Opening of the Wings

Guest

Aries walked down the corridor, then paused when he passed the kitchen. He saw his pupil, Aron; watching the news on the small television while leaning against one of the kitchen counters. The object was new, a plasma, he thought; having replaced the old bulky television that had served admirably for many years. A brief smile came to his face. He was a man of the old guard, if you would; and while time had left its mark upon him, twice; Aron was still a man of the modern world and shared his uncle's interest in mortal events. Such knowledge did influence the world of darkness, and the mistress. Her vassals needed to remain abreast along with her.

A faint chime of the telephone interrupted Aries' stride as he was about to continue on. Moving into the kitchen to answer it just as Aron was turning to do the same; the youth flashed a quick grin at his uncle's alacrity. Awaiting instruction if there should be any, as he had been taught. Aries turned slightly with the cordless device to his ear; as he spoke in his customary gentle voice.

“WhiteHall. Good evening, sir. Yes, of course. Thank you kindly.”

As brief as that, the call ended. Aries put the cordless back upon it's cradle and sideglanced at his nephew. Aron became all business in a moment, standing to his full height and watching in silence. They were eye level now, Aries noted to himself. Aron had grown to be a prime example of the Mountbatten lineage from which he descended; and though he did not bear the name, the truly attentive could deduce his membership. Aries let a grin reach his face; as the pride he felt swelled in him. But when he spoke, it was to business.

“Mr. Powers is en route with Lord Bashere. Please make ready the study for his arrival while I advise the mistress.” And with that, Aron was gone; a smooth ladder of movements that scoured the residence for tidiness and opened the study doors ahead of the mistress' guests.

Aries had taken a different path from the kitchen after turning off the television via remote. He heard Aron's footsteps as he angled towards the rear of the residence, and rapped his knuckles lightly upon the double doors. At this hour of the night, the mistress had already been awake for some time; and this was the brief respite she took for reading. A soft word of acknowledgment and he opened the doors, which moved silent. With hand upon the latch, he bowed his head; his expression all professionalism.

“Your Grace, Mr. Powers just telephoned to advise us of Lord Bashere's arrival, soon.”

Guest

Dark blue. With a floor length skirt with a high waist and matching fitted coat of linen and wool, the era of her style of dress was not this one. Her hair was done up in an elegant way, and the chrome rimmed glasses that sat lightly upon her small nose glinted in the lamplight as she looked up from the book that laid open in her lap. Her skin was nearly alabaster, her lips were lightly touched with color; hazel eyes were sharp in observation with minimal cosmetics. She wore no jewelry beyond simple earrings of silver and a brooch of a brightly silver Celtic knot upon her left lapel. A slight smile came to her lips, her greeting for her steward.

“The study, yes?” Her voice had a gentle quality, a voice that did not yell. She had a faint lilt to her speech, a bit hard to place. Setting the silk ribbon marker and closing the book, she laid it upon the small end table that stood waiting at her right elbow. Clicking off the narrow lamp that had given her the light by which to reach; she rose in a smooth motion and moved to exit the study, darkness at her back.

The study itself was a traditional one, bookshelves filled with reading material to last a man a lifetime. And it would not be a wasted life, indeed. From “The Art of War” to a current biography of Elizabeth II [for whom it was widely thought she had been named]. The décor was conservative, and large for European standard. Paint upon the walls was simple and unobtrusive, the portraits could be argued as being originals, large and small. At the back of her rear and centrally placed loveseat rose a top to bottom height window, wide glass that gave views into a modest manicured rear garden; carnations and violets, and other flowers swayed ever so slightly in the midnight British breeze. The rugs on the floor were of Celtic design, and in all; it was a room that could embody a majority of the mistress' personality.

“Yes, ma'am.” Aries stood aside in the hall as she moved to pass him, and saw her glance aside the doorway; as she always did. He knew from the years of this particular habit that she looked to the painting that has long been her favorite, “The Singing Butler” by Jack Vettriano. But a moment did her stride slow; then it passed as she departed the library. As she turned down the hall to her study ahead of Lord Bashere's arrival, Aries reached into the room to silently pull the doors closed. He turned to follow the mistress, and as they always did, his eyes moved to the subtle embroidery on the back of her coat; a graceful depiction of wings in gray thread. She paused at the study doors to let him open them. He always insisted, and she was of a mind to indulge him this formality. Of her vassals, her steward was her favorite.

