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@RubyThis had turned out to be a rather terrible night.
The thought came to Genevieve’s mind, not for the first time, unbidden as she dived away from several small bursts of flame on the concrete walls of the tunnel she was fleeing through. She did tend to pride herself on her ability to accurately read and predict the machinations of kindred, including those many times older than herself. She didn’t exactly have a high view of Vannevar Thomas, in fact, she was very much in the process of recommending to the powers that be he was a significant sunk cost for the Camarilla. Her worst estimates, however, didn’t account for the possibility a Camarilla Prince of not unimpressive age and (faded) influence would be acting on behalf of an ancient maniac.
Still, life would be boring if it always went to plan.
The maze of tunnels which criss-crossed beneath this expansive Disney parkland now worked in her favour. She hoped that Vi still lived, but as befitting those trying to flee from immediate execution, they had split up, diving into what escape they could. She had rather less concern for her Giovanni ally, but it would likely be more convenient if he had not died. Regardless of her feelings for both, for the moment, her own continued existence was rather more pressing. The practically lace outfit was proving non-optimal, not that she had any issue with getting the pristine white dirty in such a circumstance, and at least the shortness of the skirt kept it from tangling in any of the variety of Disney themed detritus lining the hallways, it was more the lack of pockets. She’d lived through many years of much more restrictive clothing for women, but that was still a fairly major gripe at the moment.
She’d be running out of tunnel soon, thankfully, even though she hadn’t anticipated the Prince’s betrayal, she’d not provided the detail of the exit she intended to use should things go awry, nor the bike she’d hidden for such a purpose. All she could hope for was that she hadn’t given the Price enough time to sweep all possibilities when setting up his ambush. At least on the positive, once she was out of the tunnels she’d be able to get some signal and hope that Hardestadt wasn’t too busy to pick up his damn phone.
Her form was a white blur, she’d barely have registered on any CCTV system even if they hadn’t been disabled, and the winding nature of the tunnels meant that her pursuers would have to be close to get a line on her again. The kind of kindred Thomas could bring to do his dirty work were no slouches, but she imagined she at least had a greater control of the blood than most. She checked her speed only a fraction to throw open the door that marked the end of the tunnels, not wanting to present an easier target just in case there was a secondary ambush waiting for her, but on his occasion she was lucky. She’d been more than a little lucky over the course of the centuries and had no interest in being around when whoever kept track of those sorts of things came to collect on the debt. Equally fortunately, the concealed Royal Enfield she had hidden nearby beneath a rather grottier cover of cloth was still in place. It would no doubt hurt a very dear friend to know she’d placed his very pleasing gift beneath something so foul, but needs must. She’d always preferred motorbikes as a form of personal transport, when she was feeling poetic she liked to think it reminded her of horse riding.
The engine gunned to life immediately as she sat in place, not bothering for the moment, before she took off down the path eventually leading from the tunnel exit to the road. She was a flurry of blonde hair and white skirts that would have likely made for a very good commercial, but instead her hand moved to her ear, balancing the weave of the bike with one hand as she placed the call.
“Dearest Genevieve, how may I be of service?” The German tone was as clipped as ever, but judging by the fact the man had even answered, she’d probably not interrupted anything. “Wherever you are, it sounds terribly windy.”
“Lubbock got to Thomas, the meeting was a set up, take this as whatever further confirmation you need that neither of them are acting in the interests of the Ivory Tower.” They might dispute that, what she really meant was the interests of Hardestadt.
“Most unfortunate, I take it you require assistance?”
“I need somewhere his men can’t follow me, fast.”
“Well, thankfully for you I’ve been making friends with the local Anarchs, they aren’t quite so as insufferable as they used to be I’m sure, there’s an establishment near your location called the Doll Hut, there should be kindred present, but I’ll ask if they can provided someone more important for you to speak with, should you survive.” An Anarch sanctuary wouldn’t stop Thomas’ men on principle, but if they sensed other kindred, that might give them pause.
“Merci Beaucoup.” She tended to use a little more casual French with the ancient elder, any reminder that she wasn’t English, or worse, American. She bothered with no further pleasantries, as the phone was placed back into the confines of the bike’s forward compartment and shut away, the act of steering momentarily maintained by her supernaturally powerful legs as she adjusted herself, before her hands met the handlebars again and the bike really opened up beneath her. It was a moment too soon, as the space where she had been was once again lit up by the spattering of fire which denoted dragonfire rounds. They really were bringing out the kindred killers for her. It was a little flattering, to know Thomas feared her that much. The wheels of the bike spun as she took a corner at a speed well above both legal and sensible guidelines, skidding over pavement before regaining full tracking on the tarmac of road. The sudden turn gave her more of a window once more, a few more twists and turns and she’d have made it.
