A/N: I would like to thank the following for their reviews:
Mariagoner- Thank you very much! Yes, the concept of sexism is definitely one I intend to explore in this story, and you may find this chapter VERY enjoyable for that reason alone. Sébastien's take on sexism may be more apparent b/c it's been touched on in past chapters, but he's very much a man of his and current times. His reasons for picking Louisé are entirely his own ;)
Rednightmare- I sent you an extensive thank you for your review, but I want to take the time to thank you again for your detail!
SandraSmit19- I enjoy writing about their relationship as well, as there is no easy or enjoyable way to be Sébastien LaCroix's Childe in my mind.
She set the glass down. Haunting memories of her first Choice made the blood she was drinking less. Less flavorful. Less substantial. Cooler. The blood had lost fifty percent of its heat after a few sips. The glass was now half-empty with lukewarm, room temperature sipping material. Sipping for show. This is why she never understood her kin's preference for utensils instead of hot flesh. This made her less of a snob in her own, humble opinion. She didn't feel the need to put-on-airs by drinking from elaborately designed goblets when sinking her fangs in was so much better. This led her to never starting business in the city until half past nine each night. She could drink at home in peace and comfort instead of beneath the always judging glares of fellow Ventrue.
She made for a messy drinker when a glass was forced into her hand. Example one, the night she dyed her hair and her Sire made a surprise visit to the Emerald City. Gulping down her favorite flavor sent stray vitae down her face, threatening her couture attire. Honestly, this is why she fed in American mall brand pajamas. It saved her thousands on handmade clothes and Mafia-style dry cleaning liaisons.
She tinked the bottom of the glass with a restless finger and made it more center. One ear stayed open to the business before her, the other deaf with the voices from the past. My, how bored she was tonight. Usually, she enjoyed her position as Praetor Emeritus because it jostled the usual night-to-night duties of a Prince. Tonight was not one of those nights. When Winston Zettl called last Tuesday to let her know he would be tending to his New York investments following the mass blackout over the Northeast, she was looking forward to more drama than this.
The entire Board meeting had been nothing but dull. There were no great messages to pass down from the powers that be. And she ought to know, she was one of those powers. She crinkled her nose in displeasure, toyed with her pen then straightened up once Sebastian's glare caught her attention. Appearing on her right, an Associate slid a last-minute addendum to the schedule before her. Her two Foremen and Managers looked at her as her eyes scanned the typed up paper. They must have just received the complaint and printed out the brief history for her to review. The paper was still warm to the touch. Her Gerousia waited for her decision. She nodded and the Associate ushered two men before the raised dias.
"Before we begin with these proceedings, I must ask both you gentlemen how you wish me to govern. From the brief explanation of the situation, it is apparent to me that in an effort to solve this quarrel yourselves, you have dispensed your own forms of justice." The two men fought fidgeting. She continued, "So, I must ask you what you honestly expect of my judgment: justice or mercy?"
After she was finished feeding, Louisé and her Sire took the time to question the Choice for factors that separated her from others she had fed from. Well, Sébastien did most of the questioning while Louisé sat back and observed. What he was able to pull from the woman was thin. She was a fervent Catholic, much like Louisé (and ninety-percent of France) and mother of two. Without another member to confirm a trend, they had nothing more to go on. At least she had one to feed on.
One became two, then two became five following Louisé's trip to the Lyon cathedral to visit her mother's grave. She left the catacombs at the end of a Mass and encountered three more women with the same alluring scent as the one from the party. She didn't get to enjoy all three, however. The very next night, Sébastien closeted the two of them away to begin Louisé's formal training as a Ventrue neonate.
Agoge. That's what they call it, this official training where Sire and Childe secluded themselves for the sole purpose of the Childe's education. Traditionally, Sébastien would have done the secluding before she was even presented to the Prince. As he explained it, the Prince was all too eager to meet his Scourge's first Childe and, lest he forever get on the bad side of a powerful Toreador, Sébastien obliged him. This same Prince had been the one to throw the party where Louisé found her flavor. Her Sire had no choice but to bring her along, since he didn't trust her to simply sit and study when her appetite was so dissatisfied. This meant her unofficial presentation to members of her clan, but not all local Ventrue had been invited by Prince Vermandois. So, Sébastien acquired a second, official presentation for her before all Ventrue of Lyon and the areas immediately surrounding.
