A journey south into the cold...
Shreveport sat under an endless storm, the weather turning colder and growing heavier. It oppressed the Sanctuary of the Faith, even as the doors were thrown over to the irreverent hordes of Crones and Dragons. Packs of predators gathered together under pretense of frivolity or community. They touched one anther's hands and faces. Cassius could not be deceived. As he looked at the beautiful structure of the Church, he remembered the first place in Shreveport they had gone.
____________________________________________________________
The meeting with Prince Alex had been informative, if a little disheartening. The boundaries of this kindred domain shivered in the clutches of a Dragon Prince who openly confessed to the impalement of interlopers and transgressors on spikes. His cool and rudimentary manner were emphasized by the meeting place he had chosen to greet his foreign dignitaries: a simple if large trailer, bathed in and flooded by strong white light.
"....only four edicts you really need to know. The Masquerade is most important, but I'm sure you know that...." and the Prince droned on. He seemed to respect Vrai, but his body language told Cassius that Katherine and he were really only shown deference by virtue of the company they kept. That would eventually change. His own smile, framed by his hair hanging down and caught in the wind, was as icy as the dragon's.
When he'd arrived at a breathing spot in his litany of edicts and their interpretations, Cassius politely inquired of the Prince, "Your Majesty, we have business with the Lancea Sanctum of your city, and I would like to know your opinions on them?"
Prince Alex turned a surprised face towards the young image in front of him. He recovered quickly and replaced his expression with a flesh mask of calm. "I think they lack faith. Bishop Marcus seems to go through the motions and the Waxes try less hard, I believe. Sunni especially mouths off when she thinks no one can hear her. Some can."
Then he smirked, and Cassius made note of that disdain. Alex had already given away his opinion of the Lancea Sanctum by forgoing attendance at Mass. For one who spent so much time and had so many fond words for Her Excellency Magdalena, he certainly had little care for the propriety of faithful support. That would change as all things did, given time. The faith was immortal, because no matter the import of the vampires who hold it, the faith will live on through its thousands of adherents.
They thanked the Prince for his edicts, his hospitality, and his opinions, and they politely made their way to the Sanctuary. Cassius put a hand on Katherine to guide her, and the tension in that hand said everything to the blue eyed beauty. Her blonde hair was more tightly cared for than his own brown locks, and the wind bothered it less. She looked the part of an ice princess in her dress and purple shawl. It was strange that in this land far to the south the weather would turn as it did, to a cold and nearly snowing sky.
Puck had waited in the car. He had checked and rechecked the ammunition to each weapon he carried and their were several. Knives and swords as well, each polished and in its place. He nodded at Katherine as they came to the door, and Cassius, not Vrai opened it for her. Vrai stood ominous as a shadow, now quiet again after he'd spoken with the Prince and said more than he might have for a week before. Vrai was ever vigilant, so such personable pleasantries as door opening fell to the Daeva. Cassius took comfort in that, before walking round the outside of the car and taking his place next to Puck in the front.
To an outsider they would have looked strange, this pack of ravenous beasts.
The unseen death that was Vrai, entered last and closed the door, careful this time to mind his strength. His bulk intimidated the air about him, but did not hinder his movements, which were as graceful as a ballet dancer's would be. His weaponry he held tight to him, strapped and tucked, concealed and then concealed again by his formidable will, which would cloud the minds of witnesses and slow their responses to his lightning fast and incredibly powerful blows. His face seemed to have become metal, so often was it hidden behind a physical mask. His eyes, those cold dark eyes, shone from the depths and spoke of anger everlasting and sadness to drink with that hateful meal of spite. Vrai was steady, and ever watching. Yet Vrai likely felt little and by choice, because to feel was to invite suffering. Vrai had been charged by the Cardinal to bring suffering. Not to endure it. For Cassius, Vrai was like a brother or favored son. He was a tool of the faith, and as a fellow instrument of damnation, he was a comrade beyond peer. It was a cold kinship, to be sure, but still meaningful and well kept. Briefly, Cassius wished Putnam could be as close to him as Vrai. Vrai was a Brother in Faith, and Putnam was merely a Brother in Blood.
