An evening conversation

[Alessandra]

What draws your eye is in the center of the room, an expensive desk that was a rich dark mahogany. It was large enough for her to work on multiple things, but not too large to overshadow her.

The butterflies were placed here and there, adding her own unique style to the room.

On the desk was the standard items on it, papers, small lamp, a computer. There was also a tall glass dome. Beside the glass dome was another one, this one held the same brightly colored butterflies, but had a darker, sinister twist to it. There was a skull in this one, with the butterflies placed artfully around it. Another skull with butterflies on it was placed on a shelf behind her.

There wasn’t really art on the walls. But there were shadow boxes placed around the room with various colors of pinned butterflies. Some blue, some green and some a mixture.

Playing softly from speakers placed around the room was Beethoven.

The wall behind the seating area had a painting hanging, The Young Martyr, a small light hanging above it. Illuminating it softly.

Two new chairs sat in front of the desk, Italian made and a deep shade of brown. There was a seating area was set in one of the corners. Which had two chairs and a couch around a coffee table. There were lamps on that offered a soft and comfortable glow, nothing too bright.

The Savage sat at the seating area, wearing a yellow dress and going through folders. Sitting beside her chair, was a rather large rottweiler, pushing at least one hundred and twenty pounds. And clearly, not a regular canine, no. This was a hellhound, and it was nothing but muscle with hate emanating from its eyes.

Gabriele stood off to the side, either awaiting orders or waiting to be dismissed, his eyes on the door.
Milton Endymion

[Milton]

Tonight is perhaps the most consequential of Milton's time in Sacramento. Tonight, he meets with the Prince. At her invitation, no less.

In the nights leading up to their appointment, Milton has obsessed over his attire. Finally, he settles on a navy blue suit, a tie and shirt in shades of purple, and a purple and gold pocket square. He'll never be handsome, but at least he looks sharp. Likewise, he finishes the task of inserting and securing the model Bireme (itself completed months ago) into a display case worthy of the piece.

He arrives at the Nox with his gift hidden under a carefully draped length of red cloth, carrying the 2.5 foot case in his own arms as he makes his way through the club upstairs, ignoring the curious looks of the Kine. He could care less what the cattle might think. Descends the stairs carefully. To trip now would be a disaster.

As above, so below: Milton pays no mind to any attention his passage may garner from the random Kindred lingering in Elysium. This is only partially out of a sense of his own superiority. Really, he is preparing himself mentally for the encounter to come.

Finally, he finds himself outside the door to the Prince's office, which stands open. Framed in the door, he peers inside, finding the Prince with his eyes. His Beast rocks him to the core, demanding his flight, but Milton ignores it. Instead, he announces himself softly, without stepping foot into the Apex Predator's space: "Good evening, Your Grace." He will not enter until she bids him too.

[Alessandra]

Her Beast notices before she does. Stirring with rage, snarling with threats of blood and violence. But Ale shoves it aside, there was no need for blood tonight, at least, not yet. Things tended to change on a dime in their world.

Looking up, a smile was offered as the folder was closed, “Good evening Mr Northbridge,” she begins, “please, come in.” she invites him before looking to her Ghoul, handing him the folder, and without a word, he nodded and left the room, closing the door after Milton entered. “And have a seat.” Gesturing to the other couch.

Cain, for the most part, watched. Eyes pitch black, but the hate emanating from him. He stays on the side of Ale, not moving, not blinking.

“I have to say, that’s quite the box you carry.” Even though she didn’t know what it contained, she was curious.

“Thank you for meeting with me, how have you been?”

[Milton]

Her smile is objectively stunning, but the influence of her potent Beast renders Milton incapable of enjoying it at first. Colored by the Monster's desperation to flee, that display of teeth only conveys its most primal meaning: a threat display. A snarl.

But the Man is the master of the ship. Even if the Beast is the ocean on which the vessels sails. So, Milton keeps his hand steady at the tiller and returns her smile. His is much less brilliant, but it is earnest despite his internal turmoil.

"Thank you, Your Grace. And thank you for inviting me this evening" the Lord says, brushing past Gabriel without a second look as he enters. The human may be imposing, and he may serve the Prince, but he is still only kine. Nothing more.

His movements are slow, methodical, as he crosses the space to the proffered seat. His eyes sweep the room, taking in the decor. Memorizing it. Down to its smallest detail.

