A/N: "SigmaFang, what have you been doing for so long? Where's the Emerald Knight's Tale? What happened?" This happened. This is what I've been doing. This old gem needed even more love, and after a while of temptation, it became completely irresistible. I do hope you like it, sorry for all of those who've been waiting for more Fairy Tail! That story will get picked up once the inspiration hits me.
Disclaimer: I do not own any material from Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines.
The clatter of silver knives and forks clashing into porcelain plates rang out in the dim dining room, echoing off the thick glass windows, which were ornately designed with intricate metal frames. Wine glasses resting upon the dark oak table were heard occasionally, as well as dishes being slid to and fro. The quiet sound of candles burning in the three overhead chandeliers cut through the tension that mugged the room of sound.
"Chrysanthemum. The table salt, if you will." The refined voice of a woman asked, with an English accent.
A woman with dark hair and darker eyes picked up the nearby salt shaker and passed it to a woman who looked quite similar. Arguably, their noses were slightly different, and perhaps their jawline. But those two, as well as the two other women in the room, wore nearly identical dresses, elegant gowns that were neutral colors, made up of silk, satin and lace.
A man sitting at one end of the table cleared his throat, "Well…ahem…" He scooted forward in his seat. His gray eyes were contrasted with his dark hair, as well as the smile on his face. "Sebastian, tell us about your day." This man, as well as the five other gentlemen in the room, wore fine looking attire for the time period, neutral colors of gray, brown or black.
"Buchanan, what on God's good earth would hearing about his day do for us now?" The eldest man at the table said. His graying dark hair was thinning a bit, his piercing blue eyes darted around the room. Crow's feet resided beside each of his deep set and skeptical eyes, as well as a series of other fine wrinkles riddled upon his face. He lifted a hand in the air as he spoke, a gold band on the left ring finger, "I ought to request a fee for such a ludicrous remark."
"Apologies, Father." Buchanan said with a snide smile, his eyes glancing at the youngest man in the room.
This was clear due to his size. While everyone's head passed the apex of the back of the chair, this young man was lucky if his head cleared it by an inch. His face looked young as well, contrary to the mature outfit he wore, which seemed just as professional as everyone else in the room. His eyes darted from person to person as they spoke, wide and fearful. As well as his wide eyes, his pale hair stuck out drastically in the room full of brunettes.
"If we gave an ounce of care about Sebastian, then we'd have to lower our standards to that of a valley." A woman with a deeper voice said, glasses resting on her large nose.
The room was lit up with light chuckling, some of the tension was finally relieved.
Buchanan offered a shrug, "Well, I theorized the day of the illegitimate would sound quite entertaining." He gave a grin, "Especially from his own mouth."
The room laughed again, even the boy gave a small chuckle, who was clearly being picked on.
"When does his carriage come around?" A young man with dark hair and blue eyes asked, looking at his father.
"Nine o'clock this evening, I was told." He said, taking a sip from his wine.
"He'll get to live with his swine, hmm?" Buchanan gave a small smile.
"Yes, it appears so." The father mused, watching the grandfather clock in the corner tick away as he sliced into his meal.
"I don't understand how you manage to speak so cruelly to your own mother." A woman chimed in, her curly brunette hair fell down her shoulders. Her eyes glared into those of her brother's.
"You'd like a lesson, Elizabeth? She's a whore." He motioned a hand at Sebastian, "He's half-blood to us, Elizabeth, half of us. All his father has to his name is a stone in the dirt with seven letters engraved upon it. That's it."
The entire table laughed, besides Sebastian. His pale eyes glanced outside at a courtyard, watching a slow rain drizzle to the ground. He had learned to tune them out when they started talking about his father. He had for years, while he had been living at his step-father's house.
He clearly recalled the day his mother told him the house was on fire and he needed to get into his aunt's carriage to escape. When 'bad people' had lit the wooden house on fire, they were both lucky his mother's sister was nearby, and was willing to bring them somewhere safe. They left their 'homeland', which Sebastian now knew was France. In that carriage ride, he dozed off, only to wake up without his mother. He hadn't seen her since that ride, and his aunt, only speaking French, was unable to explain to him what had happened to her, or where they were even going. The following day, they made it to a ship that brought them to England. He was completely clueless, blindly trusting his aunt with his life. He was then brought to a mansion near the coast, where he was raised from his stepfather. The man who his mother was married to. That was day, when he was four, he learned he was illegitimate.
That bitter, freezing and jaded day was when he met his father, as well as his four step-sisters and six step-brothers. Also residing in the mansion was a musician, a tutor and a handful of maids and servants. The musician taught him formalities, manners, music and dance, while the tutor expanded upon these formalities, as well as arithmetic and English. The maids and servants ensured he was always cared for, the unit acting as a mother to him since his father never seemed to acknowledge his presence in the first place.
