Aspasia - Africa (Part I) - 6/7/2009
Note: This story comes from a proxy scene run last week. Portions of some emails I have edited and at times rewritten for flow.
~~~~~~~~
The trip starts off as expected. Three Gangrel rapidly fly towards the west, across desert and scrublands. The nights in northern Africa average around 80 degrees at this time of year, and the days get into the 110-120 range in the desert. While most of the trip avoids large population centers, there are enough small towns, camps, and villages along the way that feeding is rather easy. The lack of any sort of modern communication devices in these outlaying areas make the Masquerade barely a concern.
Aspasia leads the trio. She has been here before, only a measure of days after the Unholy diaberlized her son Exodus and his child. Then, she did not have the notes from her lover, but now the words play over again and again in her mind.
The town of Aksum still exists. And examining maps will show the great Lake Tana which is at nearly 2,000m altitude, and is the source of the Blue Nile. This must logically be the “sky sea”, and it is easy enough then to follow the two thousand paces downriver. We reach a slight turn in the river and it feels “right”.
It both does and does not. The closer to the site, the hotter it gets. Though she estimates they are still an hour or two away, the air becomes heavy, stifling.
But what troubles the Amazon most are the heat induced illusions in the moonlight is disconcerting. Perhaps a sign of her mental preoccupations, but ghostly hallucinations appear at the edge of her perceptions...loved ones...lost ones...is that Hisa beckoning onward? Raven tipping his hat?
The land has changed greatly in the twelve month span since Aspasia first came here. All the animal life has long left this place. Nothing to sustain it, in this place of death.
*The Moirae’s doing, Raven? Anger that they can direct on the location only and not on the cause of your demise. If fate’s favored died here against their will, so must the land pay for that loss?*
There is an aura of increasing strangeness. The sky begins to lighten, a sickly purple hue dotted with stars and oddly flickering moonlight. She estimates there is less than an hour’s travel to the place of power, but the wind has picked up to the point where flight is too dangerous. Still, the only true discomfort Aspasia cannot bear is the constant rush of sand over her eyes, stinging and scratching with no respite.
Hiking the rest of the way is difficult in the blowing sand, the closer you get, the stronger in force and speed, like a hurricane of earth. But the destination is clear - directly underneath a thunderhead, dry lighting chases along the massive cloud, providing illumination and the false promise of rain, athough there is no scent of moisture in the air. Reaching the foot of a massive dune, there is a feeling partly of ozone and electricity, and of something else…
*The weight of possibility, Amazon*
She nods to the silent voice in her head. The explanation suits. This feeling seems to add drag to every step even as it pulls at her clothes. A long unfamiliar weariness seeps into the Amazon’s bones. It has been ages since she has felt physical strain. But that is here. Now.
Starting the climb up, Jack feels an odd sensation down his temple and tracing his jawbone. Something rolls down his neck, over his collar bone, and down his chest. A minute later, the sensation is there again but on the back of his neck. It takes him a full minute to realize what this odd sensation is. Wiping it away he looks down at his hand and stares. The liquid is clear...salty...an almost forgotten smell that reminds him of hard work under a hot sun.
He's sweating.
But not blood.
Jack sniffs the salty water, rubs it between his fingers, and then, almost reluctantly, touches it to his tongue. The horrid taste of not-blood swells in his mouth, and he spits it onto the sand.
He takes off his hat and tries to shake out as much of the vile, salty liquid as he can. "It may be too late to point this out, mes amies, but something ain't right about this place."
Aspasia pauses in her progress, turning at the sound of Jack’s voice. Before she can reply, he speaks again, looking at their third.
His voice is strangely calm to her ears, as Jack asks Inali. "Do any of us smell different to you, cher?"
Her warrior daughter closes the distance between herself and Jack, resting hands lightly on his shoulders. She inhales the air around him and through him, sharpening her sense of smell. With a mild frown, the Cherokee turns her attentions to her sire.
