On Borrowed Time
-A loyal Tremere is any Tremere who has something to gain from the clan by screwing you over.
Vienna, 2008
Tremere Vienna Chantry
"Yes, of course I'll do exactly as you wish and go to New York. Allow me to alleviate your concerns arising from the news." It was laughable, really. Their stone inlaid walls and gothic arches that soared to the middle and rested upon each other like lofty aged gods who could no longer stand alone. Thick cream colored pillar candles stood at attention in dusty alcoves. Just in the middle of each candle, a thick gold square was encompassed in a circle with a triangle perched on its right side. Within the circle, a burnished red script flourished around and meet its other end like a Ouroboros. The symbolism was surely intended. Not to mention the results of the spell which shielded them from some of the dangers which lurked within this very Chantry. Do take care to heed the warning, the thick walls do have ears here. One misstep, one, and 'eternity' became an oxymoron for the unfortunate Kindred.
Vienna.
Orange-red flames bopped back and froth in a spiral dance around the unholy gathering. What a show! What a production! And how utterly pointless.
"Do you understand what it is that you are meant to do?" Well, now, that was insulting. "Of course." She made it an art to make such short sentences sound so very condescending. Her voice had a hard edge to it, made more croaky by the controlled scathing disgust that it was dipped in. A pale smile only made the mockery worse as her narrowed eyes focused their wrath at her target, who shifted uncomfortably at his position in the north-east corner of the circle. Careful. Careful now. One must appear to be kind to their peers. One must, not wish bad tidings upon them. At least, not when those tidings are so clearly written upon ones face. Still, what was one going to do to calm down? Breath? No, we don't think so.
Imbecile. Her eyes slowly sauntered over the rest of the Astors, their faces hidden from each other by hooded robes. Darkness was the only defining feature where their faces should have been visible.
"If you fail-" His words were cut by her derisive snort. "Please, mon petite amie, spare me the threats and utter bullshit. I have done this countless times, n'est-ce pas?" Her hand grabbed the rim of her velvet black hood and pulled it back. "Take a good look at my face. Memorize it. For this is the face that you will be issuing an apology to when I return." Perhaps those weren't the words in her head.
Catherine spun around a headed for the heavy oak door. The candle that had been directly behind her fluttered and sputtered until it went out in a serpent-like hiss of smoke. That silly black cape whirled around her ankles like an insane dervish who couldn't settle on a direction to spin. With each step that took her further from the Astor's haven, a bigger smile carved itself onto her face. Until, of course, a heavy hand clamped down onto her shoulder and around her waist, and pulled her into the dark recesses of some room she had missed before.
"I was wondering when you would arrive. And in such style." Rang the familiar voice in her ear. No breath tickled her ear as he spoke. Her heart did not jump with surprise. Emotions that could be faked to keep up appearances around mortals, were dropped. Still, his voice. Regal and cool, it was steadfast and strong in a way that demanded respect without having to manipulate others into it. It made her laugh to think that others mistook him for a Ventrue. Useful. At times.
Titling her head back, she looked into pools of crisp arctic blue ice for eyes. "Marc." She replied so matter-of-fact and emotionless that it was, because of that, complicated to know what she was feeling. She was so 'happy' that she had the desire to squeeze the unlife out of him. Whether her hands would be around his waist or neck was a entirely different story. Neither would accomplish a thing.
His hand slid around the curve of her waist and came to rest at her lower stomach. "Does he know you're here? "
"Yes. It won't be long now. I just set him up. He was quite upset that it was I who was asked to go to New York to speak with Aisling Sturbridge instead of him. I am certain that his wounded pride will led to his downfall. As you said. When he appears in New York, I will make certain that he is taken care of." Catherine whispered conspiratorially.
"I imagine that he is thinking the same of you."
"No matter. He is weak."
His considered her a moment, trying to read her words in the expressions of her face. "You are so certain of yourself, aren't you?"
"You wouldn't have asked me to go ahead if you didn't think that I could do it." And this was child's play. Really.
