Padam, Padam, Padam...
What could one do? What could I do now that it was too late? There is a moment, it is a split second when you realize that you are heading into a car wreck that you can hit on the brakes, swerve, perhaps, and nearly miss hitting an oncoming car. Now? I was a car without brakes, strapped into a plan whose course another steered. I just chose to buckle the seat belt.
When Tristan and I parted ways, I went about my nightly business of listening, mediating, plotting, arranging Kindred business under the facade of my own business. I made no errant moves, I did not leave Amaranth, and I did not call anyone nor suspiciously make my way through its twisting corridors. I waited. I waited quite a long while. I waited a long while after Amaranth was closed. Only then did I slowly follow a shade of a feeling that pinched me all evening and made me slowly edge through the dining hall to the parlour and from there through the empty dance hall and to one of the brandy parlours reserved only for the most discerning and highest paying members of Amaranth. And of course, there, yes, it was there that I knew exactly what I was feeling. I was not following a feeling; I was being summoned.
I slowly entered the room; chin tucked in, eyes roaming around through careful slits until they rested on square shoulders and then a properly chiseled face that spoke of a map of life’s tribulations frozen in time.
He barely acknowledged me except for the clipped smile that never quite made it to his eyes. Why would he have to turn his head if he knew that I was there? I was exactly where I was supposed to be. He was the one out of place.
“Marc.” I stated flatly.
“Oh, my dear. Once more, with feeling.”
“What are you doing here?”
He sauntered out onto the veranda with his hands casually sinking into his pockets. “Attending to matters which concern me, of course.”
“But there is nothing here to concern you.” I said with a question in my voice. I had everything under as much control as this horrible plan could possibly have. He did look at me then, eyes prickling my skin with goose bumps where his gaze landed. Nothing more needed to be said in regards to that. If Marc said that he was attending to matters than there was no arguing the point. And I knew exactly which matter he was going to be attending. It was likely that he would have a front row seat. I could not help but to be relieved somehow. It was foolish. But as much as I was an asset to Marc, he was more so an asset to me, especially now. He was vested in this plan. And that meant that my chances of survival were looking better. I enjoy surviving. I just do so hope that I am not being double-crossed. But then I thought of Marc’s history with Aidan.
“Tristan.” Hm. Treading water now. It was time to be careful. It was time to appear tame.
“Tristan?” I repeated flatly. Bored. My fingers glazed over the keys to the piano. I used to play for rich men with expensive tastes. Once. A long time ago. It was a time when the Sun King did not sting my eyes. The familiar notes dallied through the air with little care. Light. Whimsical.
“I assume that he agreed to do the minimum asked of him and do his job?” Marc’s words were never acid. No, they froze instead. They froze all thought, speech and action. But when they were like this, calm and slightly questioning, than I knew that the ice could break at any time.
“Yes. It is done.” I smiled tightly through narrowed eyes. “Just like you asked.” I reminded him. Had it been my mission, my task, I would not have involved Tristan at all. Nothing needs to be said when there is nothing to say. It would have been safer that way. If the mission went awry, Tristan would have been left cleaning up the mess, regardless. Which was why I made it clear that he was to stay well away from Duvet that night. I did not trust Marc’s intentions in this arena. After all, destabilizing Los Angeles would be too easy if the Prince mysteriously faced his final death between a Tremere quagmire. It would have been like Marc to kill ten birds with one stone.
“And the coterie?”
“Here.” He answered shortly. That was about all we would discuss of it. Both of us were too paranoid to betray a plan with even a thought.
I nodded curtly once. “Then I will see you tomorrow night, perhaps.”
“Perhaps.”
I turned to leave the room.
“You know, I did teach you that cigarette spell.”
“I know.” I said from behind my shoulder. His words followed me down the corridor. He did not have to say more since what he truly meant was that almost every spell had a counter to it, especially if one owned it.
Then I will see you tomorrow night, perhaps.
Perhaps.
But not if he thought that I was a bird and not if he had a stone to throw.
When Tristan and I parted ways, I went about my nightly business of listening, mediating, plotting, arranging Kindred business under the facade of my own business. I made no errant moves, I did not leave Amaranth, and I did not call anyone nor suspiciously make my way through its twisting corridors. I waited. I waited quite a long while. I waited a long while after Amaranth was closed. Only then did I slowly follow a shade of a feeling that pinched me all evening and made me slowly edge through the dining hall to the parlour and from there through the empty dance hall and to one of the brandy parlours reserved only for the most discerning and highest paying members of Amaranth. And of course, there, yes, it was there that I knew exactly what I was feeling. I was not following a feeling; I was being summoned.
I slowly entered the room; chin tucked in, eyes roaming around through careful slits until they rested on square shoulders and then a properly chiseled face that spoke of a map of life’s tribulations frozen in time.
He barely acknowledged me except for the clipped smile that never quite made it to his eyes. Why would he have to turn his head if he knew that I was there? I was exactly where I was supposed to be. He was the one out of place.
“Marc.” I stated flatly.
“Oh, my dear. Once more, with feeling.”
“What are you doing here?”
He sauntered out onto the veranda with his hands casually sinking into his pockets. “Attending to matters which concern me, of course.”
“But there is nothing here to concern you.” I said with a question in my voice. I had everything under as much control as this horrible plan could possibly have. He did look at me then, eyes prickling my skin with goose bumps where his gaze landed. Nothing more needed to be said in regards to that. If Marc said that he was attending to matters than there was no arguing the point. And I knew exactly which matter he was going to be attending. It was likely that he would have a front row seat. I could not help but to be relieved somehow. It was foolish. But as much as I was an asset to Marc, he was more so an asset to me, especially now. He was vested in this plan. And that meant that my chances of survival were looking better. I enjoy surviving. I just do so hope that I am not being double-crossed. But then I thought of Marc’s history with Aidan.
“Tristan.” Hm. Treading water now. It was time to be careful. It was time to appear tame.
“Tristan?” I repeated flatly. Bored. My fingers glazed over the keys to the piano. I used to play for rich men with expensive tastes. Once. A long time ago. It was a time when the Sun King did not sting my eyes. The familiar notes dallied through the air with little care. Light. Whimsical.
“I assume that he agreed to do the minimum asked of him and do his job?” Marc’s words were never acid. No, they froze instead. They froze all thought, speech and action. But when they were like this, calm and slightly questioning, than I knew that the ice could break at any time.
“Yes. It is done.” I smiled tightly through narrowed eyes. “Just like you asked.” I reminded him. Had it been my mission, my task, I would not have involved Tristan at all. Nothing needs to be said when there is nothing to say. It would have been safer that way. If the mission went awry, Tristan would have been left cleaning up the mess, regardless. Which was why I made it clear that he was to stay well away from Duvet that night. I did not trust Marc’s intentions in this arena. After all, destabilizing Los Angeles would be too easy if the Prince mysteriously faced his final death between a Tremere quagmire. It would have been like Marc to kill ten birds with one stone.
“And the coterie?”
“Here.” He answered shortly. That was about all we would discuss of it. Both of us were too paranoid to betray a plan with even a thought.
I nodded curtly once. “Then I will see you tomorrow night, perhaps.”
“Perhaps.”
I turned to leave the room.
“You know, I did teach you that cigarette spell.”
“I know.” I said from behind my shoulder. His words followed me down the corridor. He did not have to say more since what he truly meant was that almost every spell had a counter to it, especially if one owned it.
Then I will see you tomorrow night, perhaps.
Perhaps.
But not if he thought that I was a bird and not if he had a stone to throw.