Cassius could have been Katherine's brother by apparent age, dressed in a black suit and blood red shirt. His lithe body bore powerful muscles that themselves bore criss cross scarring that few ever saw. His face was a perfect gleaming perfection, but he had spent so many sleeping periods, eclipses, without making so much as a change in his expression that sometimes what should have been regular and fluid emotions changed his face with glacial slowness. Muscles that should have flexed, instead broke into smiles, frowns, or angry screams. For himself, he carried a handful of switchblades on his person, blessed by the Bishop to turn to ash while releasing into his damned body the vitae he needed to fuel his fighting skills and to stave off his eternal hunger. His boyish hands, hands which never seemed to callous despite hours of swordplay, adjusted his suit slightly as he sat in the car, content that his pack, his new family, were more than safe and gifted with purpose. His green eyes smouldered.
Katherine sat behind him, with Vrai beside her. The age similarity to Cassius's appearance was more than overshadowed by her likeness to Puck's appearance. She was beautiful, with lips for kissing and that could turn a word into a weapon. She was slight as they liked them in the modern age, but fit, with regular gym workouts becoming regular martial practice since the beginning of her Requiem. She kept up the small talk as they traveled, turning this business meeting into a social for them all. Her mortal days were not far behind her, and the echoes of them gathered the rest of the ancient and withered predators in the vehicle with her into a more alive moment. They chatted, and Cassius jested. Even Vrai seemed of good humor, and Puck made an effort, but was still strangely silent. Looking on her, Cassius was filled with love and longing, and pride. Perhaps pride was above all else. She was youthful and just beginning a long rode in damnation, but she was exhuberent and passionate, and devoted to learning both word and action of the Testament. He could not have made a better childe with a thousand more years of study and all of God's luck. She was as she should be.
Puck drove, and he was imposing at it, as he was at most things. It was a passive malevolance, as if he were caught in a continous story that he wasn't writing. His face carried with it an acceptance that his part was destined, and yet, he cautioned always about preparation. Puck's own hair was long, blonde, Aryan. His accent was slight, and given his mastery of so many languages, he could easily be required to affect it each time he spoke. He was larger than Cassius or Katherine, but smaller than Vrai. Puck was Irish once. Now he was damned. Like the rest, he was skilled at martialry, and at ambush tactics. He was a monster, but a quiet one, unless he was forced into his role as a speaker for the covenant. His clothing was deeply functional, and lacked a prim or proper appeal. His every gesture was practiced, or gave the impression that it was, and that was deeply comforting to Cassius. Were he a mere servant, Cassius would be pleased by the professional manner he bore, but as a Brother in Faith, Puck was meticulous and subdued in each of his manners. He would never raise his voice if a whisper would do, never shout when a statement would suffice. As overstated as Cassius had become in modern days, Puck was his inverse, and as bookends, they would be a perfect image for the Shreveport gathering.
The drive was calm and relaxed, and Cassius had plenty of time to consider Rebecca and Gabriel, both held to Little Rock by either a lack of interest in Shreveport, or a duty to the city. He prayed earnestly for their safety. Caleb Barrow had a reputation as a hunter, but he would not equal their combined cunning. They would hide well, and strike sure, should it be necessary. Still, even with God's angel's guarding their purpose, with the fallen Saints blessing their blades and eyes, Cassius wanted to hurry back as soon as he could.
God favored the cautious.
____________________________________________________________
The vehicle pulled into the gravel covered grass near the Sanctuary, and circled the makeshift lot twice, as Puck examined the area for potential routes of escape and pursuit. Vrai peered hard for the hidden, and searched for ambushes and countermeasures. When the expert warriors had finished their routine, Puck backed the vehicle into a spot not easily blocked, and shut the engine down. He and Vrai got out and did a personal scan of the first fifty yards about the vehicle. When that came up without result of danger, the Archbishop and Bishop exited the car and walked with their escort to the doors.
