[WoD] Snow Angels

[Sansa]

Sansa coughed, her breath clouding up around her in the chill evening air. The house to her back was filling with people, gathering in for a New Years Eve party to rival Times Square. A couple of revelers drunkenly staggered against the girl, pressing her further into the shadows just to the side of the tiny rfront porch of the row house. She tugged at her gloves as they moved on, one finger poking through its woolen covering.

She sighed, stamped her feet in the snow, and then ventured onto the steps, peering down the street. Behind her someone erupted into off-key singing, to the delight of the others. The door muffled their excited voices only slightly.

Sansa was a nanny to the children of the Browns, the owners of the house and the ones throwing the party. She'd spent all day keeping their two children, Victoria and Peter, out from under the feet of their harried mother who was more concerned about the catering than she had ever been about her offspring. And now - she was going home.

Except that Emilie, her flatmate, wasn't there to pick her up, and it was a ten block walk to the flat. Traipsing through the snow on a London New Years Eve wasn't how Sansa had planned on spending the night. For one, there was the possibility of finally meeting that guy that Emilie was continually talking about setting her up with. The American. John?

Maybe it was Jake. Sansa looked at her watch, and sighed.

Drawing her coat in tighter around her thin frame, she stepped off the porch and into the night.

[Jude]

There is a fine art to rolling a snowball. A fine art. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, alright, because I have been perfecting this thing for years now and I still haven't got it down. You know, I'm no Michaelangelo- I'm no Praxiteles. I don't know the secrets of the snowball.

This tasty little nugget of ice is shaping up quite nicely, though. I rolled it twenty minutes ago and it still hasn't melted (duh). The thing is, I can't bring myself to throw it! It's my greatest masterpiece yet. If only you could see how smooth the surface is, how perfectly spherical! You wouldn't want to throw a snowball like this either. Not without the right target.

And there she is! Miss Right – or at least, Miss Right On Time. What better way to begin a friendship than with a high-velocity frozen missile. She's coming my way, wrapped up as tight in her thoughts as she is in that coat. What a frown on her face, though. No doubt because she just got ejected from that party. We'll soon cheer her up.

She doesn't notice that she passes me, but she does. I let her walk a while, give her a fair head start. There's no point in wasting this baby on a point-blank assault. No, we'll give her some space and then hit when she least expects!

She's not even that far away now, but I can't resist. Hey batter batter, hey batter batter swiiiiing. I wind up the shot, draw my arm back, take in a deep breath, narrow my eyes, tense my muscles, tense everything, waiting waiting for the right moment until release. It whistles off through the air – weeeeeeeee! – and I grin with delight, imagining it sore through the sky in glorious slow motion, like the flight of some magnificent bird of prey.

With bated breath, I watch as it makes its final descent – the suspense of not knowing whether it will hit is killing me!

[Sansa]

Lost in her thoughts, Sansa paused when a car drove by to make sure it wasn’t Emilie, and was startled back to the present when a snowball pfffed into the snow in front of her. She resisted the childish urge to duck, and cautiously turned around, wary of another icy missile.

A young man was standing behind her, his expression a mixture of glee and disappointment. Sansa brushed her long wavy hair out of her eyes, “You missed.” She smiled at him, although she really didn’t want to encourage any further attention.

[Jude]

Did I? Did I?! That's awfully presumptuous, isn't it? Don't be so self-centred. Perhaps I was aiming right there, right for that very spot on the pavement! That little patch of concrete that isn't covered by snow, maybe I wanted to make it feel not so left out.

Did you think about that, hmmm?

“Oops.”

My lips stretch away from my teeth. People call this a smile.

I start walking... and become momentarily fascinated by trying to fit my steps into the mushy footprints left by others.

“You going to a big party tonight?”

[Sansa]

"Going home," she answered, before she could stop herself. Sansa sighed, and hugged her arms around herself for warmth. He was walking the way she had to go, so she reluctantly followed along behind him.

"Well," she amended, "I might go out. It is New Years, after all." She didn't sound like the holiday was anything to be excited about.

[Jude]

“It's just another night, right?”

Any excuse to party. Someone is born? Party. Someone dies? Party. Travel once around the sun? Party. Even if we have no reason, we'll make one up! It'll be a crazy party.

“I'm thinking of going to the gallery,” I confess, the words spilling out before I've got a chance to catch them.

“They're having this big, big all-nighter. Big money, celebrities, charity, luminaries, buffet, fireworks, charity...”

Already said that one. Damn. I turn so that I'm walking backwards, no small feat when crossing treacherously icy paths. I'm getting a look, a look that says go away, but I only half notice it when so much of my focus is invested in avoiding stepping on the cracks and lines in the pavement.

“It's open invitation,” I lie, but for the time being no one has to know or worry.

[Sansa]

She can’t help but grin at his ridiculous antics. “The gallery? You talk like there’s only one in the city.” Sansa adjusted her scarf, pulling it higher on her neck against the cold. Snow started falling again, big fluffy flakes that got stuck in her hair.

Sticking out her tongue to catch one before it could be sullied by London grime, she thought about the invitation. Emilie, petite, blond, and French, was always telling her she needed to get out more, to ‘put yourself out there!’ She usually followed such admonitions up with a string of sentences in rapid-fire French, leaving Sansa struggling to translate.

“We-ell…” She held out a hand, letting the snowflakes settle in the palm of her woolen glove as she walked. “Maybe. I’m not dressed for a party though.”

[Jude]

“There's plenty of time to change!”

Put on something pretty, to impress. Something Mademoiselle Emilie would approve of.

I can hear the petite mademoiselle cheering her, pushing her, on. It feels like she's almost there, almost over the edge into conceding defeat. I've almost won this one, I think – but not quite yet! One last push, mademoiselle - one, two, three:

“You can bring a friend, if you want to.”

Indecision still. Work with me, Emilie.

“Come along to the Barbican. Tell them Jude sent you and you'll get the VIP treatment,” I joke, as a wayward snowflake comes to rest on the tip of my nose, weary from its windy flight.

[Sansa]

Emilie would jump at the chance to mingle with celebrities at the Barbican, one of the most well respected art galleries in London. Sansa preferred curling up with a book on her bed to talking with people she didn't know. Which was part of the reason she was a nanny - or a governess as she might have been called in the old days, except she rarely stayed the night at the Brown's. Children had few expectations of their friends except loyalty.

"My flatmate might want to go..." she said reluctantly. "I'll have to ask her when I get home." Sansa stopped at a street corner and looked down to the left toward her flat. If Emilie was even home. Why hadn't she picked her up?

[Jude]

We reach a junction. To the left is the warmth of her home and the petite mademoiselle. To the right is the dark and inviting sprawl of an empty park. For now, at least, our paths diverge.

“I might see you both later on, then.”

My eyes meet with hers for a moment, it's all that's necessary. Humans are like stringless puppets in the presence of the children of Caine – the blood in me works like magic on her, planting subconscious suggestions, gently warming her to my will. It wouldn't be right to force her – and there's no fun in that – but this will at least make the game somewhat easier.

[Sansa]

"Maybe." She smiled as a farewell, and turned down her street. There were still long blocks to walk in the falling snow, but she felt a bit lighter as she made her way to her home.

Stamping up the steps into the building, Sansa waited impatiently for the creaky elevator to spool it's way down to the ground floor. She had a dress she could wear - she'd bought it a year ago but had never worn it outside of the flat. Emilie had borrowed it more than once, but it was just a little too long on her.

Wait, was she actually considering going? She entered the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor. Standing very carefully in the middle of the elevator so as not to touch the sides Sansa decided that she would go. If Emilie wanted to. Not alone - no she wouldn't go alone.

