Sidor had spent the early hours of the night on his Barrens patrol, and he sent the message to Brenn to pick him up at the Ridge Motel once it was done. The Deacon hadn't spent much time contemplating the previous conversation, because when one was in the Barrens, one had to dedicate the fullness of one's concentration onto the moment. A missed movement could be Final Death. But that was the edge that he enjoyed, and honed by the razor sharpness of his blazing hunger.
But he did send the text message. Simply: Ridge Motel. 2:30. SRG.
After all, even in a message, the Masquerade had to be preserved.
"Guess I shouldn't have been surprised" Brenn murmured, smiling as she read the brief message. She'd booked a room for the evening at the Ridge, thinking that it would be not only the easiest place to bring a member of her herd, but that it would be a safe place to talk. There was a reason why the Clan Meetings happened there, after all.
"Surprised at what Brenny?" the Nosferatu's ghoul, Kaylee piped up. "Why are you smiling? You shouldn't, ya know. It looks like it hurts."
The smile disappeared, as though it had never been, and Brenn walked over to the young woman, her gaze as friendly as a pit viper. Brenn roughly pulled Kaylee close and painstakingly went over the ghoul's instructions, again, telling her to go pick up Robert, the chosen Herd member, and to then bring him back to the Motel room. She wasn't supposed to talk, at all, and whenever Brenn told her to, she would transport Robert back to a location of his choice and give him some cash for a meal and a motel room. Once the instructions where repeated back, word for word, the Haunt sent her ghoul off to do her duties, and text Sidor the room number.
Sidor performed the difficult trek of walking downstairs from the room he slept in on the higher tier. But Brenn didn't need to know his private room number any way; not that it would have mattered. Burning the room down in the day time would have just caused problems for everyone. He knocked on the door sharply, his shrouded face turned away to keep his curse relatively hidden.
The door creeps open, revealing the room behind it an inch at a time. The wallpaper is slowly disintegrating, falling off the walls like the curled leaves of poisoned flowers. The blinds were drawn and the only illumination in the room came from a single lamp that spat yellowed light from beneath its shade. A creaking bed with a rust colored comforter dominated the tiny room, leaving only enough space for the bathroom door to open, and a ragged man sat at the edge of the bed, a blindfold tied across his eyes. The corners of the man's mouth twitched and his brow furrowed when he heard someone enter the room, his breath coming in shallow bursts. It was then that Brenn stepped out from behind the door, miming that Sidor should be quiet, and then gestured towards the ragged figure sitting on a blanket the color of dried blood. The bed-springs creaked as the man shifted, and it became clear to the Deacon that the man wasn't scared, at least not enough to matter, but that he was anticipating something, awaiting it almost eagerly.
Sidor moved quietly behind the man on the bed. He was familiar with most of the rooms in the Ridge Motel by now, and he knew where to put his feet so that the boards wouldn't creak. His fangs slid out in his shadowed mouth and he leant in, biting down sharply as he let the Kiss take hold. He hated feeding from blood dolls and herd members. There was no punishment for their sins, no interact in it. But he was also humble enough to admit when it was necessary to give in, and he had been forced to feed intermittantly lately. He drank, trusting his self-control to hold him still, and released Robert after only a short period of time.
He didn't take much, because it was dangerous getting used to not being hungry. The edge had to remain, or control might fray. He let the herd member go, lying him down on the bed with a surprising amount of care.
After several seconds Brenn called for Kaylee and the distressed young woman came out of the bathroom and began to gather Robert. She helped the man get to his feet and helped him slink out of the room. Not long afterward a car is heard pulling away, and Brenn turned back to Sidor.
"Don't worry about diseases or drugs or anything like that. Robert's been to the doctor's lately." She laughed suddenly, the sound coarse and sharp. "Actually, that was part of our deal, he wanted to see a doctor about some medical thing, but I paid for him to get a full check-up...Ya know, I should probably do that with all my, uh, herd. That's an odd term to use, in my opinion. I'd rather say "pantry", honestly, instead of herd, since that would refer to the blood supply in general, but I suppose you can't get around the comparison with food. Nothing else would be very accurate, really. Well, except for thrall, but, I mean, that just sounds much too archaic and imperious. Oh, and thrall could easily become a Masquerade breach." Brenn shrugged, her mouth quirking. "What can ya do?"
