Arnoud had arrived two hours early for his appointment with Heathcliff at the Comfort Inn. It was thirty minutes out of Sacramento but he needed a private place to communicate with Heathcliff who was now also the Seneschal. Arnoud had played it straight, renting two rooms and checking in under a false name a few days early, told them he'd paid for the week and hadn't come back since to prevent anyone from connecting the dots. That didn't mean he believed it was safe tonight, though. Arnoud thought of it as a test. So he checks the rooms next to, underneath and above his; knocking and asking questions and erasing the memories.
Arnoud then goes into his own rooms to check for bugs, see if the Scotch he’d acquired –Heathcliff’s preferred drink– was still good and take a last look at the medical tests he’d told the two strippers to take. No diseases or complications whatsoever, nothing but poor finances and low self-esteem. Arnoud hadn’t believed it the first time, blaming nonchalant testing, but there you had it; the second tests had been the same. A look in his adjoining room assured Arnoud the ladies were there, waiting for either his –dependant on circumstances– quadruple or quintuple knock and that they had their music box and music. Everything seemed good. With five minutes left on the clock, Arnoud leaves the Inn to wait for Heathcliff outside.
Heathcliff pulls his blue sedan into the parking lot of the Comfort Inn he had stayed at during the blood hunt. He liked familiar. He turns the car off, gets out, and sets the alarm as he walks toward the entrance. He'd talked with Arnoud about celebrating their rise in society, and the Daeva had promised to make arrangements to Heathcliff's liking. Trust a Daeva to plan a good party. He sees his friend standing by the entrance, waiting for him. "Hello, Arnoud," he says as he approaches, and reaches out to shake his hand. "It's good to see you again." Heathcliff has left the grey jacket and tie behind tonight, just the grey slacks to go with a white collared shirt, and his Angels cap.
Arnoud shakes Heathcliff's hand with no hesitation, he’d anticipated and even hoped for it and had told his Beast that no, Heathcliff was not a midnight snack. Truth be told it was his vigilant self that had needed more negotiation. The reason they were celebrating, at least in Arnoud’s mind, was because Heathcliff was now the Prince’s Seneschal. What had he done to climb the ladder so fast though? But no, such thoughts had to be excessively distrustful. Surely it had been due to Heathcliff’s personal skills and the Vinculum the Prince had forced upon him that fateful night. So yeah, Arnoud shakes Heathcliff’s hand with an honest smile. “Hey, Heathcliff.” He responds. “It’s damn good to see you too.” Arnoud was wearing equally unimpressive though somewhat darker clothes and no cap. It was good to see Heathcliff hadn’t dressed to impress either. They could just be two regular guys, having a good time and knowing there was no need for dickwaving contests between the two of them. Hell, Arnoud hoped Heathcliff felt like that. He’d given considerable thought as to how to appeal to Heathcliff’s tastes tonight and if he was going to feel the need to hold back that would become mostly wasted effort.
"Follow me. I already got the keys to the room." Arnoud says, waiting a moment for Heathcliff to agree in either word or motion before leading the way. The desk worker seems uninterested in the two and they can easily go up without encountering anyone on the way there.
Heathcliff agrees, "Let's go then." As they make their way, the Seneschal looks around, appreciating the mundane furnishings and decoration of the lobby, the generic paintings on the walls. "Ah, I like this place," he mentions, "it knows what it is, and it doesn't try to be better."
"Yeah," Arnoud answers, turning around to make sure Heathcliff sees his understanding smile. "People can learn a lot from a place like this." Catching himself before he elaborates on that too much and spoils the mood Arnoud finishes with a quick. "You sure know how to pick your spots."
"Why, thank you, Arnoud," Heathcliff says. "I take great pride in my discretion."
Arnoud resumes walking and continues until they reach their room. Producing a key and unlocking the door Arnoud enters the room. In it, Heathcliff can see a plain wooden table and on it a radio and some tumblers, bottles and bucket of ice. "I believe we left off just as we were going to get us some drinks?" Arnoud invites Heathcliff in.
"Yes, I believe so," Heathcliff agrees, entering the room, and walking towards the table. "What did you get to drink?"
Walking over to the table and lifting a bottle and a glass Arnoud answers with a smile.
"I do believe someone ordered Scotch on the rocks."
The Seneschal laughs. "Ah, yes." He looks at the bottle appreciatively. "Let's get the party started, shall we?" Vitae courses through his dead veins, warming him, bringing some color to his cheeks. He turns on the radio as he waits for Arnoud to pour the drinks, and finds a classic rock station, playing music ranging from Heart to AC/DC. Currently, it's playing Creedence Clearwater Revival's Fortunate Son. "I ain't no senator's son, no," he croaks along, and laughs.
