A/N: Here's chapter nine! What's that you're asking for? More Anarch scenes? Wow, what a surprise! Especially since this series is more Camarilla centered. Well, here you go! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Bloodlines, but I do own my OCs. Ha, no bang.

It was the day before the day they left. Damsel supposed things were going okay. Well enough.

Besides the fact Skelter went missing.

She saw it coming, at least. She spit her toothpaste in the sink, adjusting her hat as she looked in the mirror before she slapped some lipstick on and left.

Naturally, she expected Anastasia to be in a foul mood. But she had absolutely no idea what to say. Right now, Skelter was missing, so she did everything she could to retain some sort of control over everyone.

He must have frenzied overnight and ran off. She wondered if he'd come back with claws, or ears. If he came back at all.

Their argument last night made her hurt. It almost made her cry. They were so close, and then Nines died, and absolutely shattered Skelter's heart. She had seen him bitter before. She had seen him lose people he generally, 'got along' with. She had seen him get snippy with her and Nines for months after losing someone he just, 'got along' with.

Nines was a wound that would probably never heal. Never even scab over, or leave a scar. She knew it would keep bleeding until there was nothing left to bleed.

She wasn't 'over' it. But she was past it. She knew she couldn't dawdle now, thinking about him, crying over him, missing him or hating him. She was past it. She knew there were bigger things to worry about, like whether they had enough blood, enough ammo to hold through their nine-hour escape plan.

As she sat at the counter, she looked at all the people who walked in and out of Skelter's house. How they've changed over such a short time.

Cissy and Catalina walked in. Cissy had grown from a clueless ditz into a woman with guts. A good Anarch, she decided. She reminded Damsel of herself when she was young. She'd go charging into places, drink with the guys, win bar fights she had no business winning. That's how she caught Nines's attention.

Now was not the time to think about Nines.

Catalina, on the other hand had seemed to mellow out. When Catalina first came, she was picking arguments, she was standing tall and straight, her eyes skeptically landing on everyone. She'd try so hard to prove her worth when she was already accepted. She'd fight back when someone picked her buttons. Not anymore. When she was teased, she laughed along, she let Cissy play her games. Like when Nines would call Damsel out on her shoddy aim, and she'd slug him in the shoulder and laugh. That bright smile on his face.

Now was not the time to think about Nines.

Killian walked in and out, testing a few shotguns on cans out in the yard. She had noticed he was growing up a while ago, but nothing he did now reminded her of it any more. He stood taller, he didn't melt or flirt with every woman alive, or fight with any man with a pulse. He was less of an ape and more of man with every day that passed. His responsibilities only increased as Skelter started spilling from the planet. It was the same sort of potential she remembered Nines showing, when Jack would go around and throw himself into any random fight in the streets. Nines would always stay back, protect them, protect the Last Round.

Now was not the time to think about Nines.

Anastasia sat on the couch in the living room, staring idly at the floor. She looked more like a zombie than a Kindred. Her face pale, her eyes empty, her hair lost its luster. Her posture wasn't relaxed, or tall, it was lost, too. Every step looked like pain for her. It reminded her of Nines at the end, how he'd stare into the sky. She wondered desperately what he was thinking, what was so fascinating? What was going on in his head?

Now was not the time to think about Nines.

And then there was Sirius. She eyed him questionably as he wandered in and crossed his arms, standing against the wall, saying something to Killian. What was it about him that was just so alarming to her?

Killian turned away from the firearms and looked over at Anastasia, sitting in the living room alone. He crossed through the kitchen and sat there next to her, a good space between them. "His truck's gone too." He said, "So it stands to reason he'll be back. Maybe he's selling it."

"That's too good to be true." She huffed.

"He just gave a speech last night that he was sticking to this movement, didn't he? He'll be back."

"That is if he's true to his word."

"I think that's something he'll stick to. I don't know why. Just a gut feeling. He might not care about anything else, but I feel like he'll carry out Nines's wish of some sort of Anarch presence in California." He sat back, "We just have to build ourselves back up again." He cracked a little smile, "Head to Arizona, grab some protein shakes, then get back out there."

