Four walls make a home

[Jacque]

Curbside in front of the club, three black Cadillac Escalades waited curbside for their arrival. A door to the second SUV was accompanied by a uniformed driver and upon Milton's approach he opened it for his guest to enter. The SUV itself had tinted windows through the rear, and a soundproof panel installed to separate the driver's cabin from the passenger area. The second bench of seating was reversed to face the back of the vehicle, so that anyone claiming the rear bench would face them. Jacque was waiting inside, his back to the divider swirling a glass while reading local news.

He put down the paper upon hearing the door open and gestured to the seat across from him, "Good evening Mister Northbridge, please have a seat." His beast stirred at the presence of Milton's. It would be easy prey in the kill box. Back in your cage, the Lord thought to himself, pressing back the urges. There was more value in his fellow Lord alive.

[Milton]

Milton arrives at the appointed location and time precisely when directed. Indeed, he'd parked early, a block away from the club, giving him plenty of leeway to walk the rest of the distance. His attire for the evening, as would be expected, is not very remarkable. The care he takes is in the details: the tailoring of each item, their impeccable cleanliness. He is without the blush, preferring to stay cold and still when meeting with a monster of greater station.

Upon his approach, the door is opened. He does not spare the driver a glance, only checks the interior. Upon seeing Jacque, he enters.

Milton slides into the back of the vehicle and assumes the seat indicated by his Priscus. When the door is firmly closed, he finally offers his greeting: "Good evening, seneschal. A pleasure as always." He takes a moment to inspect the interior of Jacque's Escalade, "Thank you for the invitation."

This is Jacque's show. He'd requested the meeting. So, Milton waits: unbreathing and patient, not presuming to dictate the direction of their conversation. It is the seneschal's dance to lead.

[Jacque]

"Oh? Likewise," he grinned at the admission of pleasure. For one reason or another, he had seen most Lords not stay in Sacramento for long. Disappointing to see so much potential wasted to the winds. Milton's persistence was a refreshing change, despite his dry presentation. "I hope things have gone well with your personal business interests," finance and all that jazz. "I imagine the fact you're still around is a tribute to a smooth transition."

The Escalade started moving as they conversed, "If you don't mind, please tell me how you've been incorporating your skills with matters of the Domain." An odd question given who was asking it, but still a question that expected an answer.

[Milton]

"Quite well, thank you for asking." He meets his Priscus' grin with a smile that is as forgettable as Jacque's is charming. "I am happy to report that both private and public clients move more work my way with every passing night."

The vehicle moves and Milton sits back slightly to accommodate the change in balance. Other than that, he is unnaturally still. Unblinking. If Jacque's question catches him off guard, it is not apparent.

"I don't mind at all. Of late, I've been assisting with an investigation into some sort of...threat to the domain. A scavenger, it would seem, come to pick scraps from our table. The effort is being led by Priscus Durant and Mr. Smith. They required someone with certain capabilities to interface with the Kine. Specifically, the coroners office. I volunteered my services, to satisfactory results, and with all due discretion. Using my connections with the city and my native charm," Milton purses his lips, it's almost a smirk, he knows that most would not call him charming, "I was able to gain Dr. Moore access to the morgue. I was also able to confirm that no undue questions would be asked about the creature's...activities. Or ours."

He falls silent. If Jacque probes, he will respond in kind. But, for now, the report seems quite sufficient to Milton's mind. Who else, other than Jacque himself, could have achieved what Milton had, faced with that particular situation?

[Jacque]

"Ah yes, the thing Priscus Durant has named the Jackal, yes?" He hummed in thought of his report, "That is very good work. Infiltrating the coroner's office could have worked against you, had you failed to any degree. Her Grace's laws around not disturbing government buildings and functions were a result of a pair of Kindred who did not know when to walk away from a failed attempt." He silently ponders a moment before adding, "At that very location, actually."

"How has Priscus Durant and Mister Smith's leadership been on this matter?" His eyes focused closely on the corpse across from him. "Any critiques to offer?" He knew what most Kindred wanted themselves to be portrayed as, but Jack was more interested in how others viewed them.

[Milton]

"Indeed," Milton confirms. "The very one." The Jackal. A ridiculous name, to his mind. Especially when they know next to nothing about the entity itself. But, the moniker's origin had been Quinn. So a touch of the ridiculous is to be expected. Call it a maker's mark.

"Thank you, Seneschal. I'm pleased with the result of our excursion. There will be no trouble from that quarter." He does not say anymore on the matter. He is well aware of the Prince's interdiction surrounding government buildings. The more he elaborates, the more risk. Milton does not take unnecessary risks.

