Thanks to Zaekka (LF healer/Venture Tower Raid, then go!), Celeste ( Funny, I had the same impressen while I re-read the chapter. Makes that LaCroix d'Artagan?), Topgallant (Simon is also having a key role in here) Maellowyn (Bitte wurde erhört, hehe), Brittany (Ever left wondering why the Sheriff doesn't say something? It'll be answered in a future chatper) and rednightmare (So we're three, ha! I would also say it's Three Angels for Sebastian. Let's put Simon into a mini-skirt!) for the huge bunch of reviews! It's a huge motivator to write and I just can say again thank you with a new chapter, however, this chapter gave me a lot of a headache. It's a very thin line I walk there between my own set standards. I'm quite satisfied that the romance is a subplot, not the mainplot, well but read for yourself and I'm really deadly curious to know what you honestly think about it.
Finally Katherine had some time to admire her good work which would most certainly please the Prince. Simon was a very brooding and silent companion, a total opposite to Imalia, but that was fine with her. Sending him into The Last Round, pretending to be sent by someone who had information about the Southland Slasher; it was an obvious trap but now, as she thought about the motions of the dead Toreador, he must have been drunk or very desperate because he blew more than the Prince's assignment. His shots were imprecise, not aiming for her head at first. A mistake a fledgling would make but Ryan seemed like a more experienced vampire. Well, her luck. Why shouldn't she also have some for a change? It's not like the Ventrue was a lucky sod, however, since stepping under LaCroix's eyes in this getup would earn her a despising gaze. The ripped up blazer was strapped around her waist to cover some of the bullet holes, making the visible ones look from afar like burn marks. Simon in his oil covered clothes also wasn't very appealing and Imalia? Well Imalia was a Nosferatu, that's enough of a Ventrue reason to be despised.
Rolling the cigarette from the left corner of her mouth to the right, Katherine was choosing carefully the words for the report she'd give to the Prince, and deciding how to explain him why she hadn't killed Simon for his Masquerade violations. And as far as she could size the Caitiff up, he wouldn't be happy to kneel down in front of anyone. So it was better to prepare him. Right in front of the tower entrance she grabbed his arm, turning his attention to her so that he looked at the Ventrue.
"Simon, you're about to meet the most powerful Kindred in this city. I know you're a free spirit, however you must pay him respect, else he could think you're with the Anarchs. Those who left you for dead because of their reckless feeding. Those who made you what you are now and didn't care. They did the same to me, but the Prince took care of me. So it's also important for me that you kneel down in front of him." Katherine used again her presence, hoping it would help a bit to make Simon obedient, and stressed the last sentence to dominate him and make sure we will kneel down in front of LaCroix.
"I will kneel down. Don't worry, but I don't like it." He grunted and twitched his muscular shoulders like the muscles in them were knotted. "I don't know why but you're a pretty persuasive girl, Katherine. Never met someone like you." Somewhere, Imalia was giggling.
"Wait until you meet the Prince." There he could witness real persuasiveness. Passing Chunk, who yawned like a hippo, they both stepped into the elevator and next to Simon Imalia popped out with a broad grin that made the Caitiff leap into the opposite direction. Not that there was much space in the elevator.
"So...Imalia, was it? Like the deceased supermodel?" Oh oh. Simon just poked into the bee's nest.
"Not like the supermodel, it's THE supermodel. Of course you're not recognising me with this whole Texas Chainsaw Massacre thing going on but I'm the one and only...Imalia." Saying her name in the most seductive tone a Nosferatu could produce, it made Katherine roll her eyes in agony. Gladly, Imalia didn't spot it.
