An Architect calls

[Lady Grace]

Grace acknowledges the toast with a nod to Jean-Jacques then raises her glass

"In which case it is only proper that I request you all to toast to the security, longevity and integrity of the Ivory Tower"
She drinks

[L .]

'And if I am insulted, what then?' Although it was mostly a joke, Aurelia supposed she should ask.

'A Ventrue Elder? By who?'

'I am not the most placid creature.'

'Then become it. You are here under my grace, but you remain bound by the same expectations as Violetta presented to thee last.'

Aurelia paused. 'Won't it be odd if I don't label someone as Vulgar if they -'

'No.'

Helplessness and futility rushed through her.

'But -'

'No. We have spoken. Preventative, rather than curative measures. You were a politican before you were this. I do not want to hear you abusing our system. Simply avoid situations where you could be slighted.' He paused, with a wry smile. 'Avoid Brujah Elders, perhaps. By all means, your Prestation holds betwixt.'

*

Aurelia has two types of anger. One: is hot. Hot anger is easy. It's constructive. It has somewhere to go in an argument, can be healed with as little as a laugh, a smile, or an apology.

Cold anger is different.

Aurelia makes a jerky motion - her energy is suddenly: loose puppet strings, erratic - her throat bobs. The Elder's chin tucks down. Her body spasms. She looks to swallow, as if bile had come up. And her eyes, they are sunken in and darker before, they shine too-bright in the gaslight; and fix lividly on Hermina.

Aurelia's words are chosen with extreme care. Her pitch has plummeted, a whip-tight staccato of bite.

"I will take banter. I will take human charades of silliness. I will take, still, this back-forth heat we have. But I will not take these insults to mi pareja - non."

She can hear blood-noise in her ears. "Gilipolas? Hijo du puta?" She's risen to stand, takes a step closer. When Hermina's finger flies forward in accusation - Aurelia takes another step - two steps. The empty palm of her right hand opens on cool air, turned out. Two fingers (her black-tipped ring and fourth) curl, ritually.

"Neonate Marchaux, I offer you a Trivial Boon in apology. It seems my ire was wrongly placed. Elder Zaragoza left the animal on the doorstep, not you."

The smudge of colouring that ordinarily stained Aurelia's lips was blackening, thin little veins of ink. Her mind was already ahead in thick fantasty: Hermina's eyes open, tongue trapped between her teeth under the extraordinary delight of the blade performing its function as -

- a fistful of blood vessels -

Another step.

For what amused ire she'd held earlier, it was gone. Aurelia could feel real anger now, tension pouring off her, mounting in the roof of her mouth, on her tongue, in the space of between them as the air grew charged. A guttural noise reverberated in her throat.

"Casting off your property -" spittle flies from her fangs, wide and gleaming. "Ghoul, animal or otherwise - onto him to mind like your fucking stablehand, like a peasant." The word was dirty; she spat it. "You belligerent, contemptible waste of embrace. What demented world do you live in that other Elders seem to avoid? To treat another Elder in this way. Where is this attitude from? You cannot, even, hold claim to a pedigree of lineage. You are nothing. You are deficient, dyseptic, a half-wit with an inflated sense of grandiosity, gained perhaps from fucking too hard into neonate beds."

"Barratous creature, you think you will just use him like some glorified coat rack, a stableboy and housekeep? You cry, expect him to leap? Fuck you. He is your Sheriff, your Elder, your superior in status. Not your mother's hand to hold at night, not your whipping boy, not your domestic doormat. He is nothing to you. You will remmeber that or I will make you remember. Don't fuck with what is mine."

"You attend to this insult immediately, or I will respond to it now, as an insult."

"It may not be in this minute - neither of us should breach our host's Hospitality - but you can be assured it will be upon leaving this haven, Elder Hermina. And I have ways of getting you out of this house."