"Mm? Oh, I wasn't concerned. Besides, after all the filthy blood one gets out here, it's more a relief to get a clean taste. It's a shame what some individuals feel the need to do to themselves, isn't it?" Sidor said drily, listening as Brenn went over her difficulty with the word 'herd'."I suppose it depends how you intend to treat them. I believe some neonates call them bloodbags." He gave an unexpressive shrug and sat down, seeming no more uncomposed that he had done before he had fed. The advantage of the shadows, and being so in tune with his body language made him harder to read than most.
"Well, if I were one of those neonates, we probably wouldn't be talking so cordially. I would posit that those Kindred who feel that way are a danger to our Domain. That mentality makes you careless. Still," she said, plopping down on the bed, "it doesn't really matter one way or another. We both know their will always be that mind set. We've all felt the Beast."
"You would probably be surprised. Bravado is often a cover for fear and weakness," Sidor replied from his position on the chair. He shrugged. "The Beast is a natural part of this Damned existance. Without it, we would feel powerful, superior. It is a reminder, always, that we are less than the merest of Kine." He leant one hand on his cheek, the fingers disappearing as he cocked his head. "Such is a rightfully deserved Damnation. I must admit, I was surprised to hear you calll yourself Damned yesterday."
"Well why's that?" Brenn returned, crossing her legs and leaning forward. "I mean, this is a Damned existence, after all. Until our form fades from the earth our time here is steeped in blood and darkness, turmoil and pain, our flesh will never again know the suns kiss, and our accomplishments will never be known to the world at large. Hell, even our inherent abilities, those which make us supernatural, are meant for destruction, self preservation, and the manipulation of the mortal tides around us. The only inherently 'good' thing, and many could argue with this, is the longevity our condition provides. Now, I'm not saying that one can't do something beneficial with this existence, and I, in fact, intend to, but most of our kind take the low road and that makes it infinitely harder to have a positive impact."
Brenn stared at nothing in particular while she spoke but finally her gaze drifted over to the shadowed figure sitting in the chair. "I'm not going to say I don't believe in the Divine, I just think that even in our greatest capacity, the Divine is not something that we can comprehend or something that should be looked to in all things. I find that my beliefs tend to run closer to Deism than anything else."
"No, it's not to do with your beliefs. My comment was only because if you believe yourself Damned, you believe that you are being punished for something. As opposed to simply suffering. Damnation is more than discomfort and a little darkness. It is to be actively condemned by a higher power, for something you have done. Or not done, I suppose," Sidor said idly, listening to her. He had little desire to debate religion with Brenn; for one simple reason. The word 'Deism' didn't translate to him, and although he could guess what it was, it never suited him to debate a topic where he didn't know what was on the cards. And besides which, Mortal religions didn't tend to have a lot to say about vampires.
"Besides, I can't say this existance is particularly terrible. I suppose it seems worse if you were priviledged enough in life. I find the occasional thing I miss, but other than that..." he shrugged. "For a corpse, I happen to be remarkably active. What do I have to complain about?" The flat, dead tone didn't fluctate. It was hard to tell that he was joking.
Brenn sat up and grunted an annoyed assent. "Very well, I miss-used the word Damned. I like the dramatic, if you haven't noticed, and many things of an occult nature refer to us in that way. I blame the Christians. Still, though, you understand the train of my thoughts. Cursed, is what I'll say this existence is. I mean, yes I'm bitching, but it's also fucking true. Just try to deny it. I dare you." She grinned at Sidor, mischief shining in her eyes just as yellowed plaque shone off her gnarled teeth.
