(no subject)
Salt, the scent was on the air as Micheal allowed his lungs to expand to feel the san francisco air. He had sailed here many times and each time, grand things have happened. It made him ever more reluctant to leave, yet that much more eager to go, so that his next visit would be better than the last.
And to that end, this journey did deliver.
It was his first trek to san francisco via automobile. He didn't much like it. Helicopter was simply faster and the sea was simply calmer. The sheer audacity and stupidity of mortal drivers was staggering and riled his beast that so many humans allowed their delusions of importance run so rampant. There was a time that the peasants knew their place. And they were still there. At the bottom. Only now they simply did not know it.
The evening started simply. Even getting so exciting as to execute one who intended harm to the prince. Micheal felt a pang of regret from an old part of him however. The kindred's lover, compatriot, ally... whatever... was with him. And failed to protect him. Knowing revenge to be a foolish adventure, the kindred submitted and surrendered. Micheal spent the better part of an hour speaking to her. He admired her dedication. If not her choice in covenant.
The height of the evening occured after retrieving his gifts after they were stolen. Micheal bristled at the thought of his creations being taken by another kindred. One so base and foolish to stoop to the level of a criminal. Micheal dropped to a knee as he presented his gift to Lord Savage. Having already granted the blade to Johannes. The blade's whistle was clean and sharp. A weapon for killing. And now that the arm of Salvatore was wielding a proper tool. An Old tool. It was now time to see that Salvatore was armored. The prince cautiously opened the box. Not expecting a trap, but centuries of intrigue forced him to hesitate. It was a message of trust in Micheal that Salvatore opened the box himself.
Inside lay the gauntlets. Gorgeous symbols of power, wealth, honor and prestige. Token's of respect that the Prince could wear comfortably. The soft velvet touch, with the crushing grip of steel. A symbol of micheal's perceptions of salvatore, and by extension, the savages. They were cold, brutal, uncaring. Yet they ruled fairly, and were polite and genial once one stood through their cold stares and their sharp barbed wits. Just as the velvet was concealed in the shell of metal, so were the savage's inner beauty concealed beneath a layer of steel power. And controling every machination of both the soft velvet folding and the folded steel moving, kindred flesh. Kindred blood. Kindred power.
Steel, Velvet, and the inner power of the savage blood.
Salvatore would see the message.
To anyone else, it was a simple pretty trinket. But Salvatore was anything but simple. He knew the power of respect. The power of courtesy. The power of tradition.
We are invictus. We are unconquered.
And to that end, this journey did deliver.
It was his first trek to san francisco via automobile. He didn't much like it. Helicopter was simply faster and the sea was simply calmer. The sheer audacity and stupidity of mortal drivers was staggering and riled his beast that so many humans allowed their delusions of importance run so rampant. There was a time that the peasants knew their place. And they were still there. At the bottom. Only now they simply did not know it.
The evening started simply. Even getting so exciting as to execute one who intended harm to the prince. Micheal felt a pang of regret from an old part of him however. The kindred's lover, compatriot, ally... whatever... was with him. And failed to protect him. Knowing revenge to be a foolish adventure, the kindred submitted and surrendered. Micheal spent the better part of an hour speaking to her. He admired her dedication. If not her choice in covenant.
The height of the evening occured after retrieving his gifts after they were stolen. Micheal bristled at the thought of his creations being taken by another kindred. One so base and foolish to stoop to the level of a criminal. Micheal dropped to a knee as he presented his gift to Lord Savage. Having already granted the blade to Johannes. The blade's whistle was clean and sharp. A weapon for killing. And now that the arm of Salvatore was wielding a proper tool. An Old tool. It was now time to see that Salvatore was armored. The prince cautiously opened the box. Not expecting a trap, but centuries of intrigue forced him to hesitate. It was a message of trust in Micheal that Salvatore opened the box himself.
Inside lay the gauntlets. Gorgeous symbols of power, wealth, honor and prestige. Token's of respect that the Prince could wear comfortably. The soft velvet touch, with the crushing grip of steel. A symbol of micheal's perceptions of salvatore, and by extension, the savages. They were cold, brutal, uncaring. Yet they ruled fairly, and were polite and genial once one stood through their cold stares and their sharp barbed wits. Just as the velvet was concealed in the shell of metal, so were the savage's inner beauty concealed beneath a layer of steel power. And controling every machination of both the soft velvet folding and the folded steel moving, kindred flesh. Kindred blood. Kindred power.
Steel, Velvet, and the inner power of the savage blood.
Salvatore would see the message.
To anyone else, it was a simple pretty trinket. But Salvatore was anything but simple. He knew the power of respect. The power of courtesy. The power of tradition.
We are invictus. We are unconquered.