Through the long windows of his penthouse office, Sebastian LaCroix looked out on this late evening. The skies were black but obscured with wisps of grey cloud sailing before the stars and bright moon. And sentinel skyscrapers, foreboding in the dark with a blood orange glow of windows dotted upon their dark edifices. Below, perhaps the figures of people - insignificant; how small they seemed from here.
There was always life in a city. Always some tragedy and a reason for order to be maintained.
He liked to be alone with his thoughts. And, there would be much to think about now. The stillness of the night and the sense of remove from the life below was always a good setting for thinking. And it was becoming a habit of his. A familiar sight at his penthouse in the highest tower of Los Angeles. But this was not there.
New York, like most cities of the New World, had always been volatile, in spite of Camarilla and Ventrue presence in the most prominent areas. The Sabbat had been subdued for now and Camarilla power was reinstated. He had played an important role of course. Always the overachiever. And yes, he had achieved much over his long life, and he was not shy in letting those that met him know, out of his pride, ambition and a sense of superiority. And yet, there was a need to prove something. He had a fear of failure. Here this fragile balance was not without dramatic turbulence and losses. The Prince of New York had been destroyed by her diplomatic misjudgment. Power was always uncertain, no matter how assured it seemed.
So this was why he had reason to contemplate power now. It was always a Ventrue concern. It was part of their education; their disposition naturally leaned towards such thought, and many long lecturing discussions of the topic. So, there was nothing unusual in the philosophy of these contemplations. And it was not that he was not unpracticed in the welding of power, having had a position of leadership whilst a soldier; in his business ventures and gradually over time in Kindred concerns since his Embrace. And, as a culmination of that, he would imminently be the Prince of Los Angeles.
He had developed a presence there over the years for business purposes since he was the CEO of a large organisation and so there was a necessity to this. But it was relatively recently that he had thought seriously of being there in person, given that the territory was volatile. He had been in New York a long time. Though he was used to it and would in certain respects prefer to remain here rather than Los Angeles with its arid heat, synthetic allure and powder keg atmosphere and patchwork of factions, so it was to be. He might look forward to the adventure and a challenge. He had always done what was necessary to fulfil his desires and ambitions and was therefore accustomed to moving, whether to learn from Kindred mentors or to carve out new frontiers of influence and wealth. But he had his doubts about whether this was a prize or a sentence.
It would never be a simple rule. There were more prestigious and older Princedoms. Los Angeles was not one. Wild and temperamental. An Anarch haven; lawless and reckless. A drought of leadership. He was determined to do an admirable job there. Surely it would be a boon to him and would, so it seemed, secure his favour when he brought it to heel for the Camarilla. But it would not be easy. He knew that authority never came without the burden of responsibility and hardship, however unappreciated it went. He had been there and he knew the types he would encounter. It was doubtful for him to ever have the respect of those determinedly hostile persons, but such a worthless thing mattered little to him. Such an admirable feat for him to bring that city under control. Who could not praise him then? He did not doubt his own abilities. But what he did doubt was to trust those that backed him. He had enough experience and just enough taste of proximity to the power of the Camarilla to have illusions remaining about it. He knew there to be little real regard for him, but rather just what he could do for them. It mattered little if he survived this, just so long as he paved the way enough for their purposes. He had learned that few, very few, could ever be trusted.
But Sebastian LaCroix, for all his faults, was not one to shrink from what seemed insurmountable. He was admirable in that way. Even a bit reckless and crazy in his daring, though on the surface he might have seemed austere. He loved a challenge. And he embraced the challenge of change and difficult odds. Had he not been born to a time of great change when young, before his Embrace?
The Embrace and first taste of undeath were never pleasant. It had shocked him then.
He looked at the dark night now; his reflection thinly visible upon the glass. He could rationalise those feelings of distress now. Look upon it with the clinical remove of time. He still thought as a human then and so it was horrifying to realise what he had become. But he had come to some manner of stability in living this way. And, to settle into ambition for the great possibilities offered to him which was the objective he sought now. Naturally, he was still cautious of the darkness that dwelt in the heart of every Kindred.
