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[Requiem] Interlude

Posted on 2007.10.05 at 13:50
Nimble fingers hover over the keys, hesitating in a reply. Does she reply? Should she?

She took this pause in her studies to poke her head out, see what, if anything, is happening. She finds herself curiously dispassionate, unable to find the will to care. She pushes her chair away from the wide, heavy desk, leans back. Her eyes dart to the opposite wall, home of a hundred and more trophies. Weapons taken from the cold grasps of enemies, mounted fangs, locks of hair. In the middle of it all is her axe, giant and steady.

She stands and goes to the wall, her hands hovering over the axe just as they hovered over the keys. Making a decision, she lifts it from the wall, takes an experimental swing. Her skill is still there, ingrained into her muscle. She was meant to swing an axe before her embrace, and that will never change. But even so, the weapon feels foreign.

This is not your path, Aurora an unrecognizable voice breathes in her ear.

Aurora turns, immediately adopting a fighting stance, then she recognizes the absurdity of it. "Then what is my path?" she asks. Her voice, long unheard to even her own ears, sounds harsh, almost desperate.

With no answer evident, she hangs the axe back on the wall, switches off the computer. She opens the heavy damask curtains to watch the sun peek over the horizon, feeling her exhausted beast stir only slightly.

Posted on 2007.02.06 at 11:24
For the interested; also cross-posted to ashtoreth.
Hasn't been proofed.Collapse )

Huge Geek Alert

Posted on 2007.02.02 at 10:05
Tags: ,
I'm expanding this journal to also include faire-fiction, which is vaguely like fan-fiction, except about our characters at faire.

Holy shit, am I a huge fucking geek, or what? Hell, I am so much of a geek, that I may just do the drabble chart for this journal.


We are a study in opposites. Her dark skin pressed against my pale, our legs wrapped around each other, tangled in my white sheets. Her black silk turban has unwound from her hair, now spread across the pillows, evocative of a rivulet of blood cross a ship’s deck in the dim light. I would give much for a painting of this moment.

Wide eyes stare at me, glowing, as a graceful hand traces the curve of my hip. “Is this what it is always like?” she asks.

My fingers touch her lips and I sigh. “No. This is much better.”

Contacts Returned 11/27/06

Posted on 2006.12.01 at 11:10
Louis St. John.

The problem with being a vampire, Antigone mused, was that the responses to surprising information were limited by one's body. She would have liked for her heart to start pounding, for that same organ to have leaped into her throat, for a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach - but while she could imagine all of these feelings, and even, if she tried hard enough, vividly apply that imagination to her body, what she actually felt was a dull sense of surprise at the sight of his name in the "from" line of the email, tinged with a faint sense of pleasure at his apparent survival in the last - what, twenty-five years or so? That was a long time for a mortal, and a lot changes in young kindred in that time. Hell, a lot could change with older kindred, too.

As she opened the email, other sensations stirred within her, none biological. She winced at the memory of their parting, as it showed neither of them to terribly good advantage, although it was probably accurate beyond measure of the reality of their circumstances. And as she read the text itself, there was disapointment and hope, both emotions she was well versed in at this stage in her existence. Was he still struggling with addiction? Probably. Once that door was opened, there was no closing it, especially not with their peculiar predilections. Once she sifted through the mad-seeming rambling there was something else... the vapor of clarity.

She read through it once, twice. A third time to be certain - paranoia struck hard; how could she be sure this was Louis, and not an enemy? How could she be sure that Louis was not an enemy? Echoes of a biological response filled her head, a response that could have been panic, once. She stopped herself from throwing herself into the emotion, instead examined it clinically. She copied the text of the message into a new email, and composed herself. How does one respond to a ghost?

L --

There are a thousand questions I want to ask you, but they are all the same one in different guises: are you content with your lot? I suppose it is a bit of a trite question, but it is the one that I ask myself the most often. When I wonder if I have done the things I should, or if I have been what I could, my thoughts turn to you, and I see you as my greatest joy - your death, which is infinitely imagined, is my greatest failure.

That is a lot of power to give into the hands of one man, but this is a strange sort of love to match a strange sort of existence.

My own circumstances have changed only slightly - mostly my location. I remain in California, even still in Northern California, but I have moved considerably south, to Sonoma, where the pot growers are more circumspect, houses burn to the ground regularly from some poorly ventilated methamphetamine lab explosion, and the odors of it will fill the neighborhood for days afterwards. For all that, though, drug trials in Santa Rosa are much easier when manufacturing takes place down the street from the hospital. The Kindred population has had its fingers in every level of government and police action for the last two hundred years, that inserting oneself into the ranks of peddlers of heady consumables has never been easier; they are already trained to look the other way when cash crosses their palms. Their heads are already half turned the other direction.

