This scene immediately followed the Lacea et Sanctum Meeting


As the Sanctified Gathering breaks up, the brethren going their separate ways for the night, Dillon loiters about the entrance long enough to seek a private word with the lone Sister of the Spear. There were things he had to know; suspicions he had to confirm. If he was right, it was better to get the hatchet buried sooner rather than later. Standing casually outside the entrance with his hands in his pockets, facing the road, it's impossible to leave Moore House through the front without making some sort of contact with the Gangrel Priscus.

When Josephine comes into view, firmly out of earshot of Castor and Sidor, Dillon offers a politely disarming smile. "May I bother you for a moment, Doctor Powell?"

Doctor Powell's stride was long, fast and it took a couple more steps past the Gangrel before she actually turned around. A small frown crossed her face, but she assumed it could be nothing too important as she noted his smile. "Is something wrong?" the Haunt asked anyway. She moved forward a few feet, studying the other Kindred. Naturally, Josephine figured that it was something to do with the meeting.

There's a ghost of a laugh behind his smile as Dillon notes her reaction, and shakes his head slightly. "Well, I hope not." He leaves off the rest of his thought, that all depends on you, and tosses a shoulder for the sake of staying casual. "I'm just curious about a few things, that's all.

"Do you remember that Cerberus doodle on the contact card I gave you? Don't suppose it meant anything to you did it? Er, besides the mythology, of course." It's obvious Dillon's going somewhere with this, but he's approaching it carefully, not wanting to set off alarms. Of course, it could have the opposite effect.

Doctor Powell studied Dillon, and came to the rather urgent conclusion that his apparent relaxed body language was more than a little at odds with his comments. She truly had no idea where he was going with this conversation- she couldn't see how it might relate to the Sanctified in Sacramento, and it put her a little on guard.

"I...remember it," Josephine nodded slightly. "But it isn't...familiar to me, other than mythology, as you said."

Where are you going with this, Mr. Connery?

Dillon makes a face as he looks away, as if second-guessing his conclusions. It's not quite that things weren't adding up, it's what exactly they were adding up to that had him wondering at something, or someone, else. Nothing now but to take the plunge. "It was quite popular in a certain time and place, if I can be allowed a little personal pride. My old Coterie called ourselves Shades of Cerberus. Three heads, three voices, one powerful force. At the forefront of that group was the Gangrel Corbin Blackthorne, a well respected and widely feared elder of our city's Primogen."

Hazel eyes look back to the Doctor's. Dillon's smile is almost gone, and the look is meaningful. Not threatening, but thoughtful, serious. Concerned, even. She should remember all of this, unless she was hiding something, or was never told. None of the implications were too pleasant. "The Primogen of Chicago, Doctor Powell. Around fifty years ago, I think, Corbin was one of the majority who advised the Prince to Bloodhunt the Childe of Simon Renfro."

Doctor Powell waited for Dillon to get to the point, inwardly impatient and yet concerned for his reveal at the same time. If her dead, still heart were capable of pounding out a beat, it would have been painfully fast. She didn't like where this was going, and her expression stilled. Her head tipped curiously, but it was her expression that revealed the lie of her body language.

She didn't know the name of Blackthorne, and she made to shake her head - and possibly relax with the possibility that Dillon merely wanted to politely enquire about possible familiar ties. Even so, Josephine met Dillon's expression with a cool stare. "Fifty years is a long time to remember something so...trivial," the Haunt responded evenly.

The side of Dillon's mouth twitches in what, on anyone else, might be considered a smirk. But his face is an expressive one, when he let's it be, and the amusement he directs inward to himself is evident. "But I didn't remember, not at first. And I of all creatures should have. You see, I wasn't exactly in the city when it all went down. But I happened to be the only Hound near the direction this young lady fled." There is a few beats of pause before the Gangrel grins in earnest to the Doctor. It's as though they're discussing an old baseball game or something, and not the time when he was ordered to murder her for her mad experiments. "You gave me quite the slip."

As if in direct opposition to Dillon's attitude, his...lightness of the situation that had admittedly, occured many decades ago, Doctor Powell looked grimmer still. In her pockets, her fingers clenched. To her at least, her past situation was not yet something to laugh about as an amusing anecdote to tell people. Somehow, the good Doctor doubted that it ever would reach that point.

"Young lady?" the Haunt bit out coldly, her jaw tensing tightly. Somehow, the wording he chose made it sound as though she had been some...some silly little girl, who was disobeying her parents to run amok.

In her experience, people who had failed in a mission did not act in this nonchalant way. How exactly do you plan on hanging this over my fucking head? "It was a long time ago, fifty years you say?" She hadn't really kept track of the time. After a while pitiful night blended into pitiful night. "I don't know that woman, not anymore." Josephine stepped forward without actively realising it.

