"And what is your relation to a Miss Angelica Knox?"
"For the third time, we were dating."
"Right. Which you've been doing for."
"About three months now." Ben sat in his chair, the Blush of Life allowing him to better mimic the breathing and posture of a living being, even as his Beast whispered in his ear about killing this detective, killing the two watching through the glass outside, and leaving this place. Unfortunately, there was still the Masquerade.
"And you've been going to the Haven of Hope long before that, correct?"
"What exactly are you implying, Detective?"
"I'm implying that we have no record of you, no real impact, and yet here you suddenly show up with this connection, a connection to a homeless shelter where every single person there was brutally murdered...and you were found at the scene."
"Was her body there?" Ben asked.
"Come again?" The detective raised a brow.
"Was. Her. Body. There?" Ben scowled at him. "Angelica Knox. Is she dead?"
"I'm not at liberty to dis-" The detective began, pressing his cigarette into the ashtray on the table. Ben's hand slapped it away, sending it and the ashes within careening to the floor.
"I don't give a damn about your liberties! Answer me!" Ben growled at him.
"You watch your ass, Bret Michaels!" The detective pointed a finger at his face. "I have half a mind to iron you, you little punk!" Before either man could speak again, the door opened and a familiar figure in a trenchcoat stepped in.
"Whew!" Sybil whistled as she stepped up. "I could smell the testosterone from down the hallway."
"Langtry? What the fuck are you doing in here? This is my case!"
"Yeah, I'm sure you think that." Sybil said. "Unfortunately for you, I'm gonna need you to forget all about this."
"Who the hell do-?" The detective stopped for a moment, his eyes glazing over as the power of Sybil's Dominate took over and took over hard. ". . .L-Langtry? What am I doing here?"
"Nelson, you aren't lookin' so good." Sybil tutted. "You really should go get a cup of water. I'll handle this one." She patted him on the back without allowing him to turn back around, nudging him out the door. "Alright, now that the square is gone..."
"Sybil...is she dead?"
"I don't-"
"Sybil. Please." Ben said, having resumed his seat at the table and staring blankly at the top. "Is she?"
"We didn't find a body, no." Sybil said. "She might still-"
"I need to find her. Now." Ben said, getting up. He knew only too well that her avoiding the slaughter meant that she had been the target. "Aleister called me. Said he was going to take away my hope."
"Hope is working at the Moon and Star last I checked. Why would she-" Sybil was cut off as Ben shot her a blank look. ". . .oh!"
"Yeah." Ben said. "I need to get back to the crime scene. Can you get me in?"
"I can, yeah." Sybil said. "We should probably leave before Nelson starts questioning his Swiss cheese memory."
2013
"Here, you're not marking your sigils right."
"What? Like this?"
"No, the ritual is Neo-Grecian. You're using Roman. It's an easy mistake to make. Here, let me."
"Puh...please!"
"Shush, dear. It will all be over soon." Anthony watched as Robin coolly took the knife from the top of the table, sliding it into the wrist of the ghoul that had been given to them to work with and dropping her vitae onto the newly marked sigils.
"There we go." Robin said, squeezing the woman's wrist to draw out a few more drops, causing her to gasp out in pain and once more fall unconscious.
"And how will this help us learn of Necromancy?" Anthony asked.
"Did you forget our assignment already?" Robin asked, raising a brow at his compatriot. "We are to locate Thaumaturgy resonances throughout the city and investigate them. Using the vitae will assist in that."
"And the vitae from the ghoul?" Anthony asked. "Why not use yours? Or mine?"
"The blood is the life, my friend." Robin said. "If you don't learn anything else, learn that. Your vitae is yours, keep it in your veins."
2018
"Really, lover boy. I don't see why you're so upset. What I've been doing has been in your best interest."
"You have no right to call me that!" Anthony spat. "Not anymore!"
"Fine. Sorry. Anthony." Robin raised his hands in an attempt to supplicate. "Just allow me to explain. It's all I ask."
"I suppose I'm not going anywhere." Anthony glared at him, noting the sigils that kept him standing in the small area where he could.
"I was working for Lord Blackwell." Robin said. "Everything that I've done has been in the interest of getting on the good side of the Baali."
"A likely story." Anthony snorted, remembering only too well his rant against the Pyramid, the primogen, and the whole of the Camarilla. "How stupid do you think I am?"