Those twists and turns might have taken a matter of minutes, but it dragged out far longer for Genevieve, each time she thought she might have put enough distance between her and her pursuers she was rudely dismissed of the hope. While the bike afforded her greater agility, the boxy four by fours her pursuers had acquired provided a much more stable platform to seek to cut her down from afar, and only her reactions kept them from striking true.
If they ruined her paintjob, she’d not make their ends so swift.
They’d run out of time to chase her down, however, as her bike screeched to a halt in the parking lot of her destination. It had been a part of the rock scene in LA for the last sixty years, which made it the ideal sort of location for an Anarch hideaway. For all their differences, Anarchs and Camarilla did tend to be equally predictable. She didn’t bother to try and hide the bike, her followers would be too close behind, as she swung herself off it and dashed for the door. Thankfully, there were no planned gigs on, so she had little in the way of security to deal with, pushing into the lowlight of the rock club.
Where upon, immediately, she became the focus of every single current occupier of the room. A large enough group of leather coated, piercing covered, individuals, who seemed rather unwelcoming of the blonde in white frills who had just interrupted their den of darkness.
“Uh…Hi.” She didn’t quite have the time to rustle up her full on American airhead impression, but the same approach with her native accent tumbled from her lips without a thought, even as she rallied herself to deal with lethality from potentially all sides.
Her hair was a long, straight, dark bit of finery that shimmered down her back as the woman across the room lit a cigarette. The rest of her almost rushed to have been there as her eyes hit the creature and felt the heat behind her. Her midsection taken up by a long, flowing gray tank top. Her bottoms were professional slacks; fitted things, her feet hidden an old pair of gray skating shoes.
There was a punk element to her eyeliner, the left wrist covered in leather and spikes, a brown leather katana sheathed at her feet, leaned against the couch she occupied. She may have been snug up against a wall of the club, but it wouldn’t have mattered in any practical way to those present. She would hear Genevieve, and more importantly, the Kindred woman would hear Eva right back.
“Howdy,” the woman that looked like art in a barely lit museum took a final drag of a cigarette, putting it out under the heel of her right shoe, the slow pace and measure of someone who appeared to have just woken up. “My apologies.”
There in the nearly no light, Eva smiled big and brightly at the woman that had rushed into this old, cobwebbed, haunt of summers past. “I had hoped our meeting would come at a better time. It seems Lubbock wants to kill you, while these poor gentlemen,” she motioned to the room, “are under rather strict orders to ‘extract’ you on sight. Definitely not the fun it sounds like.”
Content the butt was out, Eva flicked it into a nearby bin and found herself standing to full height. Her lips still blazed with amusement as she regarded the runner yet again. “Tell you
whaat,” Eva’s voice sing-songed, part amusement, part fun, “Don’t worry about Lubbock’s folks. The quickest among them will hit a magical barrier. Likely to vaporize them. The rest of them will run away, or get taken off roads very quickly. Best-case/worst-case, I get to get involved. Worst-case/worst-case, I don’t get to stab someone today...you’d understand.” She said, sighing, dramatically. “Oh! And also these guys are fine. Top shelf chaps, them.” The sheer shine of her blood had made anything easier than it had any right being before Eva embraced the void, and returned again. She didn’t know one of the men present. Yanci did. Didn’t matter, anymore. There didn’t seem to be a will that concerned her. “I guess, anyway. Probably.”
And she was done not enforcing her claim on her territory.
“I think I preferred the old days, ‘extract’ is so impersonal, Charles always preferred the to say he wanted to take them ‘for a quick drive and a chat,” For a moment, the blonde’s french accent adopted a caricature of the British spy she was imitating, chosen more for comedy than accuracy. She was well aware the old days was such a nebulous term for beings such as her, but by kindred standards her old days were practically yesterday.
“If it disappoints you, I don’t think they’ll follow me, those were more Thomas’ men than Lubbock’s, although I’m sure the distinction will fade soon, for now they’re a little more free thinking than I am sure he prefers for his drones.” She moved further into the room, her eyes on the woman rather than the more numerous spattering of men around the room. Undoubtedly she was the greater threat present, but she also wasn’t quite sure she could have looked elsewhere if she wanted.
“Mon Dieu, you’re tall.” It had meant to be an inside thought, but she found herself expressing it anyway as she drew closer, it wasn’t often she felt any sort of envy in the category of long legs, but if she was so inclined to such now would be the time. “You think I could trouble you for a drink before you interrogate me? Or hand me off to these not-so-lovely gentlemen?”
