My Little Ventrue Pt. 09 Ch. 17

~~Antoinette~~

"Feeling better, old friend?"

Daniel managed a small nod as he sat down across from her. Deep in her tower, in one of her offices, the two could discuss matters privately, without fear of spies or accidental ears from a wandering Samantha. A quiet room of soundproofed walls, with only two chairs, a single desk, and little else. A room she and her sheriff used rarely, and only when to speak of the most painful of situations.

The fact her old friend sat, instead of standing as he usually preferred, was sign enough.

"Your boyfriend hits hard."

Antoinette could not help but chuckle. "You know very well my little Terry could do nothing of the sort, even if he wanted to. The curse is what allows him such power."

"Perhaps. He was always unusually skilled."

"True, but there is a difference between natural skill, and what the curse is capable of."

"True indeed." Daniel rubbed one of his shoulders, and earned a wince. For her sheriff to make any sort of expression warranted note. "The curse hits hard. Will take another day to recover."

"I did not imagine you fighting the creature with your fists, Daniel. You know what terrible feats the curse has accomplished."

"It was either that, or use the sword, and then the curse would have... done whatever it wanted."

"The curse takes longer than a single second to summon his legion, according to Jack."

"Yes. But it could have tried anyway, and... I didn't want to use the sword."

Antoinette sighed, reached out, and touched her friend's knee. "I appreciate the risk you took. My love appreciates it as well. But... but the Masquerade is more important than Jack, or you, or I."

He nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

They both looked down. Yes, Antoinette had just given her sheriff permission to kill Jack if it was the only way to save the Masquerade. Of course, while modern technology was a curse, it was also a useful tool. If yet another swarm of crows was seen in the city, the Prince and the Invictus had stories in place to prevent the media from spinning it into something supernatural. But then, hunters could see through such lies, and more would come. And with hunters, came yet larger Masquerade risks.

A delicate balance, and her sheriff flirted with it, for her.

"You are lucky," she said, "that the curse is smart enough to predict what would happen if it simply gave into its desires, and terrorized the city with its power." She would lock it and Jack away until a better course of action could be found. The idea was disheartening, but a better reality than his death, or the death of the Masquerade.

"Agreed." He rubbed through his shirt at a spot on his chest. "Didn't feel lucky at the time."

Was that... a joke? From her sheriff? Ah, of course. An evolution in her old friend's state of mind, from a private visit he made following his encounter with the curse. A visit last night that left Antoinette surprised and delighted.

"How did your visit to Athalia's go?"

Daniel eyed her. "Have you been spying on me, old friend?"

"Certainly not. But I have eyes and ears everywhere, as you well know. Are you surprised someone noticed you?"

"I didn't try and sneak there..." He did not look convinced. "The visit went well."

Grinning, Antoinette leaned forward and met her sheriff's eyes. "Quite well, I imagine."

"Ann..."

She put up her hands in surrender. "Forgive a Daeva her sexual curiosity. But I can see the twinkle in your eye, Daniel, despite your attempts to hide it. I think, perhaps, visiting Athalia while injured has awakened your relationship to a degree it did not have before?"

The cold stare was her confirmation. Daniel was a true master of hiding his expressions, but the two of them had worked together for centuries. It took little more than a small fidget of a finger, for her to see the man's heart; or at least his guilt over a night of sexual bliss.

"She... was surprised."

"That you came to her while injured?"

"Yes."

"Ben oui, she likely considers you a difficult man to penetrate, old friend." And what woman was not tickled by the classic romance plot of the wounded soldier and the nursing lady?

"I'm... not difficult."

"Come now. Far be it from me to criticize you, or to point fingers, or to call attention to the troubles you and your childe have had." Playful words, not meant to insult, but meant to draw attention to truth nonetheless. Daniel and Antoinette were comfortable enough with each other to navigate the most difficult and deadly of social mazes: offering criticism. "But, you are quite difficult. Women thrive on social cues, the meaning hidden in words and their inflections, the meaning in words said and not said, the stories shared in a glance. You, my old friend, offer little of this. Most would find it easier to strike a conversation with a stone."

He smiled; again, a small thing. "I suppose."

"Allow me to hypothesize how your evening with Athalia went."

"... alright."