"Going back to California is a death wish."

"Well, I doubt we're going right back. Honestly, we'll probably stay in Arizona for a few decades, depending on how much support we can get." He looked over at her, "It'll be a good chance to make new friends."

She did nothing in response but sigh, her shoulders drooping a little.

He scooted a little closer and put a hand on the back of her shoulder, "It was good you talked to him last night. I…heard some of it. I know it doesn't seem like it, but I really think you got through to him."

"Ha…that's what I thought of you…once upon a time…"

"Yeah…" He moved his hand away, adjusting his collar, "Look, I just want to help…you looked lonely…" He scooted away, knowing he was digging himself deeper and deeper in a hole, "Say the word and I'll go. I just…I know we had a lot of shit…bad shit…but no one else seems to care and that pisses me off."

"I'll do just fine without them…all of them…"

He looked over at her, "You think you're going to leave when we get to Arizona?"

"No, I didn't say that."

"I know, I was just…worried." He looked back at the table, "Look, just because I fucked with you, Cadmus fucked with you and Skelter is fucking with you, doesn't mean every man is out to get you."

She snickered, "Tch, you say that now…"

"I'm done with that. I'm done with that entire phase in my life. Skelter's more broken than his truck, and Cadmus is pissed as fuck that his sister's going to another state without him with a bunch of horny animals. Everyone is full of piss and vinegar, and I'm sure they didn't mean to take it out on you. They're not out to get you. We're not trying to hurt you."

"Then you all have a funny way of showing it…"

"I know. I'm sure they'll feel sorry as hell when they snap back into it. I did. I still do."

She sunk a bit further, "Who knows?"

"Just give them some time. I think they're all extremely stressed." He gently pat her shoulder before he stood up, "I'm gonna go see what they're up to in there." He said as he headed into the kitchen. She reluctantly followed him.

"So what's the deal?" Sirius asked, "Where the hell is Skelter?"

"I don't know." Damsel said, "I'm sure he's….he's fine…"

"He probably went out to sell his truck." Killian said, "It's no big deal. He's responsible enough to come back in a timely fashion."

"So when are we leaving?" Catalina asked, "Tomorrow?"

"If all goes according to plan." Damsel said.

"Are we doing pit stops or are we driving right through?" Killian asked.

"Well, it's a ten hour trip, considering traffic and other…distractions. We're planning on driving seven hours, staying somewhere nearby, and driving the rest the following night."

"Where are we staying, exactly?" Killian asked, "Like, did he buy a house down there?"

Damsel snickered, "Uh…yeah…about that…we're staying in the middle of the woods."

"What?" Cissy's eyes widened.

"We'll build something. It'll be off the map, new, camouflaged. It's our best bet."

"Christ…" Killian muttered, "Well, I'll help out. I was good in woodshop, at least."

Damsel snickered, "Great, okay, so you can make our fucking birdhouses."

"Hey, you never know."

"You did say Arizona didn't have much of a Jyhad presence, right?" Catalina looked at Sirius.

He nodded, "Least it was pretty barren the last time I was there. Still gonna make getting food a real pain in the ass…"

"Well, there will be a lot of wildlife, right? That's how Nines survived in Griffith Park…" Killian crossed his arms.

"Ew…" Cissy said, "I didn't know we could drink animal blood…"

"Doesn't taste as good, and usually it's not as filling, but it does the job in a pinch."

"If he had any Nosferatu, they'd be loving this development…" Sirius said.

"Oh, I'm sure…" Damsel muttered.

They heard the sound of a car pulling in. A moment later, the door opened and Skelter walked in, "Sorry." He said quietly, "Had to pick up some things."

"Maybe write a note next time? Tell someone?" Damsel said.

"Yeah."

"Alright." Damsel sat up, "I think we should start packing."

Sometimes, there are good days. Sometimes, there are bad days.

