Ventrue Fixers

Denver, Colorado. Battlefield. Gameboard. Bloody field of honor. Denver, Colorado. Emergent. Ascendant. Central. Denver. Poised. Cipriano has felt tension in the halls of Elysium whenever he has visited. The Brujah Prince Rasmussen and his court are somehow vital in these nights, are polished into their sharpest selves, could very well be effigies in a piece memorializing the Fight, a figure each to represent Vigilance (Marguerite), War (Rasmussen), Honor (Wenceslao), Ambition (Lucille), Pride (Narcisa), swap the names around it doesn't matter. The Tower in Denver is a Tower besieged. Those who remain are entrenched. Even when they glitter, even when they speak softly, they are in the business of survival. They are tough. They mean to be immortal, whether it is by purchasing the Tower's legacy another year another decade another century in Denver or by simply being quicker faster stronger. He has had words with the Prince. That fits. Rasmussen is a People's Prince. He's known to be a supporter to and friend of Anarchs. He's known to have stood time and time again enemy rival to the old Prince, Prince Isaac Winthrop, childe of Privilege and Blood Right, to stand against his policies which were detrimental to the Nosferatu and of course Brujah, all those Low Clans. He has light blue eyes which don't miss a beat and focus unswervingly on the one he's speaking to. Rasmussen was interested in what Cipriano had to say about his reason for being in the city. The interview happened quietly and away from a Pomp and Circumstance Court. His resources were inquired into and rudimentary information about particularly combatted territories was divulged. [ooc: I am glossing like a beast here! but if you'd like to make an especial impression on the Prince, feel free to toss me a Charisma + Expression or Charisma + Empathy or Manipulation + either of those roll. No especial need to, mind!] Wenceslao. Seneschal and Ventrue Primogen because no one can doubt that the Primogeniture rests with him. He is old. He is older than old is old. Engaging, for an Elder; interested, for an Elder, of his particular ilk. He doesn't blink very often nor does he display many signs of life. He has become pared down, streamlined. But there is no sign of cruelty: only calm. After Cipriano's background was checked, he -- in a foreigner's English, the words not quite what someone who had learned to speak the language from birth might choose, though there's not a great deal of restraint -- had welcomed Cipriano to the fold. Happy to have another of such distinguished personage and background, it is very, very good. The old Ventrue's dignity was total even when he displayed pleasure, an unshakable crust, give him a pipe and call him grandfather. [ooc: can totes do the same thing here as above, if you wish] And so time passed, and Cipriano became settled in Denver. Another scion of the Tower, though secrets lay under the surface, lay closer than his shadow, as close as his reflection (which surely was just caught under his skin [might be shook free])… He has met a few, but not many, and he has not been called upon to specifically aid his clan or the Camarilla as yet. And then he is contacted, either via a phone number his superiors might have or a post box for the same. They're old fashioned. Cell phones are still new and untrustworthy, to some. A tool to use, certainly, but for personal messages? How strange! The voice on the phone is a man's . . . a deep basso profundo. . . and he identifies himself as Jeremiah Knox, secretery to Sophie Caldwell, who would like to set up a meeting with you at your earliest convenience regarding a matter of business. Jeremiah Knox follows this up with a phone and fax number, again stressing that earliest convenience and how delighted etc. All very polite and proper. Sophie Caldwell (Sophie of Four Last Names, in fact, Sophie of the Hyphenates) is another Ventrue Ancilla. He'll know that. She has a reputation as a problem solver, and she has come but recently (though not so recently as Cipriano) to Denver in order to solve a problem.