"No." He agreed easily, pressing her closer to him. "Haven't we done this before?" This, what, exactly? He let his lips softly slide against the side of her cool white neck. Catherine looked at a faraway point across the room, lost in memories that were along time ago archived in her mind. Could she allow herself that moment, that small seemingly insignificant second, where she could lean back on him to feel the cool solidness of his form? The hard expression around her mouth softened.
"Avignon, 1901?" He recalled, dragging his fingers down the side of her neck where his lips had touched her. With his answer, she had hers. Her body shifted forward imperceptibly.
Paris, 1793. You saved my life.
"I don't recall." She replied breezily and with her answer, delivering a blow that he had expected to inflict upon her and didn't realize that he actually had. Jerking her shoulder forward, she pulled away and slunk to the opposite side of the majestic room styled after Louis XVI . Ah, of course. This was his 'office'. Whipping back, she took in the sight of him, her own statuesque form poised with attitude.
"It has been quite a while. Still wearing those insufferable suits, I see?"
So, she would be at this again. Insults. Injury. His eyes only sparkled in their reservation, despite the small genteel smile on his lips.
"À chacun son goût." His native French accent was clipped with something harder. German. It made Catherine cringe for a number of reasons. Dear God, not German.
"Vous parlez français comme une vache espagnole. You've been away from Paris too long." Nostalgic sympathy could have dotted her voice then, if she let it. But she did not. Not even a touch.
"This thing that I've asked you to do for me. What do you think of it?"
"It seems to me a waste of time. Too intricate a plot. You could have simplified it considerably. But I enjoy your flair for these things and it just happens to coincide with the occurrence in New York. Opportunistic, but a waste of resources. Of course, you'd do anything for Vienna. Wouldn't you? And for what? A pittance of power?"
"Petit à petit, l'oiseau fait son nid."
Catherine nodded her head. "Oui, I know. Until the day comes that the nest gets burned down with the bird sleeping in it."
"I don't have to tell you how important this is." He retorted after a moment of silence. "You're discretion will be paramount. New York is just a pretext." A pretext for him. He was always concerned with things that mattered less. Like pleasing Vienna. Why try to please someone if you could rule over them one day? New York just positively smelled of those desires. Desires she didn't dare entertain out loud, especially not here.
Marc's brows furrowed inbetween his eyes. "I do wonder, however, how it is that you know Vincent?"
Catherine shrugged. These things were always difficult. After all, she very well couldn't lie to her sire. Older in generation and half blood bonded to him and the clan, it would be foolish at best.
"We run in the same circles." Catherine lived comfortably in shades of grey. The truth was still the truth no matter how much of it you left out. That one belonged to a certain house, such as the Astors, for instance, which relied on secrecy, was an omitted detail. "He attended a few of my soirées." That, too, was true.
And so, his final passing would secure her ascent a step further in the hierarchy. Another detail Marc needn't be privy to. And if things went seriously wrong, she would always have someone to blame it on. After all, it'd be so easy to claim that she simply could not go against her sires orders, as devoted and indebted as she was to him. Yes, she'd have someone to blame. Maybe.
A twisted joy tugged at her heart, so to speak, with the thought of him getting knock down the ladder a few steps. Just enough that it'd hurt.
"I have to go. My flight leaves soon." The sound of her heels was muffled on the stone floor that was covered in a large tapestry with symbols woven into it. His voice followed her just as she got to the door.
"Don't screw me over, Catherine." Slowly, with a chuckle, she turned around. Sultry daggers lightly glared out of her eyes. Sweet death. Regarding him as she walked closer to him, she wondered what it must feel like to have to rely exclusively on her right now. He wouldn't be so confident if she hadn't been one step bonded, now would he? Would he? And if he would have been, well, why did that thought make her angry? Could he trust her at all?
Il n'y a pas de rose sans épines. She thought dryly. Dangerously. The saying was that a gentleman does not read anothers mail. And-hopefully-not their mind either.
Her fingertips reached out to slide down the curve of his chiseled jaw. "Oh, do not worry yourself, mon amour." She purred like a cat who was licking the blood of the canary off of its lips. Catherine's voice was sultry, despite the very real hint of sarcasm always peppering her speech. "You'll always have Vienna."