Remember this Room, 4 successes

Date	Action	Roll	Result
2021-09-05 19:36:43	Milton rolls 6 to Intell + Comp (10 Again)	3, 10, 10, 1, 9, 4, 10, 2, 4	4 successes

Upon reaching the seating area, Milton sets the cloth draped box on the coffee table between them and then bows to the Prince. The gesture is stiffly formal and held for several beats longer than a mortal might find comfortable.

Finally he sits, his posture very correct. "A gift, Your Grace. For you. It's not the piece we discussed at court, but I hope it will bring you some small pleasure until my skills improve enough to fashion you something larger."

He watches the Prince closely, unsure whether she will want to uncover the gift herself, or whether she would prefer that he do so. Upon the smallest indication, he will act accordingly.

"I am very well, thank you for asking. Pleased at the chance to see your office. The butterflies are more beautiful than I could have imagined." His eyes travel the room once again, linger on her desktop skull for a moment though he does not pass comment. The only thing he does not appear to scrutinize is the Hell Hound. Milton would prefer to pretend that animal was not present at all. "And you, Your Grace? I hope your nights have been pleasant."

[Alessandra]

A simple nod, “After our conversation in Court, I was looking forward to continuing it.” And that was the truth. There seemed to be a bit more to bland man then he let on.

When he places the box on the coffee table, she was pleasantly surprised to hear it was a gift. Those were rare outside of the Invictus. While she was curious, the voice in the back of her mind wondered what he wanted. Gifts and praise were typical signs of someone fishing for something. It was annoying, but she’d see what the angle was.

A smile touched her lips, “A gift you say? I’m very curious, especially if it’s something you made yourself.” They had nothing but time to hone a talent, and she would get to see what his was.

The Savage would allow him to uncover it, as she leaned a bit closer to take in the details. “Mr Northbridge this is simply magnifica!” declares the Savage. “You made this?” dark eyes moving to the Lord. “Can you tell me something about it?” it was remarkable. Not something she was familiar with, but she was curious.

With the compliment about the butterflies, she nods once, “Grazie. It’s a hobby that has taught me patience.” Something that was vital for survival.

Cain didn’t appear fazed by being ignored. He had one purpose in life, and he was fulfilling it.

“I can’t complain, my nights have been filled with acquiring property and building my art portfolio. And that always makes for a pleasant evening.”

[Milton]

"I am happy to hear that, Your Grace. I have thought very much about our last conversation. It's a rare thing in our...society, engaging in a discussion that is both intellectually stimulating and pleasant." Sure, there's an element of flattery in his sentiment. But, in Milton's experience, it's also the truth. Kindred can grow so stagnant, intellectually and socially, losing all capacity for curiosity. The Prince may be the Apex Predator in the domain, but she is also inquisitive, a trait Milton prizes in any interlocutor (Prince or otherwise).

Taking the cue that she would prefer that he uncover the gift, Milton pulls away the red cloth draped over the display case. It pools on the ground at his feet like blood. "You guess correctly, I did make this myself. Well, it is a model, so it is sold as a kit. But I prepared, treated, bent, painted, assembled, and affixed." It had taken many hours of work to bring the piece to completion. He is obviously very pleased, even proud, in the face of her appreciation. He's fairly beaming with that pride, though his native blandness keeps it from becoming an overt display. "This is the boat we spoke about at court, a Bireme, used by the Assyrians, the Greeks, possibly even later Phoenicians. This vessel permitted travel over long distances and thus facilitated migrations in the Mediterranean world during a crucial period of exploration, expansion, and intermingling." He gives the ship a loving look, lost in his description. His voice, slightly touched by a Boston Brahmin accent, is soft, contemplative. "More than anything, it was a war machine. Designed for speed, thus the two sets of oars on either side, and amphibious assault, which a prow that could easily mount a sandbank or the shore itself. The invention of this vessel completely changed the ancient world. And the course of history."

With that, he seems to realize he's been rambling and looks slightly embarrassed, "My apologies, Your Grace, I think you know at this point that I can go on..." One last look at the gift and then his full attention is back on her.