---

Cipriano is old enough, perhaps, to be notable in Denver; still, he is young enough that he is not accustomed and was never really accustomed to castles. There is something about them, isn't there? Especially to creatures who are as stone. Facing their long marches of days with barely any sign of time's passage. In Denver, the strength of those walls is more than a symbol. Even if the knowledge that this was a city that would find use for his skills hadn't drawn him there to begin with, it would have been evidenced in the tension. They are always alert, always drawn taught like the strings of a violin – and such glorious melodies they make. Their symphonies a melding and interplay of themes complex and otherworldly. Their harmonies...well...that seems just too ironic, no? Who can afford to have friends in a war like this? Who can afford to be without friends in a war like this? Inside the castle there is a Prince. Cipriano is not drawn through a complicated introductory dance. That has always been one of his favorite things about the Brujah. Granted, he, well acknowledged for his wildness among the Ventrue, has no few favorite things about the Brujah. And for him, the Childe who rebelled against the horror of war but could not escape its shadow entirely, a Prince like Rasmussen is a blessing and a curse. His sire had once told him that there was nothing as dangerous in their world as a good man. A powerful man might bring people to his side, send them out to die, but there would be something to that of accounting. Risk to reward. Lives would be lost, but those were the battles one might chose to stand aside from. But a good man, they go to their deaths thanking him for the privilege of fighting for him. Of dying for him. Cipriano had been very young then, and he had nodded but he had not really understood. It is far to early to decide if Rasmussen is good, but there is promise that he might be. And Cipriano responds to that promise, lets go enough of his wariness to mean it when he laughs and while there is no moment when he forgets what they are there is something about him which is brighter. With Wenceslao that spark is absent. Cipriano is still polite, still well-spoken, but he does not connect with him in that same way. Does not offer up much beyond the basic pleasantries and formalities, leaves so much of himself behind the walls and fortifications he so rarely ventures beyond. Particularly in the company of the immortal. And so, presentations made, Cipriano settles in. He is not called into service and so he explores the city. He explores, particularly, the human geography of the city. He gives a scientist points on how to fire a pistol. He learns to play pinball. He meets a young man with eyes like opals or diamonds. They are enough to make him wish that he dared make someone immortal – to risk what the Embrace might make them become and what those changes might mean. What it might mean to lose them after a few decades instead of a few years. A few centuries. Who can afford to have friends in a war like this? Who can afford to be without friends in a war like this? As all things must, Cipriano's holiday from Kindred politics comes to an end. He has both a post box and a phone, because some things are best entrusted to paper. Like formal invitations. Letters from friends. But in this, for immediacy of arrangements, there is the phone. Useful enough. And usefulness and immediacy are undoubtedly of great importance to Sophie Caldwell. He does not know what errand has brought her to Denver, but he does not doubt that she is contacting him for a reason. He has a skill set that solves problems. Hell, he has more than on skill set that solves problems. And so, with some curiosity and a bit of wariness, he makes an appointment to meet with Sophie Caldwell. He does not offer that very night, not unless asked directly, but he does offer the next night. And-rolls below.     Cipriano @ 6:02PM Talk to that Prince [Sp:Eloquent | WP] Roll: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 6, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 7 ) [Doubling Tens] Cipriano @ 6:03PM [And that should be 8 because I forgot to check the WP box, terrifyingly enough] HDub @ 6:04PM Tiny freaking puppies, Cipriano! O_O Cipriano @ 6:09PM Talk to that Wenceslao  [Charisma+Empathy | Sp:Eloquent | WP] Roll: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 7, 7) ( success x 3 ) [Doubling Tens] [WP] HDub @ 6:09PM Witnessed! [Quoted text hidden]

---

Next night's appointment: secured. Location: Jeremiah, of the perfectly reasonable and companionable tone, will be in touch. Time of appointment: 9:40 pm. Early, but not so early Cipriano cannot hunt beforehand. Around 8:30, Jeremiah calls to let Cipriano know the location is the Molly Brown House Museum, a private tour having been arranged for Sophie and guests. At 9:35, a car is to be seen pulling into the museum's little parking lot. It and its occupants are as prepared to wait as they are to be surprised at Cipriano's early arrival. The car is a luxury item, dark blue with tinted (reinforced) windows. The house is a darling thing which was built in the 1880s, incorporating a number of popular architectural styles from the time, although most specifically American Queen Anne. Which is to say, picturesque as Hell, gabled and gorgeous, guarded by little stone lions, wood and stone itself, large porch, sweeping fairy tale archways, Neo-Classical urns holding what will come Spring be foliage but now when it is still more Winter than Spring holds deaththings. Pretty little garden pretty little walls. Pretty little house. A mansion, back when it was built. The governor stayed in it once. -- ooc: Damn, Cipriano. That was some speechifying he did.