He knew what he was. He had grown to have a level of detachment after these many, many decades, and wasn't discomforted by the fact that the blood of humankind to which he had once belonged, was now his sustenance. But certainly, he did not wish to be a wandering wraith of degenerated spirit, within whom only bloodlust and feral malice remained.
He might have shivered at that thought. He loathed squalor and vulgarity. Whether in the form of Anarch escapades or the disgusting excesses of the Sabbat, such was anathema to him, whatever his own indifference.
The night seemed still with sultry darkness. And, it was not yet very late. He had tasks to attend to.
He was not one to keep menageries of Ghouls as others were, particularly the old and powerful of his clan. He was not 'understaffed'. But he preferred not to have more than necessary. And, not more than a handful who were aware of their circumstances. Others were simply enamoured by what he could offer. For those of mercenary feeling, he was wealthy and therefore the benefits of working for him were obvious, if impersonal. Some of a fanciful inclination were charmed by his person, in spite of his flaws. All vampires could bind a mortal to their influence by their blood. The good fortune of being a Ventrue was that one had several abilities at hand to inspire loyalty, influence, and control. A presence that could beguile, and a hypnotic gaze that commanded and influenced the mind. And if those preternatural gifts did not do the trick, there was still the earthly benefit of their possession of wealth, connections and influence.
The Sabbat presence in the city may have been minimised, but there still remained insurrections and this victory was not without casualties. He had lost some personal staff and vessels as a consequence. An inconvenience, but a potentially hazardous one. How difficult it was to cultivate and maintain these retainers. It was hard to get the staff these days.
And so, this was the objective of this night, rather than introspection on the state and nature of things. On his desk reports were laid out. This was neither unusual nor the first occasion that he had perused them, as he sometimes requested information regarding new hires and interns. It paid to be abreast of potential and move before anyone else did. A new vessel of his preference. A servant. Perhaps, a Childe.
The latter wasn't his purpose, for now. As he had experienced a contraction in both ghouls and vessels, he was alight to potential fresh ones to replenish his needs. There were certain tasks and projects that required assistance and expertise, especially as there was much to do in his move to Los Angeles he would need these resources.
He had retrieved the information for this particular person whom he had encountered the previous night. This one might not have been obvious at first glance since she was not unusual to other young persons, still studying or recently graduated, that had interned here. And even in that milieu, though not unimpressive, (or else she would not have had an internship there), was not the highest echelon of outstanding. It was because he had met this one which made the difference. The circumstances had been normal, at least initially. But, certain sensitive occurrences had taken place which was not good in Kine presence. There were several factors to his choice. The potential. The ability and accomplishments, but without overt conspicuousness. The personal suitability for his needs… And then there was a necessity. What had she seen? He had been remembering it; going over it in his mind in thought.
He had been at an evening event. He sometimes appeared at such things, though he was naturally more of a solitary type. But, certainly, it was of benefit to the foundation for such to be expected. And, he felt at home in the surroundings. Gallery museum; the grand architecture of a classical type. The music subtle; suitable. Not too overbearing, or too much of a modern blare for his old fashioned taste.
He was finely dressed, as usual. Dark evening suit of a luxuriant fabric and cut that spoke of quality. And LaCroix himself, aloof yet with a certain subtle magnetism in his presence. Pale complexion; a temperature above cadaverous waxen, but there was a handsomeness in the angular nobility of his countenance. He had been there for some time now, the formalities over, and could settle back into observing the scene. He was on one of the mezzanine balconies, associates too; some other Ventrue also there. His grey eyes glanced over the people with a haughty languor. Any of interest? Did any draw his gaze more than others amongst them?
Vampires had heightened senses. Attuned to the vitality of the living. A slight movement. The soft sound of breathing. Heartbeat. The flow of the blood through the veins. The scents, each with potential. Vampires of all clans might have personal biases and appreciation of quality, but they could make do with anyone if necessary. But Ventrue tastes were particular. And he was particularly select. Most of the living bore no interest to him. His sensitivity to their blood was dull; nullified. It was only a few that piqued his interest. It was the case with him that none but the type he needed would satisfy.
He had yet to drink while at this function. Perhaps he wouldn't at all should no one suitable cross his path. To be a Ventrue, one had to be prepared for that. There was no aching hunger in him, save for the ebb of longing that dwelt in the depths of every Kindred heart. Never did it leave them from Embrace until Final Death. Still, it was not overwhelming for him at that moment. A quiet, white-noise background thought, which he had learned to manage.