But the flat was empty when she arrived, with a quickly scrawled note explaining that Emilie had been invited to a last minute party with Jack Brewer. Ah, that's his name. The American. Apparently she was apologetic that she hadn't been able to pick up Sansa, but the fact that she'd been gushing about setting up Jack and Sansa for the last two weeks seemed to have slipped her mind.

Sansa crumpled up the note and threw it away.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

Since it's grand-opening in 1982, the Barbican Arts Centre had become a popular haunt for a number of Kindred – namely the Toreadors. It was only fitting, then, that the Prince of London – a Toreador himself – should host his New Years party within the walls of the gallery. It had become tradition for the city Camarilla to meet in the Barbican at the end of each year. There were so few other times that such a vast number of Kindred amassed together, that the party became almost a necessity to attend. Though it was thrown on the premise of a friendly get-together in celebration of another year of prosperity, the party was as steeped in dirty politics and game-playing as the rest of Kindred society.

The Arts Centre had been declared an Elysium, a haven in which no act of violence or attack was permitted, but even this could not deter some. Though the invitation to the party was open, it was an unspoken rule that only members of the Camarilla – vampires with the ability to act with respect for the laws of the Masquerade – should attend. Of course, some Anarch upstart or Sabbat troublemaker would crash the evening, inevitably - but when the time came, they would be more than ready. At the doors, guards stood on watch, whilst in the surrounding area Nosferatu scouts kept an eye and ear out for anything suspicious. Although it seemed almost over the top and paranoid, it was always better to be safe than sorry...

[Sansa]

Underneath her plain woolen coat, Sansa tried to feel adventurous. Her boots pinched her toes a little - she'd snatched them out of Emilie's closet. Despite their height difference they both wore the same size shoes, but she didn't wear high heels very often. She walked up the steps from the Underground, took a deep breath, and headed towards the Barbican Arts Centre.

Sansa stopped on the Barbican's steps, looking up at the entrance to the Centre. It was almost ten p.m. and people were passing her on their way up the steps and into the building. She was instantly conscious of her plain coat - it looked positively shabby next to some of the leather and fur ensembles that walked by her. She took another step up, then paused and turned to go before anyone saw her.

[Jude]

It looks as if she was just about to leave. Lucky for me I catch her with one foot out of the door. There's no sign of mademoiselle Emilie.

“Hey! You made it.”

I side-step to avoid a clove-cigarette wielding poseur, one more of the crushed-velvet Tory crowd. We two stick out like sore thumbs and the entourage passing by looks our way sidelong, offended.

I offer out a crooked arm to my new friend and guide her seamlessly towards the guarded doorway.

“...Where's your flatmate?”

[Sansa]

"Ah, she -" Sansa narrowly avoided having her eye jabbed out by a cigarette. "She was already at another party." She clutched at her wool coat as her escort whisked her inside the doors.

"I'm Sansa, by the way." It was hard to believe she'd shown up to a party after being invited by a stranger on the street who's name she didn't even know. She shrugged out of her coat, revealing the sleeveless burgandy dress underneath. It was knee length with an asymetrical hemline that dipped to mid calf. Emilie's boots kept her legs warm up to her knees, and she wore no jewelry except for two tiny studs in her earlobes.

[Jude]

“Jude,” I introduce myself once again and smile, forgiving of the sieve-like nature of human memory.

Just over the threshold, past the wary eyes of the guards, is the main reception. It's all but empty and quiet, voices barely drifting through from the main party. A ghoul steps forward and explains that there is a cloak room to the left. He takes Sansa's coat and my own heavy duster and scurries away, happy to be of service.

I'm wearing black, suprisingly - dress shirt and pants. Depending on who you compare us too, we will be either hilarious over or under dressed. We move on through the empty foyer and towards a small staircase which is signposted by a single, imposing black arrow – who would dare defy such an arrow?!

As we ascend, I can hear the sound of strings, the clink of glasses. When we come into view of the hall, we view it through frosted glasses. Amorphous shapes dotted here and there, drifting and gliding between one another. A tall man in a suit exits the room, spilling light out into the hallway. He babbles angrily on a cellphone and glares at us, no doubt expecting some privacy. I allow him the small luxury.

“It looks like we're a little early,” I observe. Though the crowd in attendance is fairly large, it seems dwarfed by the cavernous size of the room. Up above, four tiers of walkways run the perimeter of the rectangular room. A colour piece of modern art is hanging from the ceiling, drawing many eyes upwards.

It doesn't look like our entrance was noted- but it was. I can hear thoughts of kine among the poseurs, appalled that a lowly human has been allowed access into their secret little club. They watch us out of the corners of their eyes, all the while maintaining the illusion of conversation.

“Shall we get a drink?” I ask, hoping they have more than red wine on tap.

[Sansa]

Sansa resisted the urge to slap herself on the forehead. Tell them Jude sent you. That's right, he had told her his name earlier. But her coat was taken away and Jude was gently tugging her in the direction of a staircase, so she allowed herself to be led.

When they entered the hall Sansa took it all in silently, her blue eyes scanning the crowd and the enormous room. "Shall we get a drink?" Jude nodded with his head of carefully mussed hair (or perhaps just messy) towards a refreshment table.

She was acutely aware of the scrutiny of the people closest to them, and unconsciously moved closer to the side of her escort. "Sure, that'd be nice." Sansa blinked as a woman much taller than she was brushed by them, resplendent in blood red silk and enough diamonds and rubies to ransom the Queen, God save her. She snapped her mouth shut, mortified that she'd allowed it to pop open at the sight.

[Jude]

The refreshment table is woefully understocked. I smirk and made an offhand comment about the others having drunk all the free wine. In truth, it's mostly for show. I'd be surprised if anyone is drinking the wine – they're too busy drinking each other. We loiter by the table a while, until-

“Judas... I'm rather surprised to see you here.”

I knew it wouldn't be long before some bloodhound came snooping. This one has the drooping eyes and all – a doddering old Ventrue, up way past his bed time. I've seen his secrets, the things he wouldn't like the Prince and his chums to know about, so he regards me with an air of uncertainty and wary respect. I, on the other hand, regard him with a complete lack of respect and slight amusement.

“This is my good friend Sansa. Sansa, this is...”

I wave at the air, then pluck the name out of nowhere: “Cedric Helmsworth.”

“Sansa- charmed,” he lies. Enchanté, old man. He hands Sansa a flute of champagne and smiles, thin-lipped. I take one for myself and raise it, toasty like, to the old codger.

“Cedric is one of the gallery's benefactors. Without his generosity, we wouldn't have giant multi-coloured monstrosities like that,” I say, jokingly, and motion my glass up to the precariously positioned sculpture, hanging over us all like the swaying Sword of Damocles.

[Sansa]

Cedric? Sir Helmsworth? Mr. Helmsworth? What should she call him?

You're in way over your head, Sansa. If only Emilie were here - she was at home in any company. She was usually the center of attention when they went out, and Sansa was content in the role of the quiet friend.

"Likewise," she demurred, offering a pretty smile in exchange for his that seemed rather forced. "The Barbican is very impressive. I haven't had a chance to see much of the newest collection as of yet, but I plan to before the new year." Sansa tipped her glass up and tried not to gulp the champagne as she glanced at the hanging sculpture above the hall. It was strangely erotic, despite it's myriad colors and odd position.

[Jude]

“Judas hasn't given you the tour yet? How terrible of him.”

My eyes just about roll out of their sockets.

“I'm afraid we only arrived moments ago. I thought we'd take in some of the social scenery before moving on to the art work. It looks like a lot of the pieces are pretty crowded right now... not the best time for a viewing.”

