Odessa le Mueur squirmed her legs together instinctively when she saw the prince enter the ballroom. Even nine decades getting a greater rush from feeding than sex, it still made her undead heart flutter and her loins ache hungrily to see someone so powerful, so wealthy, so handsome, and so available. She had been little more than a gold-digging call girl when the embrace had been offered and accepted; old habits die hard, she supposed. As much as she craved his attentions, she understood — or at least, felt confident in her guess — that his reasons had to do with keeping her attention on the flow of activity and energy, something she would be less attentive to if he indulged her appetite. So yet again, she contented herself to watch and observe.
Just as her hackles began to raise, she heard a voice from the other side of the pillar she leaned against. Somewhere between stone moving against stone and decades of smoke-damage, it was simultaneously implacable and unique: Bear. “The Prince seems in a fine mood tonight, doesn’t he?” his horse bass rasped.
“He’s distracted, you idiot. That never puts him in a good mood,” she replied without turning to look at him. In this moment, she was especially grateful for being dead meant she only had to breathe when she wished to, as the gangrel begins her was no doubt giving off his usual nauseating stench of body-odor, garbage, and dried blood. The utter disdain for the decorum of court evident by his personal appearance was only excused, barely, by the public knowledge of his bloodline: the filth of the wild would never conform to the pristine cleanliness of civilization, let alone Elysium. She guessed it was his scent that had triggered her warning senses the instant before he’d actually announced himself.
A chuckle that grated her nerves came in reply. “After all these years, Baby Doll, you still don’t recognize my sarcasm,” he growled humorously. As he stepped forward into her peripheral view, she realized he’d been leaning on one elbow against her same pillar; in momentary panic, she feared he would touch her recently cleaned petticoat with his dirt-encrusted sleeve as he lowered his arm. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest to casually watch the theater of court alongside her. A ratty denim jacket over a tattered hoodie with the hood pulled up over the worm knit watch-cap, all of which matched the torn jeans and holey steel-toed boots he war in his very 90’s thug look. He undoubtedly wore a formerly-white wife-beater undershirt and days-old boxers underneath that.
“After all these years, you still enjoy mocking me?” she retorted in annoyance. She redoubled her efforts to pay attention to the prince and what was happening around him — anything as an excuse to not speak any longer than necessary with this filthy mongrel. No, that was a cruel thought. He was also here to observe, and was making casual conversation. Still, it grated at the back of her skull he used a pet-name she didn’t approve of, and that he wouldn’t just find someone else to talk to.
“Bear was my nickname while I ran with the crypts, but you know as well as anyone, Baby Doll, Pit Bull’s a better name now,” he commented, his own eyes also glued in the entourage following the prince around the room.
“I know: ugly as sin, but loyal as they come, equal parts loving and fierce. But that would be an insult to actual pit bulls: they’re far prettier than you,” she snipped. Why he’d always had an infatuation with her, she could not understand.
“Damn right they’re pretty dogs,” he agreed, much to her annoyance. Then, to her relief, he stayed quiet for a long moment as he casually, almost disinterestedly, watched Prince Malcolm Brown make his slow circle around the room. As he finally started to make the final leg that would bring him towards them, Bear spoke again. “Too bad you can’t let go of some of your near century-old sentiments.”
“What?” Odessa asked, shocked enough to actually look directly at him for the first time tonight.
“I’m black. I understand it’s just how you were raised, ‘don’t let no filthy black-man touch you,’ and all that. But girl, that was a century ago. You really that stuck?” he asked. She continued to stare at him for a moment. His eyes remained fixed on the prince, but the audacity of his comment blocked out all other activity. In honesty, the truth of it cut deep as well. She really was stuck. Not that she’d admit that to him, especially here of all places.
“I— it’s just… When's the last time you bathed? And not in blood,” she challenged, returning her gaze to where it should have been.
He raised an arm to sniff his armpit without breaking his posture, then shrugged. “Just under a month by now, I guess. Doesn’t seem to bother the circles I usually run in.”
“And you didn’t think to take one tonight? Before coming here? This isn’t exactly ‘most circles,’ you know. It’s the circle!” she demanded, though quietly out of respect for the approaching entourage.
“Wasn’t my idea to come here tonight,” Bear replied in a whisper. “Plans change; here I am.”
“I think everyone can smell that, even if they haven’t seen you yet,” she scolded.
“Oh good. No need for awkward introductions then,” he smirked.
“You’re unbelievable,” she replied as she shook her head.
“I’ll make you a deal, then,” he suggested, then paused for what she could only guess to be dramatic affect. “You stop freaking out that I’m black, and using my hygiene as an excuse, and I’ll owe you a boon.”
