cat and mouse with the Ventrue Primogen for the last several days, at last winning the battle of patience- at least apparently winning- when Crown agreed to make an appointment with him. It had been a satisfying game - but perilous. Victory, Steven had found, was always far more devastating than defeat. Audrey put her head around the door. "They're here Steven." "Seat them, I'll be in in half a tick," he said calmly. Steven entered the 'living room' of his suite dressed in his pajamas, slippers, and the long gold kimono-style bathrobe that he used to entertain particularly fascinating vessels. He glanced briefly at Raul and Audrey, who stood uneasily, their most valiant smiles affixed to their faces. He nodded to them imperceptively then turned to his guests. Standing near the bar were two very tall, very blond, young men, their cheap suits bulging with muscle, and likely hardware. Thought we finished you chaps off in the war Steven thought to himself. Two more men who might have been the twins of the first two (quatruplet clones off some aryan farm?) stood near the door. A slender man, dressed expensively and (Steven conceded) tastefully, sat in the tall smoking-style chair. He must be tall when standing, Steven thought, for his legs are very long. His hair was brown and touched by grey at the temples, making him look quite distinguished. Looks kind of like that aristocratic Hefner bloke I managed to drink of once in Chicago, Steven thought. This fellow wasn't aristocratic by any means though, Steven thought, more like one of those gangsters that seemed to populate the moving picture shows Raul was always talking about. Steven had of course never seen a movie himself, much less one about American criminals. He had seen stills from the shows in magazines once in a while however, and from this considered himself something of a connosieur of the cinema. "You must be Thomas Crown," Steven said in his most pleasant, submissive, servant's tone. "It really is a pleasure to meet you at last. I do apologize for the delays on my part. It's just that moving into a new city is always so much work. And you must forgive my appearance. I was about to change when Cassandra called me and I couldn't get off the phone for an hour. She told me that she's changed her mind, however, and that you must contact her personally about the advancement of your Yultherias, she doesn't trust me as much as she once did it seems." "Why are you here?" Crown asked abruptly, apparently not at all interested in his Yultherias. A bit rude, Steven thought. Ah well, perhaps I deserve it. "What I have to say, sir, is of interest to all the Kindred of Santa Cruz. Perhaps I should recount it to the Primogen, to save repetition, and eliminate the risk of someone remaining uninformed." "I don't think that's wise," Crown replied. "If you tell me what it is you have in mind by visiting Santa Cruz, I can forward this to the council and Bouchard. You don't know the climate here. It could be dangerous." "I appreciate that sir, but to be honest about it, I'm not exactly visiting of my own volition," Steven said. "I was sent. Raul, if you would..." The ghoul reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the letters Steven had been given in San Francisco. With a bow so proper it made Steven proud, he handed them to Crown. Crown frowned, snatched the letters from Raul, and read them one at a time, very slowly, mouthing the words as he went. The unfailing signal of the semi-literate, Steven thought to himself with a silent chuckle. Still, the Primogen's expression remained otherwise unchanged and Steven gleaned nothing as he went through each letter. When Crown had finished, Steven spoke again. "As you see sir, I think the nature of my visit might best be expained to the Primogen Council - so as to avoid confusion. Crown pursed his lips, looked up briefly at Steven, then nodded, dropping the letters to the floor. "Also," Steven added as an afterthought, "I'd like permission to explore the city a bit - just to get my bearings you understand." "I'd advise against that," Crown said. "There are groups of werewolves prowling the streets. It will take some time to clear them." "Are there no kennels?" Steven asked facetiously. Crown ignored him, looking out the window, towards the Boardwalk. "That amusement park is Elysium," he said. "That's the sort of insanity we have to put up with here. If you want, I'll put one of my drivers at your disposal and he can take you there. There will be a celebrationtomorrow night. You'll be safe enough there though frankly, you'll have a better view from here. My secretary will call you and let you know when the council and Bouchard - you must call him Prince Happy ["I'd be happy to" Steven interjected under his breath]- can see you. With the Prince's permission - or I should really say - with the permission of the Brujah - you'll be free to wander. Until then, I would suggest restricting your movement. Strange kindred are a source of alarm lately. There's always the possibility that the Brujah will shoot first and ask later. In fact, I can almost guarantee it." "Then I shall take your advice," Steven replies. "The first wise thing you'll have done then pup," Crown said, for a moment letting his hostility show through. "I expect you think you've made a fool of me - you haven't. Many have made the same mistake before. They aren't around to tell you about it." "I assure you, I've meant no..." "Goodbye," Crown says, standing and turning towards the door. Soundlessly, his goons follow, opening the door and escorting him down the hall to the elevtors. "Well," Steven said, turning back towards his friends. Strange that he thought of that word for them just then... "I think that went as badly as could be expected. "Darling," Audrey said comfortingly, putting her hand on Steven's shoulder. "Don't.." "Shhh," Steven replied gently. "It's okay. It's okay. You kids go next door and enjoy yourselves, or get some sleep, I know you need it- doing errands for me all day. I just need to sit and think for a while. Maybe