"Yes, I have noticed your love of the dramatic. Discretion is not a dirty word, Miss Lawrence," Sidor said flatly. "As for this unlife, you can sit there complaining about it or you can put it to use. I personally find this existence quite well deserved. It is not pleasant. But it is not the worst thing I have experienced. I suspect your experience is a somewhat more... Western one." Spoken like an individual who never suffered in life and is surprised when something unfortunate happens. Priviledge does more damage than deprivation in some places. "Although I would prefer this not become a game of 'Who has suffered more', either."
"Ooh, how politically correct of you," Brenn replied, a touch of venom tainting her words. "Nevertheless, I agree with you. Hell, I'm sure there are many Mortals who could beat us both in that game, and I'm not fond of it either. I don't like to think of myself as petty, but I'm likely proving myself wrong yet again, so I'll move on to an, uh, more agreeable point.
"Because of the actions of our dubious and unstable ex-Priscus, our clan meeting never took place. However, as we both know, our clan should have some direction and we need a new Priscus. I would suggest three things which concern this matter. Thing one: we should hold a meeting soon, perhaps immediately after the formal court. Thing two: we decide who shall be Priscus with a vote. Thing three: you let me nominate you for said vote."
"Politics is also not a dirty word," Sidor said, his voice weary. "And if you stopped approaching every conversation as if you were going to war, the ease of speech would be dramatically improved. If you start a debate as if you are raging at your opponent, you will lose before he even opens his mouth." He didn't expand upon her comment about mortals. He did wonder, on some level, if she'd ever considered what a man of even his apparent age might have lived through in his home nation, but he supposed that Russian internal poltics had no reason to be Brenn's strong suit.
"It is already set, as a point of fact; the Meeting will be called as soon as the Harpy has approved my announcement for posting, and yes, Miss Lawrence, there will be a vote, and it will be fair. As for you choosing to nominate me, that is something that should be brought up amongst our cousins. I will have no accusations of back door deals. Twice, we have failed to have Clan cohesion because of insanity on the part of our Priscii. It may be that there are better nominees on the day," the Russian Haunt added brusquely. "That will be for the whole family to decide."
"Wow. Never fucking mind then," Brenn murmured fumbling off the bed so that she was standing across the room from the Russian. "For one, a nomination is just a fucking suggestion, about who should be considered in the vote, nothing more. For two, why do you always take whatever I say and treat it as though it has no value? Maybe, that's why our conversations go like this; you ever thought of that? A person who doesn't consider what others say isn't going to get very fucking far, that's something you should remember. Listening and consideration aren't dirty words, Mister Grigoriev," Brenn taunted. "I mean, I get it now. You think I'm young and stupid. Fair enough. I think what you say often has merit, so I'm oh so glad you feel the same way."
Sidor didn't bother to stand. He cocked his head very slightly, watching Brenn's pathetic attempt at a taunt as she took the words personally. Again. He sighed internally and noted that it would take considerably more work before Brenn managed to understand the mechanics of a debate, or conversation, or politics. Or even to be intelligent enough not to taunt someone she apparently wanted to gain efficiency from. He didn't even blink, his shadows masking the perfectly still features of his face.
"I never said your comments had no value, Miss Lawrence. Perhaps your desire to believe that I do is borne of some need to feel oppressed. You see, I happen to have had many conversations with other individuals in this Domain; only you feel the need to respond like a spoilt child. If you cannot take criticism, or even a remark that in the current political climate, even the mention of a backdoor nomination might ruin the perception of a fair vote, and believe that is someone believing you young and stupid, that is your problem. Would you prefer the family to think I was levying some influence on you, blackmailing you, using some rare Sorcery on you?" the Russian Nosferatu's voice was blunt. There would be no indulgence of this weak little tantrum.
"I have given your words consideration. I have listened to you. Which is considerably more than many other people would have done. Now you have a choice. You can sit down, speak politely and stop losing your temper towards me at the drop of a hat. Or you can continue to rage against nothing, wail, and try and provoke me like a priviledged infant being told it cannot have another toy. Either way, what happens next is your responsibility, which you will carry, instead of blaming another for the consequences of your actions." The tone didn't change. Flat, precise, calm.
