My Little Ventrue Pt. 07 Ch. 02

He couldn't let himself do that. Just like when he was first changed, first became a vampire, it was important he didn't let himself stop doing things. To sit idle and contemplate was a recipe for depression, and a downward spiral into mourning sadness that'd rip him in half, like it was probably doing to Triss over, and over, and over.

That was probably half the reason Antoinette had put the idea of him in bed with her and Elaine, to keep his mind on something far more appealing. And it was definitely appealing. The idea of him, lying down, while two women with huge breasts buried his dick in four pillows of erotic, heavy softness? It was hard to think of a more juvenile male fantasy, and damn, it was an awesome one.

Groaning at himself for being too damn smart for his own good, he jumped out of bed and started getting dressed. Watching Antoinette get dressed was always a joy, and he made sure to do plenty of that. Black bra that struggled to handle her breasts, black panties that were borderline a thong, gray business skirt, blouse, and suit jacket. Black shoes too, of course. Antoinette did love to wear black.

"So, she's an elder, like you?" Obviously, from her earlier comment about how long they'd known each other.

"Indeed. She has served the Ordo for many centuries. Unfortunately, as many of us realized far too late, we did not journal our lives with the detail we now wish we did." Ugh, journaling. "But she had written enough that we know she has, indeed, served our order as long as I have."

The idea of forgetting their previous lives due to age and torpor, was a scary idea. It gave him a reason to journal things, sure, but it was still damn hard to wrap his mind around that wall. If he hit four or five hundred years of age, would he forget how he felt now, staring at Antoinette and struggling to not jump her, because of how amazing her ass looked as she slid her skirt on over it? Would he forget what it felt like the first time he talked to her, the dangerous dragon sitting in Bloodlust?

Those were things worth writing about, and worth writing about on actual paper. Digital revolutions could mean files might get lost or deleted, but paper was forever, if it got laminated or something, and locked inside a vault. Mental note: when you get back to your apartment, look into a better way to journal things.

"My pets," she said, "have never seen Elaine. But they know of her, and will undoubtedly wish to partake, lost in the stories of my past that I have shared with them."

He couldn't blame them. Just one story about her past, and Jack had a newfound respect for his lover's immeasurable sex drive and sexual interest.

"Wait, four women, one man? Are you telling me that's a possibility?"

"Oui."

He winced as he looked down, buttoning his shirt. "I mean, uh, I'm only one guy. And—"

"I am sure that you will be more than capable of handling it, little Ventrue. Especially if you feed and feed deeply, non?" Laughing, she sat down at her nearby desk, and started making adjustments to her make up. "You are taking your mother to see your apartment today, are you not?"

"Yeah. I think she still has trouble believing that I'm financially well off. I could almost hear her writing desperate cheques in some sort of attempt to help me with money, because she hasn't heard from me for two years. Gotta help her son, right?" They both chuckled. His mom was adorable. "After that, I thought maybe we'd talk about... about visiting Mary's grave, once she's buried. And her own grave."

"Ah yes, the sight of one's own grave will forever be a powerful, final seal, on one's past."

He raised a brow. "You've seen your grave?"

"If I have, I... I cannot remember. And it is likely that no such grave exists."

He frowned as he came up behind her, grabbed a brush, and started going through her hair. "If you're as old as you think you are, then... yeah, I guess. Who knows." The feel of her hair was always pleasant, and he leaned in to smell it a little as he brushed it. It was silly, but hey, if she continued to use shampoo that smelled nice, he could not be blamed for smelling it.

"Be careful, Jack. Your mother may react strongly to such a situation."

"Do... you want to come?" He leaned in over her shoulder, set his chin on it, and kissed her ear, watching her reflection in the mirror. "It won't happen for weeks yet, but when Mom and I do go to see Mary's grave, and her grave, her sire should be with her, right?"

"That... is true, my love. I admit, I had thought you would have preferred to perform such a powerful ceremony in private with your mother."

"It will be in private, with you." He set the brush aside, kissed her again, whispered, "I love you," and headed for the door.

"I love you," she said, smiling at him, before turning to the mirror.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He breathed deep as he looked around his apartment. The breathing habit would never die, no matter how useless it was. Within a moment, his body always realized the breath did little, provided no soothing oxygen, no comfort, no energy, no nothing. But, at least scratching his head still provided some of that soothing sensation; permanently even, because it'd be forever buzzed until the end of time.