Outside, several kindred chatted and laughed with one another. Their cigarettes left trails of smoke clouds in the air, and the orange embers at the end could not push Cassius to frenzied battle lust, but it did, in conjunction with memories of the Saxons and Norseman and their burning sprees, put him in a foul mood indeed. The anointed did not look left nor right, nor bother making eye contact with the others as they marched in, flanked on either side by the fearsome pair of former paladins.
Inside was a stranger story. Katherine and Vrai broke away from Puck and Cassius to gauge the social moors of Shreveport's kindred, and to better present a fearless image to the congregations here. Cassius was reluctant to leave Katherine, but felt assured that Vrai could handle whatever plight she might find herself in. Puck was a comfort to himself as well. For a vague moment, he reminded Cassius of Assad, and the desert sands, which was surreal, as Puck was so far from that Arab damned from so long ago.
The boy Archbishop walked in his suit, with an mp3 player's headphones vining its way up his jacket and to his ear, walked to where a member of the city was addressing Marcus, the Bishop of Shreveport. Just as Cassius paused to speak briefly with a visiting Kindred to the city who hailed also from Little Rock, Marcus exploded in a bout of anger.
A tray of cooked pastries flew from the table, and the offensive Kindred bolted from the room, with city officials chasing after. Marcus, incensed, boiled in rage for a short time before regaining his composure. The rest of the city watched on in earnest as control grew like ice crystals over the Mekhet Bishop, and Cassius chose that moment to cultivate an end to his discussion with Sebastian.
A few strides, and a gentle taking of the chair next to Marcus, who still stood in the process of building a wall about his person of emotional strength, and Cassius took a seat. His emerald eyes passed over the suit, and the expression, a mixture of boiling oil and steaming blood, analyzing the anointed leader of Shreveport. So far, the Bishop had fallen short of expectations.
Conversation ebbed and flowed. The Archbishop heard laissez-faire attitude concerning the faith from most every resident of Shreveport, which was as he expected coming from Acolytes. The Prince of a nearby city claimed to rule by right of efficient murder of his opponents and openly claimed ot have little diplomatic skill. Cassius nearly dismissed him, but for his mention of his lineage, claiming as his sire Elizabeth Stewart. Shaken by this declaration, Cassius pushed him on through various other topics and nearly gave in to despair at the answers. A call to mass and an introduction to other faithful strengthened him greatly.
Shortly there after, Cassius and Puck regrouped with Katherine and Vrai to sit with Sister Bethany of Beaumont and her companion Wren the Crone, Bishop Marcus, Sister Sunni, Father Edward, Lyrica Wax, and a host of visiting Waxes. They talked easily of faith and its meaning, defining and dancing around religious idealogy, establishing how such faithful notions became entrenched in the right to rule, and speaking briefly but feircely about the place of predation in politics.
All the while, Marcus said next to nothing of import, and to Cassius adding absolutely nothing at all to the city, the faith, and to the Church of Longinus.
Father Edward Wax saw a brutal turn taking place and noted the limited time remaining until the sermon's beginning. He stood and piously asked for those who would take confession and Cassius heeded.
In the privacy and sanctity of the isolated cubicle, Cassius listened to the opening prayer and spread a beautific smile. This was a traditional moment, and a powerful gesture. He relished it.
"How long, Predator of God, since your last confession?" asked the Nosferatu.
"Father, it has been three hundred and six years, 3 months, and 2 days. I have strayed. Grant me penance?"
A hushed intake of breath was the only indication of surprise, at his age was all that Cassius could surmise. The priest gathered himself well, and pressed on.
"What are your crimes against the faith? How have you strayed?"
"Father, my moments of late have been filled with indecision. That indecision could have led, though didn't, to the destruction of my fellow faithful, about whom I am charged with safekeeping and guidance. I ask for penance, that I may be reminded of my duty, and never again fail in it."
The Nosferatu tilted a masked face at Cassius, and bowed slightly in thought before raising that expressionless facade. His whisper-quiet voice was clear as bells to the Daeva, as he intoned:
"The Fast of Longinus is near to us now. You shall extend that fast by seven full nights and grasp the direness of your error. Desperation is never the excuse of false action. Do you accept your penance?"
