Arise and Walk

[Robert Cross]

Events occur directly after this glimpse.

Cross has been silent since helping to free Longstreet from his chains.

Silent as his fellow Haunt stands and stretches for the first time in a month.

Silent as he left and returned with a bucket of fetid water so his Brother could wash the blood from himself.

Silent as he handed Longstreet the jeans and white t-shit he'd brought.

Silent as Longstreet dressed.

He simply watches, ignoring the corpse sprawled nearby. The Offering he'd brought Longstreet's Beast. A necessity, nothing more. And no longer of concern.

Finally, with Longstreet properly cleaned and clothed, the Burned Man deigns to speak:

"How do you feel, Brother?"

It is a simple question. But a loaded one. Cross has no idea what torpor does to one of the Damned. But there's much to accomplish. Longstreet must be informed of recent developments. And then presented to either the Reeve, the Prince, or both. This is the best way Cross can think of to start that process.

[West]

You know what they say about assumptions, Clarice?

[Robert Cross]

Cross stares, unblinking, as his Brother appoints himself. Where once there was only a Beast, the Man has returned. Cross is not fooled, though. After tonight he knows, in a way beyond the intellectual, what waits inside all of them. Not just the Monster, but its unending hunger. Even now, he can feel the flames of his Beast stirring in response to Longstreet's predatory presence. A constant reminder of what will happen if he loses control.

The questions come, and Cross lets them. It's no surprise. He'd want to know too, if he were in Longstreet's place.

As for the corpse in the room with them, Cross simply waves it off, not even looking at it. It's an extremely callous gesture. "Wheat is meant to be harvested," he replies. "Besides, he had long ago abandoned his God."

And they are Holy Wolves, set loose among the flock to punish such individuals.

Now, the answers:

"You were under for a month. Down here. I've kept a watch, waiting for tonight. The Reeve, on behalf of the Prince, requested you be moved to the Nox, but you woke before I was able to comply. I have kept you as safe as I could." A beat.

"You were the only one among us who fell at the warehouse. The Brood we met there are ash." A dry tongue unconsciously licks scarred lips. The thought of battle seems especially sweet to Cross at just this moment. "We did for them, just fine." He can almost hear the shotgun booming in the dark.

"Problem is, Alice lost control." It does not seem wrong, using her proper name here, between them. "And she was already being punished for a previous incident." A long pause as the Burned Man tightens the reigns on his Beast. "The Reeve saw. She knew. And, at a meeting recently, Alice was staked. I haven't been able to meet with the Reeve yet to discuss the terms or length of her punishment. All I know is she's at the Nox..." As he speaks, his voice is harder and harder, colder and colder, flatter and flatter. It is clear the Burned Man is not happy.

Still, ever the pragmatist, Cross forces himself to move on: "There's nothing to be done on that front. At least not right now. The first thing we need to do is meet with the Reeve. Possibly the Prince. Show them you're back on your feet." With that he stops, observing his Brother closely, trying to gauge his reaction to this flood of information.

[Robert Cross]

"A month," Cross echoes.

"And I'm not sure. The Prince is not one to explain his motives. Especially to the likes of me. All I know is what the Reeve told me: bring you to the Nox. I didn't like the idea, giving you up. But what could I do?" He pauses, wrestling again with his anger. "But, here we are. So..."

Longstreet's word of thanks elicits a shrug from the Burned Man. Not a dismissive gesture, really. Simply: what else was there to do? "We're Brothers. In faith, family, and now in battle." It's the truth. Everything that Cross holds dear, he shares with Longstreet. "And there are more battles ahead. We have yet to flush out the Brood from their other nests. You'll have your chance for revenge." His smile is a cold and scar-twisted thing. "When we speak with the Reeve, we can start forming a strategy to deal with them. And she can let us know if the Prince will require our presence, I'm sure." Is his tone flatter, more emotionless than usual? Perhaps.

"As for the Alchemists, we met with them recently. Strange breathers with stranger requests. Still trying to figure out what, exactly, they want with us. I have some leads though. One of whom is of special interest. He possesses a certain book. A hunting manual. I may need your help with that when the time comes." The Burned Man leaves it at that for now.

Any other interesting things? Isn't that enough? Cross thinks. "Unfortunately, I don't have much more information on developments in the domain. I've been focused on Family Matters."

[Robert Cross]

"Yeah. Missed you like a hole in the head." The sarcastic reply comes out of no where. Perhaps it's out of character. But then again, maybe it's just that Longstreet doesn't know Cross that well. Or it could be he's actually serious. Hard to tell.