This caught her attention, but unlike the stab at her pride before, because this, the offer and acceptance of favors and boons between kindred, was a key point of discourse she was tasked with monitoring, and reporting. “You know I work for the Prince’s accountant, right? You’re basically offering to owe the bank,” she replied.
“Don’t be shy, Baby Doll: you are his accountant, and I’m offering to owe you and only you a boon, in exchange for some modern behavior that, if you ask me, even better fits the tenants of the Ivory Tower,” he replied.
She took a breath to retort, but held it. Maybe he was right; maybe he was just trying to get under her skin; maybe a bit of both. Or perhaps he was simply a regressed little boy trying to buy his crush’s affections. Being handed leverage over him for so easy a task was enticing — tinglingly so. She adjusted her pose to better disguise the subtle squirm in her legs.
“Deal, but you absolutely need to start bathing when you leave your haven. Or at least before you come here,” she whispered sternly.
“Yes, mamma,” he replied mockingly as he adjusted his posture at the prince’s approach.
“Bear,” Malcolm greeted monosyllablically. The gangrel thug lowered his head in feral submission as he gave a simple, short growl, slightly higher pitched than his typical bass.
“As you can see, ladies and gentlemen,” said a lilting woman’s voice over the prince’s shoulder, “even dogs, when given a task and properly cared for, can be obedient and well socialized.” Bear bowed his head again in thanks to the woman’s compliment. She had been following just a single pace behind the prince for most of his tour to greet the court, hands lightly clasped in front of her. Her outfit featured modern touches and materials - a woman’s aviator watch, for example - but was clearly made in the style of a plain pioneer-era dress. Lace gloves reached up to her elbows, and a shawl wrapped around her head to encapsulate what one might imagine to be shoulder-length hair. An unadorned theatrical mask completed her aesthetic, overall leaving less than a square inch of her skin visible. This was Hanna Schmidt, the leader of clan Nosferatu within prince Malcolm’s domain, and her getup was a carefully planned facade to make her otherwise hideous appearance approachable while in Elysium.
“Of course the Nosferat primogen would speak so highly of their head of security,” scoffed another woman in Prince Malcolm’s entourage. Even to Odessa, if the masked woman reacted it was undetectable. The speaker she knew to also be a primogen: Audrey Mason, the leader for clan Toreador. The barbed comment elicited an audible snarl from Bear; the low murmur of the room fell into a hush at the sound of challenge. Despite this, he made no motion to act on his threat.
“His self-discipline does you credit, Lady Hanna,” Malcolm commented, then moved his attention to his final guest to greet. “Odessa, my darling girl: lovely as usual,” he said with a smile as he reached for a fatherly embrace. She graciously accepted and kissed his cheek, though she dutifully took notice of Audrey’s stifled scoff at the prince’s remark.
“Thank you, my prince,” she replied as she resumed her former stance. “I trust your day sleep was restful,” she added politely. She knew better than to expect him to give an honest answer in these circles, even though it was evident to her trained eye that something was amiss in his perfect world.
“But of course, and had a delightful breakfast to top it all off,” he replied with a broad smile. “So tell me child,” he said as he put an arm around her shoulders, passively stepping between her and Bear, “have you any juicy gossip to share this evening?” He gently pulled her away from the pillar and his entourage, who seemed to understand implicitly they were to wait here for him to return or summon them.
Odessa giggled playfully as she walked with him. Of course, it was partly to keep up appearances as the harmless wallflower, a pretty plaything, all looks and no brains. The rest was genuine giddiness that a relatively young woman would be in the attentions of an older, richer man. She could almost swear that his wealth and power manifested a tangible scent, which she drank in deeply. They whispered and chatted flirtatiously as he led her around the perimeter of the grand hall, mostly behind the colonnade and weaving around pockets of conversation to obscure their own.
Of the five primogen in the Denver area, two were absent for reasons she, purportedly, could only speculate. The tremere, toreador, and nosferatu primogen all awaited where they had been left, however the malkavian and ventru primogen has failed to even send a representative. In the former’s case, this was not entirely unexpected: lucidity and decorum amongst that clan of vampires was unpredictable at best; however, Odessa confided that their leader had become increasingly scarce and erratic over the last few months, to the point some even dared wonder whether he might not have embraced the sun in recent weeks, or left the city without a word to anyone. Another possibility was assassination by a rival, which if proven would have dire consequences for the perpetrator.