"You visited her, perhaps unaware yourself as to why. Athalia was shocked to see the mighty sheriff injured. More shocked, to see he came to her while so vulnerable. And Athalia, a loud, angry, and scarred woman, found herself terribly uncomfortable by the circumstance. At first. But as the reality sank into her poor soul that you, old friend, decided to come to her to spend the rest of your night, she saw a side of you you had never shown before? Which led to some tender, and dare I say, emotional sex?"

While his steel gaze would have fooled most, Antoinette saw the break in his glare, the twitch in his lip, and the uncomfortable way he adjusted his glasses with a single finger.

"Yes." Yes. Of course, yes. The most direct response to man could possibly offer. "It went... well."

"I am happy for you."

"Though, she... she told me she uh, wants me to..."

"Allow me another guess. She wishes to disappear into her man's arms, and be treated like a naughty princess?"

"Naughty... princess?"

Antoinette laughed. "Come now, you know exactly what I mean. She wishes to be taken care of. Understandable. Athalia has suffered many hardships, and would love for someone else to take the reins of many aspects of her life. She is tired. And beneath that harsh, brutal visage she wears, there is a woman who wishes to bathe in the sweet bliss of being ravaged by a man in control." With a playful smile, Antoinette held out two palms over her lap. "In one hand, she wishes to be pampered, to recover from her life. In the other, she wishes to be taken, rendered helpless, and... fucked. Relentlessly."

Athalia was tragic in many ways. She did not want to be the ruthless woman she was, but her Begotten curse, combined with her traumatizing, guilt-laden past with her daughter, forced her to become an angry creature. Angry, resentful, and unwilling to let anyone get close, as if someone had given a wolverine the quills of a porcupine.

But Athalia was no master of the social game. She was easy to understand to anyone familiar with psychology, let alone an old creature and student of human nature such as Antoinette. Athalia harbored deep, hidden secrets, perhaps secrets she once hid from herself, that she wanted to give in to another, surrender, and indulge in the strange joy of helplessness. She wanted a man she could trust, a reliable man like Daniel, to hold her down, perhaps even tie her up, and force sexual pleasures upon her.

And Daniel knew this. While the man was certainly no master of social interaction, he had the intellect and years to be able to understand someone like Athalia. The issue was not her, but him.

"She didn't say it like that. But, she... did try and say that." He sighed. "Guess I'm not good at talking."

"Not true. You merely lack the confidence for social aggression."

"Confidence?"

Antoinette nodded. "Or do you believe your history with others and social connections, has been solid, and has benefited from your habit of standing by, or stepping back? Your passivity?"

He winced slightly as he looked down. "I guess not."

"Precisely. And that is why it is good to have a friend such as moi, mon ami." Her smile grew as she leaned forward. "While I am no mind reader, I believe I can safely say that, after last night, your relationship with Athalia has grown. She will feel easier about opening herself to you, and will doubtless be thrilled if you were to take her roughly."

"I'm afraid of hurting her."

"Physically?"

"Mentally. She--"

"Is not made of glass, Daniel. Do not confuse the desire to be sexually submissive, with some sort of mental fragility. If anything, quite the opposite. The woman has been through Hell and has survived. She will not break if you take her hand and pin it against a wall."

Slowly, perhaps a touch reluctantly, he nodded as he met her eyes again. "Alright. Thanks."

"And do be sure to enthrall me with the details." She beamed at him, and he rolled his eyes; again, barely.

How many times had they danced this dance? She wanted the best for her sheriff, and that included sexual fulfillment; low on the list of priorities for elders, who often found their satisfaction through the Kiss and nothing else, but still. But despite centuries of the two of them being close companions, Daniel rarely engaged her desire to talk of eroticism. Frustrating, considering Antoinette's great interest in sexuality.

Perhaps now, with Athalia, he would grow more comfortable discussing sex? Or Antoinette would forever be doomed to a sheriff who kept his sex life private. At least Elaine enjoyed indulging Antoinette her sexual interests. Indulge and partake.

Hopefully the woman would not spoil Athalia's first slice of joy in years.

"Natasha," Antoinette continued, "has made progress. She, Sándor, and the Uratha have concocted a plan to learn about one of the more interesting tears. A dangerous plan."

Daniel nodded. "I trust her, and Sándor."

"But not Avery?"

He shrugged. "Do you?"