I'm right. People are using exhibits as points to gather, huddling tightly around them.

“Maybe you could give us a grand tour later on, eh, Ceds?”

Helmsworth restrains himself. That Ventrue superiority complex doesn't deal very well with being talked down to by a moony. Still, he smiles all demure and refuses to let it get the better of him.

“Perhaps. I have so many others to see, though, that I'm not sure I'll have the time. I'm sure you understand.”

I'm sure I do. Old Ceds knows I can pull on his strings and push his buttons til the cows come home and there's diddly-squat he can do in return.

“On that note, I must leave you two to yourselves. I think I hear the Countess calling...”

Helmsworth makes a quick departure into the safe and inviting arms of a gaggle of blue-bloods, ready and waiting to spit vitriol in my name. I turn to my guest, who looks like a deer in the headlights of the Camarilla. I offer a lop-sided smile.

“Do you want to go for a wander? I'm sure the party will liven up later... not all of the invited guests are like crusty old Helmsworth.”

[Sansa]

"Yes, that sounds like a good idea." Sansa finished off her champagne and handed the empty flute to a waiter. She thought she saw a famous movie star in the distance, but the ebb and flow of the crowd pulled the man from view. "I took an art appreciation class in university, though I'm not sure I can properly appreciate all of it."

The girl found herself clutching Jude's arm as he guided her through the party guests, and forced herself to relax. Just a party. Act like a normal human being, for crying out loud. The alchohol began to work it's magic, percolating down from her empty stomach into her arms and legs. It wasn't much, but it helped.

[Jude]

“Don't worry, I don't know much about art either... we can make up our own meanings.”

The world of painters and poets was never one I made a conscious choice to move in, but circumstances being what they are I can't fight the tide. Thanks to my blessing, however, I can take to it like a battered housewife to cheap gin. I can see things others can't, beyond the surface...

We move to a quieter corner. The first level of the hall is plastered with images of London by night. Bridges and towers and other things photographed a hundred times before. Some of the paintings show a little more promise, but there's very little there, very little for the minds eye to see. I'll have to amuse myself by other means.

“How long have you been living in London, then?” I ask with idle curiosity, as we pause in front of a monochrome Tower of London.

[Sansa]

"About three years, since university" she admitted, turning from the print on the wall to look at him. "How about you?"

Sansa found herself fiddling with her hands, and ended up with one hand on her hip, the other at her side. They seemed to be standing apart from everyone else, and while she enjoyed the momentary quiet of the corner there was a prickle up her back she couldn't quite get rid of.

[Jude]

How long have I been living in London? I barely pay attention to what year it is, let alone how many of them I've spent here. At a guess, one hundred and...

“Twenty one years, all of my life. Can't get enough of the place.”

We wander slowly, not investing too much of our interest in what someone else poured all of theirs into. I glance over my shoulder and see that the crowd is flocking, herding towards something. Not all at once, but there's definite gravitation. They flit away now and then, like moths, but are inevitably drawn inwards. Someone important is making the rounds... the Prince.

“I've travelled quite a bit, you know, but I keep coming back here. There is something about London... it's like a whole world in its own right.”

Casually, with one hand to her back, I turn Sansa towards another picture. The last thing I need is the old royalty stealing my game. He's done it before but he won't get the chance this time.

[Sansa]

The girl looked at her companion as he spoke, wondering if he really was twenty-one years old. He looked the age, but there was something around his eyes that hinted at him being at least her age, if not a bit older. Nothing she could put a finger on, so she decided to take him at his word.

He solicitously put his hand on her back and turned her towards another frame on the wall. It was a meticulous rendering of Big Ben at twilight, and Sansa stared at it in silence for a moment. “Something about this one isn’t quite right.” She stepped closer to examine it, and then realized that the clock face was backwards, as though the painter had been looking in a mirror when he’d painted it. The effect was strange, and she turned to tell Jude as much, but then she noticed the movements of the other party guests.

“Did someone famous just arrive?” She peered over Jude’s shoulder to see if she could recognize anyone in the crowd.

[Jude]

“Huh?”

Feigning oblivious, I turn and look curious at the crowd. They all line-up to receive the left hand of God; his stride effortlessly parts the cooing crowd of sycophants. Poseurs and blue-bloods and all the little ne'er-do-wells of the Camarilla. The Torys in particular are just dying to know what he thinks of this painting or how he would rate that sculpture.

“Maybe some big art critic? I don't recognise him...”

My skin feels like its squirming, desperately trying to crawl from its bones. He doesn't look directly at us, in the shadow of the walkway – but his eyes pass over us, only briefly, and the voices tell me that he knows I'm here, knows my game. They tell me, you can't take one step without expecting to see Prince Charming ten ahead of you.

[Sansa]

"Me either." She felt slightly disappointed, but relieved at the same time. She had a tendency to freeze up around people she admired, and Emilie usually did all the talking if they ran into a minor celebrity while out on the town. Which, granted, wasn't very often.

Big Ben forgotten, she scanned the crowd, managing to pick out Cedric before he was lost from view. Beside her Jude was unnaturally silent and still, and Sansa looked sideways at him. "I say, are you all right?"

[Jude]

“Of course.”

I flash my teeth. The smile again. It always confuses me to think that this is something positive, especially when chimpanzees bare their teeth to show aggression and as kine we aren't too far removed from them.

“I think we should check out some of the upper floors. I hear they're a bit more colourful.”

We have to move into the crowd for this, though. I start to move away, only to see Lefty – the Prince – drift from the crowd, drift casually towards me. He has an entourage of faceless unknowns around him, whose presence only serves to accentuate his perfection through their faults. He smiles and somehow it looks more natural. No chimp could make it look like that.

“He probably knows where the good stuff is at,” I say, without really realizing that I'm speaking, my eyes following Prince Charming as he rises above us all, moving to the second tier of the gallery.

[Sansa]

Sansa couldn’t help but notice the art critic, or whoever he was, as he seemed to be making his way towards them. Jude was gripping her arm just above her elbow as he steered her toward the staircase that led to the upper floors.

There was an odd electricity to the air, and it seemed that there were many people staring at her. Sansa tore her eyes away from the man who was now ascending the stairs, and looked down at the ends of her borrowed boots. She felt stupid in them now, for some reason.

“Maybe I should just go. I feel like I’m crashing.” She grimaced, and looked about for a clock. “Any idea what time it is?”

[Jude]

I don't wear a watch. There is something sinister about them, I feel.

“It can't be more than quarter past eleven,” I say, hazarding a guess.

She can't leave. I won't have another one abandon me. I don't have Lefty's charms, but I do have the power to dominate and I use it freely on my companion, again urging her mind to reconsider itself.

“Stay,” I say, a one word command that reverberates through her whole body as I walk us up the stairs after the Prince. We're a fair distance behind, but close enough to be in ear shot. Sansa's proximity to him, to his presence, should add to the draw, should keep her on my arm for a little while longer.

“You're getting a lot of admiring glances, you know.”

[Sansa]

Sansa tucked her arm around Jude's as they walked up the stairs. The art critic, or whoever it was above them surrounded by an ever changing group of guests, looked in their direction but she couldn't tell if he was looking at her or not.

"Am I?" She flushed a bit, her free hand going to her long hair, brushing it out of her eyes and tucking a bit behind an ear. Was he one of the ones admiring? Emilie would die when she heard this story. Sansa didn't even notice how clingy she was acting towards Jude, or how he always seemed to have one hand on her at all times.

Now on the second floor of the hall, there seemed to be swarms of people all around them: women in glamorous gowns of many different colors, and men of varying types. They all seemed to be beautiful, and Sansa did not feel like she was getting admiring glances. Although, she didn't usually spend time with people of power or celebrity, so perhaps Jude was right.