I'll try to catch a dream later." Tuesday, the 4th of July, 1995 There was a special flavor to the stale air of the night when he next awoke. Even from his secluded room in the heights of the hotel he could hear the excitement within the voices of the Kine, and smell the spice of their impatience, as they made their way inevitably towards the Boardwalk, the span of lights and noise he had seen so few days ago for the first time. Steven had only spent a moment of eternity in Santa Cruz, only enough time to realize how far he was from truly understanding his own kind, how far he was from understanding the danger he faced every hour. Yet there was challenge in the laughter which echoed from below. There was taunting in the silence of the Kindred who would not recognize his presence, and threat in the bearing of the one who had. But to hell with all, that was his mind. If there was to be a final reckoning then let it come this night as well as any, let fate take its revenge for whatever slight he had commited on the tortured moment of his birth. He rose with a scream. Some creature did the same in the animated specatacle which Raul watched at the break of every dawn. Let him be mocked and honored, Steven thought, as his throat was pierced by the pain of his yell - a pity there was no stone to render into shards. Audrey came running to him. She had not had time to dress and wore her gossamer dress with too much leisure, her form ill-concealed. "Steven, what's the matter?" she asked in the vulgar accent he thought long driven from her lips. "Silence," he coughed. "Bring me the mirror." "What?" "Mirror!" he screamed, delighting in the widening of her coffee eyes as she shrank away in fright. He stared at himself for untold moments when she brought the glass. His hair was disheveled, his lips twisted in an unnatural pose, just as he remembered the instance of his death. "That's enough," he said at last. "Take it away, I've seen it enough." She readily complied. It was half an hour before he was presentable, dressed in a dull black suit that almost resembled a tuxedo, but with no collar or bow tie, in accordance with the style of the day. "Raul!" Steven yelled, aware of his tyrrany. "I wanted to be among the kine an hour ago, why the delay?" "We've been waiting for you," the greasy-haired boy stuttered. "A lie, I've been waiting for you." "Y-yes Jefe." "Let's be on our way then. Where's the slip of nothing you call a friend?" "Audrey," Raul quickly called. She quickly appeared, drying her auburn hair and glowing red with paint upon her face, pale and bred for delicacy. "My darling," Steven purred, taking her by the waist and bending her supplely onto the bed. "If only I still felt the fire of my blood..." He left her there without another glance. He strolled to the elevator and from there into the hotel's foyer, his ghouls following breathlessly behind. They could join him in death, he thought - ever so briefly- in this wilderness of California. So much more useful they would become... But no, not until all his enemies were lapping at his heel for mercy. And perhaps not even then. Not until Priscilla was his again. "Let us revel tonight and die again tomorrow," he yelled, oblivious to who might hear. Already in the distance the explosion of these 'fire - works' could be heard. Some sorcery where light could appear in nothingness, or more likely a work of 'science', humanity's best excuse for barbarism, he thought. He went out into the crowd, making his way gradually to the shore. The throng made noise as one being, expanded like a single force of nature laboring to fill a void, twisting and writhing like a woman resisting pleasure. Steven struggled to move through the crowds, looking at the sky to see the fireworks, with glances down to search out vessels - so rare among this mass of prols, no bearing or blood to be split among them. He was a frightening sight, though he thought himself handsome at that moment. His face was pale from his hunger and his eyes burned too deep. He revealed too much desperation in his glances and was too kind to those he brushed aside to prove that he was powerful. Where were the slumming children of the well-bred he wondered? They were always to be found at gatherings like this. Where were the decendants of ancient nobility whom he could recognize and drain of vitality? His hunger had grown too great. His desires were not checked by a century of disciplined control. He saw a girl.. with red hair... too young to be Priscilla - but of bearing and charm. Could her blood be so sweet to satisfy his desparate urge? Glancing behind to be sure he could shake off his retainers, he lunged forward in the mob. 10:30pm A while later, the edge of his hunger sated, the girl still laughing in the delerium of memory, he strolled out again from the secluded lane where he'd had his meal. The works of fire had stopped he noticed, the crowds were more intoxicated, less happy. He felt cold and controlled again, unable to bear the press of humanity. Better find Raul and Audrey again, Steven thought soberly. Shouldn't have left them. Yes, find them and return to the hotel, try again to find her in my dreams if I am to be denied her in the waking world. "Looking for someone?" a voice asked, with an accent clipped and English. Steven turned quickly, and saw a woman looking at him, smiling. It must have been she with the English accent he thought. His eyes darted over her as his mind tried to place her. Lower middle class, he thought, though perhaps the tone's been a bit blunted by time in America. He attempted to smile, still gazing intently. "I don't believe we've met," he said, "though I think I know who you are." He held his hand out stiffly. "I'm Steven Alister." The woman seemed to study his hand for a moment, then his face. The assured smile on her face didn't slip an inch. "Well," she said brightly, "If you already know who I am then I wouldn't want to bore you, but just for the sake of form.." She reached across and took his hand. "Diane Forester. The pleasure's all mine." Steven was