---

Cipriano arrives early, in no small part because he is unsure about where exactly this place is and how long it will take to get there.  He has acquired clean clothes, and they are more modern.  Less formal.  He could have acquired a suit instead of slim jeans and a tee-shirt with a clockwork and springs lion, but he is not really interested in such things.  And suits, for all they offer more places to hide weapons, don't tend to stand up to as much of a beating.   These houses were of a style he recalls from his time in San Francisco.  Before the earth roared and shook itself and buildings crumbled into rubble that was devoured by hungry flames.  He remembers a spirited discussion about which elaborate Venetian glass bauble to hang from the gables.  And so, as he dismounts his motorcycle, which is not so unlike dismounting from a horse, he gives the house a lingering look.  The trimmings like lace at the edges of the building.  The stone lions. Cipriano arrives not long before the sleek blue car.  His eyes track it as it comes into the drive, dark windows like unreadable eyes.  He is alert, but calm; he has survived enough battles that he does not react to the potential for one (and aren't these meetings always the potential for one) like a green horse, prancing and snorting.  He is still as those stone lions. Waiting.

---

And so he is first. And so the midnight blue of the car does not reflect Cipriano, any more than do the mirrors on the handlebars of his bike. So much in the modern day seems designed to mirror one's self back at one. Storefronts. Cars. Elevators. Mankind wants to look at itself: a penultimate Narcissus. It is not only Lasombra who find themselves cut off from seeing themselves. Superstition or a curse can run through any bloodline. And so a moment passes before the driver opens her door. And so it is the driver's door opens, and a tall, broad-shouldered man with a pair of square wire-rim glasses and neatly cut graying hair (though he is too young in appearance to be properly called a silver fox) rises from the car, looking out across it to Cipriano. "Sir, would you be here for the nine o' clock tour? I apologize for the wait." He sounds emphatic and apologetic and meaningful, insinuating by tone a code which never existed - a trap for weakminded would-be ambushers; and it is of course a test of identity. Nine-forty, the meeting was for. No code at all. ---- More than one of them spares some time to consider an ambush, but this is hardly the ground Cipriano would choose for an execution.  Abduction.  And so, even with the car between them, hiding what the driver might be holding, and even not knowing who or what else might remain in the car, Cipriano smiles back as though he had not a care in the world. It may also help that his temperament might be generously described as assured.  (There other words, and he has heard them: cocky, impetuous, irreverent...the list stretches out into multiple languages and evolves with them.  Cipriano is mostly unmoved, although he is curious about what new words might be made on new worlds or space stations or undersea biodomes.  New frontiers.) "No worries," he says.  "I'm not here for that.  I'm scheduled for a private tour.  I'm expecting my companions any moment, and then I'll head inside."  He knows, very well, that this is almost certainly his meeting.  Even so, he adds, "Perhaps your party is inside?  I haven't seen anyone out here since I arrived." --- "Ah." He doesn't go so far as to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Aquiline nose wire glasses. Trendy or oldfashioned: you decide. "That would be upsetting, as I have the keys." He comes around the front of the car and it's not to open the back dor, though there's that air of attention before the back door opens on its own and (finally) Cipriano's meeting can begin. There was a time when a moving car was an office to be envied, a powerful statement, a luxury. But Denver is hardly a town of luxuries and they're not about to whisk themselves off. The young-looking creature who climbs out is a fresh-faced bloom of a woman petal complexion perfect complexion English rose couched in pallor, dark blonde hair cut to her shoulders and swept back deftly given a wave. She looks like a woman who has over the decades and centuries had to use intermediaries to get what she wants but she also carries herself like a woman who is not stewing in bitterness because she doesn't get what she wants and the smile she gives first her man and then Cipriano is tempered and even. All Ancilla have reputations: Sophie's reputation isn't that of a diplomat. When she holds out her hand the man gives her the keys. And when she speaks, it's the most arresting thing about her; the young woman has a voice made for (command) enchanting. "Thank you for making this meeting, Mr. Santos-Augustine. You'll call me Sophie, do. Let's not linger," and so to the door, which she unlocks. "What do you think of 'Unsinkable Molly Brown'?" The man stays by the car, rubbing his hands against the cold. [Quoted text hidden] [Sorry.  It is final papers week.  I totally lost track of this.] Cipriano tracks the man's movements with just his eyes, otherwise still.  "I can see how that might be a disappointment."   And out of the car, opening her very own door despite the presence of someone who could do it for her, comes Sophie.  And she, despite offering him some degree of formality in greeting, would like to be called Sophie.  He smiles a little at that, "In which case, you should call me Cipriano.  There are only a handful of circumstances in which I stand on ceremony."  Most of which he is assumed to hate, although it is difficult to be sure. He accompanies Sophie to the door.  Cocks his head slightly to the side.  "Alas, we never had occasion to meet.  I never saw the film, but I did manage to catch the musical.  