Dignitas Rising
Johannes surveys the endless wastes around him as he stands behind a small rickety structure the guide called a bar. From inside he heard the mindless prattling of Carthians, the back-and-forth endless debates of the more secular covenants, and the ever-present noise of the unaligned. With disgust he stares at the local inhabitants -- Sir Charles was right, they were no better than the ground upon which they lived and died; black, dry, and without hope of value. "Gleichgestellte" he spits out, almost going so far as to donate his saliva to the broken soil.
From the moment he crossed into African airspace he knew he hated the continent. He had been there before, flown in successful campaign and had been gifted a watch by Lord Rommell, a mark of pride for him. The barren stretch he sees around him makes his lips twist into an discusted sneer, unconscious and unintended but fitting all the same. His mood is as dark as the cloudless sky above, even the stars seeming to hide from his displeasure. Why Starley had requested his presence he couldn't imagine; he'd not been by her side but once since arriving as dusk fell over the deserted plains.
Dignitaries from all corners of the world had arrived to try and curry "Alexander the Great" and his favor, but Johannes is no simple fool to be tricked as so many others. Jhovad, Desmond Grey, Alder Farkus, and all number of nameless neonates surrounds him. Johannes feels as if a babysitter, ensuring the First Estate hold true to their tenents even in the face of blatent stupidity. One does not scream in public with anyone, much less Joe the Carthian. One does not ceaselessly extol their own petty virtues. One does not question Johannes' decisions. And yet, even wearing all trappings of a proper embrace, all these mistakes were made time and time again within the twelve-hour stretch of his stay and he holds little doubt that more would be made before he leaves this place forever.
Mistakes. He was able to send one truncated message to Audra before his phone's lights dimmed and died, now a useless weight in his pocket, though he pays little mind to the small device. The thoughts roll through at a low simmer, trying to understand what had possessed both Starley and Charles. He did not look forward to what would await him back in America, in her eyes. What he did not expect however was the look he had seen in another's eyes only minutes before he withdrew to the dusty patio, solitary under the broken porchlight. He saw mischief, danger, and a cruelty he had always suspected though never yet had opportunity to explore. He doubts even Starley knew of her motives, their shared history.
A smile befitting his names replaces the bitter scowl with which he exited the bar as he turns to face the throng of worthless kindred inside. All scrambling for power, all blind to the ideas of motivation and patience.
Patience was something of which Johannes never ran out.
From the moment he crossed into African airspace he knew he hated the continent. He had been there before, flown in successful campaign and had been gifted a watch by Lord Rommell, a mark of pride for him. The barren stretch he sees around him makes his lips twist into an discusted sneer, unconscious and unintended but fitting all the same. His mood is as dark as the cloudless sky above, even the stars seeming to hide from his displeasure. Why Starley had requested his presence he couldn't imagine; he'd not been by her side but once since arriving as dusk fell over the deserted plains.
Dignitaries from all corners of the world had arrived to try and curry "Alexander the Great" and his favor, but Johannes is no simple fool to be tricked as so many others. Jhovad, Desmond Grey, Alder Farkus, and all number of nameless neonates surrounds him. Johannes feels as if a babysitter, ensuring the First Estate hold true to their tenents even in the face of blatent stupidity. One does not scream in public with anyone, much less Joe the Carthian. One does not ceaselessly extol their own petty virtues. One does not question Johannes' decisions. And yet, even wearing all trappings of a proper embrace, all these mistakes were made time and time again within the twelve-hour stretch of his stay and he holds little doubt that more would be made before he leaves this place forever.
Mistakes. He was able to send one truncated message to Audra before his phone's lights dimmed and died, now a useless weight in his pocket, though he pays little mind to the small device. The thoughts roll through at a low simmer, trying to understand what had possessed both Starley and Charles. He did not look forward to what would await him back in America, in her eyes. What he did not expect however was the look he had seen in another's eyes only minutes before he withdrew to the dusty patio, solitary under the broken porchlight. He saw mischief, danger, and a cruelty he had always suspected though never yet had opportunity to explore. He doubts even Starley knew of her motives, their shared history.
A smile befitting his names replaces the bitter scowl with which he exited the bar as he turns to face the throng of worthless kindred inside. All scrambling for power, all blind to the ideas of motivation and patience.
Patience was something of which Johannes never ran out.