The gentlemen of piercing and leather and their own spikes, with holsters filled and larger weapons strapped over the width of them, simply turned on heels and made for the doors; half out of the front, half out of the back. The sound of movement, of booted feet moving with motivated haste, all of the noise was patiently waited out while Eva stared at the woman.
“Why do that? They’re under order to ‘extract or exterminate’ all facets of the Camarilla court that claims my territory: from South Sacramento to the US-Mexico line, and everything up to California’s eastern border, including the coastal islands off the shore. If you’re not one of mine and you claim any possession or authority not derived from myself, you’re on their list. Those men chasing you?” Eva smiled. “Make the list.”
Her hair flared with light as it was casually flipped, as the comment of height did nothing but encourage the smile occupying the woman’s lips. “I’ll admit the order wasn’t my idea, but it’s necessary for what comes next. As for you…well, I don’t know exactly what list you’re on. So you should tell me why you’re running from them, why they’re after you. Then I’d like you to tell me what you know about the Camarilla in my territory. Then tell me what your role is. And be honest, because I’ll know.”
“I’d heard you were different, but that is a
very aînée thing to say.” Genevieve sighed, a little dejectedly at the slow seeping of her optimism. She’d come a long way only to encounter another Robespierre. She corrected herself there, French decorum would have at least resulted in her getting that damn drink first.
“My Name is Geneviève Pointe du Sandrine Dieudonné, to give you that in full, although I don’t suppose many have called me that for a while. Most people this side of the Atlantic call me Gené, or they try to, it gets pronounced Jean-e alot.” She wasn’t exactly rambling, but the magnetic pull of the elder made it easy to talk and it took some will to keep her tone steady and composed. “I’m running from them because I had arranged for a meeting between the Prince and another member of Camarilla society who has been erroneously accused of murdering Baron Isaac Abrams, terribly sorry for your loss if he was a friend. Finding the true killer was meant to aid in keeping the peace, but I suppose with your order that is a forlorn hope in of itself. Either way, it would seem Thomas has already thrown his lot in with Lubbock and isn’t keen on peace either. If it helps, I was advising that the Ivory Tower withdraw their support of Thomas’ claim to the city already.” She was rather close to Eva now, almost unconsciously taking steps towards her as she spoke. Unlike many kindred, Genevieve still had something of a pulse, her body faked the need to breathe as habit and she found her false-breath rising in pace. “I know just about everything there is to know, much as that might be hard to believe given how…ambushed, I have been, Thomas could have only met Lubbock the one time, without me knowing. I suppose that’s all it took.” Was she blushing? Her cheeks certainly felt warm.
Mon dieu that was embarrassing.
Eva broke. A pane of painted and formed glass,just instantly shattered to pieces; it wasn’t destruction or grief that brought her low, but the mention of Isaac Abrams. She waited until the woman stopped speaking before doubling over, possessed by a ramp of giggles to barks of laughter to, finally, the crescendo, a stretch of uncontrolled laughter that had Eva wiping her eyes for tears that, shocking for a Kindred ,came—albeit in blood.
“Oh, shit,” It would take more than the initial moment of clarity for her to completely recompose herself. A shaking out of hands, a quick combing and tucking of hair with nails and fingers, and a dramatic turn that saw Eva once more facing the woman after some jagged pacing and general motion to get the hilarity of it out of her system.
“No,” she began, politely, like the break never happened at all, “Isaac was useful until he claimed to be a Baron. Fair enough, I don’t like titles or the publicity that comes with them, so I just stay…quiet. Over time I turn into the Baron-of-Barons, but behind the scenes. The Baronmaker. None of them, the Princes starting with the first, to the first one sent by the Ivory Tower, to the Barons…none of them did it right. So one day I decide to declare myself, public as it gets without breaking the Masquerade, we’re Anarchs with class afterall. Isaac decides to fight. Wants to contest…”
Her amusement turned to vicious ice cold anger, eyes dark and hate filled, leveling Gene. “He never worked on another meaningful project in Hollywood, the death of his soul. Figured I’d let someone else end his misery. I wasn’t in the giving mood at the time. So, uh, no…can’t say Ike and I had been friends for some time. You’re…fine. Gehenna is starting out there,” Eva said, pointing, trying not to roll of her eyes, speaking through a little sigh, “You’ve got my pass to go and try to escape to wherever you want. Maybe back home? Maybe some safe house you think is safe? I guess I’m dealing with Thomas and Lubbock. Tough luck for them.”
