Halcyon Halls

Who: Verushka, and Vallis
When: Tuesday evening
Where: A restaurant in the village
What: Blackmail


At times, you had to make sacrifices to ensure that your peace, wasn't too badly disturbed. Tonight was such a sacrifice. Vallis would never willingly spend his evening with a creature he readily hated. One who hated him equally in turn, unless there was good reason for it. Yet, when such a creature knew one of your darker secrets, you had to take certain measures, to keep them silent. The old saying... keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. Never was it more realivent, than at this very moment. He wouldn't be able to charm Veru, he knew that before waking that evening. She also wouldn't tolerate him man handling her, nor would he be able to tamper with her thoughts so easily. If he really wanted to, he could his age would allow him to do so, but it would take far more effort than he was willing to spare on this shrew. No, he would simply have to convince her that he was a changed man. That alone would be difficult, especially since he had already lost his temper with the woman in previous conversations. He intened to try his best.

After she agreed to join him, sometime before, he hadn't wasted any time in making plans. Vallis had reserved the whole back room of the little French restaurant, and had ordered a bottle of Château Margaux. Something he was amazed they were able to find in such a short span of time. It had all cost him a pretty penny. Not that he cared. Ever the spoiled, rich, little brat. Vallis had more money than he would likely be able to spend in a dozen life times. He knew this, which was why he spent money, as if it was nothing. Showered expensive gifts upon those close to him. Why not use your money to impress, when the impression would more often than not, get you exactly what you wanted? The question was, was all this in the hopes of impressing Veru? No, not at all. He expected the evening to be completely horrendous, and these little luxurious were intended to bring himself some comfort.

His mood was already that of irritation, when he awoke at sunset. Sunset... the sun... that was one thing he could praise Halcyon for. Allowing an old vampire like him, the chance to witness the sun once more, without it being an act of suicide. At times, he found himself starring out the windows during class, when he assigned a bit of reading. His mind would drift back to when he was a young man. Newly married, and with an infant son in his arms. They would walk the small property he had once owned, Charles laughing as his father imitated various animals that lived on the farm. It was such a strange picture now, Vallis almost felt as if he were remembering the life of a stranger. Perhaps he was. He hadn't been that man for very long after all.

After a quick shower, he dressed, and left the comfortable surroundings of his room, once the sky became littered with stars. It wasn't long before he found himself seated in the the restaurant. A glass of red wine clutched in one hand. His body language read of the sheer boredom he felt, drifting to the side, brow raised, while his eyes rested upon the man butchering Sonata in A major, on the piano. The woman had better arrive soon, or he was going to tear open the mans throat, for not only enjoyment, but to also halt the insult, that was his playing.

Who: Sasha & Verushka
When: Thursday (morning)
Where: Verushka's office
What: Cold War II Guidance


The girl in the mirror looked worried. Her eyes were uncertain, unfocused, her mouth was taut; her skin looked too pale to even blame on the bathroom’s callous lighting. A wayward strand of hair, stuck damply to the edge of her check. The look of it—a dark spot—reminded Sasha of something, what was it…

A coal miner’s tattoo. No, not that. Gunpowder. Yes, that was it. Firing a heavy handgun incorrectly had once left a measure of gunpowder temporarily imbedded in her cheek. Kostya had been furious; Josiah, amused. The French called such beauty marks “courage marks”, he told her. Her father had a similar small shadow on his face, so dim you could almost it or think it a trick of light. He told them it was a birthmark, and Sasha believed him then.

Sherry never did. But then her twin was always the skeptic, the sleuth. She never gave up, not till she ferreted out the meaning of every story. A real bloodhound, Papa called her.

Oh, Daddy dearest, if you only knew…

The sink porcelain was cool beneath Sasha’s palms. Too cool, actually: she was feverish. That happened sometimes if her metabolism kicked into overtime. And that happened when—stop. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about the dreams. Don’t think about the craving.

And don’t think about poor, foolish Kaspar Moreno. Kaspar, the ace, the joker, the unlikely, and mostly unconvincing, criminal. Kaspar, who bought Sasha her first real Mexican beer. Kaspar, who laughed when she explained Tex-Mex. Kaspar, who saw the sky as a doorway, never a limit. Kaspar, who wouldn’t kiss and couldn’t dance. Kaspar, who was uncouth, and brash, and funny, and her friend.

Kaspar, who had her little sister slaughtered to prove she could.

A tremor started in Sasha’s throat; she shut it down with pure willpower. The same fortitude hardened her hands, made them steady and quick as she repainted the girl in the mirror into a more recognizable icon. Foundation, eye shadow, mascara, blush, lipstick: Sasha was a veteran virtuoso with each lying, little tool. Screw the whole “warm” and “cool” colors myth, or that pale skin called for dark foundation, or the conceited “not everyone can wear read” nonsense. If you know how, Sasha recited, you can. But for a moment, the mantra failed and Sasha’s hand slowed.

Did Sherry operate under a similar motto? Did she excuse Kaspar’s murder with such logic? Did she plan to continue, like before—a familiar, sour nausea rose in Sasha’s stomach. She reigned her mind back to the task at hand, turning a critical eye over the now made-up face (good), the fixed hair (neat), the careful clothing (chic, confident).

Her silver cross gleamed against the yellow dress. Pretty, but suspicious. In a school with heavy vampire population, showing up at her guide’s office with holy jewelry on display might spark uncomfortable questions. At the very least it would plant certain doubts in the woman’s mind. Sasha didn’t want any of that tainting the first impression. Slipping off the fine chain, her fingers helplessly closed over the pendant. The bit of silver felt small and serious as a bullet in her fist. Sasha tucked the necklace away in her purse, and pushed open the bathroom door. She was running late.

Outside, Dreizen immediately rose at her reemergence. The look in his dark eyes made Sasha kneel down and spend a precious minute petting the worried beastie. “S’ok, puppy. No point running this far to fall apart now, eh? We’re made of sterner stuff—and are just too pretty to quit. Oh, yes, we are, yes we are, who’s my pretty, pretty brute?”

The Doberman nipped her hands affectionately in response. Giving his sleek head one last pat, Sasha headed off towards her guide’s office.

Sherry wasn’t supposed to know about Kaspar. That she did meant one of two things: either Sasha’s seal against their bond had weakened or her sister’s psychic ability was progressing faster than originally predicted. Luckily, there were ways to deal with both possibilities.

And it’s time I tried them out. With a little professional help, of course.

“Madame Solovyov?” Knock, knock went one determined knuckle. “It’s Susannah Hallmeyer. May I come in?”