silent for a moment. "What brings you out on this odious holiday?" he asked at last. "I suppose it's a coincidence that we happened upon each other, though one can never be too sure." She too hesitated before speaking. The woman seemed to study Steven in her mind, though her expression was almost completely controlled. "You didn't enjoy the fireworks then, I take it? Of course things get a little over the top but this is America and people get excited about the small amount of history they do have. I find it quite charming." "Yes charming," Steven murmered. She's of the clan, he thought, probably sympathetic- definitely useful. "I'm sure it will grow on you. Were you planning to be here for long, Steven?" the woman asked. "Not long, no," Steven replied. "I have something of a purpose as a matter of fact, Ms. Forester. I'm looking for someone." He reached in the open pocket of his jacket and drew out a folded sheet of paper. Unfolding it and smoothing its creases he handed it to her. The sheet was one of the 'have you seen this child?' posters that Raul had made up, with a picture of his daughter. "Have you seen her by any chance? I'm most keen to hear any news." The woman studied the picture for a moment, glancing briefly at Steven, then back again. Her face was still as a mask. "Not that I recall," she said. "Pretty girl though. I assume you've tried the police? If she's kine that is...?" The question hung in the air quite blatently. Steven did not answer. The woman directed that impervious smile at him again, it was annoyingly infectious. "You've made all your introductions, I'm sure... ?" "Unfortunately no, the only bloke I've really met is that Crown fellow and he's a right useless bastard if there ever was one," shouldn't say that to someone I don't know Steven thought as he spoke the words. She shrugged. "I can imagine why you might think that." Hope for her yet then Steven thought. "Naturally," she continued, "if I can be of any help I'd be more than delighted. I try to stay interested in what is going on back at home." "If by home you mean England, I doubt I'm any more apace than you. I've been in the states a couple of years. Where were you from originally? I grew up near Kew, myself. My family is in service to the Lord Lethbridge. You may have heard of him. He is of our clan." Again, the woman hesitated before answering. "Oh, I remember Kew. Nice gardens. I used to share a pad in Chelsea when I was based in London myself," bright smile. "It was a wild place in the 70s. You know, its your decision, but you might consider making at least a half-hearted attempt to see the Prince if you think you might be here for awhile." She smiled sweetly, far too sweetly. "Especially if you intend on hunting in the Elysium on a regular basis. Royalty can be so capricious at times..." Her expression was sober, but there was something in her eyes... For some reason Steven began to feel anxious to get away. "I fear my friends may worry if I'm away much longer, Ms. Forester, but I would be very pleased to speak with you again. What I told you about my reason for being here is true, but there is something more- something it would greatly behoove you to hear. Do let us set up a time for a meeting." "Oh sure. Actually it'd be my pleasure, Steven. You hear so many stories out here about what life is like amongst kindred back in Europe, and besides which, I think maybe we have a lot in common. If this was a coincidence, I think it was a happy one." "Very well then, how about next week sometime," Steven suggested. "You can leave a message for me at the Dream Inn." "Alright Steven." "Goodnight, Ms. Forester," Steven said with a proper bow. "I will speak to you again." The smile was all he thought of as he drifted to sleep the next morning, after much hard work finding Raul and Audrey in the crowds. Never trust a woman who smiles too much... that was one of the few valuable things his father ever taught him. Thursday, July 5th, 1995. 9:12 p.m. Steven awoke for the seventh evening straight without having dreamt of his daughter. He spent the early evening pacing nervously in the hotel room which had become little more than a gilded cell. He called Audrey to him after ten and with little ceremony drank from her, replenishing himself to full strength for what was likely to be a trying evening. Thursday, July 5th, 1995. 11:50 p.m. The phone rang with shrill candor. Raul answered and grunted, placing the receiver down quickly. "The car's here Jefe," Raul said. Steven nodded. "Let's go." "Maybe she should stay," Raul whispered, nodding towards pale and pretty Audrey. "No," Steven replied. "We face this night together." A black limousine, sent by Crown, Steven assumed, awaited at the curb when the left the hotel lobby. They filed in and rode for the absurdly short distance to the Boardwalk. It was a humorlous ride, and even the kine on the sidewalk looked miserable. The limousine stopped. "He'll show you where to go," the driver said, indicating one of the aryan ghouls who was standing a short distance away. Steven thought he looked even more sinister through the tinted windows. First Raul, then Steven, and finally Audrey, got out of the car. Steven glanced around. He saw an old building that looked as if it might have once housed a Casino- now howling from within because of those sparkly panel-games. A stairway entrance somewhat farther away led to the Coconut Grove Ballroom and Steven heard dim '40's music coming downstairs. How refreshing to hear tasteful music still played somewhere, he thought. There was an unsettling smell permeating the air, or more accurately, a coctail of different smells, mixed together in a sour concoction. Cotton candy, sweat, cooked meat, gin, and bile, as well as less pleasant things, he thought he could discern. For some reason the walk was very quiet, and as he had only known it bustling, Stephen thought this strange. In the distance the sea murmered, and even its voice was strained and mournful. Groups of kine hurried past in intervals. Turning, Stephen noticed that they were all