[WoD] Snow Angels

[Sansa]

"Yes, that sounds like a good idea." Sansa finished off her champagne and handed the empty flute to a waiter. She thought she saw a famous movie star in the distance, but the ebb and flow of the crowd pulled the man from view. "I took an art appreciation class in university, though I'm not sure I can properly appreciate all of it."

The girl found herself clutching Jude's arm as he guided her through the party guests, and forced herself to relax. Just a party. Act like a normal human being, for crying out loud. The alchohol began to work it's magic, percolating down from her empty stomach into her arms and legs. It wasn't much, but it helped.

[Jude]

“Don't worry, I don't know much about art either... we can make up our own meanings.”

The world of painters and poets was never one I made a conscious choice to move in, but circumstances being what they are I can't fight the tide. Thanks to my blessing, however, I can take to it like a battered housewife to cheap gin. I can see things others can't, beyond the surface...

We move to a quieter corner. The first level of the hall is plastered with images of London by night. Bridges and towers and other things photographed a hundred times before. Some of the paintings show a little more promise, but there's very little there, very little for the minds eye to see. I'll have to amuse myself by other means.

“How long have you been living in London, then?” I ask with idle curiosity, as we pause in front of a monochrome Tower of London.

[Sansa]

"About three years, since university" she admitted, turning from the print on the wall to look at him. "How about you?"

Sansa found herself fiddling with her hands, and ended up with one hand on her hip, the other at her side. They seemed to be standing apart from everyone else, and while she enjoyed the momentary quiet of the corner there was a prickle up her back she couldn't quite get rid of.

[Jude]

How long have I been living in London? I barely pay attention to what year it is, let alone how many of them I've spent here. At a guess, one hundred and...

“Twenty one years, all of my life. Can't get enough of the place.”

We wander slowly, not investing too much of our interest in what someone else poured all of theirs into. I glance over my shoulder and see that the crowd is flocking, herding towards something. Not all at once, but there's definite gravitation. They flit away now and then, like moths, but are inevitably drawn inwards. Someone important is making the rounds... the Prince.

“I've travelled quite a bit, you know, but I keep coming back here. There is something about London... it's like a whole world in its own right.”

Casually, with one hand to her back, I turn Sansa towards another picture. The last thing I need is the old royalty stealing my game. He's done it before but he won't get the chance this time.

[Sansa]

The girl looked at her companion as he spoke, wondering if he really was twenty-one years old. He looked the age, but there was something around his eyes that hinted at him being at least her age, if not a bit older. Nothing she could put a finger on, so she decided to take him at his word.

He solicitously put his hand on her back and turned her towards another frame on the wall. It was a meticulous rendering of Big Ben at twilight, and Sansa stared at it in silence for a moment. “Something about this one isn’t quite right.” She stepped closer to examine it, and then realized that the clock face was backwards, as though the painter had been looking in a mirror when he’d painted it. The effect was strange, and she turned to tell Jude as much, but then she noticed the movements of the other party guests.

“Did someone famous just arrive?” She peered over Jude’s shoulder to see if she could recognize anyone in the crowd.

[Jude]

“Huh?”

Feigning oblivious, I turn and look curious at the crowd. They all line-up to receive the left hand of God; his stride effortlessly parts the cooing crowd of sycophants. Poseurs and blue-bloods and all the little ne'er-do-wells of the Camarilla. The Torys in particular are just dying to know what he thinks of this painting or how he would rate that sculpture.

“Maybe some big art critic? I don't recognise him...”

My skin feels like its squirming, desperately trying to crawl from its bones. He doesn't look directly at us, in the shadow of the walkway – but his eyes pass over us, only briefly, and the voices tell me that he knows I'm here, knows my game. They tell me, you can't take one step without expecting to see Prince Charming ten ahead of you.

[Sansa]

"Me either." She felt slightly disappointed, but relieved at the same time. She had a tendency to freeze up around people she admired, and Emilie usually did all the talking if they ran into a minor celebrity while out on the town. Which, granted, wasn't very often.

Big Ben forgotten, she scanned the crowd, managing to pick out Cedric before he was lost from view. Beside her Jude was unnaturally silent and still, and Sansa looked sideways at him. "I say, are you all right?"

[Jude]

“Of course.”

I flash my teeth. The smile again. It always confuses me to think that this is something positive, especially when chimpanzees bare their teeth to show aggression and as kine we aren't too far removed from them.

“I think we should check out some of the upper floors. I hear they're a bit more colourful.”

We have to move into the crowd for this, though. I start to move away, only to see Lefty – the Prince – drift from the crowd, drift casually towards me. He has an entourage of faceless unknowns around him, whose presence only serves to accentuate his perfection through their faults. He smiles and somehow it looks more natural. No chimp could make it look like that.