He thought in consideration. Usually, the presence of a suitable person would be unmistakable. At other times, it might take longer to determine; need to let the senses settle, and this was one of those nights.
A pull here.
An interest there.
A few question marks over some, then to be eliminated. Meanwhile, the presence of others seemed to stand out.
He had seen a young woman. Dark-haired and fair. Demure of manner. It seemed to him that she either worked there or studied because she appeared slightly apart from the occasion. His gaze lingered longer in scrutiny, as he did with other individuals that had piqued his attention.
But he must be certain. There was consideration of others. And, in no urgency, he was casual in his pursuit of a suitable prospect.
Conversation sometimes. Dealing with interaction from other Kindred, some of whom he knew not to push much store in; others could be considered allies for now.
But, it was getting late, and his itinerary might now turn towards the most basic defining need of a vampire.
That brunette girl again.
Something of her blood. Not as an awakening certainty of restless need in him. Rather, it was the subtlety of a desire that ebbed and flowed and drew him a little more than the rest. The attraction was not the undeniable kind he knew, as it was for a Ventrue when in the presence of their type. Some identified themselves only by a slow burn of appeal. Perhaps, of a marginally different tenor to his typical quarry. A risk? Or close enough to what he needed, that the slight difference may be acceptable or even exotic.
Hardly a noticeable gesture; his grey clear eyes narrowed but betrayed little of emotion.
He scrutinised her more. What could he deduce from the exterior?
Hair of a dark brown and quite long. Fair skin of a warm rosy glow, that English look. Neither particularly tall nor short. She seemed shy, but a poised deportment. Pretty girl, though in striking beauty others surely drew more attention. She was dressed demure and fairly-well, perhaps lacking a little polish though she had a certain poise. Perhaps, she had not the resources or the inclination to be high maintenance. This was a major city; a fashion centre. The occasion fairly exclusive. She might have been too much a wallflower there to have been head turning.
He assumed her to be in her early twenties, though the youthful vitality in her face, and unsureness of manner, might make one think younger.
What did she do?
Of her age group here, some were interns. Others, students of a variety of disciplines, or young professionals. Which might she be?
With a casual enquiry, he had a general idea about her. She was most likely a student or intern, perhaps both, probably doing study abroad. Something about her and her blood made him sense that she was not from here.
He did not want to let on too much of his interest, That could be a dangerous thing for the Ventrue, as it allowed others to speculate as to their preferences in blood, or to preempt their plans. Of course, he could speak to the woman directly, but that might have been a waste of his time. And besides, at that point, it didn't matter about her as a person and what was going on in her life. He was interested in her blood and whether it suited him.
He looked back at the girl then, gazed a little longer. She also happened to catch his eyes then, though she soon broke this brief meeting; looking away shyly. And it was not too long afterwards that she disappeared from the room, possibly to another quite area or outside on the terrace gardens, which might suit him well if he could intercept her.
He, therefore, had kept a note of her from that time onwards, though he was not too overbearing in pursuing her and he would have done so slowly until he could feed on her.
And might have been all there was to it, had not something occurred to disrupt the normal proceedings of that night.
It was past midnight and there was a quiet, almost unnatural stillness, in spite of the dull murmur from the main room, which gave one the feeling that something was about to happen.
Apparently, as intelligence would reveal later, some minor Sabbat shovel heads had decided to act in deliberate defiance by coming into Camarilla territory, probably as they knew individuals of that faction would be present here. Though it was not a major attack, they had caused some outrages. Held some hostages. There were a couple of acute injuries and one near fatality that had to be explained as there was some media interest but soon waned as attention turned to the next drama, as it always did.
How did his girl do? When he was checking the area, he could sense that same scent that had caught his attention earlier. Just faint, but a distinct enough. He supposed he was following it, even though that wasn't the sole object of his direction.
The regular throb of a heart. But it was urgent, pounding, he recognised something near frantic and it intrigued him. And closer; stronger, suddenly.
Around the corner came the girl. Her quickened but cautious pace; head down, she almost walked right into him.