shuffling into their cars rather hurridly. A faint, crackling voice announced the early closing of the Boardwalk. So that's the way of things, Steven thought grimly. This is a bad idea. Something is in the air tonight- something baleful- it reminds me for some reason of the moors in the detective's tale- the moors haunted by the hound. Yet I suppose there is little to be done. Where I have sowed I shall reap, Steven thought, or weep more likely. It's been long since I saw the red tears. Thursday, July 6th, 1995 12:00 midnight. As they moved on, the Boardwalk became more sparsely populated, and eventually, deserted. In the background, the stilled rides still glowed incandescently against the night like garish reflections of the dinosaur skeletons in London's Natural History Museum. Were there Kindred among those beasts Steven wondered, or is that curse solely one of man? The atmosphere was now oppresively quiet- the air completely motionless. The vast expanse of space, the sand, asphault, and sky, all seemed to press down at once, seeking to quash the wakeful like ants, to force the dead back to their graves. In the distance, a carnival tune could be heard- whining against the creaking of machinery. As they walked on and turned a corner, Steven saw that the noise came from the carousel. It had been his favorite ride as a child. The one he begged his mum to buy a ticket for again and again. Now the horses looked grotesque- their grins maniachal, their eyes mad. It was lit up brightly, it's mirroured center scintilating with colored lights reflecting off its gilded frame and spinning steeds. The horses galloped endlessly in perfect synchronicity- blurring into tapestries of color, into mesmeric waves of sound. Crown's ghoul spoke: "Your people will have to wait here," Gerry said. Reluctantly, Steven nodded, glancing once more into the eyes of Raul and Priscilla. He understood why the word friend had beckoned to him earlier. It had been well chosen. If he saw another sunset, he would remember to be more kind. "Good luck, Jefe," Raul said. Steven tapped his forefinger against the side of his nose a couple of times and winked. "Never luck," he whispered. He turned away- unable to bear looking again at Audrey- and walked towards the carousel. Be merciful to me friends, he thought. I was always a miserable equestrian- even with ceramic horses. As he neared the ride, its revolutions slowed. He saw six figures on the platform- five mounted- and Crown. One, the prince most likely, sat staring straight ahead through round dark glasses. He wore a straw hat and coloured striped pants. His face was marred by a pair of handlebar moustaches. The king is his own fool, Steven thought. So goes the addage: if you want something done right... In his hand the prince twirled a silver cane, the head shaped like what might have been meant as a skull. 'And the cane that he twirled 'round his diamond-ringed finger'- where had he heard that, Steven wondered. He turned his attention to the others. Their eyes cut into him like swords. The court, Steven thought. Always there are those who will fashion themselves into nobility. Aesthetically, they were a motley brood. One wore studded black leather and had a face taken over by a bushy black beard. His head was capped by a black Harley Davison-logoed hat. Brujah, no doubt, Steven thought, he couldn't resist a smile when the unbidden memory of what his sire called the clan flashed into his mind: the little boys lost. Loved his Yeats, Lethbridge did. The next creature was obviously Nosferatu. It was only the third time Steven had seen one in its true form- or what he assumed was its true form- one could never be certain. It was dressed beautifully- in a spectacular grey Armani. The vampire gave Steven a polite bow. A gentleman, he thought, how delightful. Continuing, there was a small, brown-skinned woman wrapped in a loud green sari, with a red dot painted on her forehead, tinged with gold. Steven had always despised the Indian 'nobility'. They were dim poseurs- not blessed like the British- but too proud to face the fate of their people. The figure furthest away was smoking a cigarrette, and his head was wrapped in the vile haze. His eyes were the most piercing of any of the assemblage, however, and he seemed to study Steven hard. Only Crown was not sitting. He was indeed quite tall as Steven had thought. He said nothing to Steven but twisted his head slightly, suggesting that Steven ought to mount one of the horses. Steven hesitated, unsure of what was expected, and uncertain that he wanted to position himself as precariously as in a horse's saddle at that moment. But Crown quickly shook his head. Very well, Steven thought, getting the hint. He waited for a moment until a horse with an expression that looked more resigned than hell-bent passed him. It was chestnut- with a violet saddle and pink stirrups. The ride was odddly pleasant, the motion as mesmerizing to experience as it had been to watch. They rode in silence for a moment. Steven glanced outwards only briefly, and saw Raul and Audrey standing close together- whispering. Suddenly, the silence was broken by the Prince. He spoke with a bad French accent, stressing his nasal vowels and pinching his mustache as he spoke like a bad American actor trying to portray Hercule Poirot. "What gifts do you bring us?" he asked. "Scissors, some string, and a new puppet to play with," Steven answered. "Salvation also, thought that is a gift I bring from others - and is not mine to give - only to convey," Steven answered. Bouchard showed no reaction. "And what are your dreams?" he asked. Steven glanced quickly at the others. They were watching him, but their eyes were blank. "Only those that I am given," he replied, less suredly than before. "I dream the dreams of Tantalus, whose prize was ever snatched away, and of Midas who beloved turned more precious but more cold beneath his fingers. I dream of masters, fools, and men, and how I may serve them." A flash of expression tremored beneath Bouchard's face- but only momentarily. Before