[C] Leaving
The lights of office buildings and skyscrapers and cars glittered as Christine's car sped by them and took them away from Beckett's city.
Malachai sat in the back and peeled something meaty that had been alive a few hours ago, no longer recognizable. He clicked his teeth in a random pattern. She understood it as murmuring but it wasn't meant for her.
The Invictus had done well. The Ordo Dracul had been scattered and in disarray; she expected that more of them might have come to quiz her. Perhaps they were taking Jack's death hard. Maybe they suspected her of having a hand in it.
(The last word from his lips was your name, I thought you should know.)
Sometimes the line bubbled up in her mind. Aware that it meant something to those left behind, she could not find a meaning in it now. It was an honest dead space in her self, a little part of the sentimental Man that was now gone. The difference between Kindred and vampire.
Taking a moment to imagine then in turn her reaction to the death of Burr, of Maddy, of Kaoniki, she noted her reaction - rage followed later by focus, blank with some vague disappointment, blank with a feeling of a thing punctuated. Of Beckett, of Cole, of Hill, of Frost, of Bishop, of Cayhill. It was a Forsworn take on Dragon study and evaluation. Of Malachai.
Refocus. The Sanctified had not come off strongly. Kaoniki's irrational demands, Vermeiden's insult to a room of the most powerful Kindred in the biggest city in the nation. But they were stifled, chained, by the recall of the crusade. She wondered if the Sanctified ever realized how similar they could be to the Forsworn, then chuckled. Of course they did not, at least as a body.
The Acolytes? She should follow up with Kincaid. The old Acolyte might approve. Or might not.
She flicked a lighter near her face and felt the thrill of a tiny jolt.
The Carthians had been not really been represented in her presence. Shame. There were some good conversationalists in them.
Hill had danced. Poor chained Hill.
But overall, very successful, she felt. Beckett had earned a bottle.
Malachai sat in the back and peeled something meaty that had been alive a few hours ago, no longer recognizable. He clicked his teeth in a random pattern. She understood it as murmuring but it wasn't meant for her.
The Invictus had done well. The Ordo Dracul had been scattered and in disarray; she expected that more of them might have come to quiz her. Perhaps they were taking Jack's death hard. Maybe they suspected her of having a hand in it.
(The last word from his lips was your name, I thought you should know.)
Sometimes the line bubbled up in her mind. Aware that it meant something to those left behind, she could not find a meaning in it now. It was an honest dead space in her self, a little part of the sentimental Man that was now gone. The difference between Kindred and vampire.
Taking a moment to imagine then in turn her reaction to the death of Burr, of Maddy, of Kaoniki, she noted her reaction - rage followed later by focus, blank with some vague disappointment, blank with a feeling of a thing punctuated. Of Beckett, of Cole, of Hill, of Frost, of Bishop, of Cayhill. It was a Forsworn take on Dragon study and evaluation. Of Malachai.
Refocus. The Sanctified had not come off strongly. Kaoniki's irrational demands, Vermeiden's insult to a room of the most powerful Kindred in the biggest city in the nation. But they were stifled, chained, by the recall of the crusade. She wondered if the Sanctified ever realized how similar they could be to the Forsworn, then chuckled. Of course they did not, at least as a body.
The Acolytes? She should follow up with Kincaid. The old Acolyte might approve. Or might not.
She flicked a lighter near her face and felt the thrill of a tiny jolt.
The Carthians had been not really been represented in her presence. Shame. There were some good conversationalists in them.
Hill had danced. Poor chained Hill.
But overall, very successful, she felt. Beckett had earned a bottle.