And then, there are the very, very, very bad days. The days so terrible, they don't even seem bad. It's not even possible to reflect on anything that's happened, or anything that's been going on. It's just so crushing, the entire world seems to sink away into the depths of hell.

This was certainly one of those. But, of course, Harper couldn't tell.

As she sought to kill the pain, leaning over the edge of the bar, drinking some burning liquid she didn't even remember ordering, she thought desperately. Her world had changed in the matter of one day, that was it. One simple day, twenty-four hours completely wracked her life.

It started in her dreams. Harper was never much of a morning person, especially as a ghoul. She despised Kindred, to an extent, but their active hours never bothered her much. She supposed that's one of the many reasons she was so useful to him.

The dream was something familiar. It was something that had happened to her before, a conversation lingering in her mind. But of course, in her dreams, usually lucid, she never had the choice to change them.

It was her first night with him. Where he sat at his desk, scratching down documents. She remembered sitting across from him, feeling so small. Feeling like a child sitting at the principal's desk for the first time, having no clue what was happening, but knowing it was bad.

He was so engaged with whatever he was doing, she just stared at him. Looking down into her hands grew boring. They were familiar to her. He was not.

She looked over his pale skin, his defined jawline, his crisp haircut. Well, not the cowlick. She assumed he went to war with that every morning. She looked down at the way he held his pen. His wrist controlling the implement with large, sweeping strokes in such quick, hurried motion. His thin fingers hardly pressing any pressure down. He was one of those, she assumed, who would hardly leave a trace of lead on the paper if he was using a pencil. He was too gentle for it. Yet with a pen, he felt powerful, he felt like he could leave a permanent mark. She could tell, because there were no pencils on his desk.

She worried about her father. She had a nurse call her every night to update her on his condition, but her phone was at home. She'd gotten drunk the night before, and tonight too. She'd missed any calls.

She worried about Mercurio. Whoever she was sitting across, this Mister LaCroix, was likely going to fire him. Or, maybe worse.

She had no clue. She had no clue what she drank, what she did, what he was, what was going on. She knew there was a very good chance she was going to die. Because that's all Mercurio really told her.

"I'm not sure if you've ever been told this, Miss Rivers, but it is quite impolite to stare."

His voice was just something so jarring to her, it forced her to look away. Of course she had seen English accents on TV, but she had never met someone with one. Let alone someone who just, seemed so important. So dangerous. "Apologies, sir." She bowed her head and looked back at her hands. The same hands that had always been there since she was a girl, the same hands she had stared at whenever she felt utterly hopeless.

He sat up, finished with whatever it was he was marking. He tapped the sheets against the surface of the desk, her eyes gazing in awe at how quickly his hands were able to snap the papers into place and lie them aside with absolute perfection. He then looked her right in the eye, something about that gaze held her right where she was. And he just kept looking.

It was evident that he was thinking. He was thinking about what exactly to do with her. In hindsight, Harper knew he wasn't trying to be intimidating, or freaky. He was honestly contemplating what to do with this pathetic little human who had consumed his godly vitae. But, in the heat of the moment, Harper couldn't handle that stare. She couldn't take the intensity.

She sat up, resting her fingertips on the surface of his desk, "Mister LaCroix, I'm sorry…" Her eyes started to leak with tears, "I cannot apologize enough for what I've done…if you would…allow me to explain myself…"

That seemed to please him, "Go ahead, then."

Her heart thumped in her chest. Her mouth opened but she choked up, her words lost from her. And then, the dam in her throat busted through as she sobbed, "He's dead…oh, god, he's dead!" She wept into her hands.

As soon as she looked up, that unimpressed, irritated, impatient look on his face burned itself into her mind. She'd never forget it, it was really something she saw on a regular basis for the following fifteen years of her life. He decided to indulge upon her tears. Again, in hindsight, Harper saw this as an extreme act of kindness from him. Something he would have only been sane enough to do without the sarcophagus on his mind. Without that damn key.

"Who, Miss Rivers?"

