The Fifth Council of Neonates

[LittleBird]

Kira's lips softly curl at the brightness of her aura despite how dark the setting may appear as she is strapped in. Her eyes turn rather downcast as she meets those of the one being lifted. Seeing those eyes soo distant, and wider then the room that encompasses her, it brings a tightness that she momentarily struggles to fight against.

Kira clicks her neck. A shiver down her spine at seeing one in such a condition, yet, focuses her attention to the machine once more, as their host secures her safely with a steady hand.

[Eric Lunaris]

Eric winces with each loud clang of skull upon metal that Violet causes, making a mental note to amend the situation. Later, of course, there were still priorities. Lining up series of small stoppered tubes, each currently empty, in a wooden five by eight rack. A stack of paper each with arcane marks upon still stood in the case. One by one, half the tubes had paper attached or put inside in one way or another.

It was interesting to listen to Dorian past the divide. The talk of stacks and pumps, it was an intriguing backdrop to events of the evening. It was certain the students were learning a great deal tonight.

It was only when Taylor walked past that Eric spoke, "keep ahold of yeself tonight. It is great work ye're doing. Work ye need to keep up for." After which he finishes setting things up before heading round.

Eric went to the side of the coffin and peered in. It was not surprise, he had prepared for this moment. A chance for them to be something greater. The pangs of guilt still wracked him, showing on the furrow of his brow. "Aye... well... I take it your machine can do the next bit?" he asks Dorian, still feeling some dark foreboding in his stomach. Nervous laughter sounded through the room. He couldn't break his eyes from her. It had to be done, the only opportunity. Others would know, but would she? Would she decide be the catalyst for their future?

"I'll get on with my other parts, Violet, follow me." It came about two seconds before Eric started to move back round.

[Violet Clyntahn]

Violet watches for a second as the girl is placed on the table, unbothered by her appearance she turns her attention instead to those in the room clearly more concerned. She watches Eric with a sad look on her face as he walks away from the coffin.

“of course, whatever you need” She quickly agrees moving to follow him. “What are we doing?” she asks gently in the hope providing an answer would be suitably distracting for him.

[Eric Lunaris]

It was a hard feeling to shake, but Violet did a good job at getting towards a point of clarity. Focusing on the task at hand went the rest of the way. "Tonight we identify the chemicals used by the Usurper in their stolen lives," the emptiness is replaced with a sickle of hatred.

From his bench he takes the test tube rack and a box of wooden sticks, slightly larger than toothpicks and blunted. "We shall look for trace chemicals left under her nails, in her hair, around her lips, and on her skin. Ye shall sample under nails and her skin. Use these wooden sticks then places the stick inside a tube. Leave no lasting marks and," his eyes narrow slightly towards her, "make no loud noises. Alright? Ye can then see what I do with these sample after." Eric tries to smile, failing slightly, so laughs instead.

[Dorian M. Black]

"Cras es Noster," Dorian breathes, raking his eyes over the two figures as they lay between the machine. "Let omen be absent this night," he said conversationally to the room. "Who knows what secrets lie, locked away in the Tremere's blood?"

Dorian detaches another glass rod from the box's frame. Dexterously shifting it in one hand so that he can he tilt the mortal's head back, the girl releases a soft noise, barely audible, something between a distressed moan and a sigh. Dorian moves a lock of her chestnut hair away from her neck.

Then stabs in the prongs without a second thought.

Before doing anything else he detaches the suckers from Mayweather's throat, then leans down to press the flat of his tongue against the small wounds there, on either side, sealing the flesh.

The inventor straightens and flicks several different switches on the machine. It whirs quietly to life.
The girl jerks.

He crosses to a metal cupboard and draws out two large medical cylinders filled with what looks like blood. Back at the machine, these are slot onto one side, and punctured by something internal at the draw of a lever.

Dorian checks his pocketwatch, then returns to the girl's head. He seems to be timing something, his knuckles rapping gently beside her hair, a low staccato rhythm. It's an oddly hollow sound in the room that night.

Her jerks are beginning to grow more disordered, more stressed, involuntary lapses of control on the body. The small mouth opens once, as if to speak, half closes, works on the thin air like a lifeline. The gaslights are sharp, minutely captured in the glossy convexities of her eyes.

Five seconds. Ten. Twenty. Instinct tells you when they're going.

She was past it now. Her eyes said she'd gone on from them, was standing at the rail looking back at the dock. Embarkation. She blinked, once, languidly. Her lips moved. One stray copper lock of hair was stuck to the sheen of sweat on the upper lip. Bright fairy-green eyes. These eyes said: I'm going.

In the moment before they closed she made the last shift: At the true end of life one doesn't care how one's come to death. They weren't her murderers, or monsters; they were just the thing that had unlocked the door. Now she saw through them and the matter of this world into a final solving darkness or annihilating light.
Her eyes widened once, then closed.

Dorian stared boredly at his pocketwatch.

[Christine Daye]

Christine watches it all with a look of sick horror on her face, not moving from her place by the wall, not even moving a muscle. Her grey eyes are wide, but it's hard to tell if she's seeing what's in front of her, or is staring back into the past.

What is sure is that she is singing, very quietly, a lullaby:

"Go to sleep...baby child... go to sleep my little baby...
hush a bye... don't you cry... go to sleep my little baby...
when you wake... you will have... all the pretty little horses...
black and bay... dapple grey... all the pretty little horses..."

[Samuel Taylor]

Taylor tenses up as the girl is removed from the coffin, his fists clench involuntarily and his teeth grind. His fangs extend but before he does anything rash, he turns away. Moving to where Christine stands against the wall he stands with his back to the experiment, trying to block her view.

"This is wrong...."

[Christine Daye]

Christine reaches out, taking hold of Taylor, clinging to him for comfort. Her head rests on his shoulder, and she keeps singing her lullaby, softly, quietly, calming herself and others.

[Violet Clyntahn]

Violet manages to look vaguely apologetic at Eric's mention o loud noises, looking at her feet, but this quickly turns into interested nods at the prospect of seeing what is to be done with the samples. She takes the sticks and the tubes and walks back to start taking the samples. She’s on best behaviour this time, not leaving any unnecessary marks in case it jeopardises the promise of being able to see what is to happen.

She works quickly focusing on what she is doing until the mortal girls twitching distracts her. She pauses to watch, head tilted to one side, eyes wide, she shudders slightly as Christine starts to sing, but continues to watch none the less.
When the girls eyes close, she closes her eyes too, taking a deep breath before returning to what she is doing. Once completed she takes another brief glance towards the girl before walking back towards Eric, slower this time.

[CFlaubert]

Constance watches Dorian throughout. The focus of her eyes only leaving his hands briefly to take in the entire scope of his achievement.

The Tremere lying prostrate on the table. The girl lying in her coffin. The machine, the symbol of the inventor's genius between them. She reflected on all of the events that needed to have occurred for this development to have come to pass. All of the cats, no people, that needed to have been patiently herded for this specific eventuality to happen. All of the beautiful and complex variables that needed to have been recognized and considered for this result to be observed, and felt a stimulating mental explosion as the canvas of his planning unfurled in her mind.

There is nothing of the horror experienced by some of the others in the room on her face. Only detached interest, punctuated by what seems like veneration of his achievement.

As the process continues, her expression settles into one of intense satisfaction, with a gleam of comprehension in her eyes.