Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.
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Epilogue
"I can't believe I was so very wrong about our young Mr. Corben," Philip said evenly as he continued to pace back and forth across the luxuriously spacious hotel suite. "I thought for sure he would finally come around and kill Yashida. He had the chance; he had him at his mercy... but he chose to leave. It's preposterous. Doesn't he know I'll have to kill him for this?"
"Truly, Philip," Hassan commented, "perhaps the whelp hasn't gotten that far in thinking it all through. After all, it was not for his mind that you brought him into the Hand."
"Oh, you must be loving this," Philip answered. "I'm surprised you're not gloating. Go ahead, remind me of the many times you told me bringing in Mr. Corben was a mistake."
"Perhaps I will discuss Mr. Corben with you at a later time," Hassan said, something in his voice making Philip slightly uneasy. For the first time in decades, the Gangrel was reminded that while Hassan often served as his bodyguard and personal assassin, he was of the same rank within their organization.
What is he thinking? the Gangrel wondered. Does he plan on bringing this up with our superiors? Does he think this isolated failure could discredit me somehow? Is there an enemy I have that would try to make more of this than it really is?
Both kindred stood in silence for several minutes, each one watching the other for the slightest hint of anything... thought, emotion, restlessness. Philip saw no trace of anything reflected on Hassan's face, while he remained intent on not betraying anything in turn to his old 'friend.'
"Of course, K.T. has to die," Philip finally said. "I cannot allow him to live after I gave him an ultimatum. He would never respect my authority again." He looked over his Assamite comrade for a minute while pondering K.T. a little more. The mercenary had shown so much promise... It would be a waste to simply destroy him. "I guess you finally have a chance to kill K.T.," Philip finally said. "But give him one more chance."
"One more chance?" Hassan asked dubiously. "Are you sure that's appropriate? He did, after all, defy you as thoroughly as he could. Such insubordination should be dealt with accordingly."
"He gets one more chance," Philip said evenly, making certain his voice did not allow for the possibility of opening his decision up to debate. "Let him have one final opportunity to kill Yashida and Marlowe. If he takes advantage of the offer, then he will live. If not..."
"And if he uses this as an opportunity to run?"
"Then you will have to chase him down," Philip replied, bringing a tired sigh from his associate. "If I remember correctly, you're the one that once said the thrill of the chase makes the job that much more satisfying."
"Once upon a time that was true," Hassan replied darkly, "but now I simply want to get this over with. I wish to conduct my business with Mr. Corben and be done with this entire situation." He stood and walked over to the closet, taking out his scimitar and strapping it at his side. "I hope that next time you take more care in selecting a recruit. I don't want to have you make the same mistake again."
"Oh, I've already chosen a new recruit," Philip replied with a devilish grin. "This one promises to be far more clever than K.T. ever was. Hassan shook his head in apparent frustration and walked out the door, leaving Philip to his own machinations. Once the Assamite was gone, Philip took his cell phone from a pocket and dialed.
"Yes, this is Phillip," he said as soon as his call had been answered. "I need a scout assigned to observe an individual for possible initiation."
"You're beginning a period of observation?" the voice on the other end of the line asked, making certain it understood its instructions correctly.
"That's correct," Philip replied. "The individual's name is Johnny Yashida, of the Clan Telemon."
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"Your clan did an excellent job here, Johnny," Yoshi commented as walked around the grounds of the home that Yoshi was borrowing from an influential local Toreador. "The primogen of the city have decided to give your people a one million dollar bonus."
"We don't appreciate gifts," Yashida replied. "We did a job, and we were paid accordingly. We don't want to leave here feeling we owe you anything."
"Sheridan insisted, though I think it was Fleming that was actually behind the decision," the Toreador said. "The prince is already hard at work now that he has officially retaken his title. I think he knows that the Camarilla's hold on the city is a bit tenuous at present, what with the heavy losses that the Krewe of Steele took. It will be at least a decade before New Orleans is as well defended as it was before this all started, and the Sabbat considered it a prime target for siege even then. We may have use for you here again in the near future. I believe Fleming wants to make sure you'll be willing to come back when he asks."