I...am largely of the opinion that while the musical was commendable, it is rather unlikely that she and the people around her spontaneously burst into song and dance."  There is a slight pause.  "Which, I confess, is a general disappointment me, with my rather pronounced distaste for boredom." [Quoted text hidden] "Of course. Allow me to alleviate your boredom," she says, and her voice is such that it would be a pleasure to listen to her sing. The forever young woman has a voice for wrecking sailors on rocks a fascinating something beneath the silk of it the rounded East Coast vowels and upper crust True Blue consonants like a razor coming down clip. They're inside now and the interior has been preserved, too, except for a box for donations and a little posting board with events for the museum, which one imagines Molly Brown socialite and powerhouse probably wouldn't have had in her place and except for these two items it is like being in another time. A darker time, and doesn't Cipriano occasionally feel himself leaning toward the Dark? Something took his reflection when he was reborn into Night and its fingers are in his spirit have twined through his ribs and perhaps his control is low his engagement bare but what the Hell is it everybody always quotes about the Abyss and looking. A darker time in Molly Brown's Museum House until Sophie turns on the lights and Cipriano can catch her looking around with interest for the half-a-second it takes to get situated and gesture Cipriano into the parlor. She doesn't have a sense of humor which allows her to make a quip or dazzle with small talk here and now. This Ventrue ancilla prefers to be direct and no songs forthcome, when next she takes a breath it is to say, "Are you familiar with that idiot, David Henry? He has impulse Embraced a little girl," an abrupt pause; then a gesture. "No; not a child, just a little girl. I am making an effort to preserve his life and, if it turns out that she might be useful to our clan, the life of the little girl. Might you be interested in this project?" If he isn't, he's about to hear a pitch. [Quoted text hidden] Cipriano steps into the parlor.  There are times and places for defiance, but this...there is no fight here.  Is he familiar with that idiot David Henry?  There is a slight crease between his brows.  He is not, yet, terribly familiar with anyone in this city, save for a scientist he does not yet know is part of this current situation and a young man with lovely eyes he feeds on from time to time. "I should get my feet wet here sometime or another," is all he says.  Noncommittal.  "Whether I'm interested in helping either him or the girl depends on what I find during the course of said project.  I am interested in furthering our interests, and, however it works out, this project should do that." [Quoted text hidden] Sophie keeps her eyes on Cipriano's. Direct. Forceful. Present. But with a gracious (noblesse oblige) sweep of an arm invites him to sit on a chair. The best chair. Hostess duties: one remembers them -- one never shakes them free. "How good to hear. David Henry is in the car if you wish to interview him yourself about what happened. The girl is a grad student, a scientist who was previously working for a call center. Her parents are unconnected -- she seems to be unconnected. But smart. Everything points to brilliance, at least about numbers. I hardly find it worth keeping up with the latest scientific fad, but well, what can you do? I have pulled some strings and made certain her disappearance hasn't yet seemed suspicious -- not a very popular creature at her work. Another thing David did, absolutely smashingly: DU is Tremere Domain, and he Embraced this Verna Gardner on their front doorstep, so I'm sure that's coming. When do you feel you'll be ready to assay the interview?"  [Quoted text hidden] Cipriano sits, gracefully and accommodatingly.  The idiot vampire is in the car, available to interview.  Very well.  Some about the girl, also a scientist.  He has a- His. Scientist. Sophie's idiot vampire problem Embraced his scientist. He does not move.  His expression barely changes.  But the intensity of his attention heightens.  His eyes go very, very cold. "Just how invested," he asks after a pause, "Are you in keeping him alive?"   [Quoted text hidden] "He's useful when he's not being a fool; I'd rather him than the fledge. Why?" Sophie raises an eyebrow. He's gone intense; her attention sharpens. "Do you know the girl?"  [Quoted text hidden] "Yes." There is, for a few seconds, stillness.  Silence.  Silence that is, by sharp contrast to his earlier mere lack of sound. weighted.  Edged.  It is the kind of silence that one could drown in, could one still be drowned.  Slipping through ice into a vast, numbing cold. Cipriano smiles, and it is beautiful and yet it is not a thing that comes warmth or affection or joy.  It comes from from a kind of appreciation of horror and chance and circumstance.  It is a smile that most mortals and some Kindred would find unsettling at best. It is, almost beyond doubting, better that Verna missed that expression. "I suppose I am more interested in this problem than either of us would have guessed."  His eyes move from her toward where the car is, though he cannot see David from here.  "If you find him useful, I will accept your judgment there for now.  I will, for the purpose of making my case for his continued existence, need to know more about how he is useful.  Is there anyone else who will speak for him in that regard? "Before I go to question him about his transgressions, it might be best I already know the reasons why I should not see him destroyed. "Did you also bring Verna?  Or is she elsewhere?" [Quoted text hidden] Sophie makes a soft sound (and it's a heartbreak, it's so beautiful), one of understanding; one that isn't quite neutral but flirts with neutrality. This is an interesting turn of events. "What was she to you?" First things first.