Cassius listened and realized, grasping fully the pain he would now endure. "I do, Father. I thank you for your gift of penance, and fear failure more than any other sin."
"Pray with me, Brother, and know purpose."
The prayers were brief but heartfelt.
Sunni gathered the congregation to mass, and delivered a sermon of unrelenting and bitter assessment of the laziness of the anointed. She drove the listeners down a tour of apathy's dangers, and called for service in action. All the while, she scanned the pews for reactions, and occasionally paused on Bishop Marcus's face to drive a nail of nasty thoughts into his eyes. He seemed not to notice.
The sermon came to a close, and Father Edward called for the faithful to recieve blessed communion with the Centurion's purpose. It fell to Cassius to be the first to stand, and he considered that it was a respect to his station that had kept the local Bishop from doing so. As he tasted the blood of the cup, he relished in its flavor and felt blessed in his damnation, before taking his seat.
A pause birthed impatience in him. Bishop Katherine noted the wait and feared an ending to communion and so stood, walking with grace to bow before Edward and recieve her portion of the cup, but was interrupted as the Bishop Marcus rushed to interrupt. Her Grace Callaghan waited with elegance, and did not interfere in the flow of things, but it was an effort Cassius noted, and rage that had begun earlier that evening gained in power and compressed into a more efficient expression.
Each of the faith took their turns without fail and without interruption save for Vrai, who held his ground as guardian, ever vigilant.
The night progressed in true comedy of errors. Some Kindred embraced without permission. More discussions and plots were hatched. Kindred jockeyed for power, insulting their rivals and taking what advantage could be scraped up.
Cassius and Puck moved like predators, the smaller gliding like a prowling panther, while the larger was a careful and abnormally graceful bull. Marcus was not aware of his position, so flanked on one side by Vrai, and in discussion with the elder Rabbi facing him. As the Archbishop moved to block his open side, keeping a wall behind Marcus, he opened a mouth freshly full of fang.
"Bishop Marcus, why are you incompetent?"
A litany of insult and an exchange of idealogical questioning passed succinctly. Marcus preserved himself from the brink of frenzy despite the barrage and gained some small measure of respect for doing so. The Waxes floated on the edge of the conversation frothing at the metaphorical blood in the water. They knew Marcus for a weak leader, and waited impatiently for the stronger group to destroy him. Yet Cassius knew in his actions that murdering Marcus would lead Shreveport weaker, not stronger, and so held himself to a single challenge.
"Bishop Marcus, I will give you three options. Within the next three months you must decide. Firstly, you may rescind your claim to the Bishopric of Shreveport and pursue other avenues of faith, that you are more suited to pursue. Secondly, that you will begin to lead as you have been blessed by oil and faith to lead, and thusly inspire your congregation. Thirdly, should you fail to choose these previous options, that you gird yourself for war, and face me in the holy rite of Recontre."
The bishop weakly responded to the initial volley of charges, but heard quite clearly the challenge in the last. With a hiss that did him credit he returned.
"I accept your challenge and will consider your advisement."
"Very well. Now shouldn't you be watching the goings on of your Bishopric?" taunted Cassius as he cut the Bishop from further conversation by blatantly stepping in front and turning his back on Marcus. The gesture was not lost on the Nosferatu, nor did it escape the notice of Brothers Puck or Vrai who instantly moved to be more ready to react to the insulting gestures effect on Marcus. Strangely, in the murmurs of conversation that followed, Marcus seemed to pile his rage into his heart, binding it and burning it, making it a fuel of his reason. Though he cast a withering glance as the Archbishop's back, he did not outwardly lose composure.
Cassius, for his part, spoke eloquently with the city's residents about all sorts of matters, before turning a shade paler as he caught Marcus out of the corner of his eye. "What is....Cease at once!"
He turned to face his conversational adversary, but did not stare at him, but rather at his shadow, fangs blazing in challenge, and his body shaking in irrational fear. He pointed, and the finger trembled. "Stop that at once!"
All the preadators scanned desperately for the cause of the outburst. Many saw the shadows of the Mekhet grow and strangle at the Archbishop's own, but few could make out the details.