Agoge had a different meaning for her. It was torture! If she had ever thought her father's strict hand with education was bad, then Sébastien's was a shade of horrible foreign to her. He stacked books for her to read when she was not writing or reciting her lineage. Not all the names were French and so they didn't stick in her mind easily. Eight names she had to remember. Two of them she couldn't. And for every wrong guess or mispronunciation, Sébastien stood ready with a whip or thin tree branch. He smacked her palms, the backs of her hands or just her back.
He drilled her constantly. He wanted names, Traditions, dates and Ventrue virtues. When she could not deliver, he beat her. He did not raise his voice, he did not use his hands and he never struck more than five times. When she mixed a Tradition with a clan virtue, he poured a line of small pebbles on the floor and made her kneel on them for hours. He put a book in her hand before sitting to sip on his meal.
There was a frantic pounding on the door. He stopped his methodical pacing to glare at the wood separating him and his Childe from the distractions of the world. In his periphery, he saw Louisé go still. He brought the riding whip down on her shoulders, listened to her suck in a breath then watched her resume the scribing of her bloodline as he opened the door. He glared at the ghoul before him who held a letter in his shaking hand.
"I specifically told you we were not to be disturbed. What about the word 'sequester' do you not understand?" Sébastien snatched the letter from him and slammed the door in his face. He tore open the letter and resumed his militant walking. "Pause again, Louisé and it shall be ten lashes this time."
"I can't concentrate. I am hungry."
"Very well," he crumpled the letter in his hand. "Pause again and you shall not feed for three nights."
"We have taken the liberty of securing your Childe to a room, saving you a trip to fetch her and leaving us rest assured you had no time to speak with her. We would hate for you to influence her testimony too much. Shall we begin?" Sébastien watched the old bat fiddle with her fingers, which were gnarled with bulbous joints. They gave her the distinct impression of being the witch he heard she'd been in life.
"Yes. Monsieur LaCroix, do you know why we have brought you here this evening?" The grey-haired Seneschal, now playing the role of Praetor, began.
"No. Your letter left me wondering," he fought the urge to tap the arm of the chair. He was no longer in their place of judgment over problematic and unsatisfactory brethren. Tonight, he was one of those disappointing clansmen.
"Sébastien LaCroix, you have been accused by your peers of siring a Childe of Passion. How do you plead to the aforementioned charges?" the Praetor folded his hands before him.
"Preposterous! I would never do anything of the sort! What is the basis of this allegation?"
"She is noticeably younger than any other members and has a certain physical appeal," the old bag chimed in. "It is the opinion of some members that your sole intention in embracing this young girl is to meet your ownphysical satisfaction."
His blood boiled but he maintained his marble exterior. "I have a feeling if you were to inquire with anyone, they would tell you I have a distinct propensity to bypass physical satisfaction in lieu of political or financial expansion. The only satisfaction I need is the blood I drink every evening. If some," he met the eyes of the older woman, "Are undone by the greater aesthetic appeal of a neonate, then that seems more a reflection of their own vanity than my mentality."
"There is also the fact that you did not bring up your desire to Embrace this girl with your clan," the bag accused.
"I believe if you were to inquire with the Praetor, he will say otherwise. He was fully aware of my desire for progeny." Sébastien motioned to the grey-haired man. A man of many hats, as LaCroix understood.
The Praetor nodded and answered, "I was the one to inform Monsieur LaCroix he had the privilege of siring. That does not disqualify his need to explain his choice, of which I was not aware."
"Which raises the question: What was your purpose for bringing her over? I heard she had a father, why not choose the father instead?" a Questor inquired.
Sébastien was nothing if not a superlative liar when necessary. He just wished they had asked him material to make it harder. "Do you think he was not my first consideration?"
"Obviously we think that since you have trooped a sixteen year old, unmarried, supposed virgin before us and asked us to accept her without a second thought." He truly hated this Aedile with her withered sixty-year old face scrunched in conservative disapproval.
"I had chosen her father first." Sébastien trained his eyes on the Seneschal. "I was waiting until Louisé had been married off, so she was no longer in the home and suspicious of her father's change. Charles had asked for my aid in procuring his daughter a husband. I had found a suitable, worthy man for the daughter of a Marquis and traveled to their home to deliver the news. Upon arrival, Charles was sick with worry that Louisé had not returned home from Mass. I settled his anxiety by going to find the girl myself. When we returned, however, we found Charles collapsed in a hallway. He was dead."
"How convenient for you."
"I would hardly call being dragged here and accused of clan taboo convenient."
"Then why the girl, Sébastien? Surely there was a brother, a son or someone else more suitable than a daughter," a mild-eyed Questor pressed. He knew this woman. She was meek, unassuming and he was honestly surprised she'd accomplished securing this barely above bottom rung position.