“It sounds to me, that whatever it is you’re convinced is happening isn’t something one can just run from.” Genevieve mused, finally moving over to the bar to perch herself on one of the rather vintage (some might just say worn) stools as she watched the woman recover from her fit of giggles. “I’m not sure what Hardestadt has mentioned to you, or yours, but once the situation with Thomas was…rectified, I was supposed to offer what assistance I could to you, so, if the world’s ending, I’ve not got anywhere better to be.” She fixed an errant blonde curl as she watched the other woman intently, a mixture of Toreador magnetism and the general good sense not to let the nastiest predator in the room out of your gaze keeping her set no matter how casual she played it.
“Unless of course your buddies still have to keep trying to murder me for being on the wrong side, that might make things a little awkward, but if you’ve any interest in bringing what Camarilla are around here that ‘aren’t’ yet blood slaves to an ancient meglomaniac, I can help with that.” She didn’t bring up Charles, her secret ‘in’ to the world of human espionage and intelligence agencies which these days were no longer under the control of the kindred, it was always worth keeping at least one bargaining chip off the table to begin with, that was, unless this rather terrifyingly powerful elder of her bloodline couldn’t simply skim it from her thoughts. She practiced thinking about a rather cute pair of fluffy bunnies just in case that helped at all.
Frosted mid-length fingernails drummed against the wood of the chair she had sat herself on, Eva’s head turned this way and that, and after a few moments of that it was sudden silence as she stopped, and smiled big at the woman. Her words were faster than normal, her tone bare and intent clear: survival.
“I’ll have the order lifted,” was all she said as her brown eyes with long photoshoot ready lashes fluttered open and shut in rapid succession. A few beats of non-functional hearts and Eva’s brown eyes were wide and open and clear once more. “There you go.”
The wood of the chair groaned as Eva’s body leaned forward, her weight pressing on her left arm, the chair’s arm underneath giving small creaks to the shifting. “Understand this isn’t talk. Lubbock and Thomas, at least Lubbock, will HAVE to be gone forever. Soon. Understand our concern is Antediluvians getting destructive and doing it soon. Days. I’ve been in touch with Arikel, with Caine. The Techno Mages have provided the support they can spare. We work on the Second Inquisition right now, this moment, and I’ve spoken to Admirals and Senators…we’ll have access to localized forces and cooperative communication with their leadership and CIC. Of course, I have to retrieve Yanci and somehow find Grace, again. Camarilla elders come to my city, desperate. The horde of Sabbat with a Cardinal at its head has pledged their support if I give them favor.” She paused, and her head shook. “Whatever that means.”
Eva lied. She didn’t know, she couldn’t say, but she had to lie that she didn't
feel it. Deep in her bones, Eva felt the truth of it, even if she couldn’t put it to words just yet. Other than that, all she felt was impatient. It was time, and Eva was still only moving at the speed of this reality. “And you? Does the Withering or Beckoning affect you?”
The words sounded sharp;would yes mean something bad? Would no mean something arbitrary? There was no quarter given with her tone as she sat there and took the measure of the French woman.
“It used to.” Whatever truths Eva was keeping from her, Genevieve instead met the question with honesty, a shrug moving across her shoulders which displaced some of her tumbling blonde curls. “I think I was young to hear it, but I was lost, I thought those most precious to me dead and gone, but it was a lie concocted by one very close to what Lubbock is. But they live, and they keep me grounded.” She hadn’t seen Charles or Detlef in some time, but the fact their hearts still beat and they lived on did much to anchor her both to reality and her humanity. She didn’t very much like the glimpse of herself unmoored entirely from her mortal life. That did bring up one issue she needed to resolve.
“The meeting I had orchestrated with Thomas was also an introduction for a Giovanni, they too seek vengeance on Lubbock for his actions, so if they have survived, I imagine they may now swallow their enormous pride and seek your aid in doing so. Another monster to add to your collection.” The remark was said without judgement, as Genevieve pressed a hand to her own cheek, a tremor of emotion shifting through her. “I know not how, but they have ensnared the…soul, I suppose, of a dear old friend of mine. It is a matter I want to rectify, even if they do seek allegiance.”
To Eva, the arrangement seemed evident. Long ago she may have wondered which Giovanni, but that was decades past, back when Eva tried to know nearly every face in the City of Angels. That was long, long ago; before the end started for her. An end she had been stuck in for years since.
An end she was determined to finish, “We end Lubbock and Thomas, see if we can help your dear old friend. You get your help, I get, finally, free of Lubbock and Thomas. And then I finish what they started. Sounds agreeable?”
“I think that sounds like the best deal I’m going to get in this city…Now do you think I’ll be waiting much longer for a drink?”
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