Steven could read anything- it was as before. The Prince got up. He walked over to Steven, nimble and unbothered by the movement of the carousel. When he got to Steven he leaned over and sniffed Steven's cheeks and collar, his face distorting like a dog happening upon its first discovered blood trail. "You stink, monsieur," he said. "Have you been bathing in bitterness of late?" "Of bitterness, leige, and bliss. It washes the sweetness of the grave soil away, at least until another dawn." The Prince considered this a moment, then sprung quickly onto a passing horse. "You have words," he said. "You will burst no doubt if you do not say them. And I can assure you that you will burst if you do and they are not to our liking. Speak my dead dreamer. Speak away!" the Prince waved his hand. "I come at the behest of your fellow leige, Vanover Thomas. He wishes to send aid to you- if it is wanted- and warns you of peril. I am to learn from you where gifts will be best given, and to listen to all that is told me, so that I may enlighten Thomas of your insights into the perils that are all around. I come to serve. That has always been my walk in life, and it shall always be so." Steven stopped lest he say too much. He looked again at the other Kindred. They, in turn, were studying the Prince, who sat quietly- again playing with his facial hair. After several moments, the chappie with the beard leaned over and whispered something into the Prince's ear- but Bouchard cut him off. "Yes, yes!" he said. He stood up again and grabbed Steven by the cheeks, then kissed him on the mouth. His breath stank, and his lips were cold. Do the kine have to master themselves like this to prevent the recoil that is so instinctive to me now? Steven wondered. But I dare not. "You are deadly welcome," the Prince spewed, pulling away. In turn, the other vampires got up and shook Steven's hand. Each spoke trifling pleasantries- welcoming him to Santa Cruz - all except for little boy lost, who simply left, hopping quickly onto the ground from his mount. The other Kindred had very little to say. After staying long enough to be polite- as polite as one need be to one in Steven's station- they left. Steven was alone. He began to dismount to leave as well, but the carousel had begun to pick up speed. Even the music- which had been faint- was playing faster and louder- racing into a wail. Steven began to wonder how he would get off if the ride did not soon slow. He had at last built courage enough to jump when some unknown instinct alerted him that someone was behind him. He spun quickly and found himself facing Bouchard. Steven gasped- for one of the few times since his mortal death- he was afraid. The Prince had removed his glasses. His eyes were mad. They were twin abysses of sheer primal nothingness- Steven wondered if God had felt such fear at the beginning of time, looking into what would become his realm. Suddenly, there was a glimmer in the emptiness- an image- it was Steven himself! But no, it was merely a reflection, curved, mishapen, like his image always greeted him on subway cars- so much more hideous than the reflections of those beside him- mocking his plainess with deformity. The Prince bent close and whispered, his accent purely American now- but insane- "I have a gift for you now. I just wanted you to know that she is still alive - the one you dream of. But, perhaps, she is not as you remember. Forget her lest she cause you more sorrow." Steven felt himself losing all control. "What!? What do you know!? Tell me!" But he suddenly felt a violent force strike his chest- the Prince had shoved him. Before he could react to direct his fall, Steven smashed into the asphalt ground. He felt his spine break in two places. He felt gushers of precious vitae slip away. He had never known pain was as infinite as this. Did that woman he tortured to death in Texas suffer so? The world was broken, cataclysms of light flashed before his eyes. He struggled to regain control. Reverse the flow... Staunch the wound... Let your nature take over.... Slowly, gradually, Steven began to heal. His ears still rang with the distorted carousel tune- or no - it was a voice- like laughter. "I got you, Jefe," A distant voice whispered. "This way." "Raul?" Steven hissed. "Yeah, Jefe, it's me." Steven felt himself lifted from the ground.He felt his arm around the strong shoulder of the lad. Feeling had returned to his body. He was drained, but himself again- the pain seeped away as quickly as it had come. The laughter stopped. Steven turned and looked back at the carousel. It was spinning wildly, the lights and colors no longer mesmerizing- simply painful. The horses were surely being driven to their death. Crown's ghoul had again appeared. "It's time to go now Steven," Audrey whispered. "Alright," Steven said, slipping his hand around hers. "Let's go." They had gone not a hundred yards, however, before several kine dressed in security outfits appeared, surrounding Steven and the three ghouls. "What's going on?" Crown's ghoul asked. "He's coming with us," one of the guards said. "Purdy wants to see him." The aryan began to reach into his pocket. "Don't even think about it," another guard yelled, poking a firearm into the ghoul's back. "I'll tell my master about this," the ghoul warned. "Fuck your master!" a woman's voice said. "But then I'm sure you do." Not now, not now, Steven thought, turning to see who else had it in mind to torment him that night. He saw a pale woman, dressed in a black full leather body suit, he figure sleek and stunning. She had long black hair and a face that might have been beautiful had it not been marred by a harsh sneer. Her eyes searched quickly over Steven. "Come with me," she said. Bewildered beyond arguing, Steven followed. Most of the woman's guards accompanied them, weapons drawn. They made their way to a ride fashioned like a decaying mansion. They made their way inside. Steven following the woman, Raul and Audrey huddled close behind him. The pale manequins and dark corridors could offer little terror