The butterflies, "Yes, patience indeed," he replies with an understanding nod. "I see now that it is not just the patience of cataloguing, but the patience of design. Some of these arrangements are truly complex." He glances at one of the domed displays cases as he speaks. "Do you plan their orientation, or is it more...intuitive?"

Art? Milton understands it from an investment angle. And he enjoys a walk through the museum. Given his class position and educational background, he likely knows more than most people, in a casual way. But collecting? It has not occurred to him that such an activity might be rewarding.

"A wise investment, Your Grace. Art, like real estate, is one place where one's assets can offer real pleasure in a very direct fashion. One cannot admire the beauty of one's stocks." Unless you're as sick as Milton. "This piece behind your desk, for instance. I imagine it is worth quite a lot. And that it will double its value shortly." One does not need to be a curator or aficionado to devise that much. "But, beyond that, it is in the room with us now. A beautiful and intriguing thing. Money is wonderful, but you wouldn't frame it." An amused smile at his little joke. "Does it have a name?" Referring to the painting.

[Alessandra]

There was a nod of understanding, “Not to mention it was nice to just have a conversation that didn’t include politics or someone asking for something.” She was Prince, yes. But she was also Alessandra and could be social.

Leaning forward, she nods as she listens, eyes studying the ship. Details taken in. “It is spectacular, artfully done.” This was something you displayed for all to see. “Oh? It is?” looking again, then focusing on the Lord as he described the ship. “Fascinating!” she whispers, then a shake of her head, “No need to apologize! I actually find it quite interesting to hear about. Learning about things I have no knowledge on is enjoyable. And with the passion you speak with, I’d like to hear more.” She was never opposed to learning about new things. She had eternity, why not learn?

Glancing at a few of the displays, “I would say over the years it’s become more intuitive. I find the specimen I want to use, and then let it go from there. Too often if things like art are planned, they rarely go as intended.” And it could be frustrating. But battles? Those needed to be planned carefully.

“I’m still relatively new to collecting art, only getting into a few years ago.” Nodding, “But they have proven to be quite the investment. Some pieces have been lent out to galleries.” Which was an added source of income. “That one is ‘The Young Martyr’ by Paul Delaroche, a French painter and sculptor. The piece was finished in 1855, a year before his death, and isn’t the only piece I have by him.” Looking back to the Lord, “Is art an interest of yours?”

[Milton]

The Prince's comment draws a sympathetic smile, "Yes, I imagine that many of your conversations revolve around those two poles, Your Grace." Cost of doing business, Milton supposes. Though it must get exhausting. "Rest easy, while I am a political creature--I might argue all Kindred are by necessity--I find that topic exceedingly boring. Besides, if you are discussing politics, you are not enacting politics. And what good is that?" A chuckle. "As for the latter, I was raised to avoid asking for anything. Taught that it was gauche. Either be good enough to be given what you deserve. Or be strong enough to take it." A pause. "The first would be up to your discretion. And I wouldn't even consider the second." That should be obvious. But there's no need to give the strongest Monster in Sacramento a reason to think you're looking to take what is theirs.

Her continued praise affects the Lord subtly. Somehow, he manages to assume an even more correct posture, reflecting his pride. His quiet smile becomes a touch more pronounced. And his unblinking gaze remains fixed on the Prince's beautiful, if terrifying, visage. It's obvious he could get used to this.

"Well, I am glad to hear that, Your Grace. It's my pleasure." Milton does so love to exhibit his intelligence. "I will add this last detail: when I said before that the Bireme changed the course of history, I was not only referring to its military capacity. In general, this was truly a sea-faring vessel, quite a feat at that time. It allowed the Phoenicians to disperse their unique alphabet throughout the Mediterranean sphere, it made Greece into a naval power, and its descendants buttressed Roman expansionism. Without this boat, the world would look very different." A lesson in the lasting impacts of a new technology.

He listens as the Prince details her approach to displaying her collection. "I must say, I find that very intriguing. Possibly because I, myself, have a hard time with such intuitive action. Especially now...post embrace, as it were. How does it feel? To be so involved with a given activity that you simply let that activity guide you? Is it liberating? Frightening? Do you feel confident or lost?" It's clear Milton is fascinated by her process.