They certainly were getting attention - Jude and Sansa were like a rock that the party flowed around but never really touched.

[Jude]

I walk on the outside, by the railing that separates us from a nasty drop. The people down below seem to have forgotten us – at least for the time being. Kine walking amongst them was novel, yes, but they wouldn't let become the sole topic of conversation. There were far more important things at hand, like slating some poor woman's choice of evening gown.

I'm so busy watching the ants below that I don't notice we're about to walk into the crowd orbiting Prince Charming. They don't notice us as much. Their eyes are on Lefty. He's gesturing at some painting and the crowd seems to be torn between its beauty and his, enraptured by both. To watch, it's sickening and awesome all at once.

“Wouldn't you agree?”

No one answers.

“I said, wouldn't you agree?”

That's because he's asking me. I look between Lefty, Sansa and the crowd. They look expectant. In front of us is hanging an expressionist piece. The voices whisper eloquently in my ear: distorted reality, full of emotion, shades of Kandinsky, abstraction... an eloquent jumbled opinions. One of the artistes is happy to step in and answer for me.

“German expressionism is so vibrant, so rich, so full of life. Marc's work in particular seems to jump off of the canvas, begging that we engage with it... absorb it into our being.”

There are some nods of approval. Odd. Lefty looks my way and I resent the fact that he's singling me out, attempting to make a mockery of me in front of his little audience. He doesn't linger for long though – and quickly the group is moving on. I hesitate, out of place.

I glance back to the stairs. Something feels... wrong. Flight or fight, fight or flight.

[Sansa]

Sansa stood still, her face turned towards the painting that had been recently scrutinized, but her eyes were following the man who had addressed her escort. Jude's hand was on her wrist now, fingers brushing the vein where she could feel her heart beating.

He squeezed a bit, and she returned her attention to him only to find that he was studying the stairwell. Sansa peered down over the railing, twisting a bit for a better angle, and frowned. There seemed to be some sort of commotion by the door. "Surely it isn't midnight already?" It seemed that perhaps a few people were starting to celebrate the New Year early.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

It was as I came upon another of the gallery's most recently required expressionist pieces that I became aware that things were not as they should have been. While my guests talked amongst themselves over the piece, I paced to the walkways edge and looked out over the vast hall. Some of the guests had begun to glance cautiously between themselves and the doorway that provided the single entrance and exit to the room. There seemed to be some commotion outside – the inevitable conflict that seemed to mark every gathering of kindred society. It was an eventuality that I had prepared for, of course, however it seemed my preparations had not been sufficient.

A new Cainite entered into the hall, dressed in leathers and swaggering with all the arrogance of a newly sired Brujah. He was alone, for the time being, but I knew that it would not be long before he was joined by some equally unappetizing acquaintances. With a sigh, I excused myself from my esteemed company and began a slow walk back to the stairs. As I passed Jude and his young companion, his eyes seemed to glare at me and I wondered in annoyance what his intention was in bringing a human into the midst of our gathering. It would not have been proper to expel her, simply for this fault, but her presence was a liability that could not be afforded, a problem that I would soon have to deal with.

For the time being, however, the errant Brujah awaited my attention. Another had joined him now, doubtlessly a fledgling. They had the countenance of misguided Anarchs – this fact mixed with their Clan making them perhaps the most likely candidates to attempt to sully an amicable meeting of kindred such as this. Certainly, it was their intention to upset the harmonious balance which had been so delicately crafted for the evening. I came again to the first floor and, from a distance, recognised the pair as two who had only newly arrived in London – having presented themselves to me some two months prior, as immigrants of the Scottish highlands, in search of a most satisfying existence. I stopped short of them, by some feet, so that I might observe them.

“Alright, granddad,” the male snarled, circling around the elderly Cedric Helmsworth, giving the old man a hard pat on the back. His female counterpart smacked a colourless wad of chewing gum loudly between her pointed teeth and giving the old Ventrue a once over.

“Hope you don't mind us dropping in, only we heard you lot was having a party. Me and the boys thought we'd come join in!”

[Jude]

“No, I don't think so....”

I can't tear myself away from the clash below. You don't have to be a genius to know what's going to happen. It's like watching two speeding locomotives headed for one another, both on the same track, destined to collide with one another. You know its going to happen, but you can't look away.

[Sansa]

She gripped the railing tightly with her right hand as they looked down on the hall. As the two newcomers circled Cedric, Sansa became indignant. “What do they think they’re doing to that poor old man?”

The crowd beneath them was parting to make way for the art critic. Surely he would put a stop to it. Someone should. Sansa looked around, but most of the people on the second floor were lining the railings, watching the events below.

[Erzsebet]

The Brujah had been the perfect distraction, causing such a scene that even His Majesty was coming to investigate. A slight sigh escaped her as she stepped into the hall, two hulking males from her herd on either side.

One never could be to careful when travelling abroad.

The two men at her side bore the distinct markings of the Vicissitude Discipline. Their forms had been twisted, flesh and bone altered to create a pair of, in the young-looking womans' opinion, fine specimens. Their hands had been shaped into gnarled claws, their backs hunched and faces deformed just so.

Erzsebet smiled as she strode confidently into the fray, stopping briefly to pop open a compact and apply more pale powder to her scarred porcelain skin. It didn't matter that she had no reflection - one had to look their best when attending a function like this. A quick snap and it was placed back into the clutch she carried.

From her place near the entranceway, she could keep an eye on the Camarilla that surrounded her whilst she waited for her other companions to arrive.

[Jude]

Tzimisce?! The room became deadly silent, but the shriek of the voices was deafening to me. They screamed out in anger, in protest. None of the Torys move. They're all statues, porcelain white sculptures. Even the punks look dumbstruck, totally out of their depth in the face of two hulking szlachta beasts.

My grip on Sansa's wrist tightened. I pulled her closer and took a few cautious steps backwards. The still blood in my veins works a cloak of shadows around us, so that to all others we seem to vanish from view, melding into the darkness on the walkway. Already the Masquerade is broken.

Down below Lefty makes his appearance at last, but I'm deaf to what he says. I can't heart for the voices, for the thump thump of the living heart so close by. My mind brushes with Sansa's, offering memories, illusions, hypnotic suggestions as an alternative for what she really sees. I let her mind see what ever makes the most sense, if anything can.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

I had sensed something amiss, and was not wrong in my suspicions. The arrival of the Brujah Anarch was merely a taster of the true chaos of the evening. In a bizarre fashion, it seemed almost fitting that the Tzimisce – walking works of 'art' – should rear their grotesque heads. Truly, they are the anti-thesis to the Toreador in every way, heretics to humanity...

Rodermark, at last walking into the open, stood directly in opposition to Erzsebet and her servants – setting himself in a position between the twisted creatures and the amassing of Camarilla behind him. While the Prince's Sheriff and Scourge, along with a number of guards, were in attendance, they did not yet advance – instead waiting for their leader to command them to do so. It seemed the entire room was awaiting some word on the Prince's part, but Gabriel did not speak. He himself was waiting – waiting for his adversary to make some word or action of her own.

[Sansa]

Sansa took in the scene below, her breath catching in her throat as what appeared to be a child and two monsters entered the hall. Jude pulled her against his side, and she stepped closer without protest, her eyes wide and her heart beginning to beat in double time.

But surely the two men were ... performers. Cirque de Solei clowns that the rich could afford. Her mind fabricated the lie, and Sansa started to relax, her breath expelling in a quiet, strangled, "Huh."