Aspasia remains poised and tolerates her daughters actions. Inali’s hands begin on her shoulders, before moving over the surface of the Amazon’s body to stop with gentle pressure on Apsasia's abdomen.
Inali’s frown deepens. She steps backwards, taking in her own scent.
"Yes and no." Her daughter’s contralto is soft, yet coldly analytical. "This might be a bit difficult to explain. I've spent enough time with Cricket to be able to label the differences, such as they are. Our scents are still ours, with an ... addition ... for each of us that is both there and not there.
"You smell of sweat, Jack. I, of illness, the terminal sort. And, Mother, you seem to be ovulating."
*Confusion.*
Unconsciously, Aspasia’s right hand comes to rest on her abdomen, replacing Inali’s while she seems almost to gaze inward, as if trying to self-assess her own state. For a moment the conversation and all the surroundings are ignored. Such is her single-minded focus.
This is indeed a strange place.
*A place of power, which is what is needed.*
Inali frowns again. "Whatever inclinations you might have to breed again, you promised Sidney that you would speak with her and I before making another childe. We'll talk of this later."
Jack rolls his eyes at the comment, as if he's heard this argument a thousand times before.
The Cherokee shakes her head, focusing on Jack. "Ever hear of Schrodinger's Cat?"
"Oui. Quantum particle, air-tight box, poison canister, cat simultaneously existing in a state of death and non-death. That about sum it up?"
Inali’s eyes widen slightly. "That about sums it up. These variations to our scents are the Schrodinger's Cat of smells. They exist simultaneously as there and not there."
She quirks a brief smile. "Cricket had an odd idea of what constituted a good bed time story."
"Ain't no surprise there," Jack mutters.
“Something is certainly not right, and it is too late to do anything about it.” Inali continues, “We could turn around and forget the idea, I suppose, but there's not a one of the three of us that isn't more stubborn than a reinforced steel wall. I don't really want to touch anything out here with my abilities if I can help it. Nothing good ever comes out of it. But if we agree it's necessary, I'll do it."
He turns to look at Aspasia. "It's your show. What do you think, petite?"
Still somewhat detached from the conversation of the other two at first, Aspasia’s body swivels, so that she stares towards the area of land directly below the thunderhead. “Zeus, Erebus, even Nyx herself will not turn me from this purpose, Jack.”
And, Iereas, not even you.
She ponders, answering her daughter. “Save your strength and skills until we are certain they are needed, daughter.” The woman’s voice is soft, though it carries into the wind.
"As you will, Mother." She flashes her sire a grateful smile.
Nodding, Aspasia shrugs off an outer layer of clothing, and rips out several pieces of the lining before letting the rest of the fabric drop into the constantly shifting sand. Making a headband with one half the scrap of clothing, the Amazon folds the other into a rough triangle shape, tying it about her neck, so it will be easy to draw up over her nose and mouth if needed.
“The concentration of power here only strengthens my resolve. Doing this, and here, is right.”
"You'll get no arguments from me, or Charlotte. And the two of us will do our best to keep Jordan in line." Inali gestures forward. "Shall we continue?"
Zeus, Erebus and Nyx indeed. Each step up the hill is punctuated by lightning. The darkness deepens into an off-putting indigo that causes spots at the corners of Aspasia’s vision. The night is punctuated by the oddest noises, screams that call to her Beast. At one point, she is hit with a feeling of hunger so strong that her stomach growls like that of a starving mortal. And that same rumbling, the Amazon hears in the bodies of her companions.
Plodding to the top of the dune is like walking into an oven, but all enshrouded in darkness, beyond that moonless night.
Magics and power here. This is so potent that any Khabit would cry, knowing how little obtenebration compares this.
Halfway up the hill, Aspasia realizes the sounds of the other two are muffled so any communication is shouting as if across a wide chasm. Again there is the heavy strain on her body. No mortal could have made the journey from the base even as far as this point. And she has lost the sense of how long it has taken.