------

"A diversion."  Cipriano turns his attention back to Sophie.  "I met her while she was doing a rather poor job of destroying paper targets.  She was both present and largely responsible for my learning to play pinball.  We toured a gallery opening together.  

"She told me about what it was like to freeze light and race it across the room.  About how gravity is not constant.  She knows about things I would never have believed could be possible when I was young and things I had not suspected were possible until she told me."  He shrugs.  "I may have offered to help her slay her demons once.  I suppose she may need that more than either of us thought now."  He says this as though he offers to play white night for all the random mortals who catch his attention.

And Cipriano is known for his degree of attention when he invests in something. Almost as known as he is for being flamboyant and distant and difficult to bring to the point of engagement.

--

The young (forever and ever) woman's expression is a bit Arch but that is just the natural shape of her features. Dewy innocence honed and tempered into reserved ruthlessness is Cipriano's compatriot, listening to Cipriano speak of the little mortal paramour and whatever she thinks - well There is a line of chivalry in their (no) blood, is there not? The blue-bloods love the kine. Marry them, some 'wits' sneer, laughing, No they really do sometimes. As if there isn't something wonderful about (some) people. Now she answers Cipriano's questions. "Verna is not present. As for David, let him know you had an interest in the girl and extort whatever penance you wish from him, short of his life for what I hope are obvious reasons, but I will spell out if your rage requires such. He usefulness may not be in giving you that sense of happiness or contentment or presence the Childe did when she was alive, and I sympathize with that loss, but he is good at finding things out. Perhaps most important of all, he is a Ventrue and an active citizen of the Camarilla. He fights for it and for us. I'll fault him as a rash little fool but I won't fault his courage. Much." "I would still like you to interview the girl, but since you knew her already and were so fond, I take it you do not wish her to be destroyed in the state she is currently in?" Sophie's expression is intent; poised. Inquiring, see, as if his opinion could decide the whole thing right now. [Quoted text hidden]