"Well, I think we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Johnny said. "He stopped dead in his tracks and turned suddenly to the old Toreador, extending his hand affably. "It was nice working with you, Hideyoshi. I hope we get a chance to do it again."
"I would like that," the older kindred answered. "I do have a question for you, though."
"Oh really?" Johnny asked.
"Yes," Yoshi answered. "During our fight with the Sabbat spy that infiltrated the Krewe of Steele, I saw you fly, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did," Johnny replied evenly.
"Where did you learn that?"
"I taught myself," the Telemon said simply. "Now, I could, of course, explain more, but that would mean I'd want to hear about that whole thing with the lightening bolts coming from your fingertips."
"Of course," Yoshi answered with a knowing grin. "That also is a unique discipline, something I came up with on my own. I'd be happy to share a bit about that, if you tell me about flight. Occasionally I've heard rumors of other disciplines that have been developed, but you are the first one I've ever heard of that did it so young. I practiced diligently for over fifty years before I met with any success. You're hardly that old even when one counts your mortal years."
"I know," Yashida answered with a mischievous smile. He looked over the old Toreador, and decided he could trust him with some of the details. After all, it's not like I'll be talking about Obtenebration of anything. "Well, when I was younger, I went and saw a movie called 'The Lost Boys.' Not a particularly accurate movie when it comes to the depiction of vampirism, but it was entertaining nonetheless."
"Yes, I've seen it," Yoshi commented.
"Well, then you know that the vampires in it could fly," Johnny responded. "That got me to thinking. I asked around to see if anyone I knew had ever heard of flying vampires, but my meager sources of information had not. So I started thinking about it, and figured that at some point, someone had to have come up with the disciplines we have now. It's like with the Tremere, refining the practice of Thaumaturgy almost to a science."
"Thaumaturgy existed, at least to some degree, even before the Tremere," Yoshi pointed out.
"Right, but the Tremere sorta worked out the kinks," Yashida said. "They made it into the collection of disciplines that it is in its modern form. A thousand years ago, Thaumaturgy as it is now didn't exist. So I figured that the blood that keeps us alive has incredible properties, and what we can do with it is limited only to our own imaginations. So I started meditating regularly, trying to figure out a way to use the vitae to allow me to fly."
"And how long did it take?" Yoshi asked.
"Years and years," Johnny answered. "Nothing ever seemed to happen, but then one night I was robbing an apartment when the owner came home. I figured 'no big deal,' but then the guy turned into a werewolf."
"Of all the luck..." the Toreador commiserated.
"Exactly," Johnny said. "So I did the only rational thing there was to do – I jumped out of the seventh story window. I knew that I would survive the fall, and that any pain associated with the landing would be nothing compared to what a territorial garou would do to me in his own apartment. Anyway, I jumped out and actually glided down to the ground. I really couldn't believe it. It was like the power actually activated itself of its own accord or something. I can't really explain it – it's almost like there was someone else in my mind at the time, and that other person showed me how to use the power in the heat of the moment."
"That's odd," Yoshi commented.
"Tell me about it," Johnny agreed, "but I wasn't really in a mood to question the situation. I practiced a lot after that, taking time whenever I had a chance, but I could never get it to work again. I got a slew of bruises and broken bones, and all apparently for nothing. Then I was visiting my sire again when I finally got up the nerve to try again from the same rooftop I had jumped from when I had my one success. It actually worked again, but this time I was concentrating more on what was going on in my head when I started to glide. The same thing happened – it was almost like there was a voice in my head, instructing me on what to do. I think it was my survival instinct or something, because the way I used the blood was almost completely instinctual. It was sorta weird, but fantastic. Ever since then I've been able to glide at will.