"How would I not believe that you think I'm young and stupid when you have never responded positively to anything I have ever said? I listened to you just tell me that 'blank is not a dirty word' three fucking times, as well as criticize how I talk, and you expect me to just take it plainly and continue on, bowing before your every suggestion? You also need to work on giving in a debate, Grigoriev, you need to admit when something besides your own logic clicks. Similar to you, I have talked with many, many people in the Domain and not had the same trouble with them as with you. Why is that? Perhaps because they don't try to give out nothing but advice and discount what the other person has to say. It's just like with our first conversation. You did nothing but try to shut me down. Even when I offered to back down, you acted like that was proving how childish and immature I was. GOD, how I wish I could remember your words verbatim," Brenn said, throwing her hands up in the air while she began to pace. "When there is a problem between two people, it is never resolved if they both refuse to admit they're wrong. So far, I've done a lot of admitting. You've done jack fucking shit."
"Actually, I've heard from other people of their opinion of you. They all say the same thing," Sidor said, not moving as he remained perfectly calm. "You would show a lot of promise if you had focus, discipline and the ability to control your temper, but as it is, they expect you to get yourself murdered. This would be a tragedy. However, to reiterate: I have regarded your opinion. Many times I have found it lacking due to a poor, emotional assessment of a situation, but yes, I have regarded it." He raised his eyebrow, the expression stolen by the darkness.
"You took the words 'I see no reason to end an enjoyable conversation because two individuals disagree' as an attack?" For the first time, he actually seemed faintly surprised. "I remember the words and the conversation, Miss Lawrence, because you storming away was irrational. I was not attacking you. I was telling you that a difference in political opinion was no reason to assume I would take offence or become angry with you. A debate is not personal. If that is the grudge you have been holding all this time..." He shook his head, slowly.
"Perhaps I should tell you something about myself, Miss Lawrence. There is no problem on my behalf to confess, because I do not have an issue with you, bar the fact that I deplore your rudeness when you lose yourself. You seem to have constructed this very detailed and fascinating fantasy in which I am persecuting you. I assure you, were that the case, you would not be sat here raging at me at the moment, because were that the case, I would simply not have bothered keeping you in line and told Flores you did not care to bring him support. It would have ended this ridiculous 'problem' quickly and efficiently. I am terribly sorry that you see time and effort as some bizarre form of persecution, but I assure you, the very fact that I am here is proof that I have faith in you. If I did not, I would not bother myself coming here," Sidor controlled his voice, his presence filling the room as he let the words resound.
"Now. I have answered you. And you will either gain some decorum or you will continue to rage. If you continue to choose to behave like a spoilt child who cannot solve a problem with words, but must flail and scream, then I am leaving, and I will await the day you gain enough maturity to continue a conversation as an adult." His words left no opportunity to do anything but make the decision. It was perfectly clear from his body language that Brenn's decision here was on her own head.
Such a thin skin, Miss Lawrence, and so impatient. I am astounded that I managed to shoulder your burden long enough to finish Flores.
Brenn had stopped pacing and stood stalk still in the opposite corner, her head bowed so that tangles of greasy black hair hung over her face, obscuring it just as thoroughly as the shadows which covered Sidor's countenance. Anger boiled inside her, railing against the insulting comparisons, and beneath the natural fire's burning up her insides, something primal was adding fuel. For the first time in a long while, the young Haunt didn't act on her emotions but instead examined them. There was some thing that was sitting in her mind space, throwing gasoline and tinder onto the spark of her natural disposition, and the thing was just waiting for her to succumb. Her Beast was further out of its cage, and it was only because she had let it out. She was being childish, and stupid, and prideful, and she was slowly spelling out her own downfall. When she thought back to her earliest nights in the domain, she saw that her most potent weapon and most beautiful feature, her words, had become ugly, blunt, and awkward the more she let anger live inside her, and it was because, like a child, she found it easier to rage and yell than think and speak. Slowly, Brenn slid down the wall and rested her arms on her knees.
