An Urchin So North of the River

[George Williamson]

It had already been a tiring night. Night seven of trying to talk to the doctor and failing. Today had been decided to be the day George went north after having received Mr Redfern's letter. The theatres and further East he'd intend to go. Get it all done in one swoop.

George hadn't broken his obfuscation which blocked him from notice until he was very close to the BRLSI. Thinking back he couldn't remember being here before. The large walls that contained so much information the masses could never wish to attain. George wondered if the Doctors of the court ever saught the less private areas of the library.

When he dropped back into mortal view he did look as George would look when he was mortal again. Looking like as a refined Gentleman should, even with a briefcase in hand, he went to knock on the grand doors.

[Caiaphas Redfern]

A fine drizzle, whipped here and there by gusts of a wind that was unusually cold for this time of year, began to fall just as George reached the BRSLI's portico. In its merciful shelter, he did not have to wait long while his knocks summoned an answer.

The man framed in the doorway was tall, strongly built, with pince-nez spectacles on a narrow nose that divided deep-set brown eyes whose penetrating gaze evoked a certain intelligence. The clothes were a brown suit, neat, professional or perhaps academic, and very middle class. The receding hairline made him look older, but the Nosferatu gauged him to be not yet in his fourth decade.

With a polite inclination of his head and the faintest of smiles, he rumbled "Good evening, sir", his eyebrows raised and the obvious question unspoken.

[George Williamson]

Simply knock and you will be let in...

The doorman was waiting for a reply it seemed, or at least he wasn't obviously letting George enter.

George gave the slightest of smiles, "Good evening."

What do you say when entering a library at this late hour? I am here for a meeting. I have some late research to attend too. George tried to remember something Dorian would say...

"I am here to collect materials for my lecture. My name is Mr Williamson, I believe I am expected."

[Caiaphas Redfern]

The smile broadened in clear recognition, and the door was opened wider. "Ah! Please do come in, sir. Raddocks, of the Royal, London - Pleased to meet you." he said with a polite inclination of his high brow. "I'm afraid that Dr. Redfern was a little coy in giving a face to the name, and it is rather late in the day. Please..."

George was affably ushered into the austerely elegant interior of the building amidst ambulatory small-talk of the weather, and a few twists and turns later he found himself in a magnolia-papered room neatly laid out for the display of entomological treasures, the door closed behind him with a well-wishing from Raddocks.

Glass fronted boxes there were on stands, on tables and even mounted on the walls, each filled with an array of multitudes of insects...no...beetles, specifically. Thousands of once-living gems, many admittedly rather drab, others that shimmered with myriad colours plain and metallic, impaled for the viewer's delight.

At one dismounted case on a table from which the glass had been lifted was Redfern. He unhunched himself and took the monocular from his eye to absently put it down as he gave George a magisterial half-smile.

"Mr. W. Welcome to the Institute. Approach."

[George Williamson]

His smile widened and George simply nodded to the doorman. When in doubt silence is golden. He thought of coming here more regularly; the face of a Royal was worth more than a pretty penny.

He'd never seen a place like it. George looked around with a mixture of confusion and amazement. A collection of beetles, why?

George tore his eyes away from the cases to give a half bow to Caiaphas before slowly walking closer. "Thank you for the welcome. It is most..." he looked around again at the numerous cases, "intriguing. What are all of these?"

[Caiaphas Redfern]

As the other vampire approached, still clad in its projected illusion of middle-class innocuity, Caiaphas squinted in concentration as he sought to burn through it with the fire of his will.

"The Lord is a white-smith and these are his favourite creations." said the Ventrue with perhaps the slightest hint of displeasure. "Now kindly let me see you as He fashioned you, dear boy, for while I appreciate your caution, the deception is less welcome."

"None will disturb us here" he added by way of reassurance.

[George Williamson]

George's looked equal parts amazed and confused. A metal worker did this? How... He was about to ask before the request came from Refern. The good moment was now disturbed by a question that could never really find answer.

The fiery stare was met with sorrow. "I have heard arguments that the Lord does not wish to see us while we are dead who walk again. That how we look now is not how the Lord intended." George cleared his throat, his native tone returning,"'N this'll be the closest we'd get now."

If the Elder were to stop concentrating on the younger his mind would accept that his clothes were not how he originally saw, but instead ragged and stained.

[Caiaphas Redfern]

An instant passed in which the Ventrue primogen re-evaluated the the childe before him, if indeed this was no impostor! He further quickened his senses and reinforced the ramparts of his will against the muffling influence that George was projecting, but the effort was beginning to grieve him. The whole thing felt an impertinence; one impertinence too far...

Straightening, turning fully towards the Nosferatu, his polished shoes made a sharp 'clack' as he drew them together. He spoke now very softly, deliberately, but the last glimmer of joviality had fled his countenance.

"Well, Williamson...I shall be glad to debate the theology of our existence 'til dawn, yet first I wish to make it very clear for you that you stand in the personal domain of an elder of the Camarilla, whom you are seeking to cloy with the gifts of your blood. Needlessly too, since I am sure that I seen you in your natural aspect before...

"While the customs of hospitality do protect you here, it'd behoove you to accede to his very reasonable request, as it's not their flesh of which kine or kindred should be ashamed.

"Or does an anarch stand before me?"

[George Williamson]

George's mask dissipated under the hard stare of the Elder. The pink skin turned white before his scalp and hands turned black and cracked like burnt wood. Where burn met skin it swelled bright red, being fed by thick red veins which led beneath his clothes.

The impact of George standing here seemed more than what was seen at Elysium. The blackened skin would be less ridged and still have a skin-like gleam. The veins would blend more into his normal complexion and the swelling and redness was less bloated. The gruesome curse of Nosferatu shined through all his childe.

His stomach twisted into knots. The piercing gaze set George into the beginnings of fear. Someone much his Elder focusing solely on him was what he wished to avoid. While some would flee or attack, George stayed. Part frozen, part denial, part avoiding seeing himself again.

He felt the need to grab onto a thought. Any thought. Something to distract him. The displays didn't hold the instant mental stimulation that this required. "What is it that we should be ashamed of then?"

[Caiaphas Redfern]

Caiaphas did not flinch or blink at the sight. Indeed, the ventrue's stony expression became more nearly human and, though he did not quite smile, he certainly exuded less menace than moments before. "The corruption of spirit, in course", he cried before taking a moment to examine the tortured being that stood before him. "I walk in Elysium amongst creatures much fairer to look upon than you, Mr. Williamson, yet some - even your own primogen - bear a stench of corruption beside which you're a sweet rose! Honi soit qui ne peut le sentir..."

And nodding acknowledgement to the alleged flower, he added "The state of your immortal coil is quite immaterial - we all have our crosses to bear and you'd be well advised to save your shame for when it counts. But regardless, I didn't invite you here to fatigue you with a lecture - that was your sire's duty, after all."

Caiaphas hesitated for a heartbeat, glanced at his countless impaled specimens, then steeled himself to continue. "I am given to understand that your blood bears the same gift the Lord gave the saint of Assisi. Am I mistaken?"

The neonate could see something like hope - or apprehension - in the elder's eyes.