"Really? Uh, my oldest son had a total crush on you." That wiped the grin on the Nosferatu's face away, replacing it with a bright smile showing off the crooked, yellow teeth which Katherine could see as she gazed over her shoulder. Immediately the poor Caitiff was confronted with Imalia's onrush about her past glory days as the sex symbol of Hollywood, only to be interrupted by the 'bing' from the elevator. 'God, thank you.' According to Simon's expression he was actually interested in what Imalia was telling him. Well, Katherine was not and the Caitiff's attention was now drawn to the pompous decor of the Prince's penthouse, eyes dragged constantly to a new shining corner.
"Totally noooot the sewers. Bah!" Imalia spat and lifted her nose and Simon gave her an absent "Uh," as an answer.
"Okay, cut the chatter and let me do the talking. The Prince may look like he's in his early twenties but he's older than the three of us together." It's not that Katherine was impatient or actually absolutely bugged. She simply did not want to deliver LaCroix a reason for punishment so everything needed to go perfectly in front of the Prince. No relying on mere luck or random ideas.
"I know that," Imalia snarled, offended.
"It was directed at Simon. He's obviously new to the business. So, only talk when the Prince addresses you, understood?" The Caitiff nodded, still looking a bit grumpy and displeased with all these complicated codes of behaviour. The doors were opened and the three Kindred stepped into the courtroom. Simon obviously felt uncomfortable, even more so as he spotted the huge Sheriff, as opposed to Katherine whose eyes were first on LaCroix who was sitting behind his desk with an emotionless mask on his imperial face. The Ventrue would lay her hand into the fire that the Prince already had questions about Imalia and Simon in his mind. Stopping at a respectful distance, Simon kneeled down. So far, so good while she and Imalia made deep bows.
"Prince LaCroix, everything was executed as you ordered. The traitor was dealt with, as was the Kindred known to the mortals as the Southland Slasher." Simon twitched and like an eagle LaCroix spotted the motion.
"Is there something more you want to tell me, Miss Falkner?" It would have been too easy if Katherine could have gone out of this without explaining that point further. Being the pessimist this existence had made her into, she was already prepared for delivering cotton-packed explanations, or so she hoped.
"Actually this is the Southland Slasher. His name is Simon and he wasn't claimed by any clan." That was the friendly term for a Caitiff. "I convinced him to stop his actions, and to show his new-found allegiance to the Camarilla he helped us to deal the sentence the traitor Kent Alan Ryan deserved." A blond eyebrow rose sceptically and the Prince folded his hands in on the dark wood of his old desk. With 'us' she referred to Imalia. A hint LaCroix also noticed. Of course he did. Katherine would be a fool in believing he wouldn't.
"His gruesome, odious and unnecessary slaughters are all across the newspapers. He endangered our existence. Do you think this can be overlooked?" Voice sharp as a knife, and while Imalia wasn't affected by it like Katherine – who saw it coming – it was again Simon who twitched nervously with his shoulders.
"Of course not my Prince. He's already agreed to the very strict conditions I enforced upon him without complaining, as he risked his life by stepping into The Last Round. He's also aware that the recklessness of the Anarch's feeding is to blame for his situation." It was hard to tell if LaCroix was going to believe her words, since there was still a lack of any real expression on his face.
"So you will take responsibility for his future actions?" Katherine had hoped to avoid this question. How silly of her.
"Yes my Prince." There was no other answer possible. To deny the bail would seem like a treachery to her past words. All the trust between Imalia and her would have been obliterated in a second, which is why Katherine had to stand up for the words she spoke at Brother's Salvage.
"Hmm, interesting." If Katherine needed to breathe, she would've exhaled the air now like a balloon with a hole. This was a high gamble. "You have my permission, however..." His gaze was now locked on the kneeling Caitiff. "Being my protégé, you should know what you're doing. Well then, you may go. You'll get the reward for your work from Miss Gyllenhaal." That was his Kindred secretary in the level right under his penthouse. Katherine never really knew what was going on there except that it was filled with ghouls and Kindred alike. Perhaps some sort of headquarters. An odd thought. Mercurio once told her that he received his fixes there. But what made her ponder more was the fact that LaCroix usually gave her the rewards in person, not through some secretary of his and all her worst fears swept through the Ventrue's dead body like the cold chill the voice of her step-sire was, and she wanted to follow her companions. "On a private word, Miss Falkner." 'Oh crap. Lady, its scolding time.' No illusions. At least he was fair enough not to do it in front of Imalia and Simon. She was thirsty and her mouth tasted ashen.