She dabbed at the tears, "My fiancé…" She felt her chest shake from the mortifying feeling of weeping in front of this man, this thing, that scared her lifeless, "He…h-he left for the marines…" Upon mentioning this, he finally seemed interested, at least trivially, "I didn't…I didn't want him to go, because it was so dangerous, but he ran away and left anyway…before I could try to get him back…I received a letter that…he died in the field of combat…" She covered her eyes so she wouldn't see his face, see his response to her following confession, "So I drank…and I knew…Mister Mercurio would have more to drink, so I went there, and I took his glass…and I drank out of it, but I didn't know what it was! I…I…" Her voice faltered, now it was a soft, rasped whisper, "I still don't."

LaCroix left her in an uncomfortable pause. Of course he did. Suspending her on a thread that he spun around his little finger, twirling it to his liking. He sat back and folded his hands neatly, her deep blue gaze still absorbing how neat he looked. What was a man like this doing in New York City? He was easily the most proper, put-together, overall expensive person she had ever met. "What you consumed, Miss Rivers, was my blood."

She felt the color swim away from her face. His blood? "…w-what?"

The memory of his explanation was foggy. Maybe it was the hangover clouded in her mind, but that wasn't part of her dream. The next thing she remembered was leaning over his desk, resting her arms on the surface and laying her head on her arms. Hours had passed. They were waiting for something. Someone. He continued to sign new documents he pulled from nowhere, she sat there, soaking everything in.

It became too much for her. "LaCroix…" She repeated to herself, "What, is it French?"

"It is." Again, she recognized this as an extreme kindness of his. To even engage in conversation with her, when she was draped over his desk like a dead animal. Let alone to hold it civilly, to not scream at her and lash out. To take her emotions to heart.

"LaCroix…I thought it was pronounced differently…"

"Well, it's the English pronunciation." He mused.

In every one of the dreams he was in, he was always like this. It was never nightmares, not anymore. Her dreams with her former regnant were only positive. It was only the good times.

Because, there were good times.

"There's a French pronunciation?"

"Yes."

"Oh…so does it bother you when people don't…don't use it?"

"I don't see why it would. I myself have never used it."

She gave a little nod, "So you're English then? Did you grow up in England?"

"I spent a portion of my life there, yes."

"Your accent shows it." She gave a little smile, "I've never met someone with an English accent until tonight…"

"I take it you aren't very experienced with global matters then…but…I suppose you're young."

"My father did a lot of work across the globe…" She said softly, still staring at the wall, listening to his pen scratch against documents, "But I never went with him. I was too focused on school."

"You would be surprised how much education you can gather from travelling alone."

She gave another little nod, "So if you only spent some time in England…where else did you live?"

"Many places. Mostly Europe. I haven't spent much time in America."

"I'm sure it's…much, much more terrible than anywhere in Europe you've lived…"

He let out a quiet chuckle, "I wouldn't speak so soon, Miss Rivers."

She gave a little smile, then sat up, one half of her face red from laying on it, "Did you ever go to France?"

"I have."

"How long?"

"I was born there."

"Oh…" She unintentionally eyed him over, maybe using his appearance to stereotype French people. She had never met one of those either.

He caught her gaze, then sat away from his papers, "Is something the matter?"

She met his gaze again, feeling transfixed there. "Your accent. Isn't it English?"

"Yes."

"Okay…so, you were born in France, raised in England?"

"Correct."

She gave a firm nod, "Can…you speak any French?"

His lips finally curved into a smirk. It was an unsettling look on his face, but, it was at least comforting to her, in a way. The man could smile. He did have emotions. "Oui."

Her smile grew, as did her fascination. It wasn't just the words, it was the accent too. Like he was a completely different man, speaking to her, "Say something else!" She said with hushed excitement.

He raised a brow, pausing. Then he spoke, "Poignée de porte."

Her eyes widened, "It sounds so profound…so elegant…what did you say?"

"Door handle." He turned back to his papers and chuckled softly as she giggled.

It wasn't all bad, was it?

Did she miss him?