"I must be cruel only to be kind. Thus bad begins and the worse remains behind," she murmured, the fall of hair still hiding her features. "I think I've actually witnessed this conversation before, in Elsinore castle, but I never realized it. The words are out of context, but printed word holds many meanings, Mr. Grigoriev, and I think you've just helped me realize another incarnation of the Bard's prose. Odd that I'd think of that, really...I think that I've projected my conscience onto you, Mr. Grigoriev, purely out of happenstance, and maybe that's what I've been railing against. Certainly if you don't think me young and stupid now, the opposite is true for me." She raised her head and sat up straighter, letting her legs fold away so that she was not longer crouched in upon herself. "Well, thus is the state of the road I walk, and I'll stop complaining about it. How fares your side of the road?"
Sidor watched her impassively from his position, and when she finally slid down the wall, he sat back down, steepling his fingers as he regarded her. Better. Less rage and more thought. He watched her, and let her speak without interruption. When she fell silent at the end and asked him a question, he let the silence draw out as he considered his own response. The road he walked. How little Brenn, still railing against herself, knew of that road.
"The same as always, Miss Lawrence," he said quietly, not commenting on her assessment of herself. That was something personal to the other Haunt. "I serve with all that I am, every night of my Requiem. That has always been my calling since my Embrace."
"I find that many people shy away from service and duty, especially those who hail from this country, almost as if it's shameful to dedicate your being to something besides yourself," Brenn mused. "But I'd rather be shackled to duty than to mine own whims, and I've put a lot of thought onto how I should carry that duty, and I think that the Movement is the way to go. In the Invictus, you serve your Masters first, and supposedly through that you serve the Domain. I think that's all wrong, though. I want to serve the Domain first, in all things, and create the greatest good for the greatest number. The Carthian's can support that claim and I think that, in time, that claim will help shape the Domain. Nevertheless, Conner Greyson made an, offer, I believe, of something in the First Estate. Despite what I said last night, I don't know if I'll hear both sides. I think I already know which one I'm going to choose." "I'm not American," Sidor said quietly, his accented voice making that perfectly obvious, as would his behaviour to anyone who had spent ten seconds in his company. "So I was never socialised to believe that. If you believe your place and focus would be served better amongst the Carthians, then that is where you should go." He doubted if the Carthians would ever hold power in this Domain. Not only were the Invictus stronger, but the Carthians seemed to encourage weakness amongst themselves, with dissent and folly running through them like a rich seam. "I can only hope you find what you are looking for there."
"I know your not American, I was speaking in general terms, Mr. Grigoriev," Brenn said flatly. "Although I wonder, if you'll permit it, what you were socialized to believe. I know you hail from Russia, but from what part? Or what era, even? I know that these are personal questions, but a person's history is a powerful component in who they are." Brenn was thankful for her cousin's patience, and his counsel, but she felt vulnerable, like she'd been stripped of her psychological armor, and she was eager to see if Sidor was willing to reciprocate. Besides, she was curious about what he had to say about his homeland. Social Sciences fascinated her, even though she was now part of an entirely different form of society.
"Sverdlovsk," Sidor said, with a little shrug. "You might know it as Yekaterinburg." The Russian Haunt didn't seem to particularly care about mentioning that, but it was fairly common knowledge to anyone who had bothered to ask. "Which, if you have studied your history, should give you a fair hint as one era I might have lived through. Is it particularly important... or are you just curious to find out if I was a Communist?" His lips twitched beneath the shadows, and he kept a straight face, not laughing, because he knew Brenn would not understand why he found that funny.
"Important? Well, I don't honestly know whether it qualifies as important, but we don't know each other well and understanding someone's personal history can be important when it comes to getting to know them. I'm not overly surprised that you come from Russia's Communist era, but I don't think less of you, whether or no you're a communist. In fact, I would probably think better of you for not being a capitalist, because capitalism has a giant, bloody, gaping flaw, and anyone who proclaims themselves as a capitalist ignores that flaw, and promotes an unstable economy. The flaw is that the system assumes that all those in the market are equally informed. A business can gain a huge advantage by being dishonest in a free market, and once they grow powerful enough, they become the market, thus destroying the system. In my opinion, only a socialist economy can truly thrive, but I do believe that in localized geographic areas Communism can work perfectly well." Brenn stopped speaking suddenly, catching herself mid-ramble, and nodded. "Right, well, you probably either know that or don't care. Still though, I am glad to know that that's, well, when you come from, and might also explains why, occasionally, you refer to "Westerner's" in a manner that suggest something which might be disparaging."