Vienna, 2008
Tremere Vienna Chantry
"Yes, of course I'll do exactly as you wish and go to New York. Allow me to alleviate your concerns arising from the news." It was laughable, really. Their stone inlaid walls and gothic arches that soared to the middle and rested upon each other like lofty aged gods who could no longer stand alone. Thick cream colored pillar candles stood at attention in dusty alcoves. Just in the middle of each candle, a thick gold square was encompassed in a circle with a triangle perched on its right side. Within the circle, a burnished red script flourished around and meet its other end like a Ouroboros. The symbolism was surely intended. Not to mention the results of the spell which shielded them from some of the dangers which lurked within this very Chantry. Do take care to heed the warning, the thick walls do have ears here. One misstep, one, and 'eternity' became an oxymoron for the unfortunate Kindred.
Vienna.
Orange-red flames bopped back and froth in a spiral dance around the unholy gathering. What a show! What a production! And how utterly pointless.
"Do you understand what it is that you are meant to do?" Well, now, that was insulting. "Of course." She made it an art to make such short sentences sound so very condescending. Her voice had a hard edge to it, made more croaky by the controlled scathing disgust that it was dipped in. A pale smile only made the mockery worse as her narrowed eyes focused their wrath at her target, who shifted uncomfortably at his position in the north-east corner of the circle. Careful. Careful now. One must appear to be kind to their peers. One must, not wish bad tidings upon them. At least, not when those tidings are so clearly written upon ones face. Still, what was one going to do to calm down? Breath? No, we don't think so.
Imbecile. Her eyes slowly sauntered over the rest of the Astors, their faces hidden from each other by hooded robes. Darkness was the only defining feature where their faces should have been visible.
"If you fail-" His words were cut by her derisive snort. "Please, mon petite amie, spare me the threats and utter bullshit. I have done this countless times, n'est-ce pas?" Her hand grabbed the rim of her velvet black hood and pulled it back. "Take a good look at my face. Memorize it. For this is the face that you will be issuing an apology to when I return." Perhaps those weren't the words in her head.
Catherine spun around a headed for the heavy oak door. The candle that had been directly behind her fluttered and sputtered until it went out in a serpent-like hiss of smoke. That silly black cape whirled around her ankles like an insane dervish who couldn't settle on a direction to spin. With each step that took her further from the Astor's haven, a bigger smile carved itself onto her face. Until, of course, a heavy hand clamped down onto her shoulder and around her waist, and pulled her into the dark recesses of some room she had missed before.
"I was wondering when you would arrive. And in such style." Rang the familiar voice in her ear. No breath tickled her ear as he spoke. Her heart did not jump with surprise. Emotions that could be faked to keep up appearances around mortals, were dropped. Still, his voice. Regal and cool, it was steadfast and strong in a way that demanded respect without having to manipulate others into it. It made her laugh to think that others mistook him for a Ventrue. Useful. At times.
Titling her head back, she looked into pools of crisp arctic blue ice for eyes. "Marc." She replied so matter-of-fact and emotionless that it was, because of that, complicated to know what she was feeling. She was so 'happy' that she had the desire to squeeze the unlife out of him. Whether her hands would be around his waist or neck was a entirely different story. Neither would accomplish a thing.
His hand slid around the curve of her waist and came to rest at her lower stomach. "Does he know you're here? "
"Yes. It won't be long now. I just set him up. He was quite upset that it was I who was asked to go to New York to speak with Aisling Sturbridge instead of him. I am certain that his wounded pride will led to his downfall. As you said. When he appears in New York, I will make certain that he is taken care of." Catherine whispered conspiratorially.
"I imagine that he is thinking the same of you."
"No matter. He is weak."
His considered her a moment, trying to read her words in the expressions of her face. "You are so certain of yourself, aren't you?"
"You wouldn't have asked me to go ahead if you didn't think that I could do it." And this was child's play. Really.