He then looked up at her. He met her gaze for a long time. This was jarring to her, because this never happened. This was no longer part of her memory. "I only wanted the best for you." He put a hand on top of hers, it was warm, not as cold as she remembered, "I'll never forgive myself."

That was when her dream ended, and when her morning commenced. And yes, it was morning.

Harper never woke up during the mornings. It was equivalent to waking up at three in the morning after going to bed at nine. It was just uncomfortably early. But, something was wrong.

It was the start of her horrid day. It started bad, with her waking up in tears. But it only grew worse.

She rushed to the bathroom where she promptly threw up into the toilet, just making it. She then put a hand over her mouth to cover her scream of agony. It was like someone was stabbing her in the stomach. Had she been poisoned?

And then she remembered. Her eyes widened as terror wracked her body, "No, no!" She shrieked, looking at floor where she ran in. A trail of blood was left there, a trail of blood slinking down her legs as well. "No!" She screamed, the word twisted in to a cry of pain as another contraction shook her.

There was no going back. Her eyes were glossed with even more tears as she held her abdomen. She screamed again as she felt something pass, but couldn't bother to look. She tore the medicine cabinet open and grabbed a bottle of pills, popping the cap off.

But, she couldn't. She seized again as another contraction passed, her arm whipping around to hold her face, knocking the bottle over, spraying the pills across the floor.

She brought herself to the shower and cranked the cold water, hoping it would smack some sense into her. Through the translucent glass of the shower door, she saw the floor swamped with red. The bottom of the tub was a weak pink as her blood washed down the drain. Her eyes kept dripping with tears, her body feeling incredibly weak. It was easily the most blood she had lost in ages, but, that wasn't why she was weak.

She was weak because she knew her dream was impossible.

Having a family, it was taken away from her, the same day she lost the rest of her world. She couldn't just find the nearest man, knock herself up and call it a success story. She would keep getting squashed down again and again, the more she tried, the more painful it would be.

She turned the water off and left the bathroom, not bothering to clean up anything. It wasn't hers anymore. None of it.

She went into the bedroom where Mercurio still slept. She dressed herself, packed a suitcase, and headed to the streets.

One would think this was enough to change someone's life. But the day wasn't over yet. It had only begun.

She hadn't walked on heels in a while, so she was a bit wobbly. She was also slightly wobbly, just due to blood loss. She walked to the diner, ate a few bites of a salad, then went to a motel and purchased a room. It was a terrible room, it stunk and it was filthy, but it would serve its purpose for the night. She needed somewhere to hide, and this was that.

She slept a few more hours there. She heard her phone ring in her dreamless sleep, but ignored it. She was gone tonight.

When she decided to wake up, it was late. It was a good late. She took off her coat and went into the bathroom, washing her face. She looked at herself in the smudgy mirror afterwards. She grabbed a pair of rusted scissors and slowly brought it up to her hair, where she began to cut.

She remembered the last time she cut her hair. Really, cut it. Not a trim, not management. When she cut it to a bob, the day she turned eighteen. The day Dalton said yes. This wasn't a cute haircut like that morning, a last minute oops that turned into a look she loved. This was her fury, her fury she could take out on nothing but her hair.

She could overdose. She could cut, she could hang, she could jump out the window. But she didn't have the guts. There was something she had the guts for, and that was her plan for the rest of the evening.

She headed out that night, a curly, messy pixie cut, a dark crop-top and shorts she hadn't worn since she was a senior in high school. Her boots clicked behind her as she walked to the Asylum. If only it was real, god knows she would have been taken to one a-hundred times over.

Would she see Jeanette there? It was likely. But Jeanette could drain her dry if she wanted. Harper didn't care how she went out tonight. She just never wanted to see the sun or stars again.

She sat at the bar and ordered a few drinks. And no, this was not the end of the night.

When he sat next to her and handed her a drink, she didn't smile. She didn't look over. She just downed the entire thing. She saw him eyeing her chest, her exposed figure. Maybe that was her own fault, for dressing that way, but she couldn't be bothered. The warmth in her head turned into a familiar tipsiness she had been missing. Missing for months.

