The following takes place after the May 10th Court and before Avalon Heat Party









*In the front entrance hall of Willard Hall, there is a poster left over from the last Presidential election. It is the iconic image of then Senator Obama, done up in red, blue and yellow. Time and sunlight had faded the colors, but the words printed underneath, CHANGE, still read clearly. The poster still stood not because of it's message, or the political leaning of the student body; but due to it's proximity to the obfuscated Haven of the Reeve of Sacramento. As eyes glanced over the door that leads to the basement of the hall, so to did they pay no attention to the slowly deteriorating sign.


It was a poster Max had passed a hundred times since his arrival in the city; the thin Mekhet usually paying it no mind. He had no interest in moral political affairs, and had soon come to ignore the little piece of propaganda tacked up next to the door to his daily resting place.


He had ignored it when he had come back from seeing Elanah for the last time. He had ignored it the night he had rushed out of the city, bags packed for a trip to Egypt that had dropped him right into the middle of a revolution. And he almost ignored it the night of May 10th after coming back from Court.


Ever since coming back to the city, Max had been wrestling with parts of himself he had locked away decades ago. He had long kept his Beast under lock and key; by self-restraint mostly but with the powers studying with the Ordo had granted him when that failed. But he was beginning to wonder if, along with the rage and mindless destruction, he had locked away other parts of himself as well.


Max pulls the keys from his back pocket to unlock the door that leads to the stairs by which he accessed his Haven, the motion automatic from repartition. But this time the keyring snags on a loose thread, getting caught and requiring Max to fiddle with them for a few seconds longer then normal.


In frustration, the Reeve pulls hard on the keys; pulling the errant thread out along with the keys. Cursing softly, Max happens to glance over at the poster. It's the stern look on the man's face that catches his interests first.


The analytical part of his brain notices how much it resembles propaganda posters of the late 50's; primary colors contrasting the far off gaze of the President. But it's the word printed in bold underneath the image that resonate inside Max's head.


CHANGE


Max stands transfixed for a moment, like Scrooge confronted by the face of Jacob Marley in his door knocker. He shakes off the momentary mental fog; putting the key into the lock and opening the door. As he descends to the basement, the words still echo in his mind.


CHANGE


Such a simple thing for mortals. A near impossibility for an undying, unliving corpse. A mortal could cut their hair, change their clothes. The Kindred were locked in one form; unchanging from one night, or one decade, to the next. And yet, that's what the Dragons sought.


CHANGE


Hadn't he changed since his first night risen as a vampire? He was no longer the brash, headstrong man of his youth. He had gained self-control; both over his Beast and his own emotions. He no longer allowed feelings and rash decisions decide his actions. He was a cold, calculated creature; refusing to lose himself to even the pleasures of feeding...


CHANGE


He had caged his Beast, bent it to his will and reason. He could stand inches away from a raging fire, holding tight the reins that kept his Beast heeled at his feet, staring down flames that would send others howling into the night in fear.


CHANGE


He had forced his body to be more efficient; streamlining the process by which it transformed the mystic powers of stolen blood to animate his long-dead corpse. Where others had to gorge themselves every night, Max could sustain himself for days on a single drink. The agony and hunger of the nights spent taming his body's thirst still pained him at times...


CHANGE


He had reshaped his body since coming to Sacramento. Danger and confrontation had impressed upon him the need to be able to defend himself. Max's unchanging body hid the effects of nights at the university athletic department. Ill-gotten vitality had mended broken bones and bruised pride after intense martial arts sparing practices. He had even trained his body to move fast then a mortal, hit harder then a mortal, to shrug off blows that would bring one of the Kine to their knees. He was in every physical measurement superior to the night he had been Embraced.


CHANGE


He had purged himself of unnecessary emotions. He could hate, but it was not the blind hatred that would swallow so many other Kindred. He knew fear, but it was not the mind-numbing fear that could kill through inaction or unrestrained panic. He could love...


Max stops as he decends the stairs, taking a moment to be honest with himself. He couldn't love. That was an emotion lost to the Kindred, leaving behind a cruel mockery of passion and devotion. And he didn't have even that ghost of his mortal days; having purged it after being betrayed by another Mekhet.


Max can only shake his head as he takes the last few steps to the basement, not bothering to hit the lights. He knew the route through the boxes and storage shelves by heart by now, he didn't even the enhanced vision of Auspex to pick his way towards his office.


Max pauses a moment as he reaches for the door handle, half expecting it to turn into Konstantine's face. But it remains a simple door handle; firm and unchanged under Max's fingers as he opens the door to his office.


As he looks over his office, Max is drawn to the various objects on display. Mementos collected over several lifetimes of travels and misadventures.; gathering dust alongside the memories of how Max had obtained them.


The blade that had shed his blood in ritual blood letting; the same blade that shed his Sire's blood on the hot desert sands the night Max had finally freed himself from Aziz.


A gold locket, the pictures inside destroyed when the bullet that had punched a clean hole through the center took the life of a young mortal woman Max had come to consider a friend.


The full length mirror that once hung in his parent's room. Edwardian, antique, the silver on the back chipped and flaked off in places; it was the only thing from his parent's house he had managed to bring with him into his second life.


It's the mirror he walks up to, Max's reflection distorted and twisted into something from a nightmare. He places a hand on either side of the tall looking glass, silent for a long time before speaking to himself.*


Alright, you win.


*Though he can't tell for certain, the Reeve could swear his reflection smiled back at him; the soft voice from earlier that night growing a little stronger in his mind.*


Glad you came to your senses, Maxi-boy. Now, I have a few ideas about Cassey...