"A few more years of practice followed, and eventually I levitated for the first time. A few years after that I was able to fly. It's not as fun as it might seem, though. I mean, you have to remember that it's dark out when I start flying. I'm always bumping into shit, from street lamps, to branches, to flagpoles, and anything else that gets in the way. Nightvision is dangerous to use, though, because if I look at some guy's headlight or something, I'll be really blind for a few seconds, and I could run headfirst into a building if that happened. I'm trying to figure out a way to improve the power, to give it an element of echolocation or something, like a bat. It would sure make the whole flying thing a lot safer."
"I'm sure it would." Yoshi agreed. "I'm impressed by how quickly you learned to manipulate your blood to produce a new effect," he commented. "Like I said, it was fifty years before I had my first success, and that was a fairly simple thing. At first, all I could do was produce a simple static discharge that appears similar to St. Elmo's fire. I believe you noticed me using that during my duel with Kingman." Johnny nodded as he remembered the glowing, almost fiery-looking sword. It turns out there was no magic at all, just an unheard of discipline. "It was over a hundred before I was actually made something useful of the power, and learned to project the lightning bolts you saw in our confrontation with the traitor."
"That's amazing, though," Johnny said.
"You and I had a conversation some time ago," Yoshi said, "where I offered you secret information in exchange for the knowledge of Obtenebration. It was my new discipline of electricity that I was speaking of. I'll give it to you in exchange for your power of flight, though."
"That's certainly a tempting offer," Johnny admitted. He could just imagine how much of an advantage he would have by keeping such a deadly and unknown power like that as an ace up his sleeve. "I'd be crazy to pass that up."
"So are you agreeing?" Yoshi asked.
"Yes, I'm agreeing," Johnny stated. "Although I think you're a little hung up on this flying thing. You've probably seen 'Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon' a few too many times." Yoshi only grinned in response.
"Oh, I almost forgot," the old Toreador suddenly said, "I have a gift for you."
"What did I say about my people not liking gifts?" Johnny asked.
"This is a gift for you personally, and not a gift for you as a mercenary," Yoshi said. "It is something that I give you as a small token of appreciation for you saving my life."
"You don't need to thank me for that," Johnny said. "I have to admit that it was a bit of a self-serving decision. We needed you to coordinate the attack. If you had been killed, we would have lost, and a great deal of my people would likely have died."
"So it was the tactically sound decision," Yoshi said with a smile. Johnny nodded with a grin of his own. "True," the Toreador agreed, "but you could have run. You didn't. You stayed and showed more mettle than most kindred your age would have. So therefore I have a gift." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring that Johnny instantly recognized as platinum. The insignia on the ring was simple, a Greek hoplite shield overlaid with a picture of a rearing stallion. Johnny was impressed at the intricacy of the workmanship and concluded that one would have had to be a master for centuries to create such a work of art. Obviously, only an experienced kindred jeweler could have crafted it. A quick examination of the inside of the band revealed an insignia that looked slightly like the archway before a Buddhist temple, with two spears supporting a katana that formed the top of the arch. "Wear this, and you will be recognized as being one of us," Yoshi said with a smile.
"One of us?" Johnny asked warily.
"There is a certain group, mostly Inconnu but not entirely," Yoshi explained, referring to the sect of vampires that had officially withdrawn from the Jyhad of the younger members of their world. "Let me simply say that I am not the only kindred out there who was once a great general in his mortal days. There are many others, of many clans, but we have formed our own private society, so to speak, using our martial talents as a link that is, perhaps, greater than the blood that now makes us immortal. The ring is a symbol of us, and the inscription on the inside of the band will show any one of us that you got the ring from me. As I said before, your clan will one day need to make war against a powerful foe in order to carve out a niche for yourselves. I've just given you a way to get advice from some of the greatest generals that human society has ever produced."
Johnny just stood there in stunned silence, not even knowing how to respond to such a wonderful gift. "I don't deserve this," the Telemon finally said. "I'm no great general... I'm not even a so-so general. In my mortal days I was nothing that even resembled a general. Hell, I couldn't even win a game of Battleship or checkers. If you're serious about letting me into your little club, I just want to warn you that making me a member is probably gonna get you kicked out."