"Simon, please stay in Santa Monica for now. It's a safe harbour for the Camarilla. The Anarchs won't take a step into this part of the city. If you need something, ask Mercurio in the nearby apartments next to Trip's. Tell him I sent you." Later Katherine would introduce him to Venus and his duty at the Confession. Imalia was surely heading back to the Warrens, looking to see if the cameras were doing a proper job.
"Don't get eaten, honey." Imalia gave the Ventrue a wink and slipped through the door while Simon gave her a last concerned look, like he was leaving someone behind in a pit of poisonous snakes.
"I'll be fine. It's routine." Being that it was not her first time to be dissected by the Prince, and it relieved Katherine a bit that Simon instinctively understood what a threat LaCroix could be, though anyhow it was all prepared. Nothing to worry about, right? Excellent. Turning around on her heels to face the Prince once more he had an amused smirk on his face catching her somewhat off-guard. Again. Despite all the preparations.
"So, you've managed to achieve an entourage all by yourself. Actually, I'm impressed." There it was again. The hurricane that blew everything she planned beforehand away. Where were the snide questions? "Even the childe of Primogen Golden. I knew he would try to gather information about your work for me. That is the reason why I haven't called upon you the last months." This logical sentence had a strange taste with regard to her not so long ago treachery. It sounded more like a bitter candy, wrapped in a nice package so it would at least seem tasty; however, it left her a bit speechless.
"Thank you my Prince. I feel honoured." Eyes shifting a bit nervously away from LaCroix, wandering past him to the windows. What else should she say, expecting the total opposite of compliments?
"You could work a little bit on the choice of Kindred but in regards of your age, it is excusable." Still no scolding only parental guidance. It made her suspicious or was she simply overreacting, being hungry and a bit exhausted? The night had been long and Katherine wanted nothing more than to find someone to feed upon and a nice warm bath, getting rid of the torn up clothes and stench of gunpowder. "I'll take the liberty of assuming that you have certain plans with the Caitiff. Please. I'd like to hear them." Before Katherine even had the opportunity to respond, LaCroix pushed the button of the intercom immediately, everything precisely timed. "Bring some champagne, tout de suite." Panic arose in the stomach of the young Ventrue, as she tried to remain calm and not run out of the office screaming in horror. If a person like LaCroix was nice out of the blue, there was a reason for it. A reason which inevitably could seal her fate. 'Meddling in the affairs of a Malkavian with split personality? Check.' Katherine started to count down which suicide missions she'd already survived. "Please, make yourself comfortable. Sheriff, you're freed to feed now." The Prince made a gesture to the two chairs and table near the cozy fireplace while the bulky Sheriff – never thinking it would frighten Katherine to see him leave – walked out and shut the door. Bang. 'Warehouse full of human Sabbat thugs? Check.' "We have time while we wait for our small coffre de nuit." 'Crawling though sewers infested with Tzimisce abominations? Check.' Mechanically and more like a robot she sat down on the chair, not even taking the time to admire how comfortable it was and how many powerful Kindred must have sat on the same spot. Not that he needed to dominate her, good grief! The sole horror of LaCroix's behaviour was enough to make her do anything to get out alive. Given different circumstances, meaning no betrayal of hers, Katherine would've enjoyed it. Really. But that was now not the case. The echoes of shoes over parquet were sounding like someone rapidly pulling the trigger of a gun. "You don't mind the more légère clothing of mine? It was a long night." 'Hotel full of Sabbat Kindred? Check.' Swinging his dark grey jacket from his shoulders, the Prince laid it on the back of the vacant chair. At least he was not smiling or something. Could vampires actually faint due to horror? "Please, begin." 'Getting the order to assassinate the leader of the Kuei-Jin right in her lair? Check.' Was there still any possibility of a deadly mission? Why in all heavens didn't he just spill it? It would make things less creepy. Perhaps she should just stop thinking because there was nothing Katherine could do about it anyway. 'Just start talking.' And she did. Starting with the fact that she needed a new bouncer at the club and Simon could be paid with a sun-proof room and some lessons, rather than money.