"You'll rub your head raw," his mom said.

He laughed, and stepped aside so she could follow him in. "You know that isn't true, at least not anymore."

"I... I guess that's true, isn't it?" As she stepped in and slid out of her new, fluffy white coat Antoinette got her, she dropped her jaw. "This place is so... expensive!" She still didn't understand that she too could afford a place like this, being the childe of Antoinette. Hell, she was wearing a very nice suit, charcoal with pants.

"I can afford it. Easily."

"B-Because of the Prince?" She slipped off her shoes and started walking around, running her fingers along the white walls, black couches, glass table, the steel kitchen appliances, and she looked up the small stairs that led to the small second floor that held the master bedroom. The second floor only took up half the apartment, so the living room had a high ceiling, and an enormous window.

"Nope." He followed after, waiting for her to stick her nose somewhere he didn't want her to; which wasn't really anywhere, he supposed. As long as she didn't go through his laptop, she was free to poke her nose wherever she wanted. A big change from the past, hiding in his bedroom and considering everything within to be his private property.

The enormous TV sat against the wall over one couch, and his mom laughed as she finally sat down, and motioned to it. "Didn't you used to say that proper viewing height was blah blah blah lower than this?"

He sat down beside her, on the couch in the center of the living room, and grabbed the remote off the glass table. With a press of a button, the TV began to lower, until it was, indeed, at a proper viewing height, the upper hemisphere of the screen level with the eyes. How anyone could watch a TV not at the correct viewing height, he could never understand.

"Other couch is in the way," he said, "but I can just slide it out of the way when I need to." The huge living room had more than enough space.

"Wow." She blinked at the technological display, before turning her eyes to the blackout curtains that blocked the window. "And, still using those thick curtains? You... you probably shouldn't let the sun in, should you?"

He laughed again. This was too cute. He got up and pulled the curtain aside, exposing the lights and tops of the buildings of Dolareido. They were pretty damn high up, and it was the most expensive district in the whole city. People went all out like it was Vegas here. There were glass pools connected to the sides of apartments. Some apartments took up the entire floor of the building they were in. Many of them kept the windows open, as if hoping other people would notice how much money they had. A few others kept them open because they had some blatant exhibitionist kinks. More than a few women enjoyed standing around on their balconies wearing bikinis, or night gowns that were partly open. A few of them, straight up enjoyed fucking on their balconies, or masturbating for what was probably a webcam they had setup nearby. Thankfully none of that was on display tonight. Lucky.

"You—" His phone rang. "Ugh, hold on. Might be my bosses."

"Ok dear." With a nod, his mom got up and walked over to the window. Much as she was used to being surrounded by fancy living arrangements and technology, thanks to the Prince, she didn't spend much time high up in the tower. There was no substitute for seeing a city at night like Dolareido, from up high, regularly.

He pulled out his phone, and grimaced. A message from Damien.

~Jack, I followed up on the statue issue with Vicky and Parker. They insist that they traded with Jacob for them.~

Oh for fuck's sake. Why, why was it always Jacob?

~What'd they trade with?~ No point in asking why or how Jacob had acquired special artifacts like that; he wouldn't have told the two entrepreneurs. Fucker probably had millions of dollars stashed away in various bank accounts, that he likely never felt the need to spend. The Circle didn't care for possessions.

~That Jacob was allowed to move freely through the area, unreported, and use the brothels to keep an eye open for potential targets.~

Targets? What sort of targets did Jacob need? Jack shuddered as he considered, frowning and pacing. Jacob was a sneaky man, who had doubtlessly set up multiple gimmicks and tools in the city for him to acquire the things he'd need, when he wanted them. Crúac was blood magic, and he knew Kindred could use their blood to use it, but apparently, you could get really nasty if you used human sacrifices. And the easiest people to take for sacrifices, were the lowlifes who lived in Devil's Corner.

That was what Beatrice meant, when she came to him, talked to him about being ready to do shit. Sacrificing kine like sheep was something he was sure she'd do, for revenge. And Jacob made it easy for her to acquire shit like that, with how many fingers he had everywhere.

