(1607) Men and Their Titles

[Kenneth Gilroy]

Even with the shift in tone, Kenneth was fairly sure the conversation was still very dangerous. Fishing for information on who had done what. Identifying vulnerabilities in the Clan structure through its construction. Gilroy’s head bobbed in affirmation of Cross’ response. It was too late to do anything but confirm now.

“Not entirely, your Grace,” he replied to Twist “I was sole architect of the Temple to the Dark Prophet but our reading room, for example, was put together by Master Greenberg.” Though Gilroy had dictated the Annals’ topic. “I generally leave the projects of personal living spaces largely to the individuals that submit the proposal’s to me. Though, I do review to ensure any construction does not threaten the Masquerade.” Couldn’t have the Clan going around redirecting sewage flow and cutting underground gas lines.

“But my vision has always been to create a place of safety for my family and that I believe does extend throughout.”

And here was ploy, such as it was. Not a grand announcement as he’d planned but those that were smart would already be listening to any conversation the Prince was having.

“And since becoming Regent I have decided that it would be good idea to extend an invitation to those of other Clans to join the Regency.” Those that couldn’t already. Court officials already had those rights, though none had taken advantage of them yet.

“Should those that need to seek my permission be interested, provided they are willing to give a gift of Vitae mixed with hair, I would welcome those who would wish to help build and share the Underground’s prosperity.” An invitation to place spies in the Necropolis. An opportunity to tie other Clans to the Haunt’s continued existence. Hints of blood magic to act as disincentive to those that weren’t serious. He wondered how many would even suspect he’d be much more likely to run blood type tests than use sorcery.

[Asa]

Asa closed his eyes and imagined pulling Robert Cross' tongue out through an eye socket.

Whatever else the man was saying was lost in the wet, tearing sounds in his imagination. A hand reached out to lightly touch Twist.

"Mister Cross." Eyes opened. The smile and timbre were still pleasant, but Asa's eyes were a window into where he'd just been. "The Reeves of Sacramento have not chosen that title because they have been Invictus."

Or Sanctified. Or Crone. Or Dragons.

"They do so because I prefer alternates to the most common one."

Robert Cross could call himself The Flying Spaghetti Monster (now that Josephine was gone) of the Netherworld, for all Asa cared. Just. Not.

"Good evening, and thank you both for the history."

Asa turned and left.

And wondered what bit of Sorcery could be done with Vitae and hair.

[Robert Cross]

Cross listens closely to his Regent's explanation of the manner in which the Necropolis and the Deep Kingdom at large have developed over time. It's when Gilroy invites others to take up residence underground that Cross has to fight the urge to shoot the High Worm a surprised glance. What?! What is he doing? What of the Family's safety? Why?!

Still, he remains calm, at least externally. Because the Prince has begun to respond.

Everything about the Prince speaks to his composure, his elegance, his fastidious control over himself and his domain. His voice, his words, his posture, his attire. Everything but his eyes.

Those eyes. Christ, those eyes...

"I understand, Your Highness..." is all the burned man can get out by way of an answer to the Prince's statement of his preference concerning titles.

But I was given this title. I did not choose it. I... Cross cuts off the excuses, even if they are internal. There's no point in speaking them or thinking them. Everything ends with the same question: How long do I have to live?

Rather than responding to the Prince's farewell, Cross bows deeply, and stays that way until he and Twist have moved away. The better to avoid seeing those eyes again.

How long?

[Twist]

Blinking at the touch, Twist pulled her attention away from the layout of the building to look back up at Asa. The small puzzled crease created a v in her forehead smoothed into understanding as she mentally reviewed what had been said by Cross.

Once it had been a flower. Now it was a title.

She never did fully understand the first, but she knew the second. She should have caught it. While Asa's eyes were open and terrifying, Twist closed her own, her head lowering for a second. Only after she felt the first stirrings of movement from Asa moving did she open her eyes, as dark and un-revealing of information as the entrances to the rooms she had been just a moment ago so curious about.

Turning a beat after Asa she fell into his wake.

[Kenneth Gilroy]

The Princes was upset. That much Gilroy could tell. However, it took few seconds for him to realize why.

‘The title of sheriff? Really?’ It seemed entirely arbitrary that Asa would become upset at Cross’ label. Kenneth had only named Robert thus as a way of differentiating between Reeves. Clarke’s vitriolic reaction was entirely unexpected. Then again, the Regent had declared some his own laws with the intention of being an excuse to take insult. Still,Kenneth couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to the Prince’s words.

Asa didn’t seem the type to do things idly. Unstated obviously, but not frivolously.

As Twist and Prince left, the worm bowed. His head’s desire to touch the ground could almost be felt, even if the deep bow didn’t manage to go quite that far.

“I expect family meeting will need to be called early,” he said.

Things were moving fast. Till then he’d have to juggle things as best he could and hope that the Clan trusted his choices.

[Robert Cross]

Cross watches as the Prince leaves Court, thus signaling there would be no immediate threat to his requiem. This fact offers no relief. The sense of dread that fills him remains. This is not like pissing off a commanding officer. The punishment would not be desk duty. No former boss of his, no matter how much he'd done to upset them, could end his existence.

Asa could. With ease.

When Gilroy speaks, Cross's gaze find him. His scarred face is immobilized in a tense frown. "I believe you're right, Seneschal," he responds. His voice is calm, but his eyes scream What the fuck?! "Let me know if you need any assistance in organizing things. Or if there's any task you need completed ahead of the meeting." There's a strange comfort in focusing on his duties. Action permits denial. When you're in motion, thought can be curtailed. It is a principle that's guided him throughout his existence, alive and dead.

Flat, blue eyes scan the rest of the attendees milling about this underground world that once seemed safe but now...

Cross can't wait for the night to end. "It's getting late," he mutters, more to himself than to his Regent.