Arnoud laughs as Heathcliff does his playback show thing, and even starts singing along himself when he thinks he knows a song (mostly the choruses). Arnoud doesn’t sound as bad as Heathcliff but he’s giving it his all. Arnoud tried to think of singing poorly as an art form and tried to discard all he knew of singing; taking care to sing slightly too hard, screw up the phonetics a little and have his voice go all across the board in inappropriate and therefore potentially funny ways. Pouring the two of them drinks Arnoud wastes precious Vitae –Vitae he could kill for to get– on reanimating unnecessary bodily functions and even more Vitae to fully access the ability to consume drinks without immediately puking the vile stuff up.
“To Seneschal Staley!” Arnoud proclaimed as he raises his glass.
Putting Vitae toward the task of counterfeiting life always put Heathcliff in a good mood. He would spend every hour of every night this way, if he could. He raises his own glass, and toasts Arnoud. "To Prefect Giessen!" Then he takes a drink, savouring the scotch, the warm feeling that only enhanced that which he felt from the Vitae. "This is living," he laughs.
Yes, this was living… overrated stuff to be sure. “You said it!” Arnoud agrees –knowing he can’t be a buzzkill now– after his own drink. Sure the scotch was okay but it had nothing on human blood. Maybe he could show Heathcliff that trick? Have someone drink enough and you could get a little of that stuff back through your blood in ways that would make this pale by comparison… then again, best stick to the more human stuff for just a few months more. He’ll show signs when it’s time for him to progress.
Arnoud honestly no longer had a solid frame of reference for how a celebration was supposed to go so he lets Heathcliff set the pace. With more drinks would probably come more singing. Arnoud just made sure Heathcliff didn’t get too far out of it, which would mess up the next surprise. Arnoud also made damn sure he didn’t lose control either.
Arnoud is absolutely correct. "Lions and tigers who wait in the shadows, they're fast but they're lazy..." he croons along to Jethro Tull's Bungle in the Jungle. Arnoud's own bad singing puts the Seneschal at ease regarding his own congested voice, which sounds like he's singing from the bottom of some prehistoric tar pit. "So, tell me, how did you become Prefect after...?" He had been smiling, happy, but remembering his poor Childe's face as she struggled to understand what was going on, her willingness to sacrifice herself to satisfy the Prince's justice, brought him back down. "After Bennett," he finishes.
Arnoud nods before answering. People did that as they were getting drunk, right? His little Heathcliff was growing up so fast, digging for information like that. “Man, if I only knew. We put it up for a vote and I got the title. Just for three months though.” Arnoud says and after a second suddenly covers his mouth with his hand in alarm. “I probably shouldn’t have said that last part. You can keep a secret, though, right?” Sure, it was a minor secret to share but Arnoud was hoping he could start small.
Waiting for Heathcliff to nod yes (who would say no in such a situation anyway?) Arnoud explains it a bit more. “I think it was mostly because things were so damn strange. Bennett suddenly gets hunted and the only one who knows what happened is Taylor. Taylor isn’t saying anything though. Man, I wish I knew what happened. I seriously thought Bennett was one of the good guys and now he’s suddenly a Tradition violator... I just don’t get it.”
Heathcliff is pleasantly surprised. "You mean, the Carthians vote on their leaders?" His eyes glaze over with joy at the thrill of politics. "That's wonderful. You probably have committees too, and processes, regulations..." He sighs. Heathcliff obviously loves what most consider tedious. "Don't worry, Arnoud, I'll keep the terms of your election to myself. As to what happened..." The Seneschal considers what he could tell him.
"I fear I'm not at liberty to reveal much, besides that there were extenuating circumstances regarding Bennett's Embrace of Veronica Horton without the Prince's permission. Apparently, he knew the woman, and she was near death. If you need to know more," he says with a pause for emphasis, "find O-Yama." He takes another long drink, and shudders inwardly. Hunters. "But be careful."
He considers Arnoud's term of office. "Three months doesn't seem like long enough to accomplish much," he mentions.
“Near death you say?” Arnoud nods again. A whole Covenant screwed over by the equivalent of a pityfuck. “Yeah… I can see how that would work. Jack always had a lot of heart. Damnit…” It could be so easy, Arnoud could look Heathcliff in the eye and order the young vampire to tell him everything he knew. Afterwards Arnoud could just erase the memory or even replace it with something pleasant for Heathcliff to thank him. Part of Arnoud wanted to, even considered it something he might owe to the Movement… but a more powerful part reminded Arnoud why he was even here. How could he ever start again if he perverted even this relationship? Besides O-Yama might be intimidating but not nearly so as the wrath of the Prince. There was always a chance Arnoud had missed a bug, overestimated himself or underestimated his ‘peers’. “Thanks for sharing, Heathcliff,” Arnoud decides to say, it was true and he actually questioned if he could be this truthful but damnit. “I really appreciate it.”