"And I have someone who swallows the bullets." Not daring to look at the Prince, Katherine focused on her hands which she had folded in her lap. The only thing that was visible to her from LaCroix when she gazed up a bit were his legs, the left one swung over the right one and his elbow on one of the armrests.
"He does a bad job at this." A dry comment about the bullet holes in her blouse, which were clearly visible at closer distance.
"It needs a little work, I suppose." But for the first time it was not bad. 'Ah yes: waggling into a bar full of Anarchs to assassinate one of them: check!' Even if she had luck and a stupid enough plan to avoid it. It didn't change the fact that she was supposed to do it and without doubt, LaCroix knew that. Bastard! Maybe the next thing he had up to his sleeve was that he wanted her to bring him Isaac Abram's ashes on a silver plate. Please be subtle. Thank you.
"Obviously." Not knowing if she should be thanking god for the interruption from a ghoul with a golden plate – close enough! – who delivered two glasses and a bottle with blood. Katherine smelled it immediately due to her thirst. So that's champagne? Please, not blood with alcohol! Was there any limit to the creepiness? No there wasn't. As the ghoul vanished, LaCroix stood up and took the bottle.
"Enough about business. You're my protégé and I actually don't know anything personal about you." 'God, please have mercy!' Should she assassinate Rodriguez too? Smiling Jack? Why not the whole Anarch population? 'Calm yourself lady! You have survived everything up to now. So keep a cool head.' Finally the fleeing courage was found; however, her voice was lower than usual.
"Well, I was born in Trier, Germany ---" It was the best choice to start off like the Prince did, as Katherine had asked him once about himself, or so she thought.
"I know what the files read. I want to know what they don't." Katherine's mouth stayed open for some seconds, then closed without one more word coming out of it. So he had a file about her. Fine.
"I suppose not the one from the military." Somehow it awoke her fighting spirit a bit, being a crucial spot to be spied upon. Katherine now looked up, detaching her gaze from the hands in her lap and observing LaCroix who walked over to a wall mount with a sabre, taking it off. 'What the bloody hell?'
"Those also." Two single words with the impact of a sledge hammer. "What are you talking about when in the company of Mercurio? He told me both of you were exchanging stories about your time in the military." Mercurio was Mercurio! Jesus, and he was the Prince! You don't sit together with the Prince, sipping some damn expensive alcoholic vintage and talking about barrack commandants who drove off in the night, parked their car somewhere else and attempted to sneak back in, only to check if the guard was doing his duty right! Well, she did now. "Did your branch – Feldjäger, was it? – have any special rites?" He could have also asked her to dance on his desk while stripping. It would have produced the same dull expression on Katherine's face which made LaCroix sigh heavily while stepping back to where the Ventrue was sitting like a retard. "The Hussards, fearsome cavalry and where I was capitaine, used le sabrage. It is not quite the same with a bottle of blood," he mused with a smirk on his face, holding the bottle parallel to the floor and sliding with the blunt side of the sabre along on its neck. She didn't know what else he had done rather than sliding the blade on the bottle but it made a short cracking tone and the glassy container was opened.