"No." He agreed easily, pressing her closer to him. "Haven't we done this before?" This, what, exactly? He let his lips softly slide against the side of her cool white neck. Catherine looked at a faraway point across the room, lost in memories that were along time ago archived in her mind. Could she allow herself that moment, that small seemingly insignificant second, where she could lean back on him to feel the cool solidness of his form? The hard expression around her mouth softened.
"Avignon, 1901?" He recalled, dragging his fingers down the side of her neck where his lips had touched her. With his answer, she had hers. Her body shifted forward imperceptibly.
Paris, 1793. You saved my life.
"I don't recall." She replied breezily and with her answer, delivering a blow that he had expected to inflict upon her and didn't realize that he actually had. Jerking her shoulder forward, she pulled away and slunk to the opposite side of the majestic room styled after Louis XVI . Ah, of course. This was his 'office'. Whipping back, she took in the sight of him, her own statuesque form poised with attitude.
"It has been quite a while. Still wearing those insufferable suits, I see?"
So, she would be at this again. Insults. Injury. His eyes only sparkled in their reservation, despite the small genteel smile on his lips.
"À chacun son goût." His native French accent was clipped with something harder. German. It made Catherine cringe for a number of reasons. Dear God, not German.
"Vous parlez français comme une vache espagnole. You've been away from Paris too long." Nostalgic sympathy could have dotted her voice then, if she let it. But she did not. Not even a touch.
"This thing that I've asked you to do for me. What do you think of it?"
"It seems to me a waste of time. Too intricate a plot. You could have simplified it considerably. But I enjoy your flair for these things and it just happens to coincide with the occurrence in New York. Opportunistic, but a waste of resources. Of course, you'd do anything for Vienna. Wouldn't you? And for what? A pittance of power?"
"Petit à petit, l'oiseau fait son nid."
Catherine nodded her head. "Oui, I know. Until the day comes that the nest gets burned down with the bird sleeping in it."
"I don't have to tell you how important this is." He retorted after a moment of silence. "You're discretion will be paramount. New York is just a pretext." A pretext for him. He was always concerned with things that mattered less. Like pleasing Vienna. Why try to please someone if you could rule over them one day? New York just positively smelled of those desires. Desires she didn't dare entertain out loud, especially not here.
Marc's brows furrowed inbetween his eyes. "I do wonder, however, how it is that you know Vincent?"
Catherine shrugged. These things were always difficult. After all, she very well couldn't lie to her sire. Older in generation and half blood bonded to him and the clan, it would be foolish at best.
"We run in the same circles." Catherine lived comfortably in shades of grey. The truth was still the truth no matter how much of it you left out. That one belonged to a certain house, such as the Astors, for instance, which relied on secrecy, was an omitted detail. "He attended a few of my soirées." That, too, was true.
And so, his final passing would secure her ascent a step further in the hierarchy. Another detail Marc needn't be privy to. And if things went seriously wrong, she would always have someone to blame it on. After all, it'd be so easy to claim that she simply could not go against her sires orders, as devoted and indebted as she was to him. Yes, she'd have someone to blame. Maybe.
A twisted joy tugged at her heart, so to speak, with the thought of him getting knock down the ladder a few steps. Just enough that it'd hurt.
"I have to go. My flight leaves soon." The sound of her heels was muffled on the stone floor that was covered in a large tapestry with symbols woven into it. His voice followed her just as she got to the door.
"Don't screw me over, Catherine." Slowly, with a chuckle, she turned around. Sultry daggers lightly glared out of her eyes. Sweet death. Regarding him as she walked closer to him, she wondered what it must feel like to have to rely exclusively on her right now. He wouldn't be so confident if she hadn't been one step bonded, now would he? Would he? And if he would have been, well, why did that thought make her angry? Could he trust her at all?
Il n'y a pas de rose sans épines. She thought dryly. Dangerously. The saying was that a gentleman does not read anothers mail. And-hopefully-not their mind either.
Her fingertips reached out to slide down the curve of his chiseled jaw. "Oh, do not worry yourself, mon amour." She purred like a cat who was licking the blood of the canary off of its lips. Catherine's voice was sultry, despite the very real hint of sarcasm always peppering her speech. "You'll always have Vienna."