Her face snapped up then, but it seemed that she wanted only brief acknowledgment, as if she would sooner continue past than stay. On her face, drained white, there was the look of disturbance.
By that time he had become aware of the shovel-heads antics, and so he had his suspicions of why she looked and acted strangely. If he was correct, then there was a reason to worry a little.
He feigned concern. Asked if she was alright. But his concern was not purely an act. He didn't like the pernicious deeds of the Sabbat dregs, although this was not really out of humanitarian concerns for the Kine. Was it not convenient for him that she had sailed straight into his arms, given his intentions? Still, he wasn't completely unfeeling, he just didn't know her well enough to feel anything personal.
"No, I'm fine it's just -'' she did not meet his gaze, this shy girl, except for a moment when she glanced at him. Something in her froze just then. She might have simply been enamoured by his handsome features, but he had a feeling that it was not the reason. A slight gasp and drawing back from him. There was the hint of shock and alarm in her eyes, which she hid from him, but he had seen it. He believed that she had seen something of the supernatural only recently - his purpose in investigating this way and intercepting her. But now he glimpsed the hint in her green eyes of recognition of his inhuman nature too. The first was understandable - the Sabbat were not shy of showing themselves, although they were never truly reckless enough to have no Masquerade of their own. But the second - of suspicion of him - was more significant.
He had a feeling for the reason for that. He gently encircled her arm with his hand. She seemed to fold to the reassurance, yet he could tell from her heartbeat that all was not well in her reactions towards him. Hmm, he might have to put plans of settling upon this one to feed aside for now. He could not let her leave him now, not until learning more about her.
The young woman had evidently stumbled upon some type of scene of them feeding. But it seemed that she had the sense to hide immediately, or else she too may have become an addition to the feast. He was relieved by that, even if it was in a self-serving way. It would be a shame and a waste if her blood had been wasted upon their gluttony.
"You seem to be a little unnerved. Understandable, given the circumstances.''
His voice was velveteen comfort in the gloomy area, under the dark sky and looming buildings that dominated. She looked at him, still white-terror on her face. Fine black suit and so knew that he was rich. His movement had a certain gracile sensuality but was not quite human if only in a subtle way. Fair-haired, his eyes were grey but a striking glow in them was… different. She felt drawn to him. But a sense of unease resided in the deepest part of her, yet she could not quite place it.
"Yes. I,'' she furrowed her brow, ''thank you.''
His lips upturned in a smile, then he glanced away, "no trouble. It is just a courtesy.'' His attention then back to her. ''You were going home?''
''Yeah. I was just going to get a taxi. Before this happened. That was where I was going. I should be going now anyway.'' She pulled her coat around herself more. He could tell she felt uneasy, though she was trying to retain a facade of ease. He was concerned that she realised what he was and wanted to get away from him as soon as possible. Perhaps she was justified in feeling that way. Had he not been observing her; selecting her to be his prey tonight?
He thought for a moment. He couldn't let her wander away so easily. "No need.
You can come with me.''
"It's alright. I will be ok.''
He looked at her. ''It's not an inconvenience. Come with me,'' he guided her along with him to a black limousine.
He let her settle into the surroundings, knowing that she was probably a bit nervous, so it was better to set her mind at ease. The leather seats were a plush luxury and comfort. She looked out of the window as the car hummed by the buildings in the night time. She seemed to feel more relaxed.
"I realise we have not been properly acquainted with each other,'' his voice softly cut through the quietness. ''What is your name?''
"Amelia Siddall.'' She was looking at him unsurely, but in wide-eyed curiosity at him. He found that not an unusual reaction from people sometimes. He told her who he was and she was even more awed by that.
''We won't be too long I imagine,'' he glanced out of the windows.
"Thanks. I think you were right that I would feel better not travelling back myself.''
''Of course,'' he agreed; smiled with a fiend purpose. ''What happened to make you look so uneasy?'' he asked her with casual ease.
''I-I don't know. It was just weird. I can't tell if it was just my imagination. He was holding her and it looked like -''
''Go on.''
She shrugged, ''I don't know. It just looked… strange.''
He sighed. He hoped to get the information out of her without using disciplines, but he had to be certain in spite of his belief that the girl had not seen enough to be certain of anything, nor understood anything of it. "Tell me,'' he leaned closer to her, a focused look in his eyes.
