Bad Company


Dillon sat outside the Borders on Fair Oaks Boulevard, his battered old El Camino silent save for the radio. It was an equally ancient tape player, but it accepted the converter from his iPhone just as well. Plus, nobody busted your window out for a tape player. Or to steal a car that looked to be held together with a coat of primer. Good that thieves couldn't see under the hood.

But the music was the reason he had confined himself to the car, kicking out along the couch seat and enjoying the free Wi-fi with his laptop in the parking lot instead of the small cafe inside.

That, and he was e-mailing his Sire.

He re-read her previous correspondence to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

My handsome Dillon,
I am pleased to hear that you are enjoying the River City. And taking charge of your relatives so quickly! Consistently, I am proud of your accomplishments in this life, what I can follow of them. I would be quite tempted to visit, but I doubt you need me bearing over you. I find myself looking forward to the next change of scenery. The New England area is so very... moist. I will be moving on soon, but have not yet come to a decision regarding my destination. Perhaps I will go abroad? I'm greatly tempted by the Outback. What are your thoughts?

I'm afraid I was unable to establish contact with Corbin outside of our little joint Google account, as you requested, and I admit that this concerns me. His eyes and ears are everywhere; when they close themselves, well... One can hardly fathom what trouble Mr. Blackthorne is stirring, but knowing him, people are suffering for it. Let us sincerely hope those people deserve it, shall we? As his last contact on this account mentioned the Capital, perhaps I will catch my plane there, after gathering what information I can. More news on that when I have it, I promise.

Should you require anything else, do not hesitate. I am and always will be your ally, in whatever capacity we are able to manage.

Until the last Dance,
Adonia de Vaca

Dillon couldn't help but smile again. Adonia's careful syntax was so distinctly her. He pours over his own response, deleting things and rearranging a sentence here or there for clarity.

The most enchanting Adonia,
You do me too much honor. I'm leader of a family by the happenstance that the other four or five of us don't want the responsibility. But I will make the most of it. I can't promise anything in the way of the example you and Corbin set for us in the Windy City, but I learned much from those days. I am ready for this.

If you are really so bored with this country already, Australia would be a fine choice. Take into consideration that, as we're moving into longer nights in this hemisphere, they're moving into shorter ones in theirs. I know how you love your nightlife.

And Corbin will be Corbin. I expect we'll hear something before too long. He will pop back online eventually, with some gripping tale of horrors and mayhem. Mercilessly embellished and all that. But I'm interested to know what you can find in DC, though. Thanks for checking for me. Overly sociable he may not be, but this long of a silence isn't like him.

Actually, there is one other thing. Someone here has demonstrated something remarkably like the bird trick your father taught you. His particular level of talent, in fact. I regret never learning it myself. If you could make yourself available to teach me someday, I would be eternally grateful. It may prove insightful, besides the obvious merits. You're welcome to visit anytime. Your presence is powerful, my lady, but never overbearing.

Don't get too much sun,
Dillon Connery

With a nod of approval, Dillon saves the reply to the Drafts folder. This is how they communicated, the three of them sharing one e-mail account. Since they never sent any mail, nothing was filtered through the internet. Even though they usually adhered to the Masquerade for the sake of caution, this method was a shrewd security measure Blackthorne had implemented instantly. The mail provider had changed over the years, currently it was heads.of.cerberus@gmail.com, but it remained a valuable way for the former Coterie to communicate regardless of distance.

“Girlfriend?” a voice behind Dillon, outside the car asks. Viewing the original letter still, Adonia had attached a picture of herself sitting elegantly poised among a dazzlingly forested scene in Acadia National park, Maine. Of course, the composition of the photo was cheapened a bit by the use of camera flash at the darkness, but the Gangrel Elder who had went to the trouble of making her image clear and permanent more than made up for it.

“Eh, more complicated than that.” Dillon says with a grin as he clicks 'Home', returning the browser to Google. His background picture is that one of Johnny Cash giving the finger. Straightening up in his seat, he turns to look at the source of the feminine voice, reflexively bringing blood to the surface to 'liven up' a bit.

It's one of the girls who works at the cafe in the corner of the bookstore inside, who always winks at Dillon when he orders coffee that he never drinks.

“Ex-wife?” She jokes. Name tag says Alicia. Alicia, yeah, that's right.

Dillon's brief laugh is genuine. “Okay, maybe not that complicated. Old friend. We still keep in touch. Are you off work already?” Of course she was, it was almost ten-thirty.

“Yup.” Alicia says, leaning down to prop her crossed arms on the windowsill of the car. Probably just trying to draw attention to her bosom, as though her shirt didn't do that enough already. The name tag was practically a nipple piercing. “You don't have to take your e-mail and coffee and hide in your car, ya know.”

“Music's better out here,” Dillon says cheerily, pointing over to the radio with a thumb.

”Just letting you know, I don't bite.”

Blink.

“I do.”