This gave rise to an uneasy moment, but led quietly into a discussion of causes and effects, and Crone magics. Wren came over to give his own advice. The group disbanded quietly to feed, and make their ways to their homes.
____________________________________________________________
The meeting with Prince Alex had been informative, if a little disheartening. The boundaries of this kindred domain shivered in the clutches of a Dragon Prince who openly confessed to the impalement of interlopers and transgressors on spikes. His cool and rudimentary manner were emphasized by the meeting place he had chosen to greet his foreign dignitaries: a simple if large trailer, bathed in and flooded by strong white light.
"....only four edicts you really need to know. The Masquerade is most important, but I'm sure you know that...." and the Prince droned on. He seemed to respect Vrai, but his body language told Cassius that Katherine and he were really only shown deference by virtue of the company they kept. That would eventually change. His own smile, framed by his hair hanging down and caught in the wind, was as icy as the dragon's.
When he'd arrived at a breathing spot in his litany of edicts and their interpretations, Cassius politely inquired of the Prince, "Your Majesty, we have business with the Lancea Sanctum of your city, and I would like to know your opinions on them?"
Prince Alex turned a surprised face towards the young image in front of him. He recovered quickly and replaced his expression with a flesh mask of calm. "I think they lack faith. Bishop Marcus seems to go through the motions and the Waxes try less hard, I believe. Sunni especially mouths off when she thinks no one can hear her. Some can."
Then he smirked, and Cassius made note of that disdain. Alex had already given away his opinion of the Lancea Sanctum by forgoing attendance at Mass. For one who spent so much time and had so many fond words for Her Excellency Magdalena, he certainly had little care for the propriety of faithful support. That would change as all things did, given time. The faith was immortal, because no matter the import of the vampires who hold it, the faith will live on through its thousands of adherents.
They thanked the Prince for his edicts, his hospitality, and his opinions, and they politely made their way to the Sanctuary. Cassius put a hand on Katherine to guide her, and the tension in that hand said everything to the blue eyed beauty. Her blonde hair was more tightly cared for than his own brown locks, and the wind bothered it less. She looked the part of an ice princess in her dress and purple shawl. It was strange that in this land far to the south the weather would turn as it did, to a cold and nearly snowing sky.
Puck had waited in the car. He had checked and rechecked the ammunition to each weapon he carried and their were several. Knives and swords as well, each polished and in its place. He nodded at Katherine as they came to the door, and Cassius, not Vrai opened it for her. Vrai stood ominous as a shadow, now quiet again after he'd spoken with the Prince and said more than he might have for a week before. Vrai was ever vigilant, so such personable pleasantries as door opening fell to the Daeva. Cassius took comfort in that, before walking round the outside of the car and taking his place next to Puck in the front.
To an outsider they would have looked strange, this pack of ravenous beasts.
The unseen death that was Vrai, entered last and closed the door, careful this time to mind his strength. His bulk intimidated the air about him, but did not hinder his movements, which were as graceful as a ballet dancer's would be. His weaponry he held tight to him, strapped and tucked, concealed and then concealed again by his formidable will, which would cloud the minds of witnesses and slow their responses to his lightning fast and incredibly powerful blows. His face seemed to have become metal, so often was it hidden behind a physical mask. His eyes, those cold dark eyes, shone from the depths and spoke of anger everlasting and sadness to drink with that hateful meal of spite. Vrai was steady, and ever watching. Yet Vrai likely felt little and by choice, because to feel was to invite suffering. Vrai had been charged by the Cardinal to bring suffering. Not to endure it. For Cassius, Vrai was like a brother or favored son. He was a tool of the faith, and as a fellow instrument of damnation, he was a comrade beyond peer. It was a cold kinship, to be sure, but still meaningful and well kept. Briefly, Cassius wished Putnam could be as close to him as Vrai. Vrai was a Brother in Faith, and Putnam was merely a Brother in Blood.