"But I guess it's okay to have you back."

His Brother's urgency concerning the Brood is understandable. And shared. "Oh, they are. But let them. For now. Any time those idiots waste scheming will come to nothing. Whatever they think up, it'll just be the warehouse again. Blood and rage and thoughtlessness. And we won that...In the end." A beat, as he looks over the resurrected Longstreet. He'd fallen of course. But he's back. The Brood they'd fought? Nothing can come back from ash. "We'll meet with the Reeve as soon as possible. We'll plan. And we'll execute." Cross makes it sound simple. But there's no other choice. Either they turn back this black tide or the domain is overrun.

"We learned they have no idea who or what we are," he answers concerning the Alchemists. "But they think we're something and that we're invested in their experiment concerning whatever it is they mean by the 'Golden Dawn.'" He sneers at the mysticism of these Breathers. "We learned the names of a lot of esoteric ingredients needed for this process, that they'd like us to acquire." Names the Burned Man will share later. "We learned that the original two have parted ways over unknown differences. And it's the one who wasn't present--the hunchback--who has that book." He frowns. "I'm not sure where it comes from. Or who wrote it. But I do know that it's a masquerade breach in and of itself. And he's trying to sell it." Something that obviously must be stopped.

"Cynthia is still around. She's volunteered to resurrect the garbage pit down here. Which is good." A pause. "We asked her to attend the meeting with the Alchemists in your place. She was very useful." Indeed, Cynthia had smoothed over Alice's difficulty with the conversation, and her sudden departure.

At Longstreet's final question, Cross gives him a scar-twisting smirk: "Isn't that enough? You in torpor. Alice in torpor. Occult activities involving us in ways we can't understand. A written guide on hunting and killing the Damned. Do you need anything else?" A dry chuckle in the dark.

But air? Yeah, that sounds good. "Sure. Let's go up." Again, that dismissive gesture toward the corpse. "I'll take care of this mess later." He turns smartly on his heel and begins retracing his way through the catacombs. Knowing Longstreet will follow.

"So what's it like anyway? Torpor, I mean." The questions is blunt, direct. No beating around the bush with Cross. Even if he should.

[Robert Cross]

"Most likely," he replies. There's little doubt in Cross's mind that the Brood have superior numbers. But numbers mean very little without proper direction, coordination, and discipline. Three things those assholes decidedly lack. "We'll just have to be ready for them when they come." Cross can't help but look forward to it. The rage and strain of his Beast burns, longing for Blood, in his chest.

"There is one more thing, however, that may prove an advantage for us. We know at least one of their leaders: a Haunt named Dirge. Former member of the domain. The Reeve is working with the Royal Archon, Twist, to arrange a little...play date." A brutal smile makes a horror show of the Burned Man's scarred features. "Hopefully, we're all invited." Perhaps Longstreet already knew this. Cross can't remember. But it's worth repeating. "That would mean one more piece off the board for them." And a powerful one at that.

He nods: "Ingredients. Weird shit: 'The Eye of Thoth. The Breath of Life or Death. The Aspect of the Ibis. The Unadulterated Vitriol. The Light From a Dead Star,'" he recites the list from memory. Looking slightly annoyed at the nonsense he's speaking. "All of it's supposed to make something called 'the Water of Life' or 'the Aqua Vitae.'" He shrugs. "Like I said: bullshit."

Cross lets the topic of torpor drop, figuring his Brother is in no mood to discuss it at the moment. Can't blame him for trying. The next question, though, comes as a surprise. You'd think he'd be used to answering it. But, when you're part of their Family, people tend to assume any disfigurement to be the result of their 'Curse.' Which, in this instance, is only partially correct.

"Not a firefighter. Cop. Detective, actually. But I'd left the force by the time I got these." There's a moment of silence, the sound of their steps splashing through the catacombs echoes in the Burned Man's ears. "I was still alive. Ghouled up by my sire. Working security for him. We went to a meet. Some Lordly fucker. LA big wig, or thought he was anyway." Another pause. It's been a while since he's told this story. "So, Vic's in the Ventrue's limo. And I'm behind them in my car. Keeping watch. And the next thing I know, both vehicles are on fire and I can't get out. Turns out Vic could, though." Sick Vic had been one strong motherfucker. "I must've passed out. When I woke up, I was Damned. But these," he gestures toward his face with an equally scarred hand, "never went away." It'd taken him a year to fully accept that.

"And the smell didn't either."