Attention turns to The Young Martyr. Milton considers it closely. "It is very beautiful. And mysterious, is it not? Is it daybreak or twilight? Is that a single figure, or two, on the horizon? Are they celebrating this martyrdom or bemoaning it?" A pause, his eyes returning to Alessandra. "I can appreciate the technical ability it requires, Your Grace. And the intelligence. As the son of a...certain milieu, I know enough about fine art to make conversation at a museum fund raiser. Beyond that, I find myself enjoying it as I would a good puzzle. Something to be investigated. If possible, something to decipher, to solve." Another chuckle. "I suppose that sounds very...unrefined."

[Alessandra]

There was a casual shrug, “It comes with the territory I suppose. But I do enjoy regular conversations about whatever comes up.” She wanted those conversations actually. A sly smile, “Yes, we all are political by nature. Even if there are those of us who try to fight it, it’s basic survival in our world.” That was that. A single nod, “Then we are of the same mind. I have always worked hard to achieve what I wanted, and expect those around me to do the same. If something is handed to you, have you really earned it?” oh, she was sure he had considered the second. It was nature, and she couldn’t fault him.

“That is quite fascinating to hear. I had no idea such a boat helped shape our world. But I suppose there are many things over the course of history that has helped shape the way things are. I’m not much of a historian, but I do enjoy hearing about it.” Sometimes you learned something new.

“An interesting question.” Not one she had ever been asked actually. “I would say it feels natural. See, I’ve had to rely on my intuition to guide me most of my life and unlife. But with the butterflies, it was a bit more difficult. I’m not artistic by nature. Sure, I can play the piano and pin butterflies, but I had to learn to relax enough to let my natural feelings guide me. So to speak. The hobby has opened a way for me to fully relax my mind and take comfort in the small details and guide my hands ever so carefully. I started out lost, but gained confidence over the years.” As with anything else.

Dark eyes look to the painting, “Yes, it is. That is what drew me to it. Not everyone sees the same thing.” She begins, “Some see a religious scene, while some see a scene of loss and sorrow. I’ve heard tell of those who refer to the piece as Ophelia.” Just depended on the person. Then a soft chuckle and shake of her head, “Not unrefined at all. Art is subjective, open to numerous interpretations. I find no one has a correct way of saying what they see in a piece. Sometimes we can learn from each other, and generate good conversation, over discussing what one sees.”

[Milton]

"Political by nature, my thoughts precisely, Your Grace. I will say this, though--and I wonder if you might agree: the true definition of politics is the exercise of power to produce a material change in the world, moving it closer to a more desirable situation. This can be achieved by an exemplary individual," such as the Prince herself, "or a group of like minded actors," your classic political party. "However, I find that many among our society view politics as something closer to the...current, diminished, mortal conception: a chance to express symbolic allegiance. A means by which to identify oneself with a certain group. In that instance, the political becomes mere discourse, even gossip, rather than the reshaping of the world in one's own image." He shakes his head, "To my mind, that is a sad state of affairs, and likely the source of the...boring talk you are often subjected to."

His smile takes on a predatory edge, "Indeed, to work for what one desires, to earn one's keep. That is the ideal. Perhaps that regrettable understanding of politics I mentioned before arises out of laziness, even fear, of such struggle. It is difficult, to truly strive, to change or mold one's situation by will and by perseverance." Every night is another battle, another contest, for dominance. "I imagine you know this much better than I, given your station..." He trails off here, clearly inviting Alessandra to respond. It's obvious that the Lord would love to hear more about the Savage's ascension to total power.

Milton attends to the Prince's explanation of her process and its intuitive characteristics. "What a great resource you have developed in that regard, Your Grace. I find myself constrained by a mind trained to respond in the most analytical mode possible. It serves me well, but also has its limits. Lately, though, I've realized that my crafting and wood working," a glance at her gift, "may provide something similar to your own hobbies." A pause, as he consider, "Do you find that this...intuitive approach colors the way you choose to exercise your sovereignty over the domain?"

Back to the painting: "It's fascinating how the technique itself lends an air of mystery. The content, as you've defined it, is undecidable. But it's the heavy use of chiaroscuro that, to my mind, really lends that...ambivalent air. The setting itself, the atmosphere, is obscure. The details barely emerging out of the gloom, tantalize the imagination, force one to consider that not all is as it appears." His focus returns to the Prince. "Do you have a preferred reading of the piece, Your Grace?" Milton assumes she does, given that she looks at the painting night after night.