Follows on from Musings

Two Nights before the Fundraiser

The hunger burns in me, I shouldn’t spend so long between feeding. Seems I was wrong to think I could manage the beast by starving it. Luckily Dyer found my message and had the Doyle track me down before I could do any lasting damage. Shame the same can’t be said for the furniture in the house – my Mr Hyde must have destroyed the furniture to get out. Unfortunately, he’s left the living room looking like a nest, there is no chance I can bring anyone back here.

The Night before the Fundraiser

In the period of my incapacity I find Hardcastle has dropped me an invite to an upcoming court event. The downside to being one of the few Brujah that understands the silver wear is for eating off, and not stealing, I suppose. Speaking of which, still damned hungry, must try and contact some of my herd.

The fundraiser is to support a local Mosque and outreach centre, I turn the invite over in my hands, staring at it with some surprise. For their first ‘formal’ social event, this trio have opted to base it around a faith event with mortals. Almost Brujah in its bravado. Turning on the fake fire in my study, I peer out of the windows, then curse solidly. A heavy snow is falling, and even from here I can see the Kine are staying in. Dropping a quick note to Hardcastle, I thank the lieges for their gracious invite. I also arrange for a personal thank you message to be delivered to them via Dyer, I assume Johannes keeps in touch with his childe. With an inward groan, I realise Jogger will almost certainly try to crash the event, and silently offer up a prayer hat he doesn’t.

A few wasted hours later, I also course the extended winter break. My usual herd are largely out of town, visiting with their families during the universities closure. At least tomorrow night might offer some entertainment. Whilst the Museum is Eylsium, it is still permitted to hunt for sustenance, provided you take the mortal away from the location. Of course knowing my luck, everyone will be in a Burkha. Settling by the fire, I try to ignore the pangs of hunger, regrettimg my decision to decline Dyer’s hospitality last night. I pick up a leather bound first edition of Civil Disobedience and try and regain my composure by following its lucid argument.

The night of the fundraiser

I wake later than usual, feeling lethargic, feels like I’m hibernating. I smile ruefully as I shamble towards the shower room, damn the drain next door must be blocked again, the stench of human faeces and spoor permeates everywhere in the house.

Careful, cautious that my rage is building, I throw cold water in my face. The water runs off my brow, as I pause for a few seconds, a few heartbeats if I still breathed, then look up into the mirror. What the fuck is that? I spun round, sure I saw a darkened figure near the door, however I just see the silhouette of an owl fly past my window. Returning to he water, I wonder if I’m demonstrating the heightened senses of kindred lore. Laughing off the thought, I wash and prepare for the rest of the evening.

The cabbie that dropped me off at the event smelled foul, internally I wonder if that is because he genuinely hadn’t washed or did I just add that to him once I realised he was a bigot. I notice another owl perched near the entrance to the museum. As the symbol of wisdom, I hope this bodes well for the evening. I enter the main gallery, and look to spy out a suitable mortal.

two hours later

Christ, that was lucky. I’d inadvertently picked on the Assamite’s food for the evening. Rumours have it he’s slaughtered multiple Sabbat since arriving in the city. I stagger into the snow, trying to find a cab to hail, the cry of an owl in the air behind me, yet another predator. With no cabs to be found, I go towards the rack. Then my luck changes, I smell the effects of an office party, a woman weaving her way home, weak. Dropping into an alleyway, I summon her to me, it’s been too long since I fed. My beast sings out in pleasure at being sated, then I smell him, the Gangrel hunter from Concord, I leap at him to defend my prey. The owl cries out, and wheels away into the blizzard.


The Hollow Crown Melanctonsmith