As Elizabeth took his plate and pushed his chair in, she gave him a warm smile and grabbed the door for him, "Here you are, Sebastian."
Sebastian smiled back and took a step past the door before he heard a quick and cold sound, turning to see his father standing before her, a red hand mark on her cheek.
"Holding the door open for him? A lady? Holding the door open for a gentleman? I won't have it. Not in my household." He snapped, his wiry voice sending chills across the room as everyone went dead silent. "Sebastian. You should have known better than to allow this."
"Yes, Father." Sebastian stood straight up, the color fleeting his face as he realized his real mistake. Addressing the man as his father.
It was instinctual for children to address male figures in their lives as their father, especially when exposed to them for years. Especially when just about every other person in the household addresses them as 'Father'. It was something Mr. Greenfield couldn't tolerate.
"What did you say?" His father's eyes narrowed.
"Yes, sir." He held his chin up high and spoke louder, his naturally soft voice unfortunately digging him even deeper.
"You choose now to mutter to me? You must learn how to speak up!" Sebastian's eyes closed as he saw his stepfather move his hand back, bracing to be hit. It wasn't even the contact that hurt the most, it was the ring colliding with his temple that hurt the most. "Insolent brat." He muttered gruffly as he pushed Sebastian aside firmly on the shoulder.
"I'm sorry Sebastian…" His sister apologized swiftly, "He didn't hurt you too much, did he?"
He bit his lip with frustration. His sister, Elizabeth was her name. She was the only one to ever say anything kind to him. Even the servants treated him like dirt. Elizabeth treated him with unconditional kindness, no matter what. He hardly ever spoke to her, not even to thank her, in fear that someone would hear. Turning on his heels, something he watched Buchanan do incessantly in every argument, he faced the young woman, his pale face was red with anger. "Damn you!" He spat, "Bane of my life, that's all you are! Get out of my presence!"
Her jaw dropped, she nodded swiftly and scurried off with the trays of food she had.
Sebastian felt a thin hand land on his shoulder, looking up to see his brother, towering over him, that cocky and charismatic grin plastered on his face, "Nicely done, Sebastian. Maybe you do have some of our blood in your veins."
He looked away, ignoring the tears that filled his eyes. Pushing his brother's hand away, he went to his quarters. He was given the smallest room, naturally, only a few garments, a few books and a bag. Those were the items his father granted him, anything else he had to purchase, with his own nonexistent money. Stuffing his belongings into his bag, then slinging that over his shoulder, he looked at the clock. Quarter to nine. It would take fifteen minutes to make it to the front entrance.
Turning away without looking back at all, he left his room, the corridors which were ingrained in his mind by now, and the twisted family that treated him worse than cattle. "Be thankful we feed you, Sebastian, you make it sound as if we're abusing you." He remembered Annabelle, one of his sisters snickering at him as he complained about his father's punishment of only one meal a day for a week, after he received bad marks.
"We're setting you on the path for success, boy, be grateful." His brother, Benjamin had told him after he bruised his shoulder from trying to fire a rifle at such a young age.
"Sebastian, your name will be everywhere one day. You'll be the next King over England. No, over Europe!" One ray of sunshine poked through the fogged clouds. Elizabeth's words resonated with him. They made his heart beat a bit faster, his lungs take in a bit more air. These were the words he forced himself to remember every time he felt blind anger or sadness.
He reached the double doors that faced the view of the sea, it was especially rough looking, even on the horizon, due to the stormy weather. The carriage was already dripping, he knew it would be a miserable ride. Without any farewells, he approached the carriage and got inside, his aunt looked as if she hadn't aged a day.
"Bonjour, homme jeune!" Her warm voice rang out as he got inside. Her loud voice carried over the rain battering down on the canvas roof of the carriage, her big green eyes wide with happiness.
He nodded timidly, noting the greasy look to her dirty blonde hair, as well as the tattered look to her clothes. When was the last time this woman had bathed? "Bonjour." He spoke softly with quite an unfortunate accent.
"Qu'est-il arrivé au jeune homme qui parlait on français si parfait?" She said, a smile still on her face. Her voice, like a nightingale, garbled on and on, despite the rain. They were in two entirely different moods, that much he could tell.
"I'm afraid I cannot understand you…" He admitted quietly.
She gave a sigh, "C'est dommage…" She cracked the whips, the horses whinnied and trotted off.