~How'd you get them to tell you?~

~Stabbed Parker, and threatened to use Auspex on Vicky's mind.~

~Auspex can do that?~

~It can. If needed, it can be used to gleam hidden information people are hiding, by emulating their thoughts.~

That... was a terrifying prospect, especially the word 'emulate'. No wonder elders were so scared of other elder Mekhet; no secret was safe.

~Can you do that?~

~No idea. Maybe.~

Jack laughed, and buried his face in his free hand. Good god, the man had bluffed. It was hard to imagine cold, efficient, reserved Damien bluffing, but if it worked, it worked.

~Thanks for the update. Hope you didn't make an enemy.~

~Vicky and Parker are upset, but I'm confident I can handle them.~

Smirking, Jack put the phone away, and stepped back to join his mother.

"It's a nice place!" she said. "But..." The frown was unmistakable, her annoyed-with-something-silly frown, and she gestured to some of the paintings. The borderline erotic Gothic paintings.

"Hey, I'm just riding the vibe, as the kids say. And I'll have you know, it was your sire's idea that I indulge in a little nude art."

"Nude art... with skulls?" Sighing, she walked over to one of the paintings, of a woman in a black cloak. The cloak was silk, thin enough that it left nothing to the imagination, and billowing in the wind while also hiding the woman's face. The woman was holding a scythe, and while the hood hid her face, there was a sliver of it showing through, hinting at a skull, rather than skin and flesh.

He laughed. Trying to justify his aesthetic choices to his mother was just one of those conversations every man had to have eventually.

"Yeap. I like them, and so does Antoinette. Your sire is a fashion fanatic, so you know, like, academically. She knows fashion from different ages, different cultures, and different sources." He wasn't about to detail his sexual encounters with Antoinette when she'd dressed up as an evil sorceress, but he was sure the Prince would eventually teach her childe the ways of fashion mastery. She'd probably stick to modern fashion, but Jack wouldn't be surprised if, in a few years, he'd catch his mom wearing a black swan getup at a ball. "Come on, I'll get you a drink and—"

Knock knock.

Oh god damn it. Sighing, he motioned to his cupboards and the fridge for his mom, before checking the peephole on his door. Before he reached the wood, he ground his teeth and prepared for a fight, tightening hands into fists. Someone dangerous was on the other side of that door, someone strong. And it was obvious who that'd be.

Jacob stood there, wearing an immaculate gray suit that looked like it belonged on an Invictus member, expensive and fancy. You needed confidence to pull off a suit like that, and Jacob had it in spades, his big cocky grin on full display. He was wearing a bandage over his eyes, gray and pristine like his suit, and he had a cane in his hand. The fucker probably pretended to be blind on the way here. He had no eyes! He should have been blind. How he managed to see, Jack still had no idea.

Of course the bastard knew Jack was at the door, and he leaned in close to the peephole so Jack could only see his nose, and a hint of his smile.

"Mom, uh... the leader of the Circle of the Crone is here."

"W-What!?" She threw her hands up and started running them through her hair, in some desperate attempt to fix it; it'd already been done up before she left, and looked great.

Antoinette and him had already warned her about Jacob, and the Circle of the Crone. She was familiar with all the basics of Kindred life, and Dolareido's covenant situation. It was probably a good thing Antoinette had spared her the details of what happened to the Lancea et Sanctum, but that'd probably come up later. For now, her knowledge of the covenants was good enough Jack could trust her to not slip up royally. Hopefully.

"Just... let me do the talking." With a groan, he swung open the door, stood up straight, and glared at the man. "Jacob."

"Clarice! I haven't seen you in ages." His jackass smile remained, but when he noticed his mother, he toned it down a little

"I imagine there's a lot of Kindred you haven't seen in ages. You spend all your time by yourself." A frown made the hidden meaning a little more obvious: I know you're up to something.

"Not true. Beatrice has been learning much from me lately... May I come in?"

Before Jack could snap a retort, his mother came up behind him, and hit him in the back of the shoulder with a slap.

"I am so sorry, Mister Jacob! I—" She froze for a moment as she looked at the man's bandaged eyes. "I uh, I thought I raised a more polite boy than this."

Jack ground his teeth into powder, but after considering slamming the door for a second or two, he stepped back and let the man in.

The bastard walked in, smiled at him, and looked at his mother. "You must be Jack's mother, Samantha Terry. I've heard so much about you!"