“You are kind, Aries.” She said it nearly every time he did this. The lights within were already on, Aron was absent to await the arrival of her guests; and the curtains were half open to give her a view of the world outside. She moved to stand before the portal, her eyes moving over the familiar scene, discerning. The doors closed in her wake, leaving her to her thoughts. Lord Bashere was a frequent visitor, and she anticipated his presence.

Guest

Lord Davrian Bashere, a man of great age and even greater nobility; strode into the study after Aries opened the double doors for him. Her castellan stepped back smartly, then closed them again after the guest had entered the room. His face could be called taciturn, his demeanor one of business. But above all, Davrian was a man who lived by “Facta non Verba”; and when he spoke, Clan and Domain heard.

He had chosen a dark suit of wool, impeccable in cut and design; simple to the point of almost being understated. But Lord Bashere was a consummate player of the Game, as evidenced by his lengthening list of accomplishments. The tie was white to match the shirt; and his mannerisms were that of an older gentleman, spry but with temperament. However, upon seeing the mistress; he raised both hands towards her as he closed the distance between them. His voice was what one could call warm; and she smiled in return. Taking his hands in her own, she bowed slightly over them. “My lord.”

“Ah, Elizabetha, you wouldn't believe how glad Stephen was to be able to come by. Apparently Aron had confided to him that he was able to secure a somewhat rare bottle of wine against difficult odds. My castellan simply had to find a way to come and sample. I probably should not take such amusement in things like this; but I have been in a mood of late.” Releasing her hands, he moved to sit in one of the many executive chairs that awaited his selection.

The room was decorated much the same way as the library, but with the addition of a large table in the center that stood one perfectly proportionate lamp on top of a majestic and vintage doily. These items, if needed, could be cleared away to be used for conference at a moment's notice. But tonight, Lord Bashere had only come to talk. Moving to sit near him in an identical chair; she smiled slightly to him. “I had a feeling that was Aron's driving cause to find it. It smacks of a bet.”

“Yes, well. Your Aron is a cunning one; Stephen is seldom outdone.” He flashed a grin that took decades from his face, boyish. But then, as suddenly; it was gone. And like that, the time for business had come. She had anticipated this however, and awaited him attentively.

“I am sure you can surmise the official reason of my visit, my lady. The time has come again for you to return to work, as it were; as His Grace has made it known that he has a new task for you.” She nodded slightly, he knew her well. Lord Bashere was a man with quite the schedule; to receive him was an honor in light of that. “He wishes you to become again the Chooser of the Slain.”

Elizabetha could have blinked. While she did not take the Seneschal lightly by any means, such commands usually only came from Her Majesty. And as She had not commanded her presence, one was led to presume that one was not needed. Even so, this was not easy news; with Bashere involved.

“Who, my lord; does His Grace wish me to mark?”

“Mr. Kingsley; who may be about to lose his esteemed position in London Towne.” His face had become solemn with these words; as though it aggrieved him to say them. “Valerius chooses a most difficult target this time; and I know that perfectly well. I thought it best to tell you myself, the better to scrape the frost off it.”

She had held Bashere's eyes as his spoke, then lowered them when he fell silent. After a moment, she looked up again. “Valerius has good cause, I would think. You know, my lord; this is perhaps fortuitous. I received a telephone call from Mr. Kingsley just last night. He is in New Orleans and the city is at risk of destabilizing quickly. Its location, as you know; is nebulous considering its neighbors. He has asked for assistance, as the Prince and some of his Court have effectively vanished.”

Bashere snorted. “He won't get the whole war coterie; I won't even waste my time just to hear Valerius refuse before I finish the sentence. Who did you have in mind?” He arched a brow at this.

“I cannot imagine that the good Doctor would be willing to leave London Towne for such reason, though I can certainly put the request to her for the sake of having asked. To be blunt, my lord; it's rapidly becoming a war zone, which we both know is no place for her to be. But of a certainty, I was thinking of taking Atrophy with me. I had left a message at Archstone for you that we could discuss these details; but it seems your preemption was the wiser. I was under the impression you had yet to receive it.”

He nodded sagely, folding his hands in his lap; legs crossed precisely. “I highly doubt Valerius will say Atrophy nay; if only because of the regard he has for Hidden. And I did receive your message, just before I met with Her Majesty. It is her wish that you observe what happens in New Orleans; and if it comes to praxis, be ready to assume command if necessary. Her Majesty will not suffer the loss of another Camarilla city.” When she looked away with a sigh about to leave her lips, he shook his head sadly. “I am sorry.”