---

"It is not simply that.  I would rather temper my anger with some knowledge of his strengths, but it is not because I fear I will kill him.  I wish to know his strengths because, at some point, we are going to have to make a case for his survival.   "His assessment of his strengths is of interest to me, but I need also to know how others see him.  And if they will speak for him, if need be." There is another pause.  "Assuming her mind is intact, I think she will be an asset to us as well.  One less likely to be moved so quickly to foolish action.  I will speak with her before I decide what my recommendation will be.  I cannot know yet.  We are all changed irrevocably by the Embrace.  I do not know what I will find.  It is possible what she has become is not worth saving." [Quoted text hidden]

---

"Then it is as I said," Sophie says. "He has a surprising amount of influence in the bureaucratic arena and some key contacts in transport. He also has some friends among the rabble," Sophie says. "I am sure that will come in handy. An Evangeline, and a Nosferatu who goes by Ratsqueak." Sophie does not think Ratsqueak is an acceptable name, but what can you do with a Nosferatu? "I think Evangeline will speak for him; I hope it will not be necessary. You've been presented to Rasmussen, no? I do not think he will waste an unlife for a law broken as David broke his law; then again," an unladylike shrug. Sophie does not get along with or truly understand what motivates a Brujah; she would be the first to admit it. [Quoted text hidden]

---

"I have met Rasmussen.  I do not think he will waste either of their unlives if he sees a reasonable alternative. "It may be that I can simply speak to him after I speak to each of them.  Have you already consulted Wenceslao, or does that remain as well?" [Quoted text hidden]

---

"He is aware of the situation; he is waiting for assessment. Another man who doesn't want to see waste." A beat; and then a smile, faint, "So you are engaged, then? Would you like to speak to David Henry now?" [Quoted text hidden]

---

"Yes.  I will speak with David now." [Quoted text hidden]

---

J. W. <bone.lyre@gmail.com>	Tue, May 5, 2015 at 1:12 PM
To: Cheryl Winslow <jaguardreams@me.com>
-- Outside, (for Sophie will - perhaps obviously - not delay Cipriano with unnecessary small-talk; she would like to put a nail in this task,) the car waits. Windows rolled up. The bespectacled man (Jeremiah, probably) not in sight, not pretending to smoke, inside the driver's seat. If Cipriano opens any door, he'll find them unlocked. If he knocks, he'll find himself waiting a second before somebody opens one of the back doors from the inside, an pale young man with an almost puggish nose a face made for Irish belligerence although right now it is hobbit-sweet in its concern, clad in a tuxedo teeshirt and an olive green sports jacket obviously thrown on hastily over, nice slacks, a leather bracelet around his wrist.

---

Cipriano does not knock before he tries one of the back doors.  He regards David, expressions reasonably neutral, particularly considering that this is the vampire who Embraced one of his two diversions in Denver. "I hear that we have transgressions of yours to address," he says as he slips into the car as well.  He settles, all lithe feline grace, into the back of the car and shuts the door quietly.  "Though first, I suppose, introductions.  Particularly since I imagine we will see each other with some frequency as you have had the misfortune to Embrace someone I actually like."  He sighs, and extends one hand toward David.  Slowly.  All deliberate grace. "For which I may, in a decade or three, actually forgive you."  There is a smile, and it is such a pretty smile.  Beautiful and somehow more of a warning than any real gesture of warmth.  "Cipriano Santos-Augustine." [Quoted text hidden]