Cassius could have been Katherine's brother by apparent age, dressed in a black suit and blood red shirt. His lithe body bore powerful muscles that themselves bore criss cross scarring that few ever saw. His face was a perfect gleaming perfection, but he had spent so many sleeping periods, eclipses, without making so much as a change in his expression that sometimes what should have been regular and fluid emotions changed his face with glacial slowness. Muscles that should have flexed, instead broke into smiles, frowns, or angry screams. For himself, he carried a handful of switchblades on his person, blessed by the Bishop to turn to ash while releasing into his damned body the vitae he needed to fuel his fighting skills and to stave off his eternal hunger. His boyish hands, hands which never seemed to callous despite hours of swordplay, adjusted his suit slightly as he sat in the car, content that his pack, his new family, were more than safe and gifted with purpose. His green eyes smouldered.
Katherine sat behind him, with Vrai beside her. The age similarity to Cassius's appearance was more than overshadowed by her likeness to Puck's appearance. She was beautiful, with lips for kissing and that could turn a word into a weapon. She was slight as they liked them in the modern age, but fit, with regular gym workouts becoming regular martial practice since the beginning of her Requiem. She kept up the small talk as they traveled, turning this business meeting into a social for them all. Her mortal days were not far behind her, and the echoes of them gathered the rest of the ancient and withered predators in the vehicle with her into a more alive moment. They chatted, and Cassius jested. Even Vrai seemed of good humor, and Puck made an effort, but was still strangely silent. Looking on her, Cassius was filled with love and longing, and pride. Perhaps pride was above all else. She was youthful and just beginning a long rode in damnation, but she was exhuberent and passionate, and devoted to learning both word and action of the Testament. He could not have made a better childe with a thousand more years of study and all of God's luck. She was as she should be.
Puck drove, and he was imposing at it, as he was at most things. It was a passive malevolance, as if he were caught in a continous story that he wasn't writing. His face carried with it an acceptance that his part was destined, and yet, he cautioned always about preparation. Puck's own hair was long, blonde, Aryan. His accent was slight, and given his mastery of so many languages, he could easily be required to affect it each time he spoke. He was larger than Cassius or Katherine, but smaller than Vrai. Puck was Irish once. Now he was damned. Like the rest, he was skilled at martialry, and at ambush tactics. He was a monster, but a quiet one, unless he was forced into his role as a speaker for the covenant. His clothing was deeply functional, and lacked a prim or proper appeal. His every gesture was practiced, or gave the impression that it was, and that was deeply comforting to Cassius. Were he a mere servant, Cassius would be pleased by the professional manner he bore, but as a Brother in Faith, Puck was meticulous and subdued in each of his manners. He would never raise his voice if a whisper would do, never shout when a statement would suffice. As overstated as Cassius had become in modern days, Puck was his inverse, and as bookends, they would be a perfect image for the Shreveport gathering.
The drive was calm and relaxed, and Cassius had plenty of time to consider Rebecca and Gabriel, both held to Little Rock by either a lack of interest in Shreveport, or a duty to the city. He prayed earnestly for their safety. Caleb Barrow had a reputation as a hunter, but he would not equal their combined cunning. They would hide well, and strike sure, should it be necessary. Still, even with God's angel's guarding their purpose, with the fallen Saints blessing their blades and eyes, Cassius wanted to hurry back as soon as he could.
God favored the cautious.
____________________________________________________________
The vehicle pulled into the gravel covered grass near the Sanctuary, and circled the makeshift lot twice, as Puck examined the area for potential routes of escape and pursuit. Vrai peered hard for the hidden, and searched for ambushes and countermeasures. When the expert warriors had finished their routine, Puck backed the vehicle into a spot not easily blocked, and shut the engine down. He and Vrai got out and did a personal scan of the first fifty yards about the vehicle. When that came up without result of danger, the Archbishop and Bishop exited the car and walked with their escort to the doors.
Outside, several kindred chatted and laughed with one another. Their cigarettes left trails of smoke clouds in the air, and the orange embers at the end could not push Cassius to frenzied battle lust, but it did, in conjunction with memories of the Saxons and Norseman and their burning sprees, put him in a foul mood indeed. The anointed did not look left nor right, nor bother making eye contact with the others as they marched in, flanked on either side by the fearsome pair of former paladins.