"Not at all," Yoshi answered. "Under fire you made the correct tactical decision to support the Krewe rather than your own people."
"That's not a big deal," Johnny argued. "You really should save an honor like this for people who have the proper training. All I have is the blood of a militaristic clan."
"As you say, you have no training," Yoshi agreed. "In spite of that, you formulated a strategy that made maximum effectiveness of a small, inexperienced force during this siege. In battle you made correct tactical uses of your forces. You were not a soldier as a mortal, but there are a couple of us that never had an opportunity to see warfare until the embrace. You're obviously one of that small number. I see potential in you, Yashida. I want to make you a friend and ally before anyone else has a chance to recruit you."
"I'm flattered," Johnny admitted. "Make sure you keep in touch," was the only other thing he could really think to say.
"Oh, I'm not leaving the city quite yet," Yoshi said. "I heard you and most of your people would be staying for Mardi Gras." Johnny nodded. "Then I think I'll stay, too. Maybe now is a great time for us to start learning our new disciplines from each other."
"You know, I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship," Johnny said, spreading his lips into a wide, satisfied smile.
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K.T. Corben sat on a wrought iron bench overlooking the Mississippi River, just a few steps from the New Orleans Aquarium. For the first time in many years, he allowed his mind to simply wander, and he found the sensation more relaxing than he remembered. It's been so long since I just took the time to think, he pondered.
He had struggled long with the question of whether or not he would kill his friend, but he had found that the ultimate decision, made within the heat of the moment, had come quite suddenly and surprisingly easily. It almost made his brooding seem inappropriate. Almost.
I can't believe the Mississippi River is going to be the last thing I see, he thought. I'll bet it was absolutely beautiful a few hundred years ago. Too bad it's gotten so polluted. I would have liked to get to see something more impressive before I died.
"Hello K.T.," a voice said out of thin air. The Gangrel drew his gun as he slipped off his seat and fell into a defensive crouch, scanning the area for whoever it was that was speaking to him.
"Who's there?" he challenged. There was no answer. A strong breeze cut through the air above his head, and a brief moment later K.T. felt his ponytail hit the ground, having been cut cleanly from his head. Well, I guess this is it, the Gangrel decided. He had hoped to have at least a few more minutes, just to relax and be at peace, but it appeared that he would not have that luxury.
"The next cut will not take your hair, mercenary," the voice said smoothly with a heavy Arabic accent. "Even now you keep up the fight?"
It had been awhile since K.T. had heard the voice, but the fact that it sounded familiar led him quickly to the identity of his attacker. "Hassan?" he asked. "Is that you?"
"Yes, Mr. Corben," the Assamite replied evenly. "Throw down your weapon. Now. I would speak with you."
"I thought you were here to kill me," K.T. answered. "Why not just get it over with?" K.T. had tried very hard to prepare for this moment. He had thought convincing himself that he should at least have the dignity to meet his punishment rather than run had been enough to get himself to accept his fate, but now he doubted it. He still thought about resisting, no matter how futile the gesture might be.
"Why are you in such a hurry to die?" Hassan asked. "One might think you had grown tired of living."
"I am tired of it," K.T. replied. "I'm tired of you and Philip yanking my chain all the goddamned time. I'm tired of these little tests. I'm tired of being your hired muscle. I know there's no way out of the Hand other than death, so you might as well do it."
"Throw down your weapon, Mr. Corben, I would speak with you," Hassan repeated. This time K.T. complied, and then he sat back on the wrought iron bench. A moment later the Assamite appeared before him, scimitar in hand. "Philip is rather displeased with you," Hassan said. "He has sent me to kill you."
"So big bad Philip didn't like that I chose to disregard his demands?" K.T. asked.
"You were hired to help the Sabbat win the city," the Assamite explained. "For some strange reason, though, you refused to kill Johnny Yashida or Michelle Marlowe, despite their positions as hired defenders of New Orleans. That appears to be a rather serious breach of your assigned duties, even before considering the fact that Philip specifically told you he wanted them killed."