"It's the true. Right hand to God." Robin said, raising one hand as if taking an oath. "My words are meant to convince the Baali, not you."
"Forgive me if I don't believe you after you tried to kill me and several apprentices, and joined a bunch of devil-worshipping psychopaths." Anthony didn't buy this, didn't buy any of it. "And you know damn well that calling on God means nothing to me."
"You certainly enjoy calling on him quite a bit as I recall." Robin smirked, though that smirk faded when his comment earned him only a glare. "Oh, c'mon! You set me up for that!"
"I am not in a joking mood." Anthony said.
"Please, Anthony! I am trying to do my best to explain." Robin said. "I want to tell you everything. I want to be. . .friends with you again, at least. If not where we left off. Don't you remember the good old nights?"
"Oh, I remember. But there's something you've forgotten." Anthony said.
"What's tha-HUURRK!" Robin's question didn't even fully leave his mouth before a stake of wood slammed right into his chest, propelled by an unseen Thaumaturgical hand. Immediately, he was stuck in that stock still, immobile state that staked Kindred found themselves in. Anthony kneeled down, a finger breaking the circle that surrounded him and walking over to the fallen body of his former comrade.
"You didn't mark your sigils right." Anthony replied coldly. He entertained the thought of bringing the Final Death onto him, but he had a much better idea in mind. Primogen Brook would decide this one's fate. . .
The good ship Persephone had made a long journey to Seattle. Owned by a large shipping conglomerate, it often carried large amounts of cargo to and fro across the Pacific. It had gone as far north as Nome and as far south as Bluff Harbour and regularly was seen in San Francisco, Los Angeles, and of course, Seattle.
The latest trek had seen it go from Sendai and now back to its own motherland, where the crew were happy for some extended shore leave after delivering their latest cargo. . .and blissfully unaware of a passenger who had been travelling along below decks.
He was not within their awareness and he would not be unless he chose. It was kismet that they had been spared a bloody, violent death at his hands. He stepped out from the shadows he had lurked within onto the docks where, as to be expected, there was someone waiting for him. Two someones, actually, in a car. Both of them eagerly stepped out, kneeling before the old man as he arrived.
By their standards, he was old. In appearance, he was perhaps five or ten years older than they appeared to be. He beamed as he looked upon his two childer - one dressed as a man of the cloth and the other dressed in a dazzling suit of white cloth.
"Father Étienne." Anton was the first to speak.
"My boys, my boys!" Étienne crooned. "There is no need to stand on such ceremony. Get up! Get up! To your feet!" The two rose, Étienne embraced Anton, then Aleister. "Oh, my boys! It is good to see you! It has been far, far too long!"
"We have missed you, Father." Aleister said. "But we have been doing as you've asked. Everything is going according to plan."
"The Tremere?" Étienne asked.
"Off balance. Most of their numbers are dwindled as well."
"What of their primogen?"
"She is in our custody." Anton said. "The Prince herself is under the belief that I am the proxy of the Tremere's own Lord Blackwell and has left her punishment in my hands."
"Most excellent. What of the rest of the Camarilla dogs?"
"We have bonded two of the Primogen." Aleister told him. "Samuels, the Brujah, and Black, the Nosferatu."
"And it was no small task to get a hold of that one!" Anton intoned.
"I imagine not, the Rats are a slippery lot." Étienne nodded. "And what of the Glaziers and their master?"
"The Glaziers still seek their keys." Aleister said. "As far as we know, they have only the one."
"Good. Good." The elder of the Baali nodded. "Then everything is proceeding as I have foreseen." Anton and Aleister shared a worried look. ". . .what is it?"
"Not. . .everything, Father." Anton winced.
"Explain."
"The wolf. We were unable to turn him." Aleister said. "I have failed you." To the surprise of both, Étienne laughed.
"That was to happen after my arrival, lads!" The elder spoke with warm amusement. "If you've found little red riding hood."
". . .as a matter of fact, we have." Anton said, gesturing for him to follow them back to the car. Anton popped open the trunk, revealing a redheaded woman bound and gagged. "Hello, Ben's little Angel..."
Angelica Knox's screams were muffled by the cloth around her mouth as Étienne looked on with amusement, chuckling warmly.
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