[Erzsebet]

A smile and tiny curtsy greeted the Prince. Her voice was lightly accented; Eastern European, but unclear of exactly what country. A distinct tone of sarcasm was present, but her smile was deceptively...cheerful. Tzimisce could present a more, humane face when needed. And now, it was needed.

"Tis a pleasure to make your aquaintance, your highness. I hope we didn't create too much of a scene." The girl remained in place, tempted to move towards the Prince, but wary in this group of enemies. A gentle nudge to their sides caused the beasts to bow in greeting.

"Please forgive my Szlachta, they're not as cultured as we are."

[Gabriel Rodermark]

A polite Tzimisce was nothing out of the ordinary. For all they were a monstrous lot in their practices, they demeanour and manner towards others was often restrained and rather noble. This alone wasn't enough to redeem them in the eyes of the Camarilla, however. To them, the Masquerade was a petty, trifling thing that only weak vampires clung to. While this girl may still have retained an appearance akin to human, her clans blood dictated that she would have abandoned all humanity long ago.

Having not travelled widely outside of western Europe, I could not place the accent with which she spoke. Surely, she was newly arrived to the city. Perhaps it was her intent to present her brood before me, mocking the tradition of Hospitality.

“What business do you have in my domain?” the Prince asked, direct and to the point.

[Erzsebet]

"Well, it is New Years."

The smile slipped into a smirk. A tiny hand gestured to the art displayed around the room.

"Are we Tzimisce not allowed to enjoy the artisians of London?"

[Katarina Gordislava]

The shadows cast by the szlachta seem to thicken, coalescing into the form of a woman. Shorter than the beasts, she stepped to the side, her long black dress clinging to her thin body.

"Rodermark," the Archbishop of Moscow purred. "We wish to ring in a New Year." Her accent was light, and the capital letters on New Year were noticed by all of the poseurs. The two Brujah in their leathers and attitude were making the mistake of staring at her.

Katarina stared back, deep into their eyes. "Kill." She infused the word with power, Dominating the fledglings into a murderous mood.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

There was a new attraction now, something more fascinating than all the art work in the gallery. The party had been crashed by none other than a Sabbat regent, a member of clan Lasombra. While clan Tzimisce twisted flesh and bone to their will, the Lasombra twisted minds. The only decent thing to come from their bloodline was the turncoat Prince of Milan named Giangalazzeo, who had cast aside his allegiance to the Sabbat, destroying many of his former peers in the process. Though they did not look it, they were almost as inhuman and predatory as their ghoulish allies.

The ghouls that had guarded the door had swarmed from the entrance to the main hall, looking the exits behind them. In the hall itself, the vampires on the first floor all began to crowd towards the confrontation – whilst those on the walkways above strained to see what was happening. Some began a quick descent of the staircases, feeling some obligation to help in any combat that might ensue.

The Anarch Brujah lurched forward, as though possessed by the Beast. Quick to intervene was the hulking Sheriff of London, another Brujah whose strength was widely known and respected. While his presence unnerved many of those in attendance, it also eased them to think that they had some brawn to match their brains. He dealt with his clan mates as he dealt with everything – efficiently and in as clean a fashion as possible. They would not be awed by him and so he cast their heads down against the ground in an effort to knock them unconscious, spitting a little blood against the polished floor. Gabriel glanced briefly at their fallen forms, before his eyes returned to those still stood before him.

“There is nothing to be achieved here, Katarina. Nothing but your final death. Go. Now.” Rodermark's words rung with majesty, his Presence palpable. As he spoke, his guards and Scourge came to his side.

[Jude]

Bad to worse to much worse to oh god. I watched as the Lasombra wraith slipped out of the shadows and into the harsh light of the gallery. I turned Sansa away from the truth, holding her firmly in two hands. She looked at me in confusion, in fear, some part of her mind seeming to understand that what she had seen was not in fact what I had seen, what had caused me to look so panicked.

I made a quick decision, to bite the bullet, or rather the neck. One arm around her neck, I pulled her closer. The bite, the sensations of it, it would lull her into a kind of trance, it would blind and deafen her to the chaos that was about to erupt. Already full of regret, I sank two fangs in and felt, as her body crumpled against mine, a rush of her blood.

[Sansa]

Sansa watched silently as the man and the woman were dispatched with ease, her mind a whirling vortex of confusion and soothing thoughts. Jude pulled her around to face him, a hand on each side of her face, and she read fear in his eyes.

The look he was giving her did not match with what she thought she’d seen, and she started to tremble. As she opened her mouth to whisper, even as the guests lining the balconies started to move toward the stairs, he brushed her hair away from her neck and kissed her. There was a little pain and then… ohh God there was pleasure. She melted against him, clutching at the front of his shirt with her slim hands as he held her up.

She didn’t even notice when the hanging sculpture started to come down, falling three stories down to the floor of the hall.

[Erzsebet]

"How can we go when the real fun is just begining?"

A chittter is heard from above - smaller misshapen forms seem to ooze from the shadows of the upper levels of the hall, amassing around the anchors of the sculpture. More of the tiny creatures were crawling in through windows, now burst open.

The Tzimisce had always enjoyed fairy-tales and works of fiction, and it was evident in all that she had created. Their forms were that of misshapen humans, made smaller, with long ape-like arms and tiny wings on their backs. Ghoulish "flying monkeys", straight from a childs imagination, clamoured over the walls and railing.

The girl takes a small step back, as the sculpture comes smashing down the floor between the Sabbat and the Regent. The crowd begins to scatter, in a panic as the szlachta move forward, grabbing anyone who got in their way.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina fixed her eyes on the Regent as the crowd scattered behind him and the sculpture came crashing down. “Perhaps not, my Prince.”

She curtseyed, and stepped backwards, slipping into the realm of Darkness she knew so well. She would leave the szlachta monsters to their work. Ezserbet had refused to emerge from Hungary unless the Lesombra had agreed to send a representative, and tonight was so pivotal.

She had been forced to come, of course. The Cardinal was still angry about that sham of a war that the humans called ‘cold.’ Well, that had taught her not to promise a nuclear holocaust unless she could really back it up.

Tonight was the first step of many. No doubt she would have to make sure Ezserbet got out safely as well – lose a Tzimisce of such power and Katarina would be lucky if her final death was not at the hands of her own Bishops.

[Jude]

Calamity fell from the sky. The Sword of Damocles rushed downwards and shattered across the hall. It draws me out of the embrace, away from the two fresh wounds on Sansa's neck. Her body is like a marionette in my hands. I make a move for higher ground. I turn, however, into the face of a pair of szlachta, who have already begun to spread across the upper tiers. They moan and warble and lurch towards us with hungry swiping claws.

“Back! Back you little bastards!” I yelp.

All of a sudden, the two monsters become completely convinced that if they were to go burrowing into one another's stomach, they would find a tasty tasty treat. They turn on each other and howl hungrily, trying desperately to tear upon each others guts. While they're distracted playing find the spleen, I pull Sansa's limp body towards the staircase at the end of the walkway. It's like she's had one too many glasses of champagne and is completely at ease with the impending doom swarming all around her.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

The advance of the Tzimisce fiends is just what the Prince's Scourge has been waiting for. While the Sheriff seems methodical in his disposal of the enemy, the Scourge seems far more likely to batter anything and anyone that gets in his way. While the Sheriff carries firearms, the Scourge – a Gangrel – is armed with a broadsword which he wields with all the ferocity of a Celtic warrior.

Other kindred advance to aide in the effort to repel the Sabbat minions, though many attempt to flee for safety – their loyalty to their Prince now fully evident. Cedric Helmsworth ducks into the shadow of a large painting, which is promptly slashed down its centre by the wayward blade of the Scourge, as he cleaves in two the torso of one szlachta.