"Calm yourself, Doctor." Dillon says gruffly. The smile vanished, and his vibrant hazel eyes went frigid the moment Doctor Powell closed the distance. She had gotten defensive rather fast for someone who had just labelled the event 'trivial'. Dillon had tried to be cool about it, for her sake, to say 'hey, no hard feelings', but if she wanted to cause him grief again, he was prepared to return it in kind. "I've no score to settle with you. Nor do I have any interest in trying to blackmail you with secrets or cart you back to a Court that doesn't exist anymore. I just want to talk. I want cooperation. I want the truth. Because this isn't adding up the way I was told it did."

He removes his hands from his pockets and flips them out to the side in deliberate slowness; open, unarmed.

"Don't tell me to calm down, like a damned patronising ass," Doctor Powell growled in irritation. She...disliked it when her evenings turned sour; particularly when the reason was a particularly bad surprise. "You...approach me about...something that isn't exactly a delightful event, and...make light of the situation," the Haunt continued, and she made a stringent effort to keep her voice even. Despite the inherent frustration, the concern, her voice didn't rise.

"How am I supposed to...to not take it as though you're going to attempt some ridiculous blackmail? I'm...not a damned child." Her eyes narrowed, and she raised a hand to run her fingers through her hair. "You don't...just spring something like that on someone you don't know."

Dillon leans forward just a tad with his next statement, hands still out to the side in a mild sort of 'wtf'. "Oh you would prefer that we got to know each other better, first? Had a few chats? Built the library together? Then, 'oh, by the way, I was ordered to ash you back in sixty-something, maybe. Really glad now, that I screwed the pooch!'

"I really don't think that would be very smart; imparting that knowledge long after we're supposed to be trusted allies, and you, probably with a hammer still in your hand."

The Gangrel's as-of-yet declawed hands move between them in a sort of supplication, a 'give me something, Doc'. "The Deacon-- Bishop, soon, hopefully-- wants us building bridges, and I couldn't agree more. Building bridges, and keeping the water under them where it belongs. That's why I tell you this now, sooner rather than later. I was trying to let you know that I hold no misinformed grudges. And to be fair, you said 'trivial', not me."

Josephine rolled her eyes, and expelled an impatient -and unnecessary- breath. "I was...understating, in the hopes that you were just trying to..." she waved her hands in a rapid, dismissive gesture. "Make yourself seem impressive, after your other comment." The good Doctor didn't move forward again, and her hands were showing. On the otherhand, though he might not have been aware of it, she didn't necessarily need to brandish a weapon to hurt anyone.

"And regardless, I would have had no need to bring up my..." Unsavoury "-past, at some point in the future had you not mentioned it now. I don't...I don't remember you. I didn't intend to take any trips down memory lane. Like I said...it's more than a little out of the damned blue. What am I supposed to think?"

She hesitated again, for just a few seconds. "And besides, it's not as if I'm plotting your death at dawn, before 'sleeping'."

"I understand. Nevertheless," Dillon begins, dropping his hands and willing his sincerity to shine through. "If I held the secret between us, it would be a weak link in the bonds we forge for this Covenant. Trust me when I say that these things always come back to bite us in the end. Always. The longer I waited, the worse it would be. And I will not risk the foundations we lay for this fellowship just to gloss over darkness in our past.

"Please have faith, Doctor Powell." There is no condescending piety in his husky voice, here. Dillon is a true believer who merely wants the air cleared between them, so they can begin to work together.

"I have faith," Doctor Powell remarked evening, repeating what she had to Sidor in private some time before. She had meant it then, and she meant it now as well. Unlike with the Deacon however, Dillon was still an unknown component to her; he could be lying. Her gaze upon him didn't falter, as though in a stringent attempt to find deceit in his manner or words.

  Empathy roll: 1 Success
Date Action Roll Result
2011-10-08 17:09:39 Doctor Josephine Powell rolls 5 to Wits + Empathy (10 Again) 4, 9, 6, 4, 7 1 success

He couldn't know it of course, but the good Doctor already knew too well what it was like to have the past rushing into the present to cause trouble. As before, she had thought that chapter was over. "I don't...gloss over my past. I'm merely looking to the future of this Unlife, after learning to overcome the past." Josephine relaxed her posture somewhat, as an agreeable consensus to Dillon dropping his hands. "What...exactly do you think you already know? You said 'this'...isn't adding up the way you were told...it was a long time ago, but it matters." To me.
For all the wariness, the Haunt was at least pleased he seemed to have the Sanctified's best interests at heart. That tallied with her own, newfound beliefs. It could be something to work with.