His nearly colorless blue eyes landed on the mansion one last time. The dark clouds behind them, the rough seas before them, was living with his mother really going to be much better? She cheated on his father, something he knew well about now as an eight year old. She couldn't quite handle the long distance relationship, it seemed, and settled upon a lowly French peasant across the house her husband had purchased for her in France. His father was said to have seduced her by telling her God wanted them to produce children.
His mother felt her life was aged and pointless by then, after producing ten children and being left behind in France. She felt so cared about when another man saw her beautiful. He saw her as a person, not a profit, something she had never once experienced. She left her last name, Greenfield, and took the last name of the man who claimed God supported their love. Jean LaCroix took her hand in marriage when she lied to him about her 'dead' husband, and bore her a child, before Buchanan, the snoop he was, soon found out about the affair. Buchanan's father then had an assassin sent, and Jean was murdered one night. The entire display was set up as an accident, having his body trampled on by his own cattle was an effective way of ensuring this. Sebastian never knew his father, and had no clue what he looked like in the slightest. He was told by his mother that he resembled him, with the light hair and youthful face, though he could hardly even recall if those were her real words, or if those were words spoken to him in a dream.
He only had one desire when he returned home, one vivid memory. His father's tombstone, underneath a willow tree by the pond, behind their house. He wasn't sure if they were going back to that house, even, of if they had relocated to the other side of France entirely. He wanted to find that tombstone no matter what, and add to the pathetic epitaph, that merely spelled his last name, the only last name Sebastian decided to ever accept.
LaCroix's eyes snapped open at the sound of a firetruck driving through the streets of L.A., blasting its siren. He sat up a bit, thankful it was still nighttime. His shoulders decompressed a bit as his mind flashed back to such an ancient time. Such troubling dreams haven't haunted him since he was a young soldier in the fleet. As a Kindred, he hardly ever thought back on his life as a human. A feeling he despised settled in his chest, the feeling of fear consuming his logic. What was the meaning of these dreams? Why now?
Shaking his head and deciding it was best left ignored, he shifted his attention to the paperwork before himself. The resumes from two of his subordinates, both seemingly loyal members to the Camarilla for years. With that, he was reminded of what had put him in the stressed-induced slumber in the first place. Hardly had he ever fallen asleep on the job, but this information succeeded in stumping him.
Gathering as much information as the Camarilla Nosferatu would gather, his flipped through pages about these subordinates of his. Particularly, a relatively outlandish Ventrue of his who was constantly off-putting, but never directly so. It was the look after completing a mission, the tone of his voice that was clearly evident, but not nearly worthy of calling out. And he had no reason to call him out either. Every job he was ever sent on was executed with extreme caution, following every instruction flawlessly. Then his eyes grazed to the resume of his associate. The two usually worked in pairs. He thought, perhaps, the reason this Venture was so obedient in the first place was due to his associate's control. LaCroix was never one to keep figures around who doubted him in the slightest, he felt there was absolutely no room in his Camarilla for those who were dubious of his power.
He turned his attention back to the streets of L.A., watching the tiny figures of humans walking the streets. The homeless people, the prostitutes, the apartment owners who scurried across the dark pavement in fear of getting attacked by a local gang. It was all new to him, just months ago it had practically been handed to him. They were all his, they were all under his control, and they had no clue. Blissfully living their lives without knowing exactly whose domain they functioned under. That was exactly as he needed it to be, he couldn't risk the threat of his true power being revealed to them, especially not by one of his own Ventrue. He stood up and rubbed his eyes, looking over to the Sheriff, "I'm heading to my quarters a bit earlier than usual this evening."
The Sheriff gave a short nod, following the Prince out of his office. LaCroix's ears tuned into the sound the lights produced as they lit up the dim hallways, the only sound disrupting the silence of the tower, beside their footsteps. Peace and quiet, that was all he needed. Until tomorrow, at least.
"Give her a call. See what she says." Her voice was as rich as gold, deep and smooth with a mischievous smirk spread upon her small lips. Her eyes looked even more impish, large wide-set bright purple orbs glittered like amethysts. She was peeking down from the top bunk of a bunk-bed, her hands gripped around the mattress.
"I could never!" A quiet and gentle voice said, it was on the deeper side, but nowhere near intimidating. The speaker looked up from his laptop screen, his dark and cynical eyes meeting those of the girl in the bed above him, "She'd hang up."
"She would with that attitude." She said dryly.
He swallowed hard and adjusted his collar. He was dressed in a nice light green checkered dress shirt, tucked into a black pair of dress pants, with black dress shoes. One of his hands slid through his medium-length black hair, he knew he needed to cut it soon, he could just never find the time between all the tests, "We've only spoken…once? Twice, maybe?"