The fall of the sculpture has kicked up a cloud of dust and debris that seemed to blanket a large area of the room in a choking cloud. Just as Katarina had vanished back into the shadows from whence she had came, so kindred began to vanish in the haze of dirt – the power of their blood the only thing allowing them to see and sense one another.

Although he had an impressive team of guards and aides, the Prince himself was – regrettably – not a fighter. His blood allowed him to move quickly, to dodge and parry, but his strength was not in combat. His ability to awe and influence, however, was of benefit – particularly with regards to the szlachta, who could quickly be turned away or better yet against one another.

[Sansa]

Sansa was leaning heavily on Jude’s arm, feeling as though she had not a care in the world. As her companion dodged what appeared to be creatures from The Wizard of Oz, she caught a glimpse of the cacophony of chaos below. It appeared to be some sort of dance…

Dreamily, she touched the railing of the staircase she found herself at, as Jude practically leapt up the stairs two at a time with her in tow. “Some party,” she murmured, smiling.

[Erzsebet]

The szlachta to her left caught hold of one unfortunate party-goer, ripping the man apart and lunging for more. The one to her right hung close at her side, keeping an eye on his mistress. The chittering "monkeys" were jumping down from the ceiling, landing on the stuck-up Camarillas in a frenzy and tearing around the hall like mad-men.

Erzsebet watched the goings-on with a look of utter glee. She hadn't had this much fun in...well, ages and ages. The sudden howling from above caught her attention, and she scowled at the pair ascending the stairs. None of these kindred knew how much effort she had put into shaping her pets, now they were turning them against each other! Tiny hands curled into fists at her sides.

One loud command in her native tongue to the closest beasts sent them scrambling towards Jude and Sansa - at least five of the smaller creatures, followed by the other bodyguard-beast. That would teach them to destroy her hard work!

[Katarina Gordislava]

As Ezserbet allowed her bodyguards to abandon her, Katarina spun back into existence next to the diminutive Tzimisce. Furious, for a variety of reasons, the Lesombra clenched her fists at her sides and stood with her back to her ally. Ezserbet would probably resent the fact that Katarina was guarding her - but who could blame her? Katarina resented it as well.

She had a view of the doors that led out into the antechamber, but they were swarming with ghouls and the children of Caine as they alternately scrambled in and out of the hall. A pair of ghouls leapt at her, but the Archbishop clapped her hands and used her skill in Potence to knock the ghouls back with a sonic wave.

Surely he wouldn't be too much longer.

[Jude]

We rise above the dust cloud, only to see the patchwork Tzimmie is pointing right at us. The voices groan in disappoint as another wave of beasties comes bounding after us. Luckily, we have a head start. Already on the third floor and heading for the fourth, it should take some time for them to catch on. What I don't count on, however, is the sudden appearance of flying monkeys. I shriek as one swoops blindly past us.

Sansa almost slips out of my grip, as I duck to avoid another dive-bomber. Desperate times, desperate measures. Another veers in towards us, but suddenly becomes infinitely terrified us his own nose and howls in terror as he tries to violently remove it from his face, sending him tumbling down to the ground in a frenzy. Waves of madness radiate from me, and the monkeys are all tuned in. One becomes fascinated by the idea of dancing along to walkway handrail, another becomes convinced that he is a domesticated household feline. I don't feel any control over it all, but its glorious to watch their mad antics as I pull Sansa up the last flight of stairs...

[Gabriel Rodermark]

Beasts are creatures of emotion, not rationale. As such, they are highly susceptible to the charms of Presence – a skill which Gabriel, as a ruling Prince, had become more than adapt at utilizing. It appealed to the raw emotions, inspiring anything from terror to complete obedience. In the case of the Tzimisce warghouls, Rodermark chose the latter. His aura pulsated with Presence, and as he moved through the maelstrom the creatures began to swarm to him, all inexplicably drawn to him and away from those they were attacking.

The Sheriff and Scourge, meanwhile, moved on the Sabbat puppetmasters. A spray of bullets spat out of the dust cloud, headed right for Katarina, as the Sheriff moved with Celerity enhanced speed. The Scourge had formed monstrous claws of his hands, and bounded – almost foaming at the mouth – towards Erzsebet. Though it is unlikely that either kindred possesses the strength to completely overcome the Sabbat mistresses, they are formidable opponents who should act as excellent distractions, preventing their opponents from holding much command over their wayward creations.

Gabriel, now encircled by a ring of beasts, draws out a small firearm and begins to unload the clip into the willing, waiting bodies. Other vampires come quickly to the slaughter, exerting their own influence over the creatures, compelling them to stay put as they are, one by one, delivered to their death.

[Erzsebet]

The smaller vampire shrieked in surprise, raising her arms to block her face from the Scourges' attack. His claws dug in deep, taking a large chunk of flesh from the girls' forearms with them as he pulled back for another swing. She ducked, and lunged at his waist, cursing him under her breath. The pair tumbled to the floor, wildly lashing out at each other with clawed hands.

Erzsebet was not a fighter by any means, and usually left this type of thing to her ghouls. Her cries had swung the remaining salachta-guard back in her direction, but he had to wade through the kindred to get to her. Where were the other Sabbat Katarina had promised?!

Her other pets were being destroyed by the Prince - she had expected losses, but nothing of this magnitude. The Archbishop would get an earful if they escaped from here in one piece.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Of course, the big guns, literally and figuratively, were most likely behing held up at the door. Katarina, in Tenebrous form again, cursed as the Gangrel Scourge pulled the Tzimisce to the ground. But then the Sherriff was upon her, and while she could not be harmed by his bullets in this form, she was sure that he might figure out something else.

She blanketed the quartet in a Shroud of the Night, effectively separating them from the rest of the mayhem and enclosing them in darkness. The Scourge was her next target, but Ezserbet seemed to have been able to separate from the large Gangrel and for a few moments all was silent and still under the Shroud.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Bright light flashed within the foyer. The man in black clapped his hands together. A purple halo spread from his skin as he remained motionless for but a moment, before tearing his hands apart and once more hurling twin electrical bolts into the chests of advancing ghouls. Already eight had fallen, and the others were advancing towards him like lambs to the slaughter. When one managed to get too close, the warlock drove an open palm against the ghouls solar plexus and sent a debilitating shock through his body, sending him falling backwards, trembling.

The two Brujah Anarchs who had attempted to crash the Camarilla gathering had managed to rouse themselves from unconsciousness, but upon bolting from the main hall ran directly into the waiting arms of the Tremere sorcerer. All three stumbled at the collision, though it was the man in black who was first to react, once more pouring the lethal energy of Levinbolt into their already frail bodies. With this obstacle overcome, he forced his way into the gallery proper.

“Archbishop!”

His voice was only barely audible beneath gunfire. Fighting his way in had left Sergei in fatigue. At the first sign of conflict the Nosferatu patrolling the surrounding area had come to the aide of the Camarilla, and had succeeded in ambushing the Tremere antitribu warlock on the gallery steps. He had dispensed of them, for the time being, and the ghouls, in due time – but felt now that he had only a little more of Levinbolt's magic in him. He needed blood. Now.

“Archbishop!” he called again, as a terrified Toreador fled past him, tripping over the fallen Anarchs in a desperate attempt to escape. He paid her little mind, instead focusing on the scene before him with heightened senses, trying to pick out the location of his superiors.

[Sansa]

On the fourth floor of the gallery Sansa stumbled into a tall statue as Jude lost his grip on her. She smacked her forehead into a marble breast, and toppled over backwards, borrowed boots twisting uncomfortably underneath her.