Dillon does not resist the scrutiny, he isn't hiding behind a facade. What suspicion, or a the very least, concern, he had was directed elsewhere. "Well," he begins, hooking his thumbs on the front pockets of his jeans to return to the state of casualness that he preferred. "I've trusted Corbin Blackthorne for almost a century, and I hate to cast doubt on the man, but advising a Prince to ash another isn't something he does on a whim. Any situation he didn't have all of the facts about, he liked to handle himself. But then, I remember that Simon was involved directly. That alone gives me pause to question everything I was told." There is a nonchalant shrug, here. "I won't pretend that any of us cared for him, much." Understatement of the year, that.

"As I said, I wasn't in the city, so I got the short version coded by phone. I got an order to capture or kill, a description from our Inquisitor, Vincent, and a heads-up that Renfro was in the field and wanted to coordinate all of us himself." Dillon shook his head, wearing a grumpy expression that's kind of amused at the same time. "I didn't want him stepping on my toes, so when I thought I was on your trail, I kept it quiet. When I lost you, he was beside himself. It was only after I returned that the Prince said it was good enough that you were out of the domain, and re-proclaimed it an indefinite banishment. Simon didn't like that very much, either. Only then did Corbin let slip to me that he was your Sire.

"The thing is," Dillon continues, rearranging his expression and looking at the Doctor almost sidelong in a way of imparting something suspicious. "I was given the impression that we were dealing with a willfully out of control neonate with full knowledge of the Traditions she was breaking. But I saw no recognition from you until we hit the names 'Simon' and 'Chicago'. You say you don't remember me or the Coterie that was such a presence in that time, and I believe you. I'd just like to know if the blatant misinformation came only from Renfro, and why in all of this world the Court would believe him so easily."

Doctor Powell's lips quirk upward into the barest, briefest of smirks. Yes, it was an understatement. Simon had been...an ass, to put it mildly. She could imagine at Court in Chicago, the departed Simon Renfro had been the regular, arrogant kind of ass. Behind the scenes, on the otherhand... She added a small, "Hm," of agreement with Dillon's assessment at any rate. Even a little agreement right now was better than outright hostility.

Her expression rapidly shifted however, a darkness passing across her face. "Simon...co-ordinated the search himself?" Doctor Powell asked, her voice soft but strangely cold. No wonder it had been so difficult to get away...no wonder they began the hunt so soon. Bastard! The subsequent banishment made a lot of sense, and it sent rapid chill through the Doctor. She had known it was dangerous returning to Chicago several months ago; but perhaps she had underestimated how dangerous. If they had found her, wandering around - That doesn't matter anymore.

"Simon...had a lot of pull. More than...I thought he did, as it turns out. I didn't know he was...treating the Court like a puppet. He likely sent a lot of misinformation...to both sides. He liked to...play," she spat out the latter word with clear distaste.

Dillon obviously didn't like the idea that Corbin could've been duped by scum like Renfro, but then again, maybe he simply hadn't cared. He could be pretty cruel in his own right, which is, what Dillon figured Josephine was alluding to about her Sire. Then again, Blackthorne could have had his own agenda in play. It was a troubling concept. But Dillon buries the suspicions, for now. He has amends to Josephine to make. "I'm sorry you were so betrayed," the Gangrel Priscus says honestly. "You have to understand that, at the time, you were just a job to me. That you were a job that Simon took so much interest in... only increased my detachment. I was glad that you got away then, as I am now, but for different reasons. Then, it was about the displeasure and frustration I got to witness in someone we all loathed. Now, you and I find ourselves striving toward the same goals.

"I am truly glad you have found The Purpose, Doctor Powell. There are no coincidences in this world. I believe the fact that our Requiems have been brought together once again was a lesson for me." Again, the Gangrel is making no pretense at piety. The small, politely charming smile on his face is as close to being happy as the undead husk of a vampire can ever be.

Doctor Powell shrugged a little bit. "It was a long time ago...feelings of betrayal can be overcome, given enough time, and understanding." Hearing what had occured on the other side of the coin stirred old, angry feelings, but what was the point of them anymore? Fury at a dead Sire would do nothing anymore.

"We are striving for the same goals," the Haunt responded in soft agreement. She extended a hand toward Dillon, but for a few seconds longer her expression remained tight. "I won't expect to hear of this in Court, as shocking chatter to amuse people, will I?" she stated rather than asked.

"Never, Doctor Powell." Dillon's voice comes out quiet, raspy. He clasps Josephine's proffered hand and gives it one honest, respectful shake. "You have my word."