“He probably knows where the good stuff is at,” I say, without really realizing that I'm speaking, my eyes following Prince Charming as he rises above us all, moving to the second tier of the gallery.

[Sansa]

Sansa couldn’t help but notice the art critic, or whoever he was, as he seemed to be making his way towards them. Jude was gripping her arm just above her elbow as he steered her toward the staircase that led to the upper floors.

There was an odd electricity to the air, and it seemed that there were many people staring at her. Sansa tore her eyes away from the man who was now ascending the stairs, and looked down at the ends of her borrowed boots. She felt stupid in them now, for some reason.

“Maybe I should just go. I feel like I’m crashing.” She grimaced, and looked about for a clock. “Any idea what time it is?”

[Jude]

I don't wear a watch. There is something sinister about them, I feel.

“It can't be more than quarter past eleven,” I say, hazarding a guess.

She can't leave. I won't have another one abandon me. I don't have Lefty's charms, but I do have the power to dominate and I use it freely on my companion, again urging her mind to reconsider itself.

“Stay,” I say, a one word command that reverberates through her whole body as I walk us up the stairs after the Prince. We're a fair distance behind, but close enough to be in ear shot. Sansa's proximity to him, to his presence, should add to the draw, should keep her on my arm for a little while longer.

“You're getting a lot of admiring glances, you know.”

[Sansa]

Sansa tucked her arm around Jude's as they walked up the stairs. The art critic, or whoever it was above them surrounded by an ever changing group of guests, looked in their direction but she couldn't tell if he was looking at her or not.

"Am I?" She flushed a bit, her free hand going to her long hair, brushing it out of her eyes and tucking a bit behind an ear. Was he one of the ones admiring? Emilie would die when she heard this story. Sansa didn't even notice how clingy she was acting towards Jude, or how he always seemed to have one hand on her at all times.

Now on the second floor of the hall, there seemed to be swarms of people all around them: women in glamorous gowns of many different colors, and men of varying types. They all seemed to be beautiful, and Sansa did not feel like she was getting admiring glances. Although, she didn't usually spend time with people of power or celebrity, so perhaps Jude was right.

They certainly were getting attention - Jude and Sansa were like a rock that the party flowed around but never really touched.

[Jude]

I walk on the outside, by the railing that separates us from a nasty drop. The people down below seem to have forgotten us – at least for the time being. Kine walking amongst them was novel, yes, but they wouldn't let become the sole topic of conversation. There were far more important things at hand, like slating some poor woman's choice of evening gown.

I'm so busy watching the ants below that I don't notice we're about to walk into the crowd orbiting Prince Charming. They don't notice us as much. Their eyes are on Lefty. He's gesturing at some painting and the crowd seems to be torn between its beauty and his, enraptured by both. To watch, it's sickening and awesome all at once.

“Wouldn't you agree?”

No one answers.

“I said, wouldn't you agree?”

That's because he's asking me. I look between Lefty, Sansa and the crowd. They look expectant. In front of us is hanging an expressionist piece. The voices whisper eloquently in my ear: distorted reality, full of emotion, shades of Kandinsky, abstraction... an eloquent jumbled opinions. One of the artistes is happy to step in and answer for me.

“German expressionism is so vibrant, so rich, so full of life. Marc's work in particular seems to jump off of the canvas, begging that we engage with it... absorb it into our being.”

There are some nods of approval. Odd. Lefty looks my way and I resent the fact that he's singling me out, attempting to make a mockery of me in front of his little audience. He doesn't linger for long though – and quickly the group is moving on. I hesitate, out of place.

I glance back to the stairs. Something feels... wrong. Flight or fight, fight or flight.

[Sansa]

Sansa stood still, her face turned towards the painting that had been recently scrutinized, but her eyes were following the man who had addressed her escort. Jude's hand was on her wrist now, fingers brushing the vein where she could feel her heart beating.

He squeezed a bit, and she returned her attention to him only to find that he was studying the stairwell. Sansa peered down over the railing, twisting a bit for a better angle, and frowned. There seemed to be some sort of commotion by the door. "Surely it isn't midnight already?" It seemed that perhaps a few people were starting to celebrate the New Year early.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

It was as I came upon another of the gallery's most recently required expressionist pieces that I became aware that things were not as they should have been. While my guests talked amongst themselves over the piece, I paced to the walkways edge and looked out over the vast hall. Some of the guests had begun to glance cautiously between themselves and the doorway that provided the single entrance and exit to the room. There seemed to be some commotion outside – the inevitable conflict that seemed to mark every gathering of kindred society. It was an eventuality that I had prepared for, of course, however it seemed my preparations had not been sufficient.