"Well, we did not open our bottles with weaponry." It surprised her how sarcastic she could be in such a situation, however it was the scenery in her mind which produced it: shooting a poor beer can with a gun and everyone would have remained thirsty. LaCroix knitted his eyebrows together, indicating that he was not amused by the response and Katherine made a desperate attempt to rescue the situation. "We had a lot of jodies, though, but you don't want to hear me rumbling them. It would offend your ears my Prince." The smile on her face felt like a horrid grimace, producing more pain than defusing the situation whilst said offended Prince poured them some vintage. It was still warm. Was he drinking this every night? He sat down again and leaned the sabre against his chair.
"Rumbling, ha!" Whatever snide comment he had on his tongue, LaCroix didn't say it. Probably something about Germans being barbaric upholding cultivated France. As if the opening of a bottle with a sword wasn't barbaric of some sort. Didn't they have corkscrews in Napoleon's era? Or should she have been impressed by the act? It was time to spend a little bit more attention to those minor details. The dark, sarcastic thoughts were shooed away as the Prince raised his glass to her. "But you surely do have a wassail." Ever imagine LaCroix as someone who locked himself in a basement to laugh, that creepy feeling was mixed with awkwardness. There she sat with the Prince of Los Angeles who wanted her to speak a toast, her hand slowly reaching for the glass and raising it.
"Es lebe der Teufel und die Jagdreiterei. Horrido..." It lacked a lot of enthusiasm, in fact: she spoke it very monotone as if it was a valve to pour out that she felt very uncomfortable, remembering her small accident while she was drunk and babbling a lot of stupid crap in the presence of LaCroix. Maybe she should get drunk now again so it was more bearable.
"...Jo-ho. Was it? It's been a while." Looking up and staring at the Prince with his autocratic smile, Katherine lowered her glass and was now completely out of the picture. "At the start of the battle a Prussian cavalry branch liked to shout it." Of course the German military had its roots in Prussia and LaCroix, being from this time, knew about it but why was he asking then? 'Just...bear it. Don't think about it.' Else her head would surely explode, however all worries were washed away upon taking a sip out of the glass. It was the best blood she had tasted in months, needing all her self-control not to swallow it greedily, offending the etiquette. Needless to say, she now had no control then over her trembling hand, feeling how the warm, alcoholic blood produced a pleasant burning in the back of her throat.
"Does it not suit your palate?" God and how it does! Was he kidding? Katherine's head jerked up immediately, looking him straight in the eyes so that she was not offending him again but her gaze wandered off, down to his blood coated lips where a single droplet of the red life slowly crawled its way from the curve of the pale mouth down to LaCroix's chin. Dwindling common sense and a Beast who scratched in its cage.
"No." A lump was in her throat. "It's perfect." And she forced herself to look straight at the Prince once again. Enough impolite gestures for now, even if this were shoving her more and more towards a panicking outburst similar to a bad horror movie.
"Any other answer would have left me wondering. Even the Regent licks his fingers for this fine vintage." With normal working senses and a brain, Katherine would never have had this stupid idea nor even executed it. The small longing, only a seed, grew into a forceful urge she could not possibly tame in the momentary state of hypnotizing taste from blood, a Ventrue's greatest crux. They say no one knows how a Ventrue determines his favourite kind of blood, nor the criteria. It seems more like a random event and having the same taste as LaCroix was an unsettling thought for the young Ventrue at first but at the moment it was not her concern, however it should have scared her to death. Rising slowly from the chair and stepping toward the sitting Prince, Katherine bent down and held his face with both hands, licking disturbing red liquor away from perfect ivory skin. A bolt of lightning struck her and Katherine leapt backwards, eyes agape, struck with horrified realization.
"I---I---sorry! It—I don't know how—came over me---" Sweet mother of God! Mind all dazzling, not able to produce anything proper with exception of stupid stuttering it was one of the few moments where the grown-up woman wanted to die on the spot. Now. LaCroix only raised a hand and stopped with this simple motion the horrified gibbering excuses from her mouth.