Sidor seemed to be perfectly impassive until Brenn commented 'Communism can work perfectly well'. Then, his left hand twitched suddenly, flexing the pale scar that ran down the back of the bones. He gave a short, derisive laugh, and shook his head, slowly. Calm. He could remain calm. Typical American. Either Soviet scum or something to be admired. Perhaps they will put Comrade Stalin on their t-shirts next, and talk about the revolution. No one ever seems to remember the ice pick in Trotsky's brain.
"Communism is not Marxism, Miss Lawrence, though it might well hold some of the same tenants," he said, and his voice sounded weary, old. "I do not know. I have never been particularly interested in Marx. Functionally, Communism is a beautiful method of crushing out the soul of a country entirely. You cannot imagine what it was like. You cannot. Not and use phrases such as 'Communism works'. Communism ceases to work the moment you include human beings. Flawed, weak, power hungry, like all humans are. Sometimes, there is... an impression that it would be glorious. I have heard this before. Then you scratch back the snow, and the bones glisten in the permafrost. Look at China now! Rudimentary free markets, mutterings of freedom of speech! Protests! They taste the West while claiming there is no connection, because that is the only way to survive. Produce, trade, grow!" He snapped his fingers.
"If you had lived in my nation, if you had loved my nation as I did, you would still hear the echoes of the Politsiya. You would still know the marks of the gulags, and the faces of the vanished, and the sins of what was necessary to survive," the Russian Haunt said, and for the first time, he sounded emotional. Apparently, there were nerves in there, that could be touched. "So bemoan capitalism all you like, Miss Lawrence. But it has been a long time since the citizens of this country had to fear that the rattle of a window might the last time they were seen by their families. That is the privilege of being from the West. To forget what others pay in cost for the things that you would make idols of."
"I apologize for rousing bad memories, Mr. Grigoriev, but those last sentences hold too many absolutes. Just as I attempt to view what you've experienced through an imperfect lens, I believe you do the exact same for me, or more accurately, those that live in this country. Racism has infested this land for a long, long time, Mr. Grigoriev, and only fifty years ago, millions of men, woman, and children did cower when voices were heard in their yards outside, fearing for the hangman's noose. Twenty years before that, hundreds of thousands of citizens were rounded up, their property, business, and homes all left to rot and thievery while they were imprisoned for having Japanese ancestors. Go back to, oh wait, to right now, and thousands more enjoy lives equal only to those in the poorest of third world countries. Hardship and strife is everywhere, in all degrees, and if I see something that propagates such strife, why should I not bemoan it? If there is a better alternative, why not strive for it?" Brenn asked.
"Miss Lawrence, the ills you speak of are not the product of a capitalist system, but of a human one. The poor, the sick, the needy, the foreign being trampled was occuring in Ancient Rome, in the writings of the Pharoahs, of the Aztec and Toltec civilizations, of the Chinese... ever since the first man realised the men in the next cave had something he wanted, there has been racism and poverty. But I am sorry. Those ills do not compare to the slaughter of millions for a political ideal. Few ills can match up to a genocide against one's own people. The horrors of Rwanda, of Nazi Germany, of the Cambodian Killing fields do not affect your country's consensus. Not to mention that Russia suffered those same ills- racism and poverty particularly- then, as it continues to do so today," Sidor's voice was flat again, smooth, wielded. Whatever emotion had been there was gone. Blind, rather than wilfully ignorant. Temperance and forebearance.