"So Philip wants me dead, now," K.T. concluded. "Fine."
"There is one chance for you to walk away from here, K.T." Hassan said emotionlessly, appearing uninterested in whether or not K.T. accepted the opportunity.
"And what's that?" the Gangrel asked, already suspecting what the answer would be.
"If you go out and kill Yashida and Marlowe, you will be allowed to live. Philip has invested a great deal of time and energy in you. He wants you to have one more chance. If you do as he commands, your earlier... reluctance... will be forgotten."
"They've probably left the city by now," K.T. said. "I'd never be able to get the job done quickly enough to satisfy Philip."
"Probably not," Hassan agreed. A wicked smile crossed the assassin's face, and K.T. suddenly had the impression that there was something going on of which he was not aware. "Lucky for you, Mr. Corben, that both Yashida and Marlowe have stayed behind to enjoy Mardi Gras."
"They're still in the city?" K.T. asked in disbelief. Hassan simply nodded in response. K.T. sat in silence for a few moments, avoiding eye contact with the Assamite. Finally he looked up, once again locking his gaze with his executioner. "I won't do it," K.T. said sternly. "You want Johnny and Michelle dead, you'll have to do it yourself."
"I could do it rather easily," Hassan commented, "but I would much rather you take the trouble. They're hardly worth my talents."
"No," K.T. replied, crossing his arms over his chest to emphasize his point. The Gangrel had finally had enough of being toyed with. He would rather die than be a pawn any longer.
"Why will you not kill them?" Hassan asked curiously.
"Because you want me to," K.T. said venomously. "I think that's reason enough."
"Hardly," Hassan commented. "There must be some other reason."
"None that concerns you," K.T. spat. "Come on, kill me already. I'm getting bored."
"Why will you not kill Yashida and Marlowe, K.T.?" Hassan asked again. "Tell me truly."
"Because it goes against my code," K.T. shouted. "Is that okay with you?"
"You are a mercenary," Hassan snarled. "You have no code, no conscience, no friends, and no honor. Don't speak to me as if you suddenly feel you are above the work you do."
"I was a true mercenary," K.T. admitted. "Then I woke up. I found… something. I won't call it honor, but it's at least akin enough to it that I mistake the two for each other, and it appears it's going to get me killed. I guess I should have expected that. I won't betray my code, though. For the first time in decades I can look myself in the mirror and not be appalled by what I see. If I'm to die, so be it, but I won't abandon the one thing that's given me true inner peace."
"Philip has decreed that you are to die," Hassan said once again.
"You already told me that part," K.T. responded grimly. "So let's just get this over with."
"Philip has said you are to die, but I disagree," Hassan said. K.T.'s jaw almost hit the ground when he heard the words, and he looked at the Assamite suspiciously, wondering if this was some perverse ruse aimed at getting his hopes up about living, only to kill him painfully in the end.
"You disagree?" K.T. asked warily. "What exactly does that mean?"
"It means that you do not need to die," Hassan stated. "In fact, the choice is up to you. You said that you are tired of being a pawn. If that is so, let me give you a choice. You can either be destroyed, or you can become a knight."
"A knight?" K.T. asked, suddenly becoming more confused than ever.
"A knight," Hassan repeated. "You would still be a game piece on someone's chessboard, but you would certainly be a more important piece. A more deadly piece. You would no longer work for Philip. You would instead belong to me."
"What?" K.T. asked incredulously. "Why?"
"I feel I have explained the what thoroughly enough, Mr. Corben," Hassan said. "As for the why, you have proven yourself to me. You are the brute force that Philip always looks for in recruits, but you were missing the requisite lack of honor and conscience that he always seeks. However, that same honor is what attracts me to you. By choosing to die rather than betray your friends, you have proven yourself worthy."
"Is this the part where I should be flattered?" K.T. asked sarcastically. He had decided that Hassan was indeed playing at some game, and that the assassin had absolutely no intention of allowing him to live. K.T. would be damned if he would play along.