"You... you have?" She raised a brow, blinking, and looking between Jack and the elder.

"Of course! We Kindred all do our best to leave our past behind, but I have heard your name spoken before the terrible incident, Samantha Terry." Either he was lying, or the man knew more than he should have. Probably the latter. Jacob looked his mom up and down for a moment, a quick glance that Jack only noticed by the slight tilt of his head. Ok, the old man was just taking in his mom, memorizing the look of her. He was most definitely not admiring her physique, nope.

"You know my son? But, you called him Clarice."

"A joke between old friends." Grinning like a jackass, Jacob threw his arm around Jack's shoulders, and give him a half hug that reeked of familiarity the two most definitely did not have. "Your son's made a lot of waves," Jacob said as he lowered his arm, "and we've run into each other several times. If it weren't for him, a lot of troubles thrown our way these past couple years would have been far worse."

Jack's mom's face brightened. God damn it. It would have been so much better if she listened to her instincts, and not let herself get too close to Jacob, physically and mentally. The elder was too good at manipulating people, and his mom too oblivious. After this conversation, Jack would have a hell of a time convincing her that she couldn't trust him. 'Oh he seemed perfectly fine, Jack! Don't be so cynical.' Ugh.

"I've... heard good things about my son, about the work he's done, since he disappeared two years ago."

"All true! I assure you. And, I am quite sorry about your daughter, Miss Terry. And you, your sire, Jack. Terrible times. I will do everything I can to help find the perpetrators." From elated and borderline flirtatious, to sincere and sympathetic in seconds. Not overacting, but not downplaying either, he dripped of genuine honesty as he lamented with them. It was bullshit. Jack did his best to suppress his frown, but there was no stopping him from glaring at the man.

His mother, on the other hand, sighed and nodded, eyes pointing down as she struggled with the words. "It... it's..."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." Nodding, Jacob held out a hand for Samantha's. Blinking, she took it, and the mother fucker lifted it, and put a kiss on it. Not a big one, but the gentle sort, a brush of lips on knuckles. Smooth, too smooth. "And I shouldn't have shown up unannounced."

Jack's mom, obviously trying to keep her cool like a fan girl in front of her idol, smiled a big smile at having her knuckles kissed. "It's... it's alright."

It wasn't alright. This was his apartment, and his mom was speaking for him. Ugh. Bringing his mom back into his life wasn't going to be all sunshine and rainbows, he supposed. There'd be some old shit getting in the way, routines they'd both fall into when dealing with each other. Those habits made it difficult to think or act instead of react, and that went double for someone like his mother.

He looked at his mother and studied her for a moment. She was nervous. Who wouldn't be? Jacob had to be one of the most powerful vampires in the world. Being near him felt like being in the wake of a hurricane, including the difficulty breathing. The Beast in her was trembling in fear, made obvious by the way her fingers fidgeted, and the way her eyes couldn't look at the Nosferatu for longer than a second.

"If you don't mind, Miss Terry, I'd like to speak to your son for a moment. Covenant business and what have you." Naturally, the bastard smiled at Jack's mother, a big, warm, pleasant smile that looked absolutely perfect. It made Jack want to punch him. Stop flirting with my mother, you asshole.

"Oh! I'm sorry. I'll, um—"

"Don't worry," Jacob said, "we'll just step outside. I'll cover us in a discipline, and no one will hear us or see us." With a nod, Jacob opened the front door again, and waited for him, his cooperation assumed.

Part of him wanted to not cooperate. Part of him knew that, if he really wanted to, fucking really wanted to, he could take Jacob in a fight. Probably. The curse whispered to him in more than words, but sensations and instincts as well. The Beast, with its newly inflated ego and arsenal, no longer looked at Jacob as some ancient, godly entity to be feared. It look at him as a threat, sure, but a competitor, someone it could fight to secure resources.

No, don't fall to hubris, stupid Ventrue. It's not you that can take Jacob in a fight, if you even can. It's the curse, doing its thing to you and your Beast. Remember, the ancient sacrifice your great great grandsire did, to a bunch of shadowy owl things? It's fucked up, twisted, evil, and horrible and—since when did you believe in the concept of evil? Last I checked, you were a believer of moral relativism, Jack. Good and evil don't exist, and right and wrong are defined by the times, cultures, socially agreed upon rules, and what have you.