After the Fight [Private RP, Upstairs Bedroom]

[Raife Black]

Raife had awoken from his deep, opium-induced stupor to find himself the sole occupant of his disheveled bed. He frowned but was not overly concerned, sitting up and trying to push the fugue from his mind before reaching out with Auspex. His slow, groggy movements became focused immediately when he sensed Anton's aura - close but angry and worryingly hazy. Pulling on his clothes without any of his usual care, he moved straight to the source of Anton's aura. Raife shoved the door open without ceremony, presenting himself with his hair in disarray and his shirt barely buttoned.

"What the /hell/ have you done?" Raife hissed in a quiet but furious voice, closing the gap between the door and Anton, sitting beside him and looking him over quickly before trying to help him into more dignified position on the bed. Raife's own aura expanded and pulsed in a dark, hot anger than caused a shimmer or mirage in the mind's eye. Despite his fury, he did not yet look to Keane for an answer, focusing on Anton for the time being.

[Posh-Tim]

Keane tenses as Raife enters the room. He is about to stand and interpose himself between the two of them but Raife gets there first and Keane sits back from his half stand.
"Actually none of this was Antons fault. At least for the most part so you might have a care of that before throwing accusations at him. He's been through enough.
Hello, by the way Raife."
Keane was displeased enough as it was by the story Anton had told to deal with Raifes usual behavior now.

[Anton]

Anton is healing still, but his crusted eye is open - there’s a lot of blood matting the boy’s wild hair, and he is bent over double, cradling his torso.

"Uhhh -" Anton froze, swinging his gaze to the door, and to the question, and finally finding Raife. He reflexively shrunk down. "I didn’t -"

He stumbles over his words, licking a bloodied lip.

[Raife Black]

"I was speaking to you, you bumbling fool!"

The force behind Raife's words was matched only by the explosive movement he made towards his sire. His lips were curled back from his teeth, revealing his unusual mouth full of pointed fangs. His eyes were wide with too much white showing around the steely grey of his irises. A wall of physical heat bent the air between his body and Keane's and an animalistic growl escaped him as he reached out to take a fistful of Keane's robes.

[Posh-Tim]

For a moment Keane does nothing, he looks down at his robe in Raifes fist and then back up at Raife. Then, slowly, he pushes himself up from the chair forcing Raife backwards. When he reaches his full height he looks down at his would be attacker. His face is thunderous, his aura turning an inky red of anger. Very quietly he says;
"*I* just dragged him away from his attacker to safety. *I* an trying to determine how to best explain this to the methuselah Prince that is downstairs right now. What about you? What were you doing while Anton was being assaulted?"
He goes to take Raifes hand from his robe.
"Now get your hands off me, Childe!"

[Anton]

Anton's aura is visibly shameful, wadded up in fear - and tender surprise.

This is the first time he's witnessed Raife actually angry. Oh, he's seen him melancholy before, comatose with substance or brooding in a combination of fury and grief, but the unhappiness has always dampened the heat of the anger in those instances. Not now.

Anton looks like he's still trying to catch up, his own mouth slack.

"He didn't do anything!" he says pointlessly, only echoing Keane. "I was..."

Here Anton struggled. He was fast enough to piece together what would happen if he gave the exact truth: Raife might well attack Jean Jaques, which Anton knew wasn't right and he shouldn't be entertaining how satisfying that would be because Anton was trying to help the idiot Brujah, who was apparently no longer a Brujah.

But an insiduous little voice painted a pretty picture all the same. Anton ignored it. He didn't want Raife in trouble. Well. Any more trouble than attacking their Primogen.

So. That meant the truth had to paint Anton in a slightly worse light.

If he'd had a heart it would be thumping madly against his ribcage. "Keane helped me out. I was being an idiot. One of the Brujah was winding me up a while ago, so I followed him out the house - just out the front - and we got arguing. He uh..."

Anton realised this wasn't a very good cover, given the state he was in. "I threw a few insults. Without provocation."

[Raife Black]

Raife threw his hand away from Keane's chest in disgust, not wanting their hands to make contact. He took a step back, looking over his shoulder at Anton but also avoiding Keane's stare and distancing himself from his looming presence.

"Brujah?" Raife ran his tongue wolfishly over his teeth and then spat on the ground, aristocratic charm left by the wayside, "I'm not buying it, Anton. Even the most brainless of those thugs wouldn't do that for an insult."

Raife paced a few steps, running his hand through his hair and throwing a nervous look up at Keane.

"Why would Uriah care about this? What happened?"

A statement to the room, though Raife remained silent to Keane's question about his own whereabouts.

[Posh-Tim]

Keane stays standing, glaring at his damnable progeny.
"Because it practically happened in his presence. Because, no doubt, someone will already have explained the last time Anton almost caused a fight like this. And because this is the Camarilla! I don't know what kind of associations you kept with in your mortal life, but petty fist fights are not tolerated by the high clans!" He realised he was muddling his explanation there but hoped Raife didn't know enough to challenge him on it.
"As to 'Buying it' you give the Brujah far too much credit. They are slaves to their emotion more than we are and quite frankly I'm amazed something like this didn't happen sooner."
He stays doesn't move, his expression doesn't change. He's not backing down in this one.

[Anton]

Anton winced, not at top of his game for comebacks. He'd figured Raife might have seen right through that.

"I mean... that Brujah has attacked me on an insult before," he muttered, as if that should get him off of the question now. "He has! A couple elders had to stake him, when last he lost control. Dukes, Aurelia, that blond celerity ancilla, and uh.... a few others. They had to damage him into the ground. He just went off on one, but sure, I was baiting him. Only to prove he is basically a wild animal though, with no control. Point proven. This time was different though!"

Anton mumbled the next, almost vanishing into his own blood-damp shirt. "I was trying to help. Thought he shouldn't alienate himself so much."

"He's not Brujah anymore. Something - somehow - 'cured' him of vampirism. Not for long, mind. He got embraced all over again. That lupercalia cup thing was magical or something. And it fucked up a lot of people."

[Raife Black]

Raife's head turned back to Keane, his eyes narrowed now and his jaw squared and incredulous.

"The Camarilla doesn't allow for fist fights but it allows for an entire clan who's members cannot control themselves? It allows some cretin to wander about unchecked. Some cretin who is apparently dangerous enough to cause this much damage before our own Primogen can intercede?"

Raife's questions were hissed through gritted teeth and spat in staccato as he rounded back at Keane again, apparently trying to limit his exposure to Anton's appearance and even his voice.

I was trying to help.


Raife's anger faltered, his beast and his blazing aura flickering in intensity - just like a gaslight still quivered in a strong enough wind. His screwed his eyelids shut for a moment, shaking his head like a dog trying to shuck off an unwanted collar.

"Then the wretched creature is clearly beyond your help, Anton. They should torpor him again - or rid us all of his passions more permanently."