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The door to Moore house lies open. Religious iconography is conspicuous in its absence around here. The dim lighting begins in a bare hall and leads to a cramped room dominated by a scuffed old dining room and a charnel odor. Anton Flores sits at the head of it, the low light pooling within dark eyes, aiding the illusion of wounds and missives crawling across his skin. He waits for his congregation to arrive, hands clasped.
Amelita Cardoso|Striking Looks •• (Curvez)|Presence ••• (Miss Thang)||
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Dillon arrives at a fairly punctual time, parking a ways away and finding the address with little trouble. If he is nervous as he enters the hall, he doesn't show it. If he's filled with righteous conviction, he isn't flaunting it. Instead, he moves with a quiet and reserved curiosity, knowing by the burning smell that the Bishop waited in the dining room beyond, but not knowing what to expect from him.
As he darkens the dining room doorway, he looks into the eyes of the other vampire for a second before nodding solemnly. "Bishop Flores, good evening."
In this setting, the other was the leader of Sacramento's Sanctified first and foremost, before Prince Clarke's Deputy, and most certainly before the Priscus of Haunts. Dillon Connery, a lowly Savage almost-Inquisitor from another Parish, would not be so presumptuous as to waltz in and flop down at the table without invitation.
Sidor came from his duties at the Ridge Motel. The sense of a new Beast in the vicinity made a blazing fantasy jerk through him, the urge to get the other monster in the room locked in a room for just a few minutes, for just that moment of control. He locked the snarling thing away inside him, vaguely curious at the form the desire took. Not important for now.
He strode into the room, the shadows that clung to his face snaking across his features in lazy, serpentine motions. He put his hand to his chest and inclined to his head to Anton as he entered. The Russian Haunt had nothing but the greatest respect for the Bishop, which was perhaps why he felt a pang of discomfort at being here. Though his will was yet strong, he regretted the simple fact that his faith was struggling to be as strong as it had once been.
"Dobryj vecher, your Grace," Sidor said quietly. His shadowed, invisible eyes slid over to Dillon.
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A dull, dragging sound can be heard coming closer to the room the Kindred occupied, before Arthur's cinderblock sized hand is seen opening the door, his other arm and hand several feet behind him. Knuckle-shaped lines in the dust trail behind the Haunt, and he tries to cower his way into the room, showing proper deference to the meaner, scarier things than him. "Bishop Flores. This lowly one is sorry he is late..." He addresses the Priscus, another line of drool seeping from the corner of his mouth. His breathe smells somewhere between 'Early Morning McDonalds Breakfast Grease Shits' and 'pot full of cockroaches being boiled'.
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"Sit," the Bishop invited, in his low, accented crackle. He laid his palms on the table, flexing his fingers so that the scar-tissue tapestry writ into his arms and hands tautens and relaxes, like breathing gospel. He looks to each of the Sanctified before continuing.
"Our number has doubled since our last meeting. Pleasing that the Purpose resides in two more within the Domain. I've met you both - Brother Connery and Brother Jones - but I'm unsure that you've made the Acquaintance Sidor Rurukovich Grigoriev, my new Deacon. I intend to discuss our direction as Sanctified this night, and then hold communion and confession."
His words came hard, slow and clear, possibly for Arthur's benefit. His eyes dart over his congregation in such a way that the facial tics that usually accompany the movement are entirely absent, as though the skin has forgotten a few things.
"These nights my name is Anton Flores. I was last anointed in the Mojave desert by Pater Dust, the wandering Cardinal. In this part of the world I've served San Francisco as an Inquisitor and San Diego as a Legate. I maintain that our mandate as Damned is to walk amongst Sanctity as proof of a wrathful God, apart from the Kine in both soul and habit. There are some who would call me hardliner. Where do you gentlemen stand?"
Amelita Cardoso|Striking Looks •• (Curvez)|Presence ••• (Miss Thang)||
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Quickly silencing his Beast at the entrance of the other two, Dillon idly wonders if Bishop Flores is about to lose a chair. That is, should Arthur obey the command to sit without thinking. He is certainly glad that, with the presence of the two smelly Haunts, vampires do not have to breathe. Though, he notes that even without breathing, the burning can still be sensed...
The Savage himself sits in what he assumes is a humble seat-- neither opposite the Bishop or right beside him-- resting a hand on the table that grasps the loose fist of the other. His tone is serious, and his jaw set as he offers a bow of the head to Sidor's shadowed face. When Flores is finished, he offers "Deacon Grigoriev." as a greeting.
Willing to break the ice so that Arthur doesn't have to go first, Dillon clears his throat. "I, Dillon Connery, believe in the Almighty God. I believe that his son was Jesus Christ, and that the Centurion Longinus revealed the Savior's divinity through his action. Though he was rightly damned for his disbelief, that damnation has purpose. I believe we are a part of that plan." The others may recognize this statement as a paraphrasing of the Monachal Creed. "I would like to say that I have served as Inquisitor and Legate as you have, your Excellence, but I was never anointed as such. It may be more accurate to say that I served Chicago's Inquisitor, Vincent, as I worked for the Primogen as a Hound. The Church is integrated closely to Kindred society there," or, at least it was... "so Inquisitor Vincent worked with us on a nightly basis, and we with him. It was he who convinced me of following my faith and to become Anointed. And though the Primogen and Sanctified used my talents for missions and interests outside of the city after my... successful journey to Europe, I was never granted the title of Legate, either. Some have called me Crusader or Paladin, but I have never been so officially honored, and thus claim no pretense."
He leaves off the explanation as to why he has never held an official position, so as to be more brief, but he expects the question will arise eventually.