[Madam Zaragoza]

Hermina is utterly stunned into silence by the response and her mind is sent reeling by it. How did getting far too high one night, end up with this circumstance? She didn’t bloody want the horse in the first place, but Dukes had no right to give it to his new girlfriend on a whim! She had felt it in her gut that getting involved with Jean would cause her problems, and she certainly had those now. Oh how she wished she had the social abilities of the Ventrue or Toreador. She never meant to upset Aurelia, she was annoyed at Dukes but perhaps she had gone over the top. It was all so much of a surprise when she walked in, first seeing the horse here and then finding out it had been given away. Joder! Joder! Joder! She had wanted to be friends with Aurelia. What she should do now?! This is why her kindred interactions tended to be limited to specific politics and flirting, she did not know how to placate and bow and scrape to the upper echelons. That was how she had ended up owing a boon to the Prince of Paris and Rafael of all people.

Think Hermina you have very little time. Right, what her full name? Elder Aurealia of Clan Ventrue, of the line of Mithras, Duchess of Ambers? I think. Boons, Joder! what level for Dukes... hmmm I suppose it is a major.. and for Aurelia. Otherwise this will forever be a stain.

Hermina stands and bows to both Aurelia and Dukes.

“Elder Aurelia of Clan Ventrue, of the line of Mithras, Duchess of Ambers and Sheriff Niketas Doukas, Elder of Clan Tremere. I apologise utterly for the insult I caused. It was caused by surprise in regarding the new circumstances but this does not excuse my over reaction to it. Please both accept a major boon in payment. I hope that we can forget this sorry situation and move on. I think that the Sheriff knows that I do really hold him in very high regard and I hope that you come to know too Elder Aurelia that I also highly respect you.”

She sits back down looking utterly mortified and takes a whole glass of blood down in one go. She glances at Jean-Jacques.
“Neonate Marchaux please accept a trivial boon for causing such disturbance in your home.”

[alanwrotethis]

You can't quell an emotion by opposing it, you have to redirect it, degree by degree, spin it rather than block it. Confront anger with jealousy, then with sadness, then with loss, then with love, and so it goes...

He is standing, taking a moment to swat aside the latest jibe, pondering that thought, when Aurelia's aura flares and she turns to face Hermina.

Or you can fight anger with more anger, kick the doors of anger down and murder the knights of anger in kind. Seven fucking Shades, you never duck and weave, you just punch back, harder.

Inside, in the crueler part of his mind, he smiles.

Good for you,

He watches, knowing better than to interrupt. When he sees Aurelia's fingers curl his eyes widen, pupils dilate, auspex at work, he is studying the room in a manic haze, the thickness of the candelabra, the sturdiness of the table legs, the tension of the curtains, looking for something to lock onto and become if the need arises.

She gives her ultimatum, and he watches his clanmate with more concern than he has ever shown her before.

Getthisrightgetthisrightgetthisrightdon'tforceafightdon'tmakemedon'tmakemeonemorewhisperandI'minthewalls
andI'mintheroomandI'minthehousegetthisrightgethisright

Hermina takes a step back, and her aura is clear. Her words, clearer. His hand unclenches, the whisper on his lips halts. He looks to Aurelia, looks to her aura, waits for the colours to shift... there.

"Elder Zaragoza... thank you. I accept your apology."

[L .]

If you were a passionate blank-canvas type Elder with a talent - violin, mathematics, ping-pong - you became a virtuoso or a celebrated story. If you were a passionate blank-canvas type without a talent, you found stamp collecting or train spotting or totalitarian regime. Aurelia was neither of these things. Her anger was never misdirected, was specific to its target. She did not rage and howl againt the rain for an unfair world, did not care for gaining power for its own sake, not to fuel her ambitions. She did not become an Anarch during the Wars. She'd never been one of those vampires who, when suffocated and hurt by an individual in a system, bade to harm the system; she went after the hand that struck her, the noose that tied her. She did not hold onto anger, past the point of its satisfaction. And humility was satisfaction enough... at times.

Dukes had seen the shift in her aura; indeed, it was flaring differently now, the colours thawing out into relaxed hues.

The fingers which had begun to curl, now also relax, their rigor-mortis claw-grip easing. Aurelia flexes them, as if dispelling something, and slowly, so as not to startle in the tension, she removes from her trouser's pocket a glinting silver object.

The last step she takes forward was nothing like the others. Aurelia's raptoral eyes are still flat, but they are turning smokey, more inviting. She lifts the object in slow motion, raises it to her mouth - lips that are totally black now, at their innermost crease. She wraps her lips around the metal nipple, eyes laughing, and takes a swig.