“And three months isshort. But yeah, you guessed it, we vote on major decisions, have committees, regulations, procedures… Three months is what we agreed on. People were caught off guard by Jack’s… departure so now we’re reassessing how we can do things better. I hope that in my three months I can contribute something to the structure and regulations. I don’t need to be Prefect to contribute but it makes things easier. I plan to make the most of it.” “If I do well I might even get re-elected when my term is up.” Arnoud wasn’t sure he wanted that but knew he had to keep up some appearances. Pausing slightly to give Heathcliff the opportunity to ask more questions Arnoud prepares his own.
The Seneschal smiles as his own assessment of Carthian politics proved true, and takes another drink of scotch, emptying his glass. "I like structure," he says wistfully.
"I know I've started this whole thing by saying 'no politics'" Arnoud says with a smile. "and I'll try to keep the recruitment talk to an absolute minimum but why not check out the Movement? Sit in on a few meetings, see how things go. Hell, I almost half-expected you to ask last time we spoke. I'd think it would suit you perfectly."
Heathcliff gives Arnoud a weak smile. "Oh, haven't you heard? I've joined the Lancea et Sanctum, Arnoud. My Sire was right, it is where I belong." The Nosferatu goes about refilling his glass. "More?" he offers the Prefect.
Arnoud just stares at Heathcliff for a moment, subconsciously lifting his glass in a reflex dating back to his breathing days. Then he bursts out laughing, a hard boisterous laugh that eclipses all others he'd ever let loose in Kindred company. "Oh man, you actually had me going there for a second. Good one!" Arnoud rolls his eyes as he imitates Heathcliff "'My Sire was right.'"
Of course, Arnoud wasn't buying that. The last time they spoke, Heathcliff questioned the Sanctified's doctrine and made clear he wanted nothing to do with them, or his rabidly evangelical Sire. He merely continues smiling wanly, as he says, "I'm not joking, Arnoud. I spoke with Mother Superior, and she convinced me of my Sire, and God's, plan for my Requiem." He doesn't sound convinced.
Arnoud stopped laughing. Immediately.
“Are we talking about the same psychotic born-again fundamentalist Sire that re-made you in his own twisted image?” Arnoud asks, still unbelieving, until Heathcliff’s face reveals the answer.
Blood and Beast surge and Arnouds tumbler cracks, then breaks and splinters, crushed into nothing but glassy splinters. Fangs prominent Arnoud doesn’t even register the pain. “GODDAMNIT!” he roars as he in one smooth motion jumps up from his seat. The Prince’s Vinculum was one thing, he couldn’t have possibly prevented that, but this was a violation he could scarcely believe. WHO DID THAT BITCH THINK SHE WAS?! But there was nobody here to attack, none save Heathcliff himself. With great exertion of will Arnoud pushes the Beast back.
Heathcliff backs away at Arnoud's violent reaction, dropping his own glass to the floor as he raises his hands defensively. He hadn't expected that.
“FUCK!” He was still screaming. Arnoud closes his eyes and actually counts back from ten.
Once again somewhat composed he looks at his hand, heals the wound and sits back down.
“Heathcliff, this is nothing to feel guilty over. I knew this might happen but thought I had more time.” Taking a deep breath Arnoud prepared himself for what was coming next. “I need to tell you something. Have you ever heard the words Toreador or Dominate or anything like that?”
The carpet dampens the fall, keeps it from breaking. He's got one hand on the door handle, pulled down, by the time Arnoud has calmed down. He lets it rise back to the shut position, but keeps his back to the door. "It's alright, really," he says. He isn't sure of the first thing he said, but he understands Dominate. His own eyes turn away from Arnoud. "Dominate, yes, I know what that Discipline is."
“Oh, for fuck’s sake don’t be so damned paranoid. If I wanted to do what you think I want to I wouldn’t warn you beforehand.” Breathing in and out, deeply, Arnoud finishes composing himself. He was being inefficient and –worse– ineffective. “Heathcliff…” Arnoud starts before sighing one last time. “Look I’m sorry I got mad. Please sit back down.”
Arnoud seemed to have composed himself. "Alright," he says slowly. "I don't like violence, Arnoud," he says to his friend diplomatically, clearly defining a personal boundary. "Why has this upset you so?"
Sorry for getting upset because somebody raped your mind, Heathcliff. No, pettiness wasn’t going to get them anywhere. “As I do, Heathcliff. It just caught me off-guard. Now I’ll be defining ‘it’ and if you could make sure to keep yourself in check now that would be great.”