She was going out in a hurricane, and if this idiot wanted to come along for the ride, she couldn't care less.

She took off her ring as quietly as she could, letting it fall into her pocket.

It wasn't a bad romance, what she had with Mercurio. But it was nothing she adored. He was much older than she was, even considering when he was ghouled. She was nineteen, and he was in his thirties. The attraction quickly grew very one sided, and even then, became a stretch, when his regnant became Miranda. She saw the way he looked at her, especially during feedings.

Truth of the matter was, she found herself more drawn to Mercurio because he was there for so long. Because he offered to help her so much. But love? She slowly grew out of the puppy love phase, and the honeymoon phase even quicker.

The chemistry between them fizzled and burned out. She had felt nothing but obligation to stand there, at his side, feeding him affection. She had felt empty.

"Why don't I buy you another?" She didn't remember the man's face, since she was too drunk. But she took him up and downed the next one, and the next one. Her stomach started to twist, just from having so much liquid in there. But the pain stopped when he smashed his lips against hers and grabbed her hips. Her blurred memories provided her enough knowledge to know what was done, but not where, and not with who. When she woke up in her motel, she found a slip of paper with two hundred dollar bills attached, and a phone number.

And of course, the worst hangover she had felt in ages.

So she nursed herself at the same bar. Let her headache ebb away with the warmth of more alcohol. She saw on her phone, Mercurio's number, springing up again and again. He called five times before he gave up, it seemed.

"What's the matter, babe?" The bartender asked.

She looked up at the heavy-set woman, then looked away.

"C'mon, I'm here to talk. I get real bored."

"I'm sure you do." Harper slurred, "Another."

She poured another glass for Harper, "Man problems? That's why I only do chicks."

"Uh huh…" Harper remembered Tess asking her if she was straight. Sometimes she thought about it. If she gave up on men. If she erased Dalton, LaCroix and Mercurio from the playing field. But, what would that leave her with? Somehow, she had always ended up in the presence of men. She groped for any girl friends that she might have had, but couldn't think of any she had past middle school.

"Saw you get whisked away last night. You seemed to like it."

Did she? She couldn't remember. "Oh."

She wondered what she would do with her life now. Splitting from Mercurio hurt a lot less than she thought. It didn't hurt at all, really. She was sure he was hurting like hell, but she didn't have a care in the world. A sick part of her hoped he hurt.

She was still a ghoul. She was sure it was the reason she was able to handle so much alcohol. Regardless, she was still tied to the Camarilla, to Kindred, to the World of Darkness. If she cut her ties there, if she snipped them off, would she find freedom?

She remembered what LaCroix had told her once. She remembered sitting in front of the fireplace as he paced in front of his windows. She loved it when he lit the fire, letting some warmth in the room. Letting her fantasize about throwing him into the flames. "You've taken up this life now for half a decade." He turned to her, a smirk on his lips, "Can you imagine living the life of kine now? Can you imagine the threat of time, ticking away on your back, weighing you down until you fall and never stand again?"

She downed another drink. He was right. She didn't mind immortality. She figured it was a burden, to outlive everyone you care about, but anyone she cared about had already died without her. Everyone else was immortal. Everyone else was on the same wavelength. If she were to slip away from being ghouled, if she were to let time weigh her into the ground, would it be worth it?

For all the stink she made about how miserable her life was, why was she so afraid to die?

She closed her eyes again and rested her forehead on the table. It was the chance. The sliver of a chance that things would suddenly get better. That slight chance that maybe, just maybe, all the hardships she had gone through would pay off. That Prince Charming would fly by on a white stallion, sweep her off her feet and carry her into a castle. Immortality simply granted her all the more time to find that chance. And yet, as of now, it only dragged her down, further and further.

But life was always changing. What was once the worst part of her life was now the best, and the best the worst. She looked back and cried, thinking about the days she spent arguing with Dalton. The days she spent as a married woman. What was supposed to be her happiest time, only brought her pain. And yet, when she was a slave to a vampire, she couldn't have been happier. Of course, at the time, she was miserable. How he treated her was inexcusable. But god, did she love it, thinking back. Maybe it was the blood bond, or maybe it was just those few golden conversations that made the entire ordeal so worth it. All the times he was human, all the times he wasn't hurting her, or hurting himself, when he was valuable to her, they meant so much to her.