"No critiques at the moment. I was only present for a planning meeting ahead of the subsequent action. It was a large group with many voices and opinions. They appeared to steer things ably enough." As much as he would like to say otherwise, he cannot find fault with Quinn on that front. Or JC (not that he has given the savage much thought in general). And what would be the point in inventing stories? No, safer to register no complaints and move along.

"There is still ground to be covered on that front, though I'm afraid my usefulness in that situation may have exhausted itself." A rueful smile, "I've never been much of big game hunter." He prefers the old, the weak, the vulnerable. Easy prey.

[Jacque]

"Good," he nodded. He was both surprised and somewhat disappointed at the lack of insight, but not wishing to make waves wasn't entirely a bad quality on its own.

"Always a plus to be cognizant of your own strengths and place yourself where they can be best leveraged," he replied to his last comment. Seeing no meat on the bones to chew through, he moved on to his next topic, "Mister Northbridge, did I ever share with you any history about the Priscii before me?"

"The first from my arrival was a Harpy. There was at that time around six notable Ventrue, including herself, and she decided she wanted to appoint a whip, as was her responsibility. However, instead of appointing one, she decided to make a debate of it and have each Lord dictate to her why they should be and the others should not be." His lips pursed into a disappointed frown, "I was the victor in that debate, however the Priscus' tactic created a schism within the clan that festered beyond repair. Our cousins did not take kindly to failing in their bid, and chose to collaborate to undermine me from that point forward."

[Milton]

"I strive to be clear-headed about my own capabilities," he responds with a humble smile. "Doing otherwise could prove dangerous. For myself and for others." Nothing gets you, or those around you, in trouble faster than an overestimation of one's abilities. Realism is the best, the most prudent, policy.

"No, you have not," Milton says. And then, he listens. And learns. Absorbing the brief history of their clan in Sacramento.

When Jacque has paused in the telling, the undead accountant speaks: "If I may be frank, I would call that a failure of leadership. Because this former Priscus was not willing to make a decision herself, and deal with the consequences of that decision, she put the onus on her family. The result? Strife."

Kindred society is neo-feudal. For a reason. Monsters do not operate well in a pure meritocracy. Some opportunity to prove oneself is good. But the stronger predator must have the final say, or else: chaos. The Beast is not made for democratic processes, does not understand debate. Jacque's story is a case study of this very dynamic.

Milton's bland gaze settles on the Seneschal, silently imploring him to continue.

[Jacque]

"Yes," he agreed, pleased that Milton picked up on the moral of the story so quickly, "It was hard to see her failure at the time. Pride isn't exactly an uncommon trait of ours, so I had assumed things would level out after they licked their wounds."

"The Ordo Dracul was a large and very politically driven group at the time, led by a Grand Wyrm that also served as the Domain's Sheriff. She was very effective at leveraging the influence not only she had, but that her Covenant commanded in numbers and deputies," Jack sets down his glass off to the side in a holder, "In the following months, the Prince announced she was seeking a Keeper for her Elysium, and where the job itself wasn't entirely glamorous it was a Court position and a much welcome opportunity to shift some influence towards the clan of Kings." He smiled before adding the obvious implication, "Our Priscus, of course, charged us with securing the position."

He returned his gaze to Milton, "That night started with a politically driven argument manufactured by the Grand Wyrm, focused on eroding the Harpy's standing. It ended with one Lord backing the Grand Wyrm against our Priscus and the other one invoking the rite of Monomacy against me to try and sway the Prince against considering me for Keeper- in favor of the Dragon's candidate for Keeper." His expression fell flat, save for a furrowed brow, "It was a complete betrayal."

[Milton]

The Ordo Dracul, a 'large and very politically driven' force in the domain? How times change. Milton's unsure if there are any Dragons present in Sacramento as of tonight. Something to look into...

The Lord continues to listen, attentive and unmoving. While the history is very enlightening, he's beginning to wonder where this is all going. Internal strife... Family betrayal... What could his Priscus be trying to communicate? Had Milton acted in some way to signal a lack of loyalty? He's sure that cannot be the case, but perhaps Jacque had gotten the wrong impression. Or he had been persuaded to see things that way...

Milton frowns at these thoughts. But, the story itself is disturbing, so the gesture cannot appear out of place.

For the traitors to act so boldly: either the Dragons were a truly powerful bloc, or the Grand Wyrm wielded terrible power. "Betrayal, indeed. Though very clumsy in my estimation. The lines of division must have been obvious to even a casual observer..." Milton trails off, giving Jacque the room to continue. And perhaps to fully unveil what, exactly, he is driving at, if this is more than just a history lesson...