''I thought it was just a… an intimate encounter I had come across. I was embarrassed,'' she looked at him unsurely, the naivety and youth of the girl shown on her face and shy doe-ish eyes - eyes that caught in the light grey eyes that held them in their gaze. Still as stilled by a Basilisks glare. The irresistible need to be honest with him. She had surprising strength of resistance - her mind was strong. But, even so, not enough to resist him. ''There was something-something just - just not right,'' her words tumbled out as if falling into a dream; attention only for him; all else melted away like the unfocused background of a photograph.
He asked her more about it and she told him. It seemed that she had seen only a little of it, yet enough to have made her feel uneasy. And then there was also the look of recognition of his nature from her, as if she possessed an instinctive ability, to consider. He asked her about that too. She said only that there was something of him that enthralled and at the same time chilled her blood to ice, like desire with loathing strangely mixed.
She did not name that fear and allure, by its name of 'Vampire'. But he knew that she described it well enough. He had his suspicions of this. Though they were just as easy to deceive as to kill, some of the Kine were more observant than others. Some had powers of perception to strangeness and the supernatural. And those were the ones to be regarded with concern and, perhaps, fear. He wondered if… but he thought not. However, from experience he knew appearances could be deceiving, so he was not going to dismiss entirely that possibility. It was not out of naivety or trust that a vampire managed to survive almost two centuries, as he had.
By virtue of his Ventrue abilities, he had teased the information out of her. It seemed she did not witness enough to have outright knowledge, and therefore it was not quite a Masquerade breach. He also could not make her confess to any concerning activities, like belonging to a group of hunters. So she was innocent. But it was enough. If she was perceptive, it wouldn't matter that he had made her memory of that night hazy.
She would notice something again.
Or recall that night in some disjointed way. And she probably already did.
He was intrigued by her, and wouldn't easily let her go without another thought. It was a matter of fact that she was useful to him, at least with her blood. Her possible perceptiveness to the supernatural might be a problem, hindrance or a danger later if left to her own devices. Was it not better to diffuse that, by bringing her under his control sooner, rather than later?
He glanced over the information he had on her again. How she had worked on her internship; what her experiences and skills were; what her degrees were in, et cetera.
She was only twenty-three and, as he had surmised, not American but English. She was a graduate student. She was in New York because she had an advanced study portion of her degree, which included study abroad and an internship. The latter she had done at the LaCroix Foundation, in the information and design departments, which was why he was able to pull up details about her in the first place. As to the former, she was studying an advanced certification at an information school of applied arts and design university. This was an additional part of her masters' programme, as her home institute was a library and information school, at the computer science department University of -, UK. She was more or less finished now, so she imminently would have a professional certification. Perhaps she had a purposefulness in self-improvement and accomplishment. He liked that.
He glanced over the information he had on her again. She was only twenty-three and, as he had surmised, not American but English. She was a graduate student in information management. She was basically a archivist or librarian, just with more technological focus. She was in New York for an exchange programme. Conveniently for him, she'd also had an internship as part of her programme at the LaCroix Foundation, and so he was able to pull up details about her. But she would soon finish her studies, and would therefore leave soon. Or, at least, was suppose to do so.
Perhaps she had a purposefulness in self-improvement and accomplishment. He liked that. And, she at least had a professional vocation which might be useful.
He took a sip of the burgundy liquid content of his glass.
He was sure that soon she would want a job. She didn't have a great deal of professional experience. The internship was part of her masters' programme, but the performance reviews of her work were favourable. And obviously, they didn't take low quality as interns, so that in itself was good. The rest were typical entry-level, temporary and casual work here and there.
He was sure that soon she would want a job. She didn't have a great deal of professional experience. The internship was part of her masters' programme, but the performance reviews of her work were favourable. And obviously, they didn't take low quality as interns, so that in itself was good. The rest of her experience was typical entry-level, temporary and casual work here and there.
But, he did not need her to be exceptional or established. He simply needed her to have some good qualities to offer him. She did had some skills that might be quite useful, and which were relevant to the particular tasks that required attention at present. It could have been easy to let her go now. She'd not see him again. What risk was there when she would be far away soon, and he had made her forget? But he had thought through all this now. He had made his decision.