She decided firmly that hindsight was much more of a bitch than karma was.

Another drink cleared her mind, but it was filled again, quickly. She worried about her imminent future. What was she going to do when she needed blood? No doubt Mercurio had contacted Cadmus and Miranda. When she would go to them for blood, Cadmus would likely try to 'guide her to the right place'. There simply was no right place for her anymore. She pondered over finding a new regnant.

It wasn't the idea of leaving the Camarilla that frightened her. She hardly was Camarilla to begin with. They wouldn't suffer. It was the thought of aging, the thought of missing out on opportunity to be happy.

But finding an Independent regnant who was willing to just ghoul any kine off the street was close to impossible. Finding an Independent regnant who also wasn't planning to use her as a blood doll, or a tool, that was another thing.

Maybe they could. Maybe they could use her. Who was she to care? If they drained her once a night, but left her with a few drops of life left, was it worth immortality?

Maybe it was. Maybe another blood bond with an asshole would ease the pain of LaCroix. Sure, Cadmus appeared in her mind quite often, but since he always treated her with such kindness, nothing he ever did really stuck out. Not when she was in too much pain from everything else.

So she would need an Independent regnant. She glanced around the bar, spotting Jeanette on the dance floor, coaxing a dancer into a heated 'kiss'. She thought about it for a second, before she decided Malkavian blood was not the path she wanted to travel. Neither was Gangrel, or Brujah, or Nosferatu. Tremere was a stretch, as was Toreador.

So, she would need an Independent Ventrue regnant.

Her head smacked the counter. It was hopeless. She let the loud music fill her ears before she laid there, passed out on the bar counter, too drunk at that point to fear the crushing reality that awaited her.

Therese was always complaining about the music, so she decided they should go out to a restaurant.

It was silly, really. Dressing up, first of all, was silly, and going to a restaurant was even sillier. What would they order? Therese calmed his nerves at least by mentioning her ability to dismiss them with Dementation. Still, he felt silly, heading out, nicely dressed, like they were still alive.

He imagined Jeanette in there, in Therese's head, giggling like a little girl about how much she was able to toy with him.

But maybe it was worth it. When he entered the lobby, he saw her standing there in a wine-colored gown, sheer sleeves that reached her elbows and ballooned out there. The front gave a corset-like appearance, pushing her chest up into his field of vision, but not shoving it into his face. It looked like an outfit fitting her history, at least, down to the locket around her neck.

She smiled when she saw him, "I know this concept is outdated but…I think it's much calmer."

He pulled a chair out for her, in a suit and tie, "I figured it was something you would come up with."

She nodded as she took a seat, "You look…quite handsome."

"Thank you." He smiled, "You look quite nice yourself."

"Thank you." She averted her gaze briefly, before looking back up, "How are security measures?"

"They're fine." He said, "Haven't seen anyone suspicious."

She nodded, folding her hands and leaving them on the table. She could tell he was dismissing the topic of work, but she had absolutely no clue what to bring up. Was she really this socially inept?

"Anything interesting at the Primogen meetings?" He asked, then smiled, "That you're allowed to tell me, of course."

"Oh, I don't think so." She said with a smile, "They're quite tedious. Though I should be thankful. Tedium only means things are relatively safe, as of now. There are still talks of what happened with the…Chantry battle. But now that the Chantry's rebuilt, safety precautions in the area have only increased. Really, that's been the subject of most meetings."

"Yes, I was there with Poe during the battle." He said, "Victor killing Nines Rodriguez was…quite a sight, for sure…"

"Oh, I'm sure it was…" She shuddered, "I'm quite glad I wasn't there for that very reason."

"Well, objectively it was a victory for us, at least."

"Yes, of course. It's quite nice now, having no more Anarchs in the city. I think Jeanette has been much tamer."