"His one and only son died a year ago. Charles has no surviving brothers, only a brother in-law through his late wife's marriage to a man outside of Reims. Because of this reason, Louisé was recently declared as Charles' heir. Since Louisé is, as you have mentioned, unmarried…Charles established me as her guardian since she had no living relatives close enough to care for her and the estate. The whole purpose of Embracing Charles was for the acquisition of his lands and fortune as a means to expand my own. With his death, I was left with two recourses. I could forfeit personal expansion and industry or seize the opportunity placed before me."
Several heads in the Gerousia nodded, their grasp and appreciation for capitalism all but absolving him of his apparent sins in the eyes of others. He was not off their proverbial hook quite yet. Gautier's hawk-like expression was not so forgiving, not with her strict sensibilities about Embracing or the recent slight against her non-existent beauty.
"Thank you for your explanation, Monsieur LaCroix and again, we apologize for disrupting the sanctity of her agoge. We shall return her to your home post haste after we have questioned her."
Two bland, middle-aged men escorted her from her Sire as soon as their carriage arrived at Collège-lycée Ampère. She read a book while she waited in the cold, quiet room she'd been abandoned to. It was titled De Proprio Procreatio. In English, it meant On Proper Procreation. It was a book Sébastien had accidently incorporated in the stack assigned to her. What he did not know, Louisé would not reveal to him. The book was not particularly thick, being divided into only five sections. It tightened her stomach to read the words, which came across more as Commandments than suggestions as the text implied:
For this is the proper method of Siring, according to the good and noble wisdom of our Forefathers:
1) Thou shalt chooseth of a strong and proper Man, for men exemplify the unblemished perfection of Creation. Man is the head of all things: family, business and politics. He is the creator and ruler of strong cities, lord of his household and controller of the purse. He is the honor of his father before him and the carrier of his noble name. He containeth strong Phlegm and is ruléd by his mind. Therefore, any true and loyal Ventrue shalt first look uponeth Man for thine ideal Childe.
2) If nought a noble or virtuous Man is to be found amongst a Ventrue's domain to chooseth from, then they shalt chooseth next from an able-bodied and learnéd youth. They are but lesser Men and containeth all humors to make an ideal Man. Noble Ventrue are warned that youth are ruléd by Sanguine, and weaketh to the wiles of Glory and Lust. With a steady, gentle hand their Sire may gaineth much in domain and riches.
3) If Ventrue of dignity feareth the weakness of the Youth and have nought a noble or virtuous Man amongst their domain, then good and noble wisdom sayeth turn thine eyes amongst the noble and virtuous flocks of Women. True and loyal Ventrue may Sireth a Woman without first looking uponeth Man or Youth if thou art also a Woman. Lesser than Man, and bringers of Sin, Women are stainéd with the weakness of their sex. A Woman must manage of her house, respecteth her husband, bear strong sons, and be-th full of Faith, noble blood, and many seasons. Let good and noble Ventrue be wise that Woman is ruléd by Melanchole and recquireth of a strong hand by her Sire to manage.
4) True, good and loyal Ventrue shalt turn thine eye from the weakness and debauchery of Female Youth. For theirs is the eyes of Eve and in their hand, they holdeth thine Fruit of Destruction. Ruléd by Choleric, Female Youth are servants of anger and wrathful temper. Daughters of Lust and Jealousy, Female Youth shalt be the bane of their Sire. If brethren feeleth the lure of Female Youth, thou shalt lean uponeth the wisdom of thine Forefathers and dispatcheth this Female lest they shareth in her imperfections.
Good, noble and true Ventrue shalt remember thine own dignitas and gravitas in all matters of procreation. Thou shalt honor thy clan in all thine Childer. These art the words of wisdom of our Forefathers.
It couldn't have been written more than three hundred years ago, and yet the words read as if they had been spoken by God, Himself. She would have liked to believe this was a book for radicals, but the fact that Sébastien had one lent credence to the notion of it being commonplace amongst Ventrue archives. The room door swinging open was welcome distraction from the awful words. She left the book behind and followed the two men. They took her from the room, down a candlelit hall and to a circular room. There was a singular chair in the middle of the room and balcony where a few Kindred sat.
Louisé sat in the chair when they directed her to. It was daunting, being in the middle of emptiness. Though the eyes were few, all were on her and there was, perhaps, a shred of mercy between them all. She hadn't been sure such cold an existence could become colder. Now she was sure it could.