"No, I suppose not. I trust her heart, but she is... not cold enough to make difficult decisions." And, naturally, had helped nurture Clara to become as equally an emotional and irrational leader. "But regardless, Avery will fight to protect Natasha. And if she does not, Sándor certainly will. The poor man is bound to us by his guilt."

"A useful leash."

"A savage one."

Daniel nodded. "But not one of our making. If Sándor wants to break his back helping us, I say let him."

There was wisdom in that. A cold, cruel wisdom. Antoinette and Daniel often traded positions on who was the more cruel in how they managed Dolareido. And where Sándor was concerned, Daniel was a touch crueler.

"And your childe has also discovered this." Antoinette reached across the wooden desk, and pointed her laptop toward the man.

"Dolareido. And... a strange crystal drawn through it."

"The location of tears, most found, some presumed. Miss Vola extrapolated, by eye."

"She extrapolated this? Impressive."

"Make sure to tell her that." Like a wife, forcing her closed-off husband to expose his nurturing side to his daughter.

"I will. How goes your attempts to bind Black Blood?"

She groaned as she sat back. "You know it fares poorly. Finding rituals to bind spirits is difficult enough. Finding a ritual capable of binding that creature? I waste my time."

They both knew the search would be pointless. She could summon it, but had no way to pin it. And each time she summoned it, she felt the spirit gleamed more about her than she did of it.

"And getting Michael and Garry to follow the Roland rumor?"

"With such little time, I had to use the most obvious draw."

Daniel raised a brow. "And that is?"

"My little Ventrue is going to find two angry Elders hot on his tail soon enough. I will need your eyes, and perhaps sword, in two or three days."

"Sounds rough. What's Jack said?"

"Jack... is not yet aware."

"You didn't tell him?"

"I will, tonight. But you know Jack. If he knew, he would find it difficult to manipulate Garry and Michael. My love is a poor liar." Though, to both her joy and dismay, he grew more skilled at deception with each passing night.

"That's why you love him."

She smiled. "That it is."

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

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

~~Jack~~

"You killed Joe." Michael tried to keep the grin off his face, but a hint of it showed through. Asshole.

Jack nodded. "I did."

"And from the accounts, severely injured not only five other Carthians, but the sheriff as well."

Jack winced at that. "We agreed to a fist fight. The curse is... better at fist fighting than it should be."

"So it would seem." Michael stepped up from the table, and paced back and forth between it and the large touch screen on the wall that showed an interactive map of Dolareido. "Bruce Vanna is also dead."

"Terra Den's incendiary grenade spouts a liquid around. I managed to save Miss Maiorie from it, not Mister Vanna."

"Mister Vanna was older, stronger, and a larger asset to the Invictus."

Jack met the man's eyes, and stared. "Bruce was further. I didn't know if I could save him. I knew I could save Vivienne."

Michael returned the stare. Michael may have been afraid of the power of the curse, but that didn't stop him from being who he was, a powerful Gangrel and elder who was now the ruler of the Invictus in Dolareido. To him, Jack was now a problem, but a valuable tool, so naturally he was going to do what he could to use the tool without exposing weakness to it.

It was the sort of situation that made Jack question whether he should get rid of the Ripper. If he did, yeah sure Michael wouldn't look at him like a nuke ready to go off in his face, but he'd also be free to get revenge on Jack for all the disrespect Jack was not-so-subtly showing him.

Well, not entirely true. Michael couldn't touch Jack without earning Antoinette's wrath. But that didn't mean he couldn't orchestrate a situation Jack couldn't survive.

Kindred sucked. The Danse Macabre sucked.

"The Tanvar building is a loss," Michael said. "A multi-million dollar loss."

"There isn't much I can do to stop the Carthians from burning down buildings, Mister McDonald. With technology, they could throw one of those flame grenades from pretty far away, and the building's gonna burn." The attack on Xnomina made that obvious enough.

"They're salting the earth."

"Yes sir." Because Garry hates you so much, he's willing to burn down the shit you own, instead of take it for himself. "But, how many of those buildings were Joe's doing? I don't think Garry wanted Joe to go gung ho like he did."

"Only the Tanvar building, as far as I know, can be blamed on Joe's overzealousness."

Damn.

"Then... we have a problem."

"Indeed. If Garry continues on this path, the Prince will eventually interfere, but not before he's damaged our financial basis considerably."

"What do we do?"

"We deal with Terra Den."