after the carousel and that monster of a Prince. The group came into a larger room than any of the others they had passed through. In the middle were three chairs, two with restraints on the arms and headrests. Standing alone, arms crossed akimbo, staring at them arrogantly, was the little boy lost- beard and all- who had been on the carousel. "Have a seat," he ordered. The woman quickly shoved Steven into the center chair. Behind him, Raul and Audrey were likewise forced into chairs at gunpoint. They squirmed and grunted as the restraints were put cruelly into action. "Don't hurt them," Steven murmured, to let them know he cared if for no other reason. "Now," the bearded man said to Steven, "You're going to tell me why you're really here." "I already told you." "NO, that won't be good enough," he yelled back. "No more games blueblood. What is it that you want." "That's no great secret," Steven said. "I'm looking for my little girl. Her name's Priscilla, she has red hair. Have you seen her?" Purdy just stared at Steven, his eyes blank behind his glasses. "Red hair is not that uncommon. If you want to be more specific, maybe I can help you. Why are you searching for her?" "I really don't see what interest this has to anyone but me," Steven continued. "Everything I've said is true. I don't deal in lies. The Prince himself has welcomed me here. You should let me go at once. Even our kind has rules." "I'll let you go when it suits me. Don't overplay your hand. The Sabbat is town and I'm not putting it past you to be one of their number. Certainly, Happy won't question me when I announce that I had to have you destroyed because I discovered who you were really working for. And Crown? He's more afraid of you than he is of the Sabbat. It's just eating him up why you're here. He won't help you. What I want to know is can you help - me?" Steven sighed inwardly- so that was going to be the way of things. It was his way to be sutle and quiet- to bend before breaking. Yet that was not always the wisest course among the less civilized- as this being certainly was. He was a poor bully, but he would have to try- if anything was to be salvaged of this night. "The Sabbat? What I can do for you?" Steven stated, a sneer sneaking onto the corners of his mouth- then taking over his expression completely. "Bumbling fool! I have waited upon my sire in the presence of the Inner Circle. I have entertained Justicars, aided Archons in their duties - and you accuse me of being one of the devil's own? Me? To hell with you, sir," Steven shouted with a voice far more blusterful than his form suggested possible- or his wisdom considered prudent. He rose from his chair. "I am not a dealer in lies, my good chap, as difficult as that may be to believe for one who has likely spent a depressing percentage of his unlife in this rat-bastard hell-hole that your clown of a Prince calls a realm! What I say is true- as true as if you were a mortal faithful to science who had seen something with his own eyes." Steven's eyes were afire now, and he felt hot vitae pumping through his system, giving him strength and daring such as he had not experienced in decades. [+1Dex, +1Str, +1Sta- at 6 blood] "I said I have come at the behest of the Prince of San Francisco and so I have. I have also come at the behest of my master and sire- Lord Lethbridge of Kew- in the citydom of London- in the inner realm of the Inner Circle. I was sent- also as I have said before- to salvave what is possible from the ruins that this town will soon be if immediate action is not taken. I have come to save the kindred of this city from the deadly fate that awaits them- that is why I am here." "Also, I am here to find Priscilla Alister- a little girl who is as lost in this world as you- who needs to be reaquanited with her father's love. Besides these two purposes I have no interest. Of the Sabbat? How dare you!? I have done more in my death than you to extinguish their scourge. How can I be of help to you? I can, just possibly, save your existence- if I am allowed to go about my business. Hinder me and the forces that control me will turn their back upon this Santa Cruz forever. You have seen what lies beyond the streets of this city- what crawls down from the mountains when it pleases- what laid waste to Monterrey. Unless that fate appeals to you, then this conversation is at an end- good evening to you sir, and I will not know what you are talking of if you mention this encounter again!" Steven turned quickly to one of the beast's ghouls, looking him squarely in the eyes and exerting the full power of his will. "Release my companions," he said simply. The ghoul hesitated a moment, his will quavering between all possible evils- then he made a motion to comply, starting to quickly unstrap Raul and Audrey, who were visibly relieved. Steven didn't even see Purdy move. Damn Brujah celerity. All he heard was the deafening hammer of what sounded like a hail of bullets; but what turned out to be only one. The sound of the shot flew back and forth, trapped in the heavy concrete until all were deafened by the roar. The ghoul lay dead on the floor, his blood flowing against poor Raul's loafers. Purdy put the gun away. "Good try," he said to Steven. "But if you do that again, I'll feed you to one of my childer." Purdy turned to the vampiress present. "Everyone out. Take this sycophant's ghouls with you," he told her. When they were alone, he turned his attention back to Steven. "That was incredibly stupid," he said matter of factly. "Maybe you don't know as much about me as I thought you did. I do know who you are; but claiming you're Sabbat is a convenient way to deal with you just the same. And as for threatening to have the Camarilla turn their backs on us, when have they done otherwise? You think you're the fuckin cavalry? All I see is one STUPID lick! At best, maybe, you're a distraction to keep Crown off my back so I can get on with the real work." Purdy went and sat back down. Apparently, he had more control of the Brujah rage than did most of his fellow