Jude was saying something, and she frowned as she tried to understand him. It sounded like they were both underwater, and she put a hand to her head where a lump was rapidly swelling. But it didn't seem important to concentrate, and she lost focus and examined the sculpted toes of the statue she'd fallen in front of.

A chittering creature thumped to the ground beside her, and swiped at her arm. Sansa blinked, the pain she felt overcome by the residual effect of the vampiric Kiss. The slashes on her forearm welled up with living blood, and then the monster was gone, booted away by Jude.

[Jude]

For a moment I am consumed with horror as Sansa makes a slow-mo impact with the ground, but quickly get distracted. I flail my arms wildly at the air, trying to swat the monkeys out of mid-flight. They screech and yowl and only seem to get more infuriated – all expect the dancing one of course, who is now doing the cha-cha. The monkey-who-thinks-he's-a-cat is petrified, though not because of me – because he just heard another monkey bark.

The voices are all shouting at once. The shovel heads are winning, a wicked warlock is on the lose, snow-white is in danger. It's all too much. I stumble backwards, both hands on my head. Too much, too loud. It all mixes, mingles, blends and blurs. Voices, shrieks, screams, groans, moans. TOO LOUD. The world falls down. Ah-tishoo, ah-tishoo. We all fall down. I cover my ears, close my eyes, crumple to my knees. A failure.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

Other kindred rallied to the fight, on both sides. Many of my own peers moved to the southern portion of the hall, where the Tzimisce fiends found themselves lured and now trapped. The firearm I carried was now completely emptied and in foolish naivety I had foregone the necessity to carry another clip with which to reload. Now unable the aide in the destruction of the beasts, I retreated from the combat through the settling mist.

The Sabbat leaders were no longer in sight, but from afar I perceived that a new soldier for the battle had arrived. Even from a great distance I could see the black stains across his aura – he was a traitor, a Tremere turncoat. While my staff may have possessed the potential to subdue a Sabbat mage, I did not and although the thought of challenging him crossed my mind, it was fleeting and soon replaced by a more pressing concern for the safety of one kindred in particular.

I had glimpsed, briefly, the sight of Jude and his companion fleeing for high-ground. Not long after, the Tzimisce wench had summoned her flight of beasts and I suspected that it was these misshapen creatures that posed a threat to Jude and his human. Those with whom I was well acquainted had observed in me an unusual and nigh fanatical interest in Jude. My observation of him was not unwarranted – as a Malkavian Jude could provide often valuable and profound insight that a more stable mind could not. It was for this reason, and some much less known, that I found myself bounding up the stairs of the gallery, moving faster than the naked eye could see.

[Erzsebet]

She fell back, hard, onto the marbled floor of the hall as the Scourge threw her off. The Shroud covered the four, and she was greatful for the distraction. The wounds on her arms bled thickly down the tattered sleeves of her dress...

A bright flash caught her eye; a shadow stood in the midst of the light, but she couldn't quite make out who it was. She could only assume it was the other Sabbat, come to whisk them away to safety.

[Katarina Gordislava]

The Shroud dissapated, and Katarina would have sighed with relief at the sight of her Vizier had she any breath in her lungs. The Sheriff and Scourge were still a threat, and very close to their targets.

Unfortunately, they chose to switch as well. The Scourge pulled his sword and nearly chopped the Archbishop's head off before she could escape back to Tenebrous form. Ezserbet seemed to be distracted by the wounds on her arms, but Sergei could see them now that the Shroud was gone.

Katarina could not protect herself and the Tzimisce at the same time, but more Lesombra vampires entered the gallery behind the mage. Not a lot - but enough.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The handful of Lasombra that had followed in Sergei's wake moved quickly to the side of the wounded Tzimisce. They formed a ring of shadow around her, like a black fog. Every few seconds a face would flash out of the darkness, as eyes searched for any threat. Black tentacles stretched out into the air, ready to snap and attack anyone who drew near.

Sergei arrived at Katarina's side, just in time to repel the Scourge with a biting bolt of electricity.

“Things are not going quite as planned?” he asked calmly, his eyes focused on the downed from of the Scourge. He was stinging from the hit, but the sorcerer doubted he would stay down long.

“The Nosferatu killed a good number of your servants.”

[Gabriel Rodermark]

Even as I moved upward, I kept a close eye on the conflict below. From such a high vantage, the pockets of combat were clearly visible. More Lasombra had arrived, but were busied with protecting their wounded leader. As always, my Scourge and Sheriff proved invaluable allies. While I winced to see the former struck by the magic of the Tremere warlock, I knew he would not be so easily defeated. I was confident, even then, that we would soon repel the Sabbat.

My Malkavian friend, however, was quite the opposite. My first glimpse of him was that of a curled, foetal form. One of the Tzimisces flying beasts was perched on his shoulder, attempting to caw like a parrot. For all he may have appeared to be in quite a state, I knew from experience that this was something fleeting. It was the life of his human companion that worried me more. She was a bleeding mess.

“Up, up!” I gave Jude a hard push on the shoulder as I passed him by. “There's no time for that.”

There was, of course, no response. The poor young woman could slip from this world without a thought from Jude. I sensed her weak heartbeat, her failing life, her loss of blood. Perhaps a lesser vampire would have taken it upon themselves to deliver her to a peaceful end, to relieve her of that blood which did not yet stain the gallery floor. I was not so callous. With one sharpened nail I pierced my own skin, allowing blood to rise to the surface. Gathering up Sansa's body, I pressed the open wound on my forearm to her lips. The vitae would strengthen her, draw her back from the brink of death.

[Sansa]

Sansa was tired, so very tired. The noises around her seemed to all blend in together into a carefully woven blanket of white noise. It pressed her down to the floor - not hurting her, but simply keeping her unable to move.

She twitched her fingers towards her fallen companion, and drew in another shallow breath. Nothing made sense, and yet everything made sense at the same time. She was being lifted up, held against someone. Sansa was powerless to move, but did not want to anyway. As the Prince's blood stained her lips she took a deeper breath, mercifully unaware of what was going on even as her body strengthened.

[Jude]

Another voice joins the ruckus, shouting 'up, up' like I'm some dog. I peek out through the cracks between my fingers at the madness. Zeus has arrived and is hurled lightning left right and centre. Dark, dark and darker are blanketing the Tzimmie. I'm sure I can hear the shout of Big Ben from far off – it should be midnight by now, surely?!

I steal a glance towards Lefty and double-take as I see him pushing his bloody wrist into snow-whites mouth. My eyes goggle. He's stealing her?! All at once the voices become unified in their protests. I scramble forwards, still on my knees, and try to pull him away – but BAM a monkey hits me in the head and I roll onto my side, dizzy and dejected.

[Erzsebet]

Within the circle of shadows, nimble fingers went to work, binding up the deep gashes temporarily with bits of skin untill they could reach a safe haven. The front of her dress was nearly drenched in thick dark blood, the sleeves ripped to shreds along with her arms.

She caught a glimpse of the Archbisop and their "saviour" - a Tremere...If she weren't so weak, the sight of him would've made her blood boil. She remained kneeling within the circle, protected by the Lasombra and silent.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Saved from the distraction of Ezserbet, Katarina ghosted to the Scourge as the Camarilla was getting to his feet. She smacked him in the face with a thickened tentacle of Shadow, knocking him backwards. The second attacker, the Prince’s Sheriff, had disappeared, but whether he was defeated or simply gone she did not know.

To Sergei’s news of losses amongst her servants, the Archbishop shrugged. “Unfortunate, but expected. I believe we have accomplished our aims here, however.” She wanted to get out before they lost more, but Ezserbet would have to call back her creatures in her own time. It was doubtful she would leave until they had collected all of them back, including the one hulking bodyguard szlachta beast that was still ascending the stairs and was nearly on the fourth floor.