Inside was a stranger story. Katherine and Vrai broke away from Puck and Cassius to gauge the social moors of Shreveport's kindred, and to better present a fearless image to the congregations here. Cassius was reluctant to leave Katherine, but felt assured that Vrai could handle whatever plight she might find herself in. Puck was a comfort to himself as well. For a vague moment, he reminded Cassius of Assad, and the desert sands, which was surreal, as Puck was so far from that Arab damned from so long ago.
The boy Archbishop walked in his suit, with an mp3 player's headphones vining its way up his jacket and to his ear, walked to where a member of the city was addressing Marcus, the Bishop of Shreveport. Just as Cassius paused to speak briefly with a visiting Kindred to the city who hailed also from Little Rock, Marcus exploded in a bout of anger.
A tray of cooked pastries flew from the table, and the offensive Kindred bolted from the room, with city officials chasing after. Marcus, incensed, boiled in rage for a short time before regaining his composure. The rest of the city watched on in earnest as control grew like ice crystals over the Mekhet Bishop, and Cassius chose that moment to cultivate an end to his discussion with Sebastian.
A few strides, and a gentle taking of the chair next to Marcus, who still stood in the process of building a wall about his person of emotional strength, and Cassius took a seat. His emerald eyes passed over the suit, and the expression, a mixture of boiling oil and steaming blood, analyzing the anointed leader of Shreveport. So far, the Bishop had fallen short of expectations.
Conversation ebbed and flowed. The Archbishop heard laissez-faire attitude concerning the faith from most every resident of Shreveport, which was as he expected coming from Acolytes. The Prince of a nearby city claimed to rule by right of efficient murder of his opponents and openly claimed ot have little diplomatic skill. Cassius nearly dismissed him, but for his mention of his lineage, claiming as his sire Elizabeth Stewart. Shaken by this declaration, Cassius pushed him on through various other topics and nearly gave in to despair at the answers. A call to mass and an introduction to other faithful strengthened him greatly.
Shortly there after, Cassius and Puck regrouped with Katherine and Vrai to sit with Sister Bethany of Beaumont and her companion Wren the Crone, Bishop Marcus, Sister Sunni, Father Edward, Lyrica Wax, and a host of visiting Waxes. They talked easily of faith and its meaning, defining and dancing around religious idealogy, establishing how such faithful notions became entrenched in the right to rule, and speaking briefly but feircely about the place of predation in politics.
All the while, Marcus said next to nothing of import, and to Cassius adding absolutely nothing at all to the city, the faith, and to the Church of Longinus.
Father Edward Wax saw a brutal turn taking place and noted the limited time remaining until the sermon's beginning. He stood and piously asked for those who would take confession and Cassius heeded.
In the privacy and sanctity of the isolated cubicle, Cassius listened to the opening prayer and spread a beautific smile. This was a traditional moment, and a powerful gesture. He relished it.
"How long, Predator of God, since your last confession?" asked the Nosferatu.
"Father, it has been three hundred and six years, 3 months, and 2 days. I have strayed. Grant me penance?"
A hushed intake of breath was the only indication of surprise, at his age was all that Cassius could surmise. The priest gathered himself well, and pressed on.
"What are your crimes against the faith? How have you strayed?"
"Father, my moments of late have been filled with indecision. That indecision could have led, though didn't, to the destruction of my fellow faithful, about whom I am charged with safekeeping and guidance. I ask for penance, that I may be reminded of my duty, and never again fail in it."
The Nosferatu tilted a masked face at Cassius, and bowed slightly in thought before raising that expressionless facade. His whisper-quiet voice was clear as bells to the Daeva, as he intoned:
"The Fast of Longinus is near to us now. You shall extend that fast by seven full nights and grasp the direness of your error. Desperation is never the excuse of false action. Do you accept your penance?"
Cassius listened and realized, grasping fully the pain he would now endure. "I do, Father. I thank you for your gift of penance, and fear failure more than any other sin."
"Pray with me, Brother, and know purpose."
The prayers were brief but heartfelt.