"Do you understand why you are here, Childe?" an old woman asked her. Her appearance made her think of that particular line of the book: of many seasons.
"No," she shook her head.
A grey-haired man spoke up, brows drawn together, "Do you know who we are?"
"No."
"You mean to tell me your Sire hasn't yet reviewed clan station with you?" the old woman seemed insulted.
"He won't teach me anything until I can recite and write my bloodline perfectly. He says until I know where I come from, I can never know where I am going." That was a small fib. She just didn't want to admit she couldn't remember.
The old woman opened her mouth, but the grey-haired man spoke in her place, "Wise words. Childe, we are the Gerousia. We govern the Ventrue of this municipality, hold council on important clan matters and endeavor to oblige our brethren to uphold the virtues of dignitas, prudentia and severitas. Do you understand what that means?"
"Yes, I think so. Why am I here? Have I done something wrong?" she looked cautiously away from him to the other members.
A subdued woman leant forward, "No. We are inquiring as to the manner of your Embrace. Your Sire, my apologies," her eyes darted to the other members of the council, "Has been accused of committing a great taboo according to our clan's traditions and statues."
She needlessly swallowed, "I'm afraid you have me at another loss. What has he been accused of?"
"That in Embracing you, he has created a Childe of Passion."
She had read the phrase briefly in that awful book, practically glanced over the thing so there was no true recognition of its meaning. "And what, pray tell, is that?"
"It means that instead of siring prudently and bringing to our clan a perfect representation of our virtues, he has produced a Childe out of lustful predilections and self-centered physical needs," the crone interrupted. She straightened her back to appear the arch-dame she believed herself to be.
"You believe Sébastien LaCroix Embraced me that he may lay with me?" the thought disturbed her.
"That is a component of it, yes. Another is that he Sired to suit his own needs rather than providing our clan with material to make us stronger," the grey-haired man rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.
"Now. Your Sire has provided us with an account of his choice in Embracing you. We would like you to do the same." Another man spoke, eyes bearing into her with curiosity rather than malice, like the crone.
"Explain why he chose me? How should I know? The finer details of that night are secluded to the cloud of his mind."
"Then tell us about that night. Your Sire said he collected you from a Mass to calm your father. What happened when you got home?"
Louisé's chest burned. How dare he lie like that! At the same time, she was not naïve enough to contradict his statement and believe there would not be substantial consequences. She went to her most immediate memory after she returned home, "I went to find my father and apologize for returning so late. Ever since my mother passed, he became very anxious about where I would be. I found him in the hallway." She bit the corner of her bottom lip, "He was dead."
"What did LaCroix do?"
"He said there was nothing I could do for him. He said he would take care of it and sent me into the care of a servant…" her jaw tightened as she glossed over the heap of terrifying events between her finding her father and being released to the two ghouls.
"Then?" the dull woman asked.
"I felt so weak with despair that I slept the whole next day. When I woke, Monsieur LaCroix was in my room. I was quite anxious about that."
"What did he do?" the curious man questioned.
"He told me 'Just relax' then bit my neck. He told me not to be afraid. I just stared at the wall until everything went black."
"He didn't say anything suggestive to you or act inappropriately?" the crone was fishing.
Louisé narrowed her eyes, "I know you all, being so far separated from your humanity, don't consider it so…but how appropriate is sinking your teeth into someone and draining the very life from their body?"
None of them spoke. They just stared at her. Perhaps they were in awe of her infant bravery or insulted to silence by it. The grey-haired man nodded, "What about when you rose?"
She squared her attention on him since he was not entirely witch-hunting in his approach, "I was hungry and cold."
"Hungry?" The crone's tone made it clear what she assumed Louisé meant.
"Yes. Well, now I suppose it would be called thirst. My stomach ached and my throat burned. I tried drinking water and eating, but made a mess of things since it all came back up."
"What did your Sire do about this? Why did he not stop you?" the curious man was smirking, finding amusement in her new born starvation.
"He was not there. I awoke and the room was empty. His servants said he had been gone for hours."
"Sébastien was not even there to support you when you rose?" The smirk faded from his face, replaced with a grimace.
"He said he had business and was unsure when I would rise since I had not done so by sun down."
The grey-haired man held up a hand to silence any future questions. He looked at her, offering her a slim smile. "Thank you for your cooperation Miss Seysell-Chambert. We will return you to your Sire now. Best of luck on your agoge."
So, here she was! Over four centuries later, sitting in the very position of power that grey-haired man and his crone held over her. She certainly wasn't presiding over such a taboo case as hers had been, but it was grave to be sure. She stared at the two men, chin resting happily against the bridge her fingers made. One of them was talking and she was trying very hard not to let her predetermination show.