"Come here." A hand was extended in her direction, making her walk like a wooden doll, every limb stiff and rigid, wanting to face the opposite direction away from the monster which sat in the chair where her mind commanded her to go. Cold, merciless hands grabbed her wrists like sharp talons sinking into the flesh of a hare, dragging her down once again. "There is something left." If this was a nightmare, it was time to wake up but now she would gladly do anything he demanded she do, whatever sick thing he wanted not asking why because in an cruel irony a part of her liked it. And this part scared her despite having accepted it in the past months. It just felt wrong, forbidden. Like being a child stealing cookies off the cookie jar but much worse because it made her susceptible to blackmail, to LaCroix's blackmailing and even with this knowledge Katherine was not able to resist. May that manipulating bastard be cursed for all eternity! On the other hand: wasn't he the only one where she actually felt something? Passionate anger, hate, refusal, envy, admiration, adoration, love.
Cautiously were the lips freed of tainting blood, hesitantly like a soldier wandering though a mine field with a sudden response from the Prince who grabbed her neck, pulling the neonate further down to him, forcing her to support herself on the back of the chair, the Prince's head right in between her arms.
"Why are you doing this?" Last rebellion of sanity, last stance to deny this bizarre happening.
"You seem to like these things. It is a token of my gratitude." It sounded like a business response, something Katherine could deal with and something she could use as a petty explanation. However, it disturbed her a bit that he blamed it all on her. If Monsieur insisted.
"So we're still doing business, Prince LaCroix?"
"If you'd like to call it that way."
"What should I call it then?"
"A token of gratitude."
"I never said I like those worldly Toreador things."
"Do you want to imply a Toreador is better than me?"
"Sir, what are you trying to say?"
"I simply want to learn more about my protégé."
"That implies embarrassing her?" How dare she use the word seduction in connection with manipulation, and finally he'd made a mistake in giving her enough time to regain some lost self-control, making it possible for all the things that were flying around in her mind to settle. The first thing to make its way of course was her injured pride in search of shatters to rescue but it was all obliterated again in mere seconds.
"I am the Prince of Los Angeles! I do not need to justify my cause to a fledgling." Seeing LaCroix's eyes flickering in anger so close to her face sent cold chills of fear down Katherine's spine and the tightening grip around her neck reminded her that she was in a bad position.
"Of course my Prince." If not stopping now, she would probably end up as a Kindred shish kebob. "Please forgive my insolence. What are your orders?"
"Stop asking questions," LaCroix snarled, placing the glass in his other hand back on the table. His sudden motion to stand up surprised Katherine as her arms was suddenly dragged upwards by shoulders. Reflexes were setting in, automatically clinging upon the sole hold that was in reach; however that was unnecessary due to the fact that the Prince held his formerly occupied hand against the small of her back. It spared her the embarrassment of falling against him. The drawback of it was not being able to move away, once more caught like prey.
"Yes Lord Prince, Regent of all Kindred." Katherine sure knew her flattery if it would somehow turn out toward her favour. If this was possible in such a Twilight Zone-esque situation at all. Gladly LaCroix didn't interpret it as mockery, smiling broadly and exposing his blood stained fangs. One explanation could be that he enjoyed it when she cringed like a tormented bug beneath his eyes, slowly being crushed under his heel. Yes, that was most likely possible. This was the punishment for her bad taste in picking companions. Bingo! So all she needed to do was simply enjoy it to piss into his cup of bloody coffee? Her pride demanded it! A fight of David and Goliath, being a David without a sling.