Sunni gathered the congregation to mass, and delivered a sermon of unrelenting and bitter assessment of the laziness of the anointed. She drove the listeners down a tour of apathy's dangers, and called for service in action. All the while, she scanned the pews for reactions, and occasionally paused on Bishop Marcus's face to drive a nail of nasty thoughts into his eyes. He seemed not to notice.
The sermon came to a close, and Father Edward called for the faithful to recieve blessed communion with the Centurion's purpose. It fell to Cassius to be the first to stand, and he considered that it was a respect to his station that had kept the local Bishop from doing so. As he tasted the blood of the cup, he relished in its flavor and felt blessed in his damnation, before taking his seat.
A pause birthed impatience in him. Bishop Katherine noted the wait and feared an ending to communion and so stood, walking with grace to bow before Edward and recieve her portion of the cup, but was interrupted as the Bishop Marcus rushed to interrupt. Her Grace Callaghan waited with elegance, and did not interfere in the flow of things, but it was an effort Cassius noted, and rage that had begun earlier that evening gained in power and compressed into a more efficient expression.
Each of the faith took their turns without fail and without interruption save for Vrai, who held his ground as guardian, ever vigilant.
The night progressed in true comedy of errors. Some Kindred embraced without permission. More discussions and plots were hatched. Kindred jockeyed for power, insulting their rivals and taking what advantage could be scraped up.
Cassius and Puck moved like predators, the smaller gliding like a prowling panther, while the larger was a careful and abnormally graceful bull. Marcus was not aware of his position, so flanked on one side by Vrai, and in discussion with the elder Rabbi facing him. As the Archbishop moved to block his open side, keeping a wall behind Marcus, he opened a mouth freshly full of fang.
"Bishop Marcus, why are you incompetent?"
A litany of insult and an exchange of idealogical questioning passed succinctly. Marcus preserved himself from the brink of frenzy despite the barrage and gained some small measure of respect for doing so. The Waxes floated on the edge of the conversation frothing at the metaphorical blood in the water. They knew Marcus for a weak leader, and waited impatiently for the stronger group to destroy him. Yet Cassius knew in his actions that murdering Marcus would lead Shreveport weaker, not stronger, and so held himself to a single challenge.
"Bishop Marcus, I will give you three options. Within the next three months you must decide. Firstly, you may rescind your claim to the Bishopric of Shreveport and pursue other avenues of faith, that you are more suited to pursue. Secondly, that you will begin to lead as you have been blessed by oil and faith to lead, and thusly inspire your congregation. Thirdly, should you fail to choose these previous options, that you gird yourself for war, and face me in the holy rite of Recontre."
The bishop weakly responded to the initial volley of charges, but heard quite clearly the challenge in the last. With a hiss that did him credit he returned.
"I accept your challenge and will consider your advisement."
"Very well. Now shouldn't you be watching the goings on of your Bishopric?" taunted Cassius as he cut the Bishop from further conversation by blatantly stepping in front and turning his back on Marcus. The gesture was not lost on the Nosferatu, nor did it escape the notice of Brothers Puck or Vrai who instantly moved to be more ready to react to the insulting gestures effect on Marcus. Strangely, in the murmurs of conversation that followed, Marcus seemed to pile his rage into his heart, binding it and burning it, making it a fuel of his reason. Though he cast a withering glance as the Archbishop's back, he did not outwardly lose composure.
Cassius, for his part, spoke eloquently with the city's residents about all sorts of matters, before turning a shade paler as he caught Marcus out of the corner of his eye. "What is....Cease at once!"
He turned to face his conversational adversary, but did not stare at him, but rather at his shadow, fangs blazing in challenge, and his body shaking in irrational fear. He pointed, and the finger trembled. "Stop that at once!"
All the preadators scanned desperately for the cause of the outburst. Many saw the shadows of the Mekhet grow and strangle at the Archbishop's own, but few could make out the details.
This gave rise to an uneasy moment, but led quietly into a discussion of causes and effects, and Crone magics. Wren came over to give his own advice. The group disbanded quietly to feed, and make their ways to their homes.