And then, abruptly it stops. She steps on the apex of the dune into a place of utter calm.
As her eyes adjust, a deep voice with an odd accent speaks. "Oh poo. You're early. I was sure I was going to be able to get to the part where Lucifer and Longinus have their sit down to discuss their little joke on the world."
*Not Raven, not Exodus and not the voice of their killer. No reason to attack. Not yet.*
Aspasia glances back to confirm Jack and Inali are behind her and in the ‘eye of the storm’ before looking upon the unexpected addition. He is undeniably handsome in a fashion different from the Unholy’s Angel, but that is the first comparsion, the first thought Aspasia has in assessing him. This stranger may yet be more stunning than Exodus. And his blood is measurably strong. She can feel that in waves, though her beast purrs rather than reacting in fear.
For an instant, an sub-conscious act, her gaze flits to the side of the man’s neck. Her recent dreams and thirsts for that forbidden to her line come stirring up, calling on the earlier feelings of hunger. His blood would be a feast for her beast and it wants very badly to dine.
One reason she’s decided to act now - with the bubbling of power in her own blood, Aspasia knows that the sleep must soon be on her. Fears of Stragoi or not. It’s close, the turning from mortal to kindred, and that she cannot sustain.
She locks the desire away. All in the flicker of a second, so quick is the glance, the thought and its dismissal.
The man’s hair is long and slicked back as if with olive oil. In the middle of a storm-tossed, ravaged desert, he wears finely tailored suit, with silk shirt open at the neck and partway down his hairless chest. He rises from a chair, closes a book in his hands.
Smiling warmly, he gives Aspasia and Inali rather long and lingering appraisals, bordering on dirty.
Not even if I were celebrating Anthesteria. She dismisses the possibility of him in her thoughts.
"Well, it seems I am at the right place at the right time. How odd that. Please, go ahead and do your..." he waves his hand languidly as punctuation, "...dagger thing. I am so intrigued by what might happen next."
~~~~~~~~
The trip starts off as expected. Three Gangrel rapidly fly towards the west, across desert and scrublands. The nights in northern Africa average around 80 degrees at this time of year, and the days get into the 110-120 range in the desert. While most of the trip avoids large population centers, there are enough small towns, camps, and villages along the way that feeding is rather easy. The lack of any sort of modern communication devices in these outlaying areas make the Masquerade barely a concern.
Aspasia leads the trio. She has been here before, only a measure of days after the Unholy diaberlized her son Exodus and his child. Then, she did not have the notes from her lover, but now the words play over again and again in her mind.
The town of Aksum still exists. And examining maps will show the great Lake Tana which is at nearly 2,000m altitude, and is the source of the Blue Nile. This must logically be the “sky sea”, and it is easy enough then to follow the two thousand paces downriver. We reach a slight turn in the river and it feels “right”.
It both does and does not. The closer to the site, the hotter it gets. Though she estimates they are still an hour or two away, the air becomes heavy, stifling.
But what troubles the Amazon most are the heat induced illusions in the moonlight is disconcerting. Perhaps a sign of her mental preoccupations, but ghostly hallucinations appear at the edge of her perceptions...loved ones...lost ones...is that Hisa beckoning onward? Raven tipping his hat?
The land has changed greatly in the twelve month span since Aspasia first came here. All the animal life has long left this place. Nothing to sustain it, in this place of death.
*The Moirae’s doing, Raven? Anger that they can direct on the location only and not on the cause of your demise. If fate’s favored died here against their will, so must the land pay for that loss?*
There is an aura of increasing strangeness. The sky begins to lighten, a sickly purple hue dotted with stars and oddly flickering moonlight. She estimates there is less than an hour’s travel to the place of power, but the wind has picked up to the point where flight is too dangerous. Still, the only true discomfort Aspasia cannot bear is the constant rush of sand over her eyes, stinging and scratching with no respite.