rabble. Purdy sat watching Steven for a long time. How long, Steven couldn't quite tell but it seemed very long. "So no more words about your fuckin lineage or what mighty muck you bend over to take it from. You Ventrue carry your past like chains; and you like to rattle them as if they might scare someone. But I tell you, all I hear is noise." Purdy waved his hand in a vacuous way through the air. "You want to help? O.K. I'll give you the chance. What I need are guns. The Anarchs are better armed and there are more of them. Every time one drops, two more step up to take his place. It's like fighting a fuckin hydra with your bare hands. And now I've got the fuckin furbacks running loose. I've got the edge with experience and my licks and ghouls are better. But they're tired of fighting a loosing battle. I know for a fact that they all want to join the Anarchs and it's only their fear of me that keeps them from doing it. If you could bring us some real weaponry - assault rifles, grenades, flamethrowers, automatic pistols, ammunition - then I can give them some more reasons for sticking around. No one wants to die, Ventrue. I'm sure you don't want to face that final moment yourself. You help me and I'll help you. And just to show you what a nice guy I am, I'll let YOU choose which of your ghouls dies for that stunt you tried to pull." The air in the 'haunted house' tasted stale and damp. The darkness could barely conceal the shoddy painting on the plywood props, the waterstains and cracks along the walls, the lines of grime and dust driven into the floor. Steven pulled back from the brujah's gaze, looking at the man entire and not just the menace of his eyes. His beard - unkempt and ridiculous - might have suited a peasant in a cossack regiment, or a czar in his court. The black leather was too neat - too plastic - to frame the bellowing rebel whose voice masked desperation so well with bravado. His heavy boots were solid and worn - no doubt many skulls had been crushed beneath them - but they weren't the tools of an artful killer. They didn't have the sleek efficiency of those the Nazi soldiers wore. Steven remembered a starlit night in the winter of 1936, snow seeming to fall from the cloudless sky- in reality just blown from rooftops by a marrow-freezing wind. He had been at a German airfield near Duseldorf. Steven had gone there with Lethbridge when the old Ventrue was contemplating a never borne-out plan to side with the German Camarilla against the English in the looming schism of unity which the kine thought of as a war of their own inhumanity. He had felt the cold through his black suit - for he wore no overcoat - and a shiver had wrung through his chest- though it was a reaction of instinct and not of physiology- for by then his organs had long shriveled and his blood long ceased to offer warmth. The few kine about had stood like statues- frozen by domination and simple fear - their faces red and swollen like infants- their breath turning into vapor as it left their mouths and nostrils. The taste of the air had been like that inside the haunted house - stale and damp. They had been taken by limousine to a Bavarian house- a 'chateau' as its owner named it- and there had waited to meet an ancillae of the Toreador who Lethbridge felt might be useful in his schemes. "Lovely puppets," he confided to Steven as they waited - in too loud a voice. "They make lovely puppets these krauts. Born saluting I hear. Take orders from anyone willing to shout them out. No better than the Kine they breed from- sycophants, cowards, and thugs. They'd never beat the English if we let it come to war - they'd be broken and bloody within a year - begging for terms - just like before." Lethbridge had been wearing a fur-collared coat, some brown animal as Steven remembered - bear or marmet. It had reminded Steven of the costumes of the American financiers who flocked to London to spend their money. How unfortunate that Lethbridge no longer asked Steven for his advice on fashion - as he had when Steven had been mortal- and able to visit Knightsbridge by day, bringing the experts back to the mansion with their wares. The room was only lit by a fireplace - though it was large and gave out an uncomfortable measure of heat as well as light. It crackled from time to time as an ember disintigrated into ash, sending sparks into the air, and even ancient Lethbridge- Lord of Kew for fifteen mortal lifetimes - could not suppress a twitch in his hand, a furrow in his brow- and a glance at the fire. Just as Lethbridge had finished speaking, the Toreador - the potential puppet himself- had entered the room. He was in a black mood, and right away Steven saw that they had been far too careless. His eyes had pierced them like a surgeon's lancets- his cold beauty, adorned (and this perhaps was why Steven could not help thinking of him now) with a deep chestnut beard- trimmed neatly, and round spectacles with gold frames. For several moments he looked them over, quickly moving past the neonate to the ancient - the man who boasted casually within earshot about controlling him- about the inferiority of his home and his herd. Lethbridge spoke no language but English, and Steven had had to translate between the Kindred. It was not a difficult task for the conversation was not long.It went very poorly for Lethbridge - for though he was more powerful- he had nothing to offer - and the Toreador could see at once that this elder was on the losing side - the sinking ship across the channel. He had given them an hour to get out of Germany. Lethbridge considered killing the upstart - Steven could always tell when murder was on his master's mind- but thought better of it - for they were in the middle of an alien land - and there were centuries ahead for vengeance. In the car they had sat in silence as they were driven hastily back to the airfield. Just as the fence became visible in the car's headlights - just as the choking of an engine being started became audible from ahead- Lethbridge had turned to Steven and spoken with what might have been