"If you want to raise a banner and fight against social ills, no one is stopping you. But you cannot fight them by rage alone, and certainly not by striving for a system that is far more broken than the capitalist Democracy of the West. You spoke of Socialism, for example, as if it were Communism. That is not true. They are not alike. In Europe, there are countires which are both Socialist and capitalist." The Russian Haunt paused for a moment, and when he spoke again, it was simple, blunt. "Go out and change the world, Miss Lawrence. It is not hard to bring about great social upheaval. Even a drunk man in a Munich Beer Hall managed it once. But it is very hard to bring it about for the Greater Good. Particularly when people idolise past mistakes."
"I'm not tracking were I implied Socialism was Communism, unless you're just referring to my declaration that socialism is a better system to use. Technically, a country can't be both Socialist and Capitalist, it's free market or it's not. There are definitely countries which attempt to have both, like this one, but I believe that to be a flawed system. Nevertheless, I'll drop the issue. Just as I'll drop the defense of my country," she said, voice momentarily dropping in pitch. "Ah, I don't know why I even tried, honestly, I would never have called myself a patriot when I still had to draw breath, and I don't intend to now. Oddly enough, I think it's because I hoped to distance the negative view you have of this nation with myself. It's almost as if I'm desperately trying to win your approval," she laughed, "or a spark of competition motivating our debates. But, even if I hadn't spoken poorly, I doubt it would have changed anything at all. I think you have your mind made up and I lack the key to unlocking the mechanisms that might allow for change. What do you think? Maybe in fifty years, or one hundred, we'll be able to reach an understanding?"
Her voice trailed off for several seconds, but when it echoed forth again, it held an odd hint of fatalism, as though she was just now beginning to understand something immutable. "I rail because I want to convince you of something, in this case, I suppose it's my worth, something I shouldn't have to convince you of, but regardless, I'm unable to convince you and thus I've reacted like a young, stupid thing. You see, I believe this is the crux of my turmoil: How can one change the minds of the masses, if they can not change one man's personal opinion about themselves? Well, fuck it, I don't know. However, I will try, and I will do it because I believe it's the right thing to do. It's the only thing to do."
Brenn realized that she must have been sounding incoherent, or at least full of half formed thoughts, but something had just clicked, and she felt tension draining away, so she pressed on. "Because, in all seriousness, fuck it. So we don't share respect. Oh Nooo! Well, fuck it, that's how it is, and I need to accept it. You've done me a great service, by helping me achieve more clarity , but as of now I won't push for more. It would just be a wasted effort."
"You spend too much time on dictionary definitions, and not enough time on what matters. The European Union has an entirely free market- it is in their treaties. And yet they are undeniably capitalists. And they are socialists. They are not perfect," Sidor said with an inexpressive shrug. "But it is what they are. Read up on your EU Law, Miss Lawrence. It's fascinating, if you can get past the hopelessly florid language." His shadowed gaze flickered towards the window as he watched Brenn's anger crumbling.
"And finally you learn," he said quietly, and stood up, approaching her. "Miss Lawrence. My opinion of your worth has never been that you lacked, only that you were misdirected. You have railed against everything, no matter how slight, like an oak tree trying to outstand a hurricane. You cannot change the heart of a people with a battering ram. The more you try and breach their walls, the more they will resist you, no matter how much good or ill you bring. It is the fate of every dictator, and every wide-eyed forgotten prophet. If you will change the hearts and minds of a people, approach them with humility. Approach them with example. Not hatred, not rage." The Russian Haunt pointed a finger at her. It wasn't menacing so much as it was a punctuation mark.
"Be yourself. You are Brenn Lawrence. Not this half-mad, foaming, mockery of your potential, determined to ram against everything and insult your cousins with neglect. You say you are a poet. Be a poet. Not a martyr to a cause no one will even remember."If his gaze had been visible, perhaps it would have softened a little. "I am not always a gentle teacher, Miss Lawrence, but nevertheless."
Brenn's brows furrowed, and her hair obscured eyes flickered back and forth over Sidor's countenance, almost as if she could see the words he had spoken inscribed onto his features. Finally, her gaze turned inward, and she examined the truth of his words on the skein of her past. Once upon a time, anger had been a fuel, not a fire that consumed her, but she'd lost the truth of this in the breach between life and death, her new existence re-branding the meaning of anger just as her clan's blood had warped her flesh.