Man, how to broach a subject like this. Lowering his voice Arnoud gives it a shot.
“You know of Disciplines, the name we give to our… abilities. There is a Discipline powerful beyond belief, a Discipline that allows one to bend wills, hollow you out until you’re nothing but a mindless puppet… it also allows one to erase, change or reconfigure memories. If ever given a name most call this ability Dominate because it allows the user to complete conquer someone’s will, to dominate them. Toreador are a subsect of Daeva that have a natural affinity for it and I long suspected Mariel is a Toreador. My Sire was a Toreador too and like calls to like. I’m pretty sure Mariel has reshaped your memories to get you to join the Lancea et Sanctum. There is no way in Hell some crazy old lady could talk you into joining the Sanctified. ”
Bomb dropped.
Heathcliff smiles sadly and shakes his head. Arnoud was trying to look out for him, he just didn't understand. "Listen, Arnoud. I haven't had my mind messed with." Oh, how he wishes he could just pull out his wallet and show Arnoud how beautiful his daughter, Rachel, was, as he used to do when he was alive just a few short years ago, and not dead, damned, entrenched in the Danse Macabre. He couldn't trust anyone with that. "I can't really explain it to you, but, just...trust me."
“Heathcliff…” he wasn’t getting it. Shit. “Look, it’s like a VCR. Once you know how it works you can delete what’s on tapes –memories– and record new stuff on them. If someone is proficient enough they could convince you you were a turtle until yesterday when a bus came by and suddenly you were a human. You would believe this because there’s nothing left to contradict it.” Alright this explanation wasn’t going over nearly as well as he’d hoped. “Look, what I’m trying to explain is that there is no way you can know someone hasn’t messed with your mind. Someone could have messed with your mind and just taped a new memory over it. Tell me, do you still remember what you said about your Sire during our last meeting?"
"Yes, that he's a brilliant, driven man of vision." Heathcliff laughs, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm kidding, Arnoud. I said he was a fundamentalist nutjob, or something to that effect. He still is. Listen. The Church is an ancient, powerful Covenant. But it needs new ideas, new direction. You said you joined the Carthian Movement to change vampire society, and I remarked how difficult that must be, remember?"
"The Lancea et Sanctum has been courting me since the moment of my Embrace, earlier, in fact. I have the same desire you have, to see change, so that what my Sire took from me is no longer acceptable. I feel the best way to accomplish this is from within, rather than without."
"You are a good friend, Arnoud. Trust me when I say, I'm not quite as easily broken as you might think." He smiles, and looks the Prefect in the eye again for the first time since his outburst.
Eye contact. He was getting through to him. Trust me on this Heathcliff, I know what I’m talking about here.
“Heathcliff! The Carthian Movement is a Covenant specifically designed to foster change from within the system. The Lancea et Sanctum have done nothing but monstrously terrorize and scour humanity for hundreds, even thousands of years! It hasn’t ever changed in all that time despite all the attempts there have undoubtedly been by men such as yourself!”
“You’re still mostly human. You can’t honestly wish to scare, torture and kill humans until Judgment Day. Have you no love left for humans? Have you so forsaken your humanity? Jesus, Heathcliff, I’ve seen Sanctified beat an old lady until she could no longer move just because she didn’t wear a cross and say a prayer when assaulted! This can’t be what you want. And you can’t expect me to believe they recruited you because the Mother Superior herself decided the Covenant needed a fresh wind and you were it.”
“This doesn’t make any sense and you know it. Heathcliff, please. PLEASE! I'm begging you. I’m your friend. Let me help you!”
There was nothing for it. Heathcliff was in an unfamiliar position; he didn't have any bullshit that Arnoud was going to buy. He could keep trying, he could keep making things up, but...Arnoud would go digging now. If Mother Superior knew about his family, it was likely that the Prince knew, that maybe even Arnoud already knew, or could find out, if he dug deep enough... And he was terribly tired of lying. It was time to see if Arnoud was, indeed, his friend. "I can explain," he says quietly. "Please, I am trusting you here, Arnoud. Don't betray me." He pulls out his wallet, opens it, and shows it to Arnoud. As he releases the Shadow upon it, a photograph of a cute, young blonde girl in pony tails and a white dress comes into view.
"This is Rachel. She's my daughter. Isn't she beautiful?" His voice brims with pride and heartache. "I have a wife, too. Ex-wife, anyway. Her name is Beth. Mother Superior told me she knew about my family. Anything that woman says is a threat. I can't risk having the Church come after my family, Arnoud." The Blush still active, tears well in his eyes. "I failed them. I was supposed to keep them safe, keep them out of this. I don't know how long I can protect them."
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