In the latter primogen’s case, this was a faux pas: the leader of the prince’s own clan, neither present nor represented. At worst, this was a sign of conspiracy against the prince himself, an eventuality he had faced — and survived — on multiple occasions previously. alternatively, it was a warning that some significant danger had presented itself, and this was the subtlest way to get Malcolm’s attention. At best, the ventrue leader had simply been overwhelmed with a situation requiring immediate and complete attention, preventing timely arrival or delegating a representative. After all, one must ensure the stability and discipline of their own house before tending to others’, and it was acceptable to be fashionably late in such circumstances.
But what of the casual ventru courtiers present, the ones here for reasons of their own rather than the clan’s; what did their conversations and body language indicate? She feigned knowing much, as the court gossipmonger should, and then proceeded to spill on everyone.
Jonathan has the scent of a human, still alive by her guess, heavily on him; he likely was here to request permission to embrace a favorite thrall, or lover — he knew nothing of his superior’s disposition. David was here to vie for senechal of the domain; young, pretentious, naive, but not without potential and had taken the initiative to groom himself for the position. He had in mind to make himself indispensable, which with this minor mystery, he may have a chance to do just that — why not give him enough rope to hang himself and see what he does? Jessica, a Hispanic elder by mortal standards but still a fledgling of the masquerade, enjoyed the Jerry Springer style drama that sometimes unfolded at court and was simply here to watch for her own enjoyment; she likely knew nothing, but could be easily manipulated to find out. Daimia, embraced in her late teens and technically no longer a minor, was attending court for the first time and was understandably nervous, intimidated by so many older kindred, both in terms of body and time since being turned. For someone so young, she masked her sheer terror at the sight of the prince well; not well enough to hide it from either Malcolm or Odessa, of course, but enough to be given credit for trying.
As they completed their circuit of the room, the prince thanked her for the stroll, turned her to him, and kissed her on the lips with increasing passion. She dared enjoy the moment and pressed herself into him and slightly wrapping one leg around one of his. He reciprocated and held her close, then bit her tongue as a signal the display was done, much to her pain and disappointment. He broke off the kiss, put a single hand in her chest, and pushed her away to arms’ length before turning to rejoin his entourage; she could have sworn, or perhaps only imagined, that as he had done so, he had given her supple breast a possessive squeeze. She knew he toyed with her emotions, and both loved and hated him for it. Surely one day he would make her his, even if only for a day.
As the prince and his entourage moved away, heading toward a private room to discuss the evening’s news and gossip, she found herself alone in the crowded ballroom, suddenly cold after the exquisite display of affection followed by abandonment. Instinctively she wrapped her arms around herself, reliving in her mind the feel of his body pressed against hers, the play of their tongues, the aftertaste of blood from his evening meal, the pressure of his hand on her breast.
“Hard to say who is more distracted now,” rasped the bass voice behind her. Like a wave of ice water, the moment crashed around her and she was once again in the present. She spent nearly a minute staring at the now-closed door the entourage had passed through, recollecting her thoughts and deciding what on her long list of to-do’s she would address next this night.
“Go wash up, Blue,” she said at length with a resigned sigh.
“‘Blue’?” echoed Bear.
“Isn’t that what the grey coat of dogs like pit bulls is called? ‘Blue’? And besides, that’s the colors of the gang of your former life, yes?” she asked without turning to face him. Despite her posture, she was clearly giving him her direct attention as she thought out the rest of her night and the ones to come.
“Yeah, so what?” he asked, still somewhat confused.
“That will be our code. If I address you as Bear, it’s a normal conversation; if I use my new pet name for you, Blue, then we’re speaking in terms of the boon you’ve promised,” she explained. “Now, go get washed up. If you have anything cleaner to wear, Blue, put that on when you’re done washing. Meet me outside my haven by midnight.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me the address?” he asked as he prepared to leave.
“You’ve already been stalking me for years; you know where to go,” she retorted. Once again, he chuckled in response, a sound which set her teeth on edge.
“Fair enough, Baby Doll. I’ll see you there in my Sunday best,” he answered, then vanished — literally. Invisibly, silently, she knew he was rushing off to please his newly made mistress. She, meanwhile, had been struck with a thought: prince Malcolm had subtly yet deliberately avoided or changed subject of the treasonous brujah whenever it had come up during their discussion of court gossip. The brujah, whom it just happened, had been part of her sire’s coterie before he’d met the final death. She still felt the timing of that and the utter betrayal of the masquerade and kindred the world over seemed all too convenient to her; she not-so-secretly believed Christopher Blake had conspired against the coterie, and was now on the run for such crimes. Perhaps this boon now owed to her by Blue would allow her to discover what the truth actually was, or even bring in the head of the traitor himself.
She began to make her way to her own haven, her so-called 1920’s themed costume party over, as far as her mortal neighbors knew, and planned to change into something much more 21st century. It was time to hunt, and now she had her own hound to do it with.
ns 15.158.61.5da2
