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Cards and Contingencies
So, there it was. All laid before him in razor thin, artistically defined stone. Confirmed as much and as clearly as a Malkavian could define anything.
A map laid out before him. Clear in all ways with one glaring cry echoing above others.
That his household would not see it complete. Instead, it would be his legacy.
It was not some grim form of angst that drove him this way. For angst was for lesser Kindred who burdened their heart with like and love. No, the need for change was the transition between the unliving and the finally dead and he was unsure if this made him sad or, in fact, relieved.
The realisation had been born of one of many conversations with the new Prince. Whom he found to be an eerie mixture of mother hen, philosopher and M16. Both to his amusement and concern given the subject matter of the time.
But she rightly pointed out that the Kindred would not win the war against the Hunters, and this shook him to the core, for he could not critique or negate the point. There was no UN to defend Kindred, no NATO to come to our aid, not even media to write poignant articles regarding the genocide of the dead. In the end, there was simply the Kindred themselves and that had been shown to be a conquerable task for the humans who had built lessons of war on applications in battle.
In short, the Kindred of the UK were in a war of attrition and were massively outnumbered. That ended one way. The card reading simply cemented it.
So, he was protecting the Kindred in the only other way he knew how. By rebuilding structure and giving them legacy. Even if some of them didn’t understand it.
Even if some of them didn’t deserve it.
He frowned as the thought entered his mind. As irritating as the Nosferatu was being, they were young. In mind if not in years. With their exposure to the dark belly of the Kindred hopefully to limited to telescopic snapshots. Giving them the freedom to decide what was truly good and what was not.
Long may that last he hoped. But in this reality. He knew how that story ended. But it wasn’t the only story that loomed in his life.
There were Roses in his garden now and they were a frustrating flower to cultivate.
First, there was the wife.
Little more than an elegant mystery. They held themselves and carried themselves in all ways that one would expect of their blood. And that was all he knew. Hence the frustration. For in the grand game, unsolved mysteries were something he had been taught to hate and fear. For a mystery in mortal life could be a beautiful surprise. In death, it was often a death sentence in waiting.
The husband frustrated him more. For he was harder to judge even knowing his name.
He began as a proxy. A tool of no more concern to him than knives of forks. But he carried out his part with such exuberance. Gifting information, offering support, even congratulating him in a manner that seemed... honest? He was now as much of a conundrum as his dear lady.
He knew the agoge spoke against liking those from outside the Clan. That friends made the decisions of leaders far harder. But was this Rose as much a child in mind as the Nosferatu? Was he a piece still to be taught the game? Or was he playing him instead?
He shook his head as his bodyguard entered. In some ways his only friend and even they were bound to him by oath of blood.
Addicted to him.
A slave with their master.
He felt the wry smile cross his lips as it had many times before. And in this realisation the answer to the question was made clear.
To do this he must change. He must be willing to die. And if he did, he would die alone. With only servants to remember him. And it relieved him. For in this darkest of fates, he could be scared no more. No fear of what Janus could torture him with or the perditions of youth or arrogance.
A monster would fear this.
A man would strive to avoid it.
He would face it head on. Though he would not run towards the end. He would not turn away.
For he was Ventrue. Something better and worse than either.
His bodyguard came to his side at the smile. Supping Vitae from his arm as he deleted the words he searched online.
And yet, as they fed. The bodyguard could not help but notice the word he had not deleted in time.
Nuclear.