Hiking the rest of the way is difficult in the blowing sand, the closer you get, the stronger in force and speed, like a hurricane of earth. But the destination is clear - directly underneath a thunderhead, dry lighting chases along the massive cloud, providing illumination and the false promise of rain, athough there is no scent of moisture in the air. Reaching the foot of a massive dune, there is a feeling partly of ozone and electricity, and of something else…
*The weight of possibility, Amazon*
She nods to the silent voice in her head. The explanation suits. This feeling seems to add drag to every step even as it pulls at her clothes. A long unfamiliar weariness seeps into the Amazon’s bones. It has been ages since she has felt physical strain. But that is here. Now.
Starting the climb up, Jack feels an odd sensation down his temple and tracing his jawbone. Something rolls down his neck, over his collar bone, and down his chest. A minute later, the sensation is there again but on the back of his neck. It takes him a full minute to realize what this odd sensation is. Wiping it away he looks down at his hand and stares. The liquid is clear...salty...an almost forgotten smell that reminds him of hard work under a hot sun.
He's sweating.
But not blood.
Jack sniffs the salty water, rubs it between his fingers, and then, almost reluctantly, touches it to his tongue. The horrid taste of not-blood swells in his mouth, and he spits it onto the sand.
He takes off his hat and tries to shake out as much of the vile, salty liquid as he can. "It may be too late to point this out, mes amies, but something ain't right about this place."
Aspasia pauses in her progress, turning at the sound of Jack’s voice. Before she can reply, he speaks again, looking at their third.
His voice is strangely calm to her ears, as Jack asks Inali. "Do any of us smell different to you, cher?"
Her warrior daughter closes the distance between herself and Jack, resting hands lightly on his shoulders. She inhales the air around him and through him, sharpening her sense of smell. With a mild frown, the Cherokee turns her attentions to her sire.
Aspasia remains poised and tolerates her daughters actions. Inali’s hands begin on her shoulders, before moving over the surface of the Amazon’s body to stop with gentle pressure on Apsasia's abdomen.
Inali’s frown deepens. She steps backwards, taking in her own scent.
"Yes and no." Her daughter’s contralto is soft, yet coldly analytical. "This might be a bit difficult to explain. I've spent enough time with Cricket to be able to label the differences, such as they are. Our scents are still ours, with an ... addition ... for each of us that is both there and not there.
"You smell of sweat, Jack. I, of illness, the terminal sort. And, Mother, you seem to be ovulating."
*Confusion.*
Unconsciously, Aspasia’s right hand comes to rest on her abdomen, replacing Inali’s while she seems almost to gaze inward, as if trying to self-assess her own state. For a moment the conversation and all the surroundings are ignored. Such is her single-minded focus.
This is indeed a strange place.
*A place of power, which is what is needed.*
Inali frowns again. "Whatever inclinations you might have to breed again, you promised Sidney that you would speak with her and I before making another childe. We'll talk of this later."
Jack rolls his eyes at the comment, as if he's heard this argument a thousand times before.
The Cherokee shakes her head, focusing on Jack. "Ever hear of Schrodinger's Cat?"
"Oui. Quantum particle, air-tight box, poison canister, cat simultaneously existing in a state of death and non-death. That about sum it up?"
Inali’s eyes widen slightly. "That about sums it up. These variations to our scents are the Schrodinger's Cat of smells. They exist simultaneously as there and not there."
She quirks a brief smile. "Cricket had an odd idea of what constituted a good bed time story."
"Ain't no surprise there," Jack mutters.
“Something is certainly not right, and it is too late to do anything about it.” Inali continues, “We could turn around and forget the idea, I suppose, but there's not a one of the three of us that isn't more stubborn than a reinforced steel wall. I don't really want to touch anything out here with my abilities if I can help it. Nothing good ever comes out of it. But if we agree it's necessary, I'll do it."