Sidor's Beast lashed out as Arthur entered, and the lure of the darkness welled in him, to drag the weaker creature away and ravage it in the shadows, where no one would see it crying out. He hauled back on the chains he bound his own private monster with, and it writhed inside him, demanding payment. It was forced away, back into those black recesses of his unliving mind. It was good to see another Haunt in the Domain.
When Anton gave the invitation to sit, the Russian Haunt did so, listening to the introductions. He had not met them, although he had seen Dillion at some Domain function or other from a distance. He almost missed the title the Bishop put in front of his name as he was introduced, before his memory replayed it. Beneath the shadows, his eyes flickered in shock, even as he returned Connery's greeting with a sharp nod.
Deacon Grigoriev?
Sidor maintained his composure out of habit more than design, as he listened raptly to Anton's testimony. Thoughts flashed through his mind like lightning through a shrouded sky.
Deacon. I have not earned this. I have doubted. The thought entwined with a sharp sense of pride at being elevated to service. He had not served his Covenant since he had come to Sacramento. Connery's testimony followed, giving him time to compile his own thoughts. When the Gangrel had finished, the Haunt closed his eyes, the movement invisible beneath the shadows.
"I am Sidor Rurikovitch Grigoriev. I believe that the Lord has turned his face from those of us who walk the Earth as revenants, casting us into Damnation by our very nature. I believe this Damnation is just. I believe this Damnation was unveiled when Longinus pierced the side of the Only Son of the Lord with his spear and tasted the blood, and rose again that night," Sidor said, his sharply accented voice reverant as he spoke.
"In nights past, I hailed from Sverdlovsk, that you would now call Yekaterinburg in Russia. I served the Domain as a member of the Inquisition. I came to this city as a pilgrim when heretics slaughtered or exiled every Sanctified within the city," the Russian Haunt continued, the lingering memory of his Embrace whispering through his mind. "I willingly accept the name Hardliner, for I believe the Testament is not open to interpretation. It is to be understood and obeyed, a perfect representation of our divinely mandated Purpose."
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The Beast inside hissed, scared, and tried to fight off the lion by pretending the bobcat was, in fact, a panther. Arthur's supreme intellect and reasoning abilities, however, were able to calm the Raging Tormentor.
Shut up.
And it stopped, content now to sit like a burning, ever searing charcoal inside his chest. Too dumb to know the significance of the right hand place, or not really caring, he lumbers to the side of Bishop Flores, places his knuckles on the ground, and heaves. He straightens his massive arms, locks his elbows, and stands there. Two good feet of ground clearance between the bottom of his 'tiny' legs and the ground. His far-sighted eyes gaze around the side of the ceiling, but he listens intently to the other Sanctified describe their journeys through God's First Hell.
The others had stopped. Eyes fall on the fleshy giant. He starts swinging his legs back and forth slightly, an outward display of his personal nervousness. "I am Arthur Reuben Jones. God is the one true way. Heretics must burn." He looks around at the assembled Sanctified, what accrues to the most distastefully stupid smile across his mug. Like a dog, looking for approval. "My sire made enemies with a prince, while i lay in a forever sleep after faithfully serving Him and him. I was forced to flee. I am here now." Theres about a 3 second pause, then, in a much lower tone of voice, as if hes just talking to himself. "I am hungry..."
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Anton listened dutifully to Connery and Grigoriev. Arthur was different. Anton inspected him with something like morbid curiosity. Outsiders often assumed that the Haunts were immune to each other's curses. This was not the case. The unvarnished truth was that Anton saw something pitiful in his cousin. Purpose gave solace to conditions like these he supposed, smiling humourlessly. With a little manual conditioning he'd have an excellent blunt instrument at his disposal. One blunt, blunt instrument.
"Very good. And what do you each intend to do in this Domain - to further our Purpose?"
Amelita Cardoso|Striking Looks •• (Curvez)|Presence ••• (Miss Thang)||
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Dillon listens to the Deacon in silence, feeling a bit outclassed in the presence of two Anointed Inquisitors. Both of them had apparently used the position as a stepping stone to higher callings, and he had yet to pick himself up from the floor. What would Vincent say to him now?
Your humility is admirable, brother, but faith will lift you up. God has deemed you a monster, not a cowering pup. Fulfill your destiny.
But Connery has to suppress a wince at the end of Grigoriev's introduction. Is not the Testament itself someone's interpretation, friend? Did God not let us retain a Man to balance our Beast? A man with a free mind and powers of reason to make our own informed decisions in the absence of divine guidance?
As the Savage has learned, silence is golden.
Arthur is an interesting addition to God's plan, alright. One can't help but think of him as an instrument waiting to be tempered and wielded. Dillon wonders what causes that immediate judgement, the Danse or the Lance. But he can sympathize with being a dumb animal used as a tool for the wiser. In many ways, Arthur was a bloated caricature of himself.
Two thumbs twiddle with each other as Dillon searches for the right words to answer the Bishop's question. "I made my way to this city on rumors of an upheaval some time ago." He begins, reciting the story once again. "The former Prince and many of his officials meeting their Final Deaths in a single evening. And that Kindred society was in chaos here. I felt the pull to help, but was delayed by some troublemaking cousins of mine in Mexico." Bruja in Baja, as it were...
"So by the time I arrive, everything seems well enough in hand. I've already offered assistance to the city, now to my Covenant, and later, hopefully to my Clan. There is a reason my path led me here, I'm sure, but I don't know what I can offer other than an old Union soldier with a pair of claws. My knowledge is still too..." He shoots a glance to Arthur again, "Innocent to merit a position guiding others in matters of faith."
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