I wish I could say better of the Movement. You are perhaps fortunate that the distinction of Covenant is shared only by one other. The Movement in Sonoma is laughable on their good days, and depressing the rest of the time. They are led by the duo of Lafayette of the Carthian Self Defense Force and Carrie Bristol, whose relationship with Lafayette is both alarming to contemplate and slightly nausea inducing. It is not in my nature to dabble in politics, but I am finding that for my own peace of mind that it is necessary, if for no other reason than I will not have to listen to Ms. Bristol go on at length about how she is a paragon of mortal loving virtue during our meetings.

And here I must end, as I am ever buried in my work. I've missed you, Louis.



Letter to L, 12/01/2006

Posted on 2006.12.01 at 11:08
L --

The weather in Sonoma has turned as it usually does - suddenly, without warning, it has gone from a balmy mediterranean warmth to near freezing temperatures. It rains occasionally, usually once or twice a week. The rest of the time, the sky is clear, and if I drive out into the hills (not such a long trip as it might otherwise sound - but then, you remember Eureka: it is much like that) I can lie on the roof of the car and look at the stars, while jockeying for good parking on those hills with teenaged lovers, who, I can only imagine, are not looking at the stars.

Can you believe that they are still doing that? I'd have thought it to be an outmoded tradition, but some things, I suppose, are not so easily changed.

Bodega Bay, Carthian stronghold and training ground for the Carthian Self Defense Force, is lovely - a small fishing town that brings more tourists than fish these days. Saltwater taffy shops line the street with little sushi restaurants, a french restaurant of some renown, and bed and breakfasts. The Alex Wolf house, the Haven of M. Lafayette and Ms. Bristol, open to any Carthian (and sometimes, I think, any lick with a wad of cash in his pocket and a wink for Ms. Bristol) masquerades as another B&B, but houses every modern convenience that Lafayette has managed to stuff inside. M. Lafayette, despite the great age he professes, is a technophile of the highest order. His love of gaming consoles is second only to his love of his shooting range, as he is a gunsmith of, I suppose, some skill.

The pair of them (one never far from the other, I assure you) spend their nights trying to accomplish great things for the Movement (just ask them), but generally only result in insulting the local court. The Lord Steward Simon Ambrose, Circle of the Crone, and Mekhet, I believe, is the Prince figure of the city. There is some talk that this is an Invictus held domain, that Mr. Ambrose only sits as Steward for the Duke, who is an Invictus Nosferatu, but the reality is that the First Estate is generally held in lower regard than we are (although not for lack of M. Lafayette and Ms. Bristol trying to enact improvements).

Mr. Ambrose is not well liked by anyone, but I am given to understand that his position was a tenuous one when it was first given into his hands, and he seems a man who is trying to do the best he can with the tools provided to him. Being the only Acolyte worth mentioning within the domain and having been handed the single largest bullseye available at the time, cannot have been an easy position. His methods are coarse, at times, but effective - strength through military might. I cannot fault him that, and the methods that M. Lafayette and Ms. Bristol are using, in conjunction with the Lance, if I am not mistaken, will only get half the Movement and most of the Lance killed if they are not careful.

Mr. Ambrose seems a reasonable man if he is presented with reasonable requests. As ever, the trick of diplomacy is knowing what the other man wants without ever revealing that you know it. I suspect that Mr. Ambrose is looking for a method of retaining his power without having to rely on his military. The military, especially this one (led by one, Brick; the name says it all), can be particularly unwieldy in a coup, which is, I believe, what the Lance and Movement are angling for, but have done so exceedingly poorly. If I am aware of the impending coup d'etat, we can be assured that the Steward likely knows as well. I am hoping to dissuade M. Lafayette and Mr. Jacob Stararewski (of the Lance) from following a course of action that will likely get them both killed.

As ever, lately, my thoughts have turned quickly from other concerns to politics. I cannot be certain when I became a political creature, and I'm not entirely sure I like it. On the other hand, I'm not sure I dislike it, either.

Yours, fondly,


Antigone: November 20, 2006

Posted on 2006.11.20 at 11:41
A Nasty Little Coup and Other Bedtime StoriesCollapse )

Antigone: November 14, 2006

Posted on 2006.11.20 at 11:40
Witch Hunts and Other SundriesCollapse )

Antigone: November 7, 2006

Posted on 2006.11.20 at 11:39
Censure of the CarthiansCollapse )

Antigone: October 31, 2006

Posted on 2006.11.20 at 11:38
MilwaukeeCollapse )

Antigone: October 15, 2006

Posted on 2006.11.20 at 11:35
Tags: , ,
Scrabble, Life, Etc.Collapse )

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