"I am quite serious in my offer, Mr. Corben," Hassan said, a thin smile crossing his face. "I can see that you do not believe me, though. Stand up and make a decision. Would you like to serve as my apprentice, or would you rather die?"
"Given the choice, I think I'd rather be your apprentice," K.T. said carefully. "But what would you be sending me to do? How would it be different than working for Philip?"
"Initially, you will enjoy far more freedom by working for me," Hassan replied. "I need you to be as tough as possible, and one gets tough by constantly testing one's mettle. You will continue to wage war on behalf of various employers. Sometimes you will fight for whom I say, and sometimes you will be free to choose your superiors."
"You said that was initially," K.T. pointed out. "What about later?"
"None of that is important unless you survive your apprenticeship, Mr. Corben," Hassan answered, his thin smile fading away into a dark scowl. "When you are not fighting, you will receive training from me. I will make you deadlier than any young vampire from the New World has any right to be. If you survive, well, then you will be introduced to those who command me."
"And who exactly are they?" K.T. asked.
"If you are a knight on the chessboard, and I am a rook, then you will be meeting the kings and queens," Hassan answered, his smile returning once again, revealing how pleased he was to leave K.T. as confused as possible.
"Well, given all that, I guess you have yourself a new apprentice," K.T. finally said. The cool exterior he wore for Hassan's benefit belied the sick feeling he had deep down, where his stomach was turning. "What would you have me do first?"
"First, you will leave New Orleans," Hassan instructed. "I guess that means you should gather up Ms. Blackwell and get going as soon as possible."
"Where to?" K.T. asked.
"Chicago is nice this time of year," Hassan said.
"It's the first week of March," K.T. replied. "The wind's gonna be whipping off the lake, making Chicago cold and miserable. It's pretty much the opposite of nice there this time of year."
"Well then that's too bad for you, Mr. Corben, since Chicago is where you'll be going."
"And what am I supposed to do there?" K.T. asked.
"Whatever you want, K.T.," Hassan answered. "Take a vacation if you'd like. You've certainly earned enough money here to enjoy yourself. Or work if you prefer. Just make sure you don't get lost, because there will be some unpleasantness if I am unable to find you when you're needed."
"I understand," K.T. said. He picked up his revolver and placed it back in its holster, amazed at the feeling he had. Do anything I want? I've been Philip's toady for so long I hardly know what I want to do now that I have the chance.
As K.T. stood and left, Hassan let out a long sigh. "I can't wait to tell Philip that I've taken over the instruction of his old protégé," he mumbled. "I think the memory of the look on his face alone will be enough to keep me entertained for the next hundred years."
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"Well, I guess that's everything," Brett said evenly as he finished checking over his bags. "You did a great job here, Johnny. Siras is going to be proud."
"Not as proud as he's going to be of your performance," Yashida countered. "I had my doubts when you got here, Brett, but I have to admit that you've come very far, very fast. I was hoping that you would one day make a worthy replacement of the field general we lost when Matt was killed."
"It would be a great honor to one day be compared favorably to him," Brett responded.
"You're well on your way," Johnny said. "You'll probably be seeing action again very soon."
"And you probably won't be," Brett admitted. "I know opposing sieges isn't your role, so I'm grateful for your help."
"Well, if you ever find you need better intelligence in the field, give me a call," Johnny said evenly. "I'll be more than happy to work with you again."
"Are you saying you'll be my wingman?" Bret asked, making a joke in reference to 'Top Gun.'
"No, you can be mine," Yashida replied with a smile, hoping silently that this flash of levity was not something Brett would continue once he returned to headquarters. Siras had sent Brett to Johnny in order to get him some much-needed field experience and to train him to lead. Yashida was certain his sire had not also wanted Brett to pick up some of Johnny's overly glib and oftentimes inappropriate humor.
"So you're sure you're fine with staying here?" Brett asked one more time.
"Absolutely," Johnny said. "Siras granted us a two week furlough to enjoy Mardi Gras, and that's what we're going to do. Besides, I might look fine enough, but I still have a bit of a wound in my gut. It's gonna be a few days before I'm really well enough to take a chance on traveling."