"It's one less threat to deal with."

"If only we could rid of the Sabbat as easily…"

"I'm sure the rest of the Camarilla will have a plan for that." He said, "And then we'll have peace…for how long, I'm not so sure…"

"I hope it lasts a very long time…" She mused, "I could use some more business."

"How has business been recently?"

"Dragging a bit. But, Jeanette helps to bring them in. It's plateaued, you could say."

"Worse now than in years prior?"

"It's been bad since the Sabbat have taken the city, but crawled up after they left."

"I had no idea Remus's takeover was so detrimental…"

"Well…apparently, the amount of casualties that occurred in the club deterred many of our potential customers…"

"I see…that does make quite a bit of sense…"

She nodded, then her gray eyes flickered up to the waitress. "Hi. You two look lovely this evening. Can I get you anything?"

Therese held a hand up, "You're being robbed, I hardly think this is the time to wait on us."

The girl gasped as a purple glow surrounded her head, screamed, held her head and ran.

Therese cleared her throat and looked back to Gottfried, crossing her ankles as she looked down, out of topics again. She bit her lip, then looked up, "You'll…have to forgive me." Her shoulders dropped a bit, "I've never done this before…"

"Tricking her into a robbery might've been overkill…" Gottfried said.

"Oh, what, that? It was…one of the most peaceful things I could think of. I don't have Dominate. I can only work off of hysteria."

He gave a solemn nod. If that waitress was lucky, she'd still have a job after this.

She looked out towards the windows, "As I was saying…I apologize for any…inexperience."

"I don't have any more experience than you do. You must remember that."

"You really…don't act like it…" She said softly.

"I know…Poe took it…much harder than I did…for…obvious reasons…"

"Yes, of course…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring it to the surface…"

"It's alright. I'm sure whatever you faced is no different."

She shifted uncomfortably, "I feel as though we should…speak of something brighter…"

After what felt like years, he finally said, "The Kuei-Jin are gone too. If we can take out both the Kuei-Jin and the Anarchs away, it increases our chances of taking out the Sabbat."

"Yes, that's right." She perked up, "Too bad we know next to nothing about them."

"That's the nature of our conflict." He said, "It's hard to uncover the secrets of the Kuei-Jin."

"We should take advantage of their absence while we can. I'm sure the Prince is on top of it."

He nodded, "He seems rather efficient at getting rid of our enemies."

She uncrossed her legs and sat up, "You weren't interested in heading back to my apartment, were you?"

"Of course, to keep you safe." He stood up.

She smiled warmly, then reached out to take his hand, nervously looking up at him like she was asking him if she could. It was cute, seeing the way she'd look up at him through her lashes. He took the hand grasp one step further by giving her a hug.

She almost gasped, then held him back, closing her eyes as she rested her head against his chest. Somehow, she felt frailer than Jeanette. When Jeanette hugged him, she really squeezed, she latched onto him good, but with Therese, it was very delicate and gentle.

"You look stressed. We should get back quickly, so you can rest."

She nodded, holding his hand as he escorted her from the building, taking her into a taxi to her apartment. When they got out, there was a light drizzle, so they hurried inside. She flicked the lights on, the room was still a little dark, even then.

She smiled, "Thank you for accompanying me on the way home." She took both his hands.

"You're welcome. You wanted me to stay, right?"

"You…don't have to." She met his gaze, "I'm sure you're a very busy man."

"It wouldn't be any trouble." He smiled, "I'm used to being in Santa Monica now."

"Thank you." She smiled, her eyes flickering around briefly, then she leaned in to kiss his cheek.

His smile grew as he gave her another reassuring hug.

She held him back, her eyelids heavy, "I don't think I've ever felt so…eased…" She said softly.

"That's why you have me."

She closed her eyes, leaning in to kiss his lips. He kissed her back, holding her closely and securely.

A/N: Jeanette and Gottfried's first 'date': Home run – Therese and Gottfried's first date: First base, at best. Interesting. Thanks for reading!