mistaken for humility in a lesser being. "My boy," he said, "We were well-buggered tonight, I won't lie to you. But there's a consolation in it - if you're bright enough to see it. That man looked like a killer- in his cozy mansion with all his guards in black uniforms. He probably thinks of himself as a killer too, and every time he ends another existence he becomes more convinced of it." The gates were opened by the soldiers, stamping their feet and moving with all possible haste so they might get back into the guardhouse. "But I'll tell you something," Lethbridge continued, lowering his voice in caution that might have been better used earlier. "That man was no killer. He might have been if he was still one of the Kine - it's easy to be a killer when you're mortal - but he's one of us - and killing's not in his blood. It's all about blood once you live beyond dying. Never forget that Alister. It's all about blood. That fancy-pants couldn't be a killer anymore than the little boys lost or the ruffians, or the rat-suckers. Only our kind knows how to kill, and maybe the Warlocks too, though it's hard to know for sure with them. You see, to kill when you're immortal you have to do far more than destroy a body - you have to kill the soul. It takes decades for an immortal to kill someone properly. It takes patience to find out what they care about, it takes patience to burn all that away without them knowing its you who's doing it until they have nothing left- until they're naked in the cold of a void. Then, when they lose the hope of achieving whatever it is they thought they wanted, when whatever they thought they loved is gone, or beyond their reach, or has broken their heart - only then can it be said that they've been killed. That's why these Nazi's and their bloody masters will never win. They kill like mortals kill, by the hundreds or the thousands, maybe by the millions in this day and age- who can say how far the frenzy will take them. But that isn't enough to change history my boy. To do that, you have to kill like an immortal. Remember that in the time of hell that's ahead of us. I won't have anybody at my side that kills like a mortal." Steven returned his stare to Purdy's eyes. "Listen to me," he said, his voice soft- almost whispering. "I came here in the service of those who wish to help you, not to play games. I am not the cavalry, I am the herald of the cavalry. Stupid? Perhaps- but my stupidity will be dwarfed by yours if you do not take what is held out for you." "You think you are stronger than I am - and you are. You think you can do with me as you wish because you can. But you're on the losing side and you can see it as well as I can. You care about this city more than you do about your own existence. Why else would you stay and fight when you could so easily leave it to its fate? I don't know why you care - nor is it of the least concern to me. But if you hinder me- if you prevent me from bringing the Camarilla to your aid - then you will lose the war you have fought for so long. That will be of far more importance I think than anything you might do to me. You want guns? So be it - as many as you want. You need more licks - then make them - no one will complain. But do not mistake yourself for something you are not. Our paths need never cross again." "I will be leaving now," Steven said more loudly - but still respectfully of the glowering brujah."If you wish to kill one of my companions then kill them both and me and yourself for it will ensure that you get nothing. Not one gun, not one silver bullet. That's not a chain rattling - that's just a description of fact. Good evening sir." Steven bowed and got up again to leave. (Manipulation + Intimidation = 1 success). Getting up and walking to the door he presumed to be the exit, since it was the way his ghouls had been led, he opened it only to find a room fool of ghouls, and the female vampiress blocking his way. They were armed and she had a stake in her hand, obviously expecting to use it. "Let him go," Purdy ordered. A hood was placed over Steven's head and he was led away, Purdy's last words to him echoing in his head. "Your ghouls will stay here as my 'guests.' If you're stupid enough to value their lives - that's your problem. I just want the guns. You deliver - so will I. I'm letting you go, but I expect more than words. You'll get them back when I get my artillery. Fail me, they die, you're staked for dawn - end of sad story." Steven reluctantly left the 'fun' house. He was ushered out and when the hood was removed, he was in front of the Big Dipper Roller Coaster Ride. A jaguar was waiting for him and a blond youth, who could only be one of Crown's, stepped out and opened the door for him. Before he could get in, another man stepped out of the shadows and approached Steven. Crown's ghoul reached into his coat but relaxed, obviously recognizing the man. "Excuse the intrusion, sir," the man said, bowing slightly. "My master would like a word with you, at your convenience." The man handed Steven a card. It was from Jonathan Loparlo, the Nosferatu. He accepted Loparlo's card and told his servant that he very much wanted to meet with his master. "Tell him I am completely at his disposal. He can ask for me in the lobby of the Dream Inn, tomorrow evening, or whenever's convenient. I'm sure he can find me at will." The man bowed and left, disappearing back into the shadows. He was obviously human, but like one would assume of his master, seemed adept at hiding in shadows. Steven got into the Jaguar with Crown's ghoul. "Master Crown awaits your pleasure," the blond driver said to Steven. "But perhaps you'd care to rest first?" He sat and awaited instruction. Steven sagged as he sat in the chair. He was tired, hungry - and alone. Somewhere nearby a gun went off and someone screamed. Then a wolf, also nearby howled. It was night and the predators were about. "To your master's house," he commanded. He was willing to see what the twit wanted. Then he needed to hunt.
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