---

"David Henry," David says. He has no feline grace, nor any grace at all, to speak of. He is as clumsy as a man still in possession of his mortality, and nobody's ever thought of David as lithe. He scoots to give Cipriano more room (or himself more room, you decide) and his eyebrows leap upwards when Cipriano says he imagines they'll be seeing etc etc and stay leapt upwards giving him an air of surprise for the rest of the reflectionless Ancilla's opening remarks. When he (apprehensively?) takes Cipriano's hand and shakes it, he does so with creditable-enough confidence. "I wish," fervent, "we might have met under other circumstances." And the neonate keeps his mouth shut about anything else until Cipriano tells him to talk. [Quoted text hidden]

---

"As do I."  Cipriano does not linger on that handshake.  "So.  As I am to help turn this mess of yours into something less of a disaster, do tell me how we came to be here...." [Quoted text hidden]

---

David clasps his hands together. Beneath his sports coat are a number of tattoos, but they're not visible now, except for the slightest curve of the lowest sleeve, just beneath the sleeve of the coat. He looks at the ink and uses it to focus his nerves, which continue to bother him. He could not be more nervous. "Right. I was investigating something that had been happening in the Science department down on DU -- I have some influence in academia, right? and the idea was I was helping out the Warlocks, right? And this TA, she works in the office right across from the office where there have been reports of, er, something not so great, I'm sorry I'm not at liberty to discuss that in too much detail, anyway, I asked around about her and then when she was leaving I approached to ask her a few questions. Tried to make myself ... you know, unthreatening. She was unhelpful. Okay, fine. I looked at her aura and ... I swear, man, this is where it gets fucked up, but her aura was black with veins, just pulsing, just throbbing, and I thought well fuck, she's been turned and she's a dibalerist and maybe she knows something. So... so I'm ready to take her in and it does not go well because it becomes pretty obvious I just hurt a human whatever the fuck her aura was telling me, and then these two- this Lasombra shows up, this fucking shadow-twister shows up, and this other guy. I was scared outta my mind. And then I frenzied and drained her. And look man, I didn't like her or feel like we had any huge connection, but I've only ever killed somebody once, once, and I didn't want to let the stand. I mean she might have what to contribute to this world, you know? I felt fucking bad and I know I wasn't at my best so I brought her away and Embraced her. I shouldn't have paniced. I should have just left her I guess but I hadn't killed someone like that before and I'll make a case for her potential use if you really want but that's why I embraced her, sir. And I don't think either of us should be destroyed, because it ain't like we can't use the help. The Tower that is. And she's been putting herself to learn as well as she can, she's afraid and confused of course because... well it weren't the gentlest way to bring a person over, and it's fucking scary, when you're turned. But... yeah, that's all." At some point David's accent thickens, becomes more Irish-American New Yawk, but he gets back in check at his 'that's all.' [Quoted text hidden]

---

[Quoted text hidden]

---

[Quoted text hidden]

---

---

There are only minute changes in Cipriano's expression as he listens to this story. All that passion is caged, though it simmers and strains at its bonds. He does not, not really, have any desire to rend David into pieces. He can remember when he could afford mercy. Or at least could convince himself that he could. Cipriano has seen decade upon decade of the inexorable decent of his elders, and at times, terrifyingly, his peers, into madness and the darker aspects of their bestial nature. The betrayals, borne and witnessed and occasionally committed, layering one upon another upon another until he could no longer number them. He is not sure anymore that any of them can afford mercy or deserve mercy. And yet, again and again and again, in defiance of the insatiable abyss, Cipriano grants mercy. Sometimes, most often, to the kine. Sparing them their fears and their lesser demons. Intervening in their affairs and granting them a measure of intimacy he has not shared with another of the Kindred since the dawn of the twentieth century. "You," he says to David in his slow, outdated-by-decades Western drawl, "Are fucking terrible at being a vampire." He reaches out, grasps the door handle and looks back. "You aren't terrible at being human, if that's any consolation. It takes a certain dedication and finesse to hold onto that and navigate our world. More likely it will kill you." Cipriano smiles, fleeting and with the actual underlying emotion for once matching the expression. "Try not to fuck anything else up before I can fix this. And then learn some fucking control before I have to kill you." And then he slides out of the car and shuts the door quietly behind him. [Quoted text hidden]