"Understood," Brett said. "Well, tell everyone, even Michelle, that I was impressed with their performance. You've got a great crew here, Johnny. Make sure you take care of them."
"And you take care of yourself," Johnny said with a warm smile. Yep, he certainly has come a long way. Losing Matt was a big blow to the clan, but Brett might be able to minimize that loss. I think we're gonna be just fine. "Well, enough of all this warm and fuzzy shit, sir," Johnny said, snapping a quick salute toward his commander. "Good luck, sir."
"You too," Brett replied with a salute of his own.
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"I don't want to take some time away," Erica said for the umpteenth time in the conversation. "We've been apart for weeks, K.T. I came back so I could be with you, not so you could send me away again."
"I'm not sending you away," K.T. replied. "I want to be with you again more than you could ever know," he said, wondering even as he said the words whether it was really him speaking. It seemed so odd to be saying anything warm and emotional. He had spent so many years forming walls of impenetrable stone around his heart that it felt completely alien to speak of his feelings. "I simply need a couple of months to make sure my head is screwed on straight," he explained. "Just give me a little time, and we'll be together again."
"And what am I supposed to do?" Erica asked. She looked awkward, as if she was unsure whether she should add anything. "I don't want to be alone anymore," she finally admitted.
"You don't have to be," K.T. replied. "You know Johnny and Michelle, right?"
"Of course," Erica replied.
"They're both staying for Mardi Gras. I mentioned to Johnny that you needed some people to crash with, and he was more than willing to take you on," the Gangrel said. He stolidly ignored the uneasy feeling that grew in his stomach as he considered the thought of sending someone like Erica to spend Mardi Gras with Johnny and Michelle. It seemed like he was just asking for trouble.
"Mardi Gras?" Erica asked. The sudden glimmer in her eye only made K.T.'s uneasiness grow as he started to think about all the things that could possibly go wrong. "Then what?"
"I'm not entirely sure," K.T. said. "They also said they might head over to Florida for Spring Break and some training. Johnny said you're welcome to stay with him for as long as you want."
"Really?" Erica asked.
"Well, sorta," K.T. replied with a smile. "He made me promise that I would definitely come and get you at some point. Either that, or by July 1st I'm supposed to start paying him just as I would any other babysitter."
"Oh, that's it," Erica growled with feigned anger. She lunged at the Gangrel and grabbed him in a tight embrace as the two tumbled to the floor and locked together in a passionate kiss.
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"So we really have lots of time off?" Mel asked.
"Yup," Johnny confirmed. "We get a few weeks of vacation, and then it's time to start training again."
"For the next siege?" the fledgling asked.
"My team doesn't usually do sieges," Johnny replied. "We're more of a diplomatic unit. We were only here to help Brett get some experience. If things had started to get much worse here in New Orleans, Brett would have remained and gotten some serious reinforcements while the rest of us got reassigned."
"Oh," Mel replied.
"So what exactly do you have in mind?" Michelle asked.
"Well, Mardi Gras is less than a week away," Johnny said. "The city is about twelve hours from going absolutely nuts. I think we should have a party."
"Here?" Michelle asked.
"Well, I'm gonna need at least one more night to heal," Johnny said. "Besides, we can't go anywhere before our last guest shows up."
"Who?" Michelle asked suspiciously, counting off everyone in the room. She obviously could not figure out who else would be showing up.
At that moment, a knock came from the door, and Mason answered it. When he opened the door, Michelle's eyes settled on Erica. "Great, another attractive female kindred," the Gangrel muttered. "I don't believe this..."
Fin
Author's Note: Well, that's it. I plan on never again writing a serious story in this genre, so I want to thank everyone that has ever read my stuff. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Well, not that I really enjoyed writing it. This endeavor has taken me longer than a year, and has all but sucked the life out of me at times. So, I hope you at least take a couple of moments to write a short review. What did you think? What worked? What could have been better? Let me know, so I can try to make my future stuff even better. Ciao.