Bath Camarilla

Jean-Jacques emerges from the inn, deliberately shutting the door behind him, moves out into the rain and looks up to the sky,

“What a wondrous evening, storms hide the truth the stars above reveal to those without the nous to see beyond the clouds that mask the simple vision offered by the eyes..”

He stand briefly, rapidly soaked to the sallow skin, adoring the storm which rages

"Are you going to change your wardrobe as well as your pattern of speech? Or is this enough to pretend you're something you're not?"

Anton didn't struggle with the door, lowering his Obfuscate so as to step out the way. Despite the heat of his words, the tone is almost tired, with none of the usual bite that Anton preserved for Clan Brujah. The boy's taken his eyes to the shifting skies above them, dark and swirling with storm. Rain weighs down on his lashes. In the halflight, they look terribly green.

He slants a look to the 'Brujah.' "You think this is all fine, don't you? If you weren't what you were before, I'd give you some advice, because this isn't a matter of out of the frying pan and into the fire. This is much worse than that. And you're a fool if you think this is a good thing for you. For any of us."

Jean-Jacques turns his gaze from the clouds to face Anton, the rain streaked across his features, his eyes ignoring the pattern of streams across his face in the half light offered by the clouded moon and for the windows of the inn partially illuminating his features.

His expression turns briefly quizzical, then relaxes to impassive

“Ah There you are, my shadow was yearning for your presence “

You'e an idiot is on the tip of Anton's tongue, but he halts himself. He tries to swallow down the irrational edge of that anger and instead give credit to the situation. But a tic goes off in his jaw.

"Would you cut this out? All of this? You'll isolate yourself more trying to play up to such a stupid image. You know it's not healthy giving everyone the idea that we're a broken musicbox clan of cryptic comments and senseless gibberish. No one is listening. And you're fucking it up for the rest of us."

Jean-Jacques face alters to a slight smile, then a frown

“It’s been quite the night, indeed two nights, and I am sure I should be grateful for your conscientious instruction”

He pouts slightly before his face takes on a stern impression.

“Perhaps enlightenment awaits me at your superior mind eh?”

If a kindred could look like a drowned rat, he was giving a good impression....

Anton stares.

“Why are you being so fucking difficult?” Stress sends haywire little detonations of energy throughout his body, into his palms, which open and close on fists. Concern and anger war for place in the boy’s aura.

“You want to lose what shreds of sympathy you could get? You’re going the right way.”

Anton turned properly to face Jean Jaques, trying to push past the dominant emotion bubbling up beneath his Beast. “What happened?”

Jean-Jacques returns Anton’s glare.

He actually laughs loudly and then his face contorts to a serious look

“Ah, forgive me , I had mistaken you for a pretentious youth, whom considered my mere presence a stain on your sight”

A brief pause

“I should perhaps fawn at your generous suggestion of sympathy, yet somehow my mind is failing to conclude such a chain of events should even make sense “

Is the youth completely mad, does he consider me a fool, perhaps he is blind, perhaps his obfuscation goes beyond the physical, yet here he is, feigning care or is it ...curiosity...

“I am not sure what happened Anton”

Anton wished he was the type of person who could throw a well-timed punch to emphasise a point. Throw it - and actually have it do something. You know, like land. Maybe do some damage.

“You’re a pretentious youth,” Anton says in surprise, absolutely flummoxed. “Even before whatever happened to you tonight, you were a neonate too.”

His expression twists. “Your pedigree doesn’t mean anything anymore. What’s your fucking problem with everyone?”

Jean-Jacques actually looks incredulous

“What’s MY problem with everyone?”

He laughs,

“That’s rich from you, whose nose is so far up his own backside he can’t see beyond his own ego”

he shrugs

“You cannot know how I feel, ...”

He trails off and just stares

Anton outright gapes.

“Me? The damned hell are you on about? I’m the last person likely to -”

He cuts himself off, wounded confusion finally reaching his eyes.

“After everything you’ve done and you’re surprised that some of us are angry with yours still? Give us a fucking break. I had seventeen patients with persistent trauma wounds across the clans that wouldn’t heal past the aggravation for nights. All because your clan can’t keep a lid on their own tempers. Blood sport is all fun and games until you’re called to account, is that it?”

Anton almost decided to ignore the last comment, too baffled by it to know where to start. “I have a better idea than most. Think, you idiot!”