A new Cainite entered into the hall, dressed in leathers and swaggering with all the arrogance of a newly sired Brujah. He was alone, for the time being, but I knew that it would not be long before he was joined by some equally unappetizing acquaintances. With a sigh, I excused myself from my esteemed company and began a slow walk back to the stairs. As I passed Jude and his young companion, his eyes seemed to glare at me and I wondered in annoyance what his intention was in bringing a human into the midst of our gathering. It would not have been proper to expel her, simply for this fault, but her presence was a liability that could not be afforded, a problem that I would soon have to deal with.

For the time being, however, the errant Brujah awaited my attention. Another had joined him now, doubtlessly a fledgling. They had the countenance of misguided Anarchs – this fact mixed with their Clan making them perhaps the most likely candidates to attempt to sully an amicable meeting of kindred such as this. Certainly, it was their intention to upset the harmonious balance which had been so delicately crafted for the evening. I came again to the first floor and, from a distance, recognised the pair as two who had only newly arrived in London – having presented themselves to me some two months prior, as immigrants of the Scottish highlands, in search of a most satisfying existence. I stopped short of them, by some feet, so that I might observe them.

“Alright, granddad,” the male snarled, circling around the elderly Cedric Helmsworth, giving the old man a hard pat on the back. His female counterpart smacked a colourless wad of chewing gum loudly between her pointed teeth and giving the old Ventrue a once over.

“Hope you don't mind us dropping in, only we heard you lot was having a party. Me and the boys thought we'd come join in!”

[Jude]

“No, I don't think so....”

I can't tear myself away from the clash below. You don't have to be a genius to know what's going to happen. It's like watching two speeding locomotives headed for one another, both on the same track, destined to collide with one another. You know its going to happen, but you can't look away.

[Sansa]

She gripped the railing tightly with her right hand as they looked down on the hall. As the two newcomers circled Cedric, Sansa became indignant. “What do they think they’re doing to that poor old man?”

The crowd beneath them was parting to make way for the art critic. Surely he would put a stop to it. Someone should. Sansa looked around, but most of the people on the second floor were lining the railings, watching the events below.

[Erzsebet]

The Brujah had been the perfect distraction, causing such a scene that even His Majesty was coming to investigate. A slight sigh escaped her as she stepped into the hall, two hulking males from her herd on either side.

One never could be to careful when travelling abroad.

The two men at her side bore the distinct markings of the Vicissitude Discipline. Their forms had been twisted, flesh and bone altered to create a pair of, in the young-looking womans' opinion, fine specimens. Their hands had been shaped into gnarled claws, their backs hunched and faces deformed just so.

Erzsebet smiled as she strode confidently into the fray, stopping briefly to pop open a compact and apply more pale powder to her scarred porcelain skin. It didn't matter that she had no reflection - one had to look their best when attending a function like this. A quick snap and it was placed back into the clutch she carried.

From her place near the entranceway, she could keep an eye on the Camarilla that surrounded her whilst she waited for her other companions to arrive.

[Jude]

Tzimisce?! The room became deadly silent, but the shriek of the voices was deafening to me. They screamed out in anger, in protest. None of the Torys move. They're all statues, porcelain white sculptures. Even the punks look dumbstruck, totally out of their depth in the face of two hulking szlachta beasts.

My grip on Sansa's wrist tightened. I pulled her closer and took a few cautious steps backwards. The still blood in my veins works a cloak of shadows around us, so that to all others we seem to vanish from view, melding into the darkness on the walkway. Already the Masquerade is broken.

Down below Lefty makes his appearance at last, but I'm deaf to what he says. I can't heart for the voices, for the thump thump of the living heart so close by. My mind brushes with Sansa's, offering memories, illusions, hypnotic suggestions as an alternative for what she really sees. I let her mind see what ever makes the most sense, if anything can.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

I had sensed something amiss, and was not wrong in my suspicions. The arrival of the Brujah Anarch was merely a taster of the true chaos of the evening. In a bizarre fashion, it seemed almost fitting that the Tzimisce – walking works of 'art' – should rear their grotesque heads. Truly, they are the anti-thesis to the Toreador in every way, heretics to humanity...

Rodermark, at last walking into the open, stood directly in opposition to Erzsebet and her servants – setting himself in a position between the twisted creatures and the amassing of Camarilla behind him. While the Prince's Sheriff and Scourge, along with a number of guards, were in attendance, they did not yet advance – instead waiting for their leader to command them to do so. It seemed the entire room was awaiting some word on the Prince's part, but Gabriel did not speak. He himself was waiting – waiting for his adversary to make some word or action of her own.

[Sansa]

Sansa took in the scene below, her breath catching in her throat as what appeared to be a child and two monsters entered the hall. Jude pulled her against his side, and she stepped closer without protest, her eyes wide and her heart beginning to beat in double time.

But surely the two men were ... performers. Cirque de Solei clowns that the rich could afford. Her mind fabricated the lie, and Sansa started to relax, her breath expelling in a quiet, strangled, "Huh."