Again his grip around her neck tightened making sure she wasn't going anywhere as his lips with the strong taste of blood were forced upon her own. Not wasting a second, Katherine responded eagerly, seemingly enjoying the awkward kiss. 'You won't get me down again. You want to learn? Fine! Learn that you snobby French asshole!' Touching with one hand the back of his head, cramping fingers into short sand blond hair the younger Ventrue sped up the pace, indulging the taste of blood on LaCroix's lips, not letting the opportunity slip away as he opened them a slight bit to demand more, however, the Prince was not so easy to corner. Being used to the dominating and leading part, he responded more wantonly, attempting to get back the lead like it was some sort of competition. Well it was. Every night was a competition for a Ventrue even among themselves. It came to her mind that it could be the Blood Bond. That LaCroix was trying to getting her fully bound. Why else would he bait a thirsty Kindred with delicious blood? That would make sense and this implied his knowledge of her longing for his vitae which Katherine needed to restrain with all her might at the moment.
"Prince LaCroix. Excuse my sudden interruption but Primogen Voerman is on the line. She says it's a very urgent matter." Fine, chirping voice of Miss Gyllenhaal made them pause, breaking the kiss not because their little competition was exhausting and releasing the Prince out of her grip. His duty called and there was no need to make clear how the order of priorities was even if it had started to get interesting in some kind of bizarre way. LaCroix walked to his desk, pushing a different button on the intercom.
"I'll take the call in one minute. Please soothe her until then." Odd thing to spot but Katherine noticed that she'd ruined his hairdo. Gallows humour. The Primogen of Los Angeles had an odd sense for timing their calls or visits perfectly and it remained silent for a couple of seconds in the office until LaCroix slowly strode back to where Katherine was standing upright like a soldier.
"I won't call upon you again for a period of time." Was he actually explaining something to her? "Despite the still disturbing lack of talent in this organisation, I must be cautious with your services. Every Kindred's eyes are on a matter when I utilize you."
"I understand, sir." It'd help to rearrange the agenda 'don't let yourself be manipulated by the Prince' of hers.
"And pay more attention to your clothing. You look like a beggar." Oh yes, now we're back to the insulting part. Fine, that was at least a character trait more fitting of him. "And you're still smoking. My mouth tastes like ash. A shame. You may lead yourself out." So did the plan of enjoying it really work out that good? Was he that pissed? Katherine suppressed a statistical, satisfied smile.
"Yes my Prince. Good evening." Somewhere Katherine had already seen this strange expression in the Prince's eyes but she couldn't point out when and where, anyhow that went better than she thought despite encountering Cecilia once more on the way back to the elevator.
"I warned you about laying a finger on him," she snarled from a distance, catching Katherine's gaze. "Don't touch him ever again." Something tickled a bit at the back of her skull.
"Did you just try to dominate me, Princess of eavesdropping?" Cecilia's wide open eyes gave away the answer. "Well then." The elevator arrived and Katherine stepped in. "Knüppel frei." Smiling, she used the other battle cry her former military branch was known for: truncheons permitted and the brazen doors closed.
As if Cecilia could be a threat to her.
AN: Es lebe der Teufel und die Jagdreiterei – Hail to the devil and the horse hunting. The branch of Feldjäger (blunt translated its "field hunters") were in the past foresters and hunters in Prussia but the more appropriate translation is Military Police.
Le sabrage is still practised today, becoming popular in France during Napoleon. The sabre, being the weapon of choice for the Hussards, was used to open champagne bottles during celebrations of victory. A more popular story is about Madame Clicquot, a widow who inherited her husband's Champagne house. To impress the rich young widow, the officers opened the bottles with their sabres (Kat, you blew it!). But don't try this at home kids! LaCroix can regrow limbs, you not! Usually that's made possible because the champagne bottles are under pressure, but that's why LaCroix mentions it that's not the same with a bottle full of blood.
I know, I know. It looks like LaCroix is totally OOC, but...BUT: if you know how the rules for the Blood Bond works, you'll get an idea what's going on. Furthermore, he really isn't going to expose his full agenda to us right now. Believe me, there is a real explanation behind this, besides me wanting to write that, jajaja! Rest assure: there's still a long way to go for a romance to start (if it ever will happen, kekeke), rather than awkward strange duhh, moments.