---

David keeps his mouth shut. His head down, slightly. There's that cast to his features, something in the bones, that wavers between good-natured and belligerent, gangster and good nature - he'd look more at home in a punk club or a dingy sports bar or some back alley then in the back of Sophie's town car with Sophie's driver Jeremiah sitting silently in front and an old Ancilla with status granting him mercy. The door shuts. Cipriano doesn't hear the click of a lock. The other ancilla with her forever-blooming youthfulness is waiting outside, examining with something that is shy of pleasure the side of Unsinkable Molly Brown's house, a twist of beauty in the design something that would make someone say they sure don't make 'em like that any more. When the door opens, she turns neatly toward Cipriano, her hands finding comfortable homes in the pockets of her coat. The gesture is an idle nod to the Masquerade, even here where there is nobody to see. One must always preserve the Masquerade, pretend that the chill in the air is anything other than a sensation to note. She studies Cipriano's expression before she says anything, because blunt though she is when she is tactless it is usually because she doesn't care or find she needs tact. She can be tactful if she chooses to be. [Quoted text hidden]

---

"I guess he's not so terrible," Cipriano says to Sophie. There is a pause before he sighs, action following memory. More a sign of the number of years since breathing had been reflexive than any attempt to temper an expression. Cipriano regards Sophie for a few seconds. He is not known for his restraint. Passion, yes. Eloquence, when it suits him. But not so much ever restraint.  "I would recommend that you speak with Wenceslao and I speak to Rassmussen. I could, in theory, speak to both of them, but I'll warn you that only one of them particularly likes me." Of course it would be the Brujah. [I apologize if I spelled any names wrong. If I wait to look them up I suspect there will be crazy delays.] [Quoted text hidden]

---

"Like a childe himself, no? Or a bad puppy." Sophie says of David. Her voice is still beautiful. Will always be beautiful. Will always have that knapp to it, like to the ear as velvet is to fingertips. Her voice is beautiful when she is insulting Brujah elders who will one night become Princes. She has no argument with Cipriano handling the Rassmussen side of things so she makes no comment. Economical. Do not squander one's chance at expression. Do not chatter, inanities. Reserve; noblesse oblige in every ounce of it. "Will you assess the girl? We're not all meant for this life." A spare smile, something sweet in it: "A salon topic: who is?" But Sophie obviously believes some are and some are not.  [ooc: hah! no, you did like a boss re: the names. And I think we can wrap this in a post or two!] [Quoted text hidden]

---

ooc: If RL is being RL, give all the attention to RL! But I poke this thread JUST IN CASE! it is lost. :) Hope all is well! [Quoted text hidden]

---

"I will assess her," Cipriano says. He does, to some point, agree with Sophie. Not all of them are cut out for eternity devoid of breath. Eternity until someone or something kills you, at least. Some of them falter before the weight of eternity and some of them lose themselves in predatory struggles and paranoia. But so many of them falter. Cipriano isn't certain that he and Sophie would agree on what things qualify as failure. Or, really, that you can always tell with the fledglings. "And then I will talk to Rassmussen." [It was being RL. But it has mostly stopped that for five minutes.] [Quoted text hidden]

---

"Keep me abreast of developments before and after," the pillar of the Camarilla says, and although Sophie is not one who is necessarily called to the table to be diplomatic (brusque, forthright, strength and strength alone - but of course she is; she's a woman in a society of the undead who find it difficult to change; who come from all manner of eras), it is worth noting that it is not a command. A confirmation, instead. Like: of course we're doing this together now. Don't let me down and I won't let you down. "I'd appreciate it so." Subtext: I appreciate you helping me with this little problem.  "Now," courtesy. "I've heard you're quite the shot; fancy a little competition sometime -- ?" Sporting gal, Sophie. And talk can turn more social before they part.