"Elder de Zaragoza," she flips the hipflask. By it's reek it's obvious: opium. Aurelia offers it between them. "I accept your apology."

Her low gaze is on Hermina - under other circumstances, it might even be sexual.

Over her shoulder but without turning, Aurelia drawls, "Do not use the boon lightly, Marchaux. A night of my time is often worth more than a year of some."

Her mouth works, and draws into a thin line. Still her eyes smile. Aurelia appraises Hermina anew, as if she hadn't expected a single political bone in her body, and is reluctantly impressed. "I will respect the same in turn of thee, Elder."

In truth, Aurelia already knew what she would ask of Hermina Zaragoza.

[Jean-Jacques]

Jean-Jacques watches the interplay between Aurelia, Hermina and Dukes intently, he nods acceptance at the offers of boons from Aurelia and Hermina,

Indeed ee shall not waste zat Elder Aurelia, ee shall not

Seeing several empty glasses, he moves to the decanter and circulates the room refilling glasses.

“Please zis eveneeng, mi casa su casa,”

He glances a nervous look toward Aurelia and Hermina

And smiles before returning with a full glass to stand, just slightly behind, where Grace is seated.

[Madam Zaragoza]

Hermina takes a massive internal sigh of relief and smiles at Aurelia. She takes the proffered hip flask, the heady intoxicating smell hits her nose. She steels herself to take just a small sip, this would be hard. More than anything in the world right now she needed Morpheus to embrace her. Come on Hermina, do not undo all your good work. She tips the blood onto her tongue, the sensation almost overwhelms her. Using all her willpower she stops drinking and reluctantly hands the flask back.
“Thank you Elder.”

[Valentina Audley]

Valentina has been watching the argument carefully. She's seen Elders anger before and... well last time someone lost limbs and someone else became part chair. So she watches carefully to see if this is going to be that sort of argument. And relaxes again when Hermina appears to finally notice what dangerous waters she's in and take steps to correct it. My, what fun it will be to tell Dyonisia off this later!

Something that doesn't escape her notice but probably doesn't rise to Dyonisia worthy levels of gossip is how the Brujah flock to their Primogen. Valentina smiles approvingly at this display, knowing Grace would understand.

"Are you expecting many others tonight Neonate Marchaux?" She asks lightly, more to fill the void than out of real interest. Though of course, Toreador do derive idle enjoyment from such knowledge.

[Posh-Tim]

Keane walks the streets of bath. It just started raining and he is not enjoying the trip at all... The pavements are thrown into a sparkling relief by the street lamps. This is the nicer part of town but that doesn't improve things much.
Attending the party of a Neonate now? Wonders never cease. Most surprisingly it was in what he had been led to believe was the feeding grounds of the Ventrue, yet another thing to put him on edge. Mind, the Architect Beaufort had been invited so perhaps it was being permitted for some reason. Now where was the bloody place.
He stops and realises he is quite lost, he was never the best at finding his bearings. Not in a city at least. As he stands two lovers break their grip on one another to travel either side of him. At least there was the privacy of Obfuscate to rely on.
Sharpening his sense for anything that might assist; What was that? The sound of an angry Spanish accent just a few houses away. Well, it was better than standing here getting soaked so he might as well try.
As he approaches he scents the strong odour of horses. 'Well' he thinks to himself, 'I wonder how indicative that is of what is to be found within.' The horse reek is not unpleasant, it reminds him of not being in the city. What is strange, as he raps upon the door, is how it seems to be getting stronger inside the house...

[alanwrotethis]

Niketas pads his pockets, weighing between the mead liqueur and the gin-spiked options. He settles on the latter for a calmer buzz, retrieving a leather-bound medicine bottle and opening it.

"Diplomacy... such a grand thing. Five, six hundred years ago, a meeting like this, casual and free, would have been an oddity."

He shrugs.

"It would have been odd for me at least, when I was a neonate my city was so split we effectively had two courts and two princes, right on top of each other."

He toasts to Grace.

"To the Tower, Primogen Grace... well said."