The young Haunt emerged from her moment of reflection, her focus sharpening once more, and she began to clumsily haul herself to her feet, using the walls to brace against. "Thank you, for being patient," she began, "I've never had anyone's counsel. I mean, not after the Embrace, anyways. I wasn't really sure what to make of it, so it, uh, took some time to sink in. I'm used to everyone politicking. In this case, I mean small P, politicking, i.e. constant vying for the upper-hand in everything; especially the pointless things, so I assumed that's what this was. I know we had a similar discussion a few nights ago, but as I said, it took a while for this to sink in.
"I think...no, I know that I've been using anger as a crutch, but it's time to move past that. Just as it's time to move past rebelling against social structure, even when there's no present need to do so. Oh, and the present need to move past this grudge. It would be beyond ironic to continue to scorn the one person that's tried to help me."
"I don't need to vy with you," Sidor said bluntly. And frankly, if I wanted to, I could have destroyed you when you laid your weaknesses bare to everyone. You are lucky I am not still mortal. "That serves no purpose. I do not lie when I speak of caring for my family. If we set out to be at each others' throats, we will fail at all we endeavour to do." He shrugged unexpressively and watched her. "There is much work to be done, Miss Lawrence. Our Clan has been scarred by Flores. Deeply. Now it has to change, or else fracture into factions and burn itself to nothing."
Brenn just stared at Sidor, giving him a vacant look for several seconds before she frowned, unsurprised but not satisfied with his response. "What work do you have in mind? I see many things that need to be done in the domain, but what jeopardizes the clan? Flores was a blemish upon us, to be sure, but nothing he did was that horrendous. You and I are the only Nosferatu who dwelled in the city when he was at large, and we're both still standing."
"That is a tragedy," Sidor said, and his voice sounded heavy. "Miss Lawrence. Doctor Powell has been in this city almost as long as you have. Do you not remember her torporing at the meeting?" He shook his head. "You have let yourself become estranged from your family." He looked at the wall for a moment. "For you, I suggest you try to get to know your family, rather than assuming things about them. Those ties are not completely lost to you yet." He paused.
"As for Flores, he forced a group of neonates to feed some mortals drugs until they died. That alone was enough to be called horrendous. The abuse of authority is a terrible stain to bear. You did not watch him as I did. As others did."
"That is something that I have to correct, and yes, I do remember her being sent into torpor, but when two pass on a road, who holds the charge of hailing the other?" Brenn asked flatly, and then suddenly shook her head. "Nevermind, the point is moot. You're right, Flores' actions did not endear our clan name with anyone, but we are here now, and we, note that in this 'we' I'm including all of the clan, can move past it. You and I have both served the Domain with both honor and good capacity, and Dr. Powell has as well. Every clan has it's monsters, but our Clan now has none, we've left it behind, and we will move forward. All that lies ahead is improvement, if that's what we turn our minds to. I have many things to correct, and many things to do but improvement is all that resides in my thoughts."
Sidor remembered very clearly how Brenn had ignored the Doctor's overtures, but said nothing. There was nothing to be said. Either she would improve, or not. That was not something that could be forced into someone's skull. Providing the tools was easy. He had already done that.
"Good," he said bluntly. "I will enjoy hearing of your future Requiem."
"Well, much as I detest the song, I believe I must borrow from it, for all I can say is 'que, sera, sera', what will be will be," the young Haunt proclaimed rather blankly, before her tone brightened sharply. "Now, that said, I am still confident that the future shall be much more habitable. Just as we can bear to gaze upon the stars while the sun is our doom, and how a flame far in the distance is no bringer of terror, the past, too, will fade into a naught but a distant warning. Thus, I thank you again for the counsel, but I will take your leave," Brenn said, moving to the door. She nodded quickly to Sidor and than clomped from the room, heading into the night shrouded alleyways that surrounded the Ridge.
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