He turns to look at Aspasia. "It's your show. What do you think, petite?"
Still somewhat detached from the conversation of the other two at first, Aspasia’s body swivels, so that she stares towards the area of land directly below the thunderhead. “Zeus, Erebus, even Nyx herself will not turn me from this purpose, Jack.”
And, Iereas, not even you.
She ponders, answering her daughter. “Save your strength and skills until we are certain they are needed, daughter.” The woman’s voice is soft, though it carries into the wind.
"As you will, Mother." She flashes her sire a grateful smile.
Nodding, Aspasia shrugs off an outer layer of clothing, and rips out several pieces of the lining before letting the rest of the fabric drop into the constantly shifting sand. Making a headband with one half the scrap of clothing, the Amazon folds the other into a rough triangle shape, tying it about her neck, so it will be easy to draw up over her nose and mouth if needed.
“The concentration of power here only strengthens my resolve. Doing this, and here, is right.”
"You'll get no arguments from me, or Charlotte. And the two of us will do our best to keep Jordan in line." Inali gestures forward. "Shall we continue?"
Zeus, Erebus and Nyx indeed. Each step up the hill is punctuated by lightning. The darkness deepens into an off-putting indigo that causes spots at the corners of Aspasia’s vision. The night is punctuated by the oddest noises, screams that call to her Beast. At one point, she is hit with a feeling of hunger so strong that her stomach growls like that of a starving mortal. And that same rumbling, the Amazon hears in the bodies of her companions.
Plodding to the top of the dune is like walking into an oven, but all enshrouded in darkness, beyond that moonless night.
Magics and power here. This is so potent that any Khabit would cry, knowing how little obtenebration compares this.
Halfway up the hill, Aspasia realizes the sounds of the other two are muffled so any communication is shouting as if across a wide chasm. Again there is the heavy strain on her body. No mortal could have made the journey from the base even as far as this point. And she has lost the sense of how long it has taken.
And then, abruptly it stops. She steps on the apex of the dune into a place of utter calm.
As her eyes adjust, a deep voice with an odd accent speaks. "Oh poo. You're early. I was sure I was going to be able to get to the part where Lucifer and Longinus have their sit down to discuss their little joke on the world."
*Not Raven, not Exodus and not the voice of their killer. No reason to attack. Not yet.*
Aspasia glances back to confirm Jack and Inali are behind her and in the ‘eye of the storm’ before looking upon the unexpected addition. He is undeniably handsome in a fashion different from the Unholy’s Angel, but that is the first comparsion, the first thought Aspasia has in assessing him. This stranger may yet be more stunning than Exodus. And his blood is measurably strong. She can feel that in waves, though her beast purrs rather than reacting in fear.
For an instant, an sub-conscious act, her gaze flits to the side of the man’s neck. Her recent dreams and thirsts for that forbidden to her line come stirring up, calling on the earlier feelings of hunger. His blood would be a feast for her beast and it wants very badly to dine.
One reason she’s decided to act now - with the bubbling of power in her own blood, Aspasia knows that the sleep must soon be on her. Fears of Stragoi or not. It’s close, the turning from mortal to kindred, and that she cannot sustain.
She locks the desire away. All in the flicker of a second, so quick is the glance, the thought and its dismissal.
The man’s hair is long and slicked back as if with olive oil. In the middle of a storm-tossed, ravaged desert, he wears finely tailored suit, with silk shirt open at the neck and partway down his hairless chest. He rises from a chair, closes a book in his hands.
Smiling warmly, he gives Aspasia and Inali rather long and lingering appraisals, bordering on dirty.
Not even if I were celebrating Anthesteria. She dismisses the possibility of him in her thoughts.
"Well, it seems I am at the right place at the right time. How odd that. Please, go ahead and do your..." he waves his hand languidly as punctuation, "...dagger thing. I am so intrigued by what might happen next."