"You drained two of his herd?" one of her Managers emphasized the number, unable to hide her shock. The way she leaned forward added an unnecessary bit of flare. Louisa forgave her for it though, since she had yet to accumulate the silent, demanding presence of her Prince.
"It's symbolism." The offensive man smirked.
"It's illegal," Louisa corrected. "Not to mention cruel and tactless."
She watched him swallow, her Board stiffen in their seats and her Sire smirk from where he sat in the audience. Her chin never left the bridge. Her eyes slid closed as she mulled over what to do about this. Oh, there were so many things she could do…but which to choose from? A dangerous smirk spread her lips and she opened her eyes.
"At this beginning of this, I asked which you wanted me to rule by: mercy or justice. You two firmly decided upon justice, and so I shall not fail you in this. It is most unfortunate for you, however, that I am both Praetor and Prince this evening. Were it not so, your judgment may have been lighter." She lifted her chin from her fingers and lowered her hands to her table. The audience slumped forward to hear her every word. My, how she could feel their excited anticipation!
"Mr. Livingston, a fellow Ventrue came to you seeking aid. You chose to turn your back on the Ethic of Succor, which is inviolable. You showed him your thumb to get him out of your house and failed in your duty as a Ventrue. Therefore, I shall take your thumb from you and flay your back that you might never again turn it upon the traditions and edicts of our clan." She watched the man, whose herd decreased by two, clench his fists but nod in acknowledgment of his punishment.
The murderer smirked and made the unfortunate mistake of allowing Louisa to see it. She narrowed her eyes, her lips creeping into a feral smile, "Mr. Cavanaugh. You seem so happy. Let us not forget you, too, wanted justice and so I shall dispense it. While Mr. Livingston may have snubbed Succor, you broke the Camarilla tradition of Domain. Mr. Livingston rules his Domain, and everything in it, absolutely unless his actions affront my decrees. You did not deliver Ventrue, but Camarilla, action in killing those Kine…action reserved for only one Kindred here."
Cavanaugh looked around, his undone nerves showing now. She continued, "You drank what was not yours. You took life that did not belong to your hand. Therefore, I shall remove the instrument you used to bring unwarranted death upon those defenseless creatures."
Cavanaugh stumbled over his words, "Y-you're what?! You don't mean-" It was Livingston's turn to smirk.
"Oh, yes, I do. Your fangs, sir. One for each victim. And my! How convenient! There are two victims!" Her humor wrought laughter from around her. Laughter sharp as blades. Laughter hungry for blood. She looked Cavanaugh in the eyes. "Because you have made it twice as hard for your brethren to feed, so I shall make the same for you."
She waved them away with a hand. One of her Associate's took them to a side room for completion of their sentence. She picked up her half-empty, half-full glass and sipped from the cold blood inside. Her eyes closed and her hand swirled the liquid around. No one moved. All eyes on her.
"Let tonight's proceedings serve as a reminder to our community that we must adhere to the traditions that bind our clan, lest we endanger our own dignity and clan's reputation. We are adjourned." She set down her glass.
Once everyone had filed out, she opened her eyes and slouched in her chair. Only fools ask for justice, said the grey-haired man to her once. She heard his voice in the booming silence around her. Wise ones ask for mercy for they know they are masters of their own fate. Her reflection was disturbed by the precise clack of her Sire's loafers. She didn't look at him when he came up behind her chair. She was not about to step down from her throne…not just yet.
"Find my Sheriff." Yes, only fools ask for justice.
Fun History Facts!
Humorism: An ancient medical belief of the make up of the human body. Ancient and Medieval physicians believed the body was divided into four fluids: Blood (Sanguine), Yellow Bile (Cholera), Black Bile (Melancholy) and Phlegm. These four, in turn, it was believed affected internal organs and temperament and were associated with specific seasons and elements.
Blood- Spring; Element of Air; Ruled over the liver and was associated with a temperament that was courageous, hopeful and amorous
Yellow Bile- Summer; Element of Fire; Ruled over the spleen and was associated with a temperament that was bad or easily angered
Black Bile- Autumn; Element of Earth; Ruled over the gall bladder and was associated with despondent, sleepless and irritable (hence melancholia)
Phelgm- Winter; Element of Water; Ruled over the brain and lungs and created a calm and unemotional temper
And yes, I took full literary privilege with the book quote and its nonsensical, more-than-likely incorrect attempt at Elizabethan translation of Medieval text.