"Have you taken a look at yourself in the mirror? You're quite handsome, she'd have to be quite ditzy to deny you. And I know the sorts that are in your class, they're almost as smart as I am."
"Tess, there's an essay due tomorrow I really should be working on…"
"And…?" She asked, "Is that essay going to guarantee your future?" She asked, "This woman could be your future, for all you know. Your future wife. The mother to your children."
"You're completely lost in fantasy." He muttered as he started typing.
"Is she not attractive enough?"
"You're just not going to give this up, are you?" He sighed.
"Are you gay?"
His cheeks turned bright red, "What sort of accusation is that!?"
"You've never once asked me out yet."
"Well…" His eyes darted around, "Neither has Slade."
She chuckled, "He hasn't yet, has he? You two are lovers, aren't you? You've been hiding it the entire time…"
He looked absolutely mortified, "Slade! Tess is harassing me, please distract her!"
Tess laughed loudly, "Yes, call to your lover in your time of need…"
"There's not an insane asylum in the world that could hold her, Dragomir." Slade muttered, tending to the soup he was making in the kitchen. He looked about the same age as the other two, early-twenties, college kids. He sported short brunette hair, matching his brown eyes. He wore a light-blue button-up shirt, with a mosaic tie, as if a large assortment of random colors were splattered all over it. On his lower body were black jeans and dress shoes.
"Is dinner almost ready?" Tess sat up, nearly bumping her head on the ceiling. Her hair was long and dark, falling down her back, framed with bangs on her forehead. Even from her position where she was sitting, one could see her figure was flawless, a generous chest and thin waist with wide hips. She was in a tee shirt and shorts, an outfit that looked like she had took the day off and stayed home.
"Yeah, it's just about done." Slade said.
She hopped off from the bed, "You need to talk to your lover before he tries to ask out a woman." She said as she walked into the kitchen.
Dragomir closed his laptop and stood up. His figure was surprising for how he acted, his tan skin and muscular form gave away that he at least visited the gym regularly, "Please…" He said quietly, "Ignore her…she's bee teasing me about this…email a peer had sent…"
"Oh yeah?" Slade asked as he set three bowls of soup down for each of them, "So who's the lucky lady?"
Dragomir's cheeks flamed as Tess smiled and crossed her legs, "What was her name?" She asked, "Oh, it was simply adorable."
"Lily." He said quickly, only to end the conversation quickly. "She just needs tutoring and she figured it would be cheaper to ask another student."
"Mmm hmm." Tess said as she stood up and poured herself a glass of wine, "I'm sure she's going to offer some sort of payment. And if she can't afford a tutor….."
"It's repulsive that you're even suggesting that." Dragomir muttered.
"This is L.A." She smiled as she sat down next to him, "The land of infinite dreams and opportunities." She said, "And fucking people when you need a quicker way to get there."
"I think I lost my appetite." Dragomir muttered.
"Me too." Slade sighed, "Thanks Tess…"
Tess giggled and took another sip of her drink, "You boys are so innocent and naïve…"
"I'd like it to stay that way…" Dragomir muttered, "Safer that way."
"I don't run into any danger." Tess said.
"Said the mouse who stole cheese from a mousetrap."
"I have street-smarts, I know who won't hurt me and who to avoid."
"Just be careful, alright?"
She leaned in, "I will, just for you."
His cheeks flushed, "Whatever it takes…"
"The dinner was absolutely lovely." She stood up and put her dish in the sink, "But I have a date to attend."
"A date?" Dragomir asked. "With who?"
"A lovely fellow by the name of Julius." She said, "I've been spending a few evenings with him, he's an art graduate. His paintings are absolutely gorgeous." She said as she walked into the bedroom and pulled her shirt off, nothing underneath. Luckily she was facing away from the men at the table, but it was still enough to turn Dragomir's face bright red from just looking over his shoulder.
"Remind me why we let her live with us?" Dragomir asked quietly.
"I mean, she went to high school with us…" Slade said, his face just as red, "I…would feel bad…just telling her to beat it…but…she can be pretty annoying…"
He sighed as he stirred his spoon through the soup broth, "Perhaps this Julius fellow will settle her down…"
"I sure hope so…maybe she'll start to live with him too…that'll get her out of our hair."
"Either that, or she'll invite him here…"
"God no, we can't afford that."
"Let's hope she keeps her wits about herself in the eyes of love…" He sighed, "We all know how much damage love goggles can cause…"
A/N: How was that? I know, a lot of new characters, there are going to be more in the future as well. I've played through this game so many times that I have multiple representatives from each clan in this story. Let us know what you thought with a review! Thanks for reading!