"Deal with, sir? Terra Den is a considerable portion of the city's income. The Prince won't be happy if we kill Jeremy Long." What a wonderful world they lived in.

"Maybe. Terra Den is a corporation, Mister Terry, not Jeremy Long himself. If he dies, that doesn't mean the corporation dies."

True enough. Terra Den wasn't a publicly traded company, but that didn't mean there wasn't other people in its chain that had serious holds over its shares. And of course, the fact Terra Den was basically a corrupt company meant that if Long died, someone else just as corrupt would take his place. Maybe that person would be a little more open to running the business like it used to, instead of getting involved with Garry. Or maybe, willing to get involved with the Invictus.

Michael was smart, and that made him damn frustrating to deal with.

"You want me to kill him."

"I want you to investigate the option. Talk to him first, and see what he's willing to do. He's under the impression he's given the Carthians a tool we don't have, and that impression needs to change. Make him understand that if he helps Garry continue to escalate the situation, we will rise to meet him."

Oh god, what a nice, fancy way of saying the Invictus would start blowing shit up.

"Will do, sir."

"And Mister Terry. Understand that the Tanvar building loss is your failure, regardless of that idiot Joe's kamikaze. Do not let another major location burn down because of your pacifism."

The two glared at each other for a while, long enough for the silence itself to send a message, before Jack nodded, and left. There was something in Michael's eyes Jack didn't expect, a question his boss wanted to ask, but didn't. Something about the curse, maybe? Jack couldn't tell. Michael was angry with him though, over something he didn't say.

Fucking lovely.

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

"Ready?" Jessy asked.

Jack glanced to Damien. He nodded. Jack nodded. They were ready.

They knew this wasn't going to end well, but it had to be done regardless. And with the death of Bruce and Joe, they all knew people weren't going to pull punches. Gloves were off. Kindred were going to die.

It wasn't the first time they'd been to the Terra Den building. It was where Jessy had punched Garry, turning a bad situation worse. It was where Eric -- not with them tonight -- confronted Long about his right hand man Montoya, and the death of his loan shark Pitt. It was where they learned Jeremy Long was a vampire, and Garry's new childe.

The building was typical, as far as Dolareido business buildings with shady backgrounds went. A few warmer colors than the blacks of Xnomina or the Elysium Tower, but still, slick and modern. The office plants in the corners of rooms were real. To someone like Jeremy Long, aesthetics were important. He wanted people to know he was dangerous and sophisticated.

He really should have been a Ventrue, and Invictus.

But Garry saw something in him, something that gave him an animal edge. You had to have that animal edge to be worthy of a Gangrel siring you, according to Jessy, some part of you fully willing to get crazy when shit hits the fan. Gangrels didn't look for potential childer who knew how to say one thing while meaning another. Gangrels didn't look for potential childer who knew how to use money as a weapon, or intimidate someone by wearing the perfect suit. Gangrels looked for the sort of people that would, in the heat of a fight, not only throw fists until they saw stars, but were willing to use their teeth if someone was stupid enough to get too close to their mouths. The sort of people who shut off their brains and went psycho animal when they had to.

Garry siring Long always seemed strange, but it told Jack there was more to the man than they realized. Which made any Invictus nervous.

Long sat at his desk, dressed in a nice suit, and sporting an animal grin. Average height, and he filled the suit nicely. Chinese heritage, but born in the US. Short black hair, face shaved smooth, he had that eternally young, maybe sold his soul to a demon kinda look to him, considering the grin on his face.

To his left stood several thralls, sporting assault rifles. To his right stood several thralls, sporting anti-personnel shotguns. And at the office door the Right Hands just walked through, several thralls armed with shotguns and, hilariously, swords, let the three vampires in. Vampires with swords were deadly. Thralls? Even ghouls, stronger than normal humans, were laughably weak compared to vampires, let alone thralls. The fuck were they gonna do with a sword?

The shotguns though, those were a problem.

"Be aware," Long said, "that this room is being recorded and monitored. If you do anything strange, we will all die in fire."

Jack smirked. Quite the bluff, but the curse was strong enough to deal with fire. Though, maybe not an entire building on fire. They were several stories up, and the office didn't have windows. Less an office, more a cell. A fancy, beautiful cell, but Long definitely wanted anyone who came into his office to feel like they were trapped.