The Tzmisce knew the plan as well as she did, however. Katarina spun herself out of the Shadows and stood solidly once more, just barely behind Sergei.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

There was another heavy crack of gunfire. Sergei caught sight of the Sheriff blowing the head off of one of the Sabbat ghouls.

Aims, the sorcerer thought with a smirk. For all he was committed the Sabbat cause, he was still dubious of their methods – though was certain that on this particular occasion they had put the fear of Caine into the art house fops.

“Might I suggest a swift retreat?” he asked, as the Scourge lurched forwards, the look of the Beast in his eyes. The vizier frowned, casually tossing a bolt of energy into the overgrown pup.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

The potency of the Prince's vitae would be sure to overwhelm the young woman if taken into too strong a dose. Gabriel allowed but a little to pass her lips before drawing away. Almost instantly it seemed the colour was returning to her complexion, her breathing became more even. Still, she was fragile, plagued by frailty of human existence.

“Don't panic, you're safe,” Gabriel said, his words audible and even powerful in spite of the mass of sound that threatened to silence them.

[Jude]

Before I get the chance to finish counting the ceiling tiles, I spot something out of the corner of my eye. It's climbing the stairs, slowly but surely, swaying and slavering and eyeing us all up like lunch meat. I lurches forwards with outstretched arms and hungry moans.

I scramble up to my feet. Lefty is too busy with snow-white to notice what's going on, so it falls to me to fight off this child of Prometheus.

I run, with uncertain steps, at it. I'll have you, Franky, I think, and jump right into the beasts waiting arms. It wobbles uneasily and begins to fall backwards. My plan is flawed. It's going to fall back down the stairs and take me with it! Damn you, wretch!

[Sansa]

Safe? Sansa put a hand to her head, and then noticed the blood running down her arm. She stiffened in Gabriel's arms and almost immediately started to tremble.

Sounds and sensations came flooding in like the tide, and the acrid smell of blood filled her nostrils. What happened? Her head ached and she was too weak to manage to form any actual words, but the voice of the man who was supporting her was comforting. Her body did not stop trembling, but her mind was soothed.

[Erzsebet]

I run, with uncertain steps, at it. I'll have you, Franky, I think, and jump right into the beasts waiting arms. It wobbles uneasily and begins to fall backwards. My plan is flawed. It's going to fall back down the stairs and take me with it! Damn you, wretch!

The Beast groaned, clawed arms flailing in the air as it begins to fall backwards, Jude coming with him. They tumble in a heap down the stairs, the salchta smacking it's head hard on the landing. Hard enough to knock it senseless, leaving Jude slumped on top of him.


“Might I suggest a swift retreat?” he asked, as the Scourge lurched forwards, the look of the Beast in his eyes. The vizier frowned, casually tossing a bolt of energy into the overgrown pup.

Erzsebet rose to her feet, nearly glaring at the Archbishop. Some of her better pets had been lost, needlessly in her opinion, and they could not afford to wait around and collect them. This was not what she had intented to do, when she left her haven. Nor was associating with a Tremere sorcerer. The Tzimisce was clearly not amused at this turn of events, but she knew well-enough to stay quiet and admit that they were out-numbered. The ghouls could be replaced while their unlives could not.

"We can't wait for the beasts, leave them here and let the Camarilla deal with them. They'll provide enough distraction for us to escape."

[Katarina Gordislava]

"Agreed." Katarina snapped her fingers, and the pack around Ezserbet thinned as some of the vampires immediately went to the doors to clear their escape route. Just in case any of the Camarilla were trying to be cute and doubling back after making their own escapes.

"Ah, music," she crooned, the distant sound of sirens piercing the night air. "Come, Sergei." He backed towards the door as the other Lesombra escorted the diminutive Tziminsce through.

Katarina did not waste any time lingering to watch the continuing mayhem inside the Hall, but gathered her skirts and stalked out into the antechamber. As she hurried down the steps, a Nosferatu leapt on her, bowling them both down. She was weary, but slipped into tenebrous form before it could snap her neck, enveloping the Camarilla vampire with Shadow.

Forming Arms out of shadow, she grasped the creature’s head and twisted, snapping it's neck so hard it almost came off.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The crisp, cool night air was a welcome change from the chaos of the Barbican. Sergei descended the steps from the entrance quickly, conjuring a dull light that lead the way and flushed out any Camarilla stragglers that may have been lurking in the vicinity. One sewer rat attempted an assault on the Archbishop, but she dealt with it swiftly. Turning to regard his superior, Sergei smirked.

“Happy New Year.”

The far-off sounds of revellers welcoming in another year were mingled with the sirens of police cars. Whether or not they were approaching the gallery was moot – it wouldn't be long before the disturbance was noted and reported. The Prince would have quite the problem on his hands, having to explain away the destruction inside.

[Jude]

Frankenstein goes down light a tonne of brinks. The world spins around and for a moment I think I'm going to be crushed and then- nothing. I'm lying on top of its body, looking down into vacant glaring eyes. I rise to my feet, triumphant, and the crowd goes wild.

But...where are the bangs and bullets? What happened to the bloodshed? I look away from the beast and see that the shovelheads have vanished- poof, into thin air. There's just monkeys now, scared and confused, lost without their masters pulling on their leashes. Victory rushes to my head and I stumble back from the body towards the stairs.

“You!” a voice yells. I look behind me. It's the Sheriff.

“Come on, get down here, we got clean-up to do.”

[Gabriel Rodermark]

I heard the shouting of voices. The Sheriff and the others had already begun a clean-up operation. That meant that the Sabbat were, at last, repelled. Though the police were undoubtedly on route to the gallery, there were a number of influential Ventrue in attendance who made it their profession to pull the wools over the eyes of the mortal law enforcement. The Masquerade would remain intact, even in such dire situations.

The more immediate problem was that of Sansa. Her own blood was pooled at her feet; the bodies of Tzimisce ghouls were in plain view. In her weary state of mind, it was difficult to tell how she would react. Most mortal eyes that fall on such things just ignore them. They will glimpse little tell-tales signs of the veil of the Masquerade every day, but subconsciously disregard them. In this case, however, it would not be as simple as turning ones cheek.

“Come, stand,” I said, taking the young woman's hands in my own and standing as I did so, my own strength seeming to pass to her. My mind willed hers to avert her eyes from anything but my person, so that her gaze would fix solely on my face and be blind to the blood and chaos.

“Let us walk together.”

I knew where to take her. There was an office, intended for the gallery purveyor, on the fourth floor. It was beyond a corridor at the opposite end of the walkway, and would provide a place for her to rest and remain oblivious to the madness in the gallery proper.

[Sansa]

She got to her feet, eyes on the face of the man she could now identify as the art critic. Whoever he really was - Jude hadn't seemed to know. As they walked, moving around things on the floor that she supposed might have been sculptures, she studied his features.

When he looked back at her Sansa felt a flutter somewhere in her stomach. After a few moments of walking, his hand clasped firmly around hers, they entered an office. He shut the door behind them, and she looked down at her boots. They seemed to have something sticky on them, and there was a long scratch down the side of one.

No, not her boots, Emilie's boots. Emillie was going to flip out when she saw them. Sansa fumbled for a chair and sat down, struggling to unzip the boots so she could get a better look at the damage.

[Erzsebet]

Sirens wailed in the distance - a foreign sound to the Tzimisce who was used to life in a country manor. She had heard it once or twice while she was in the larger cities; how anyone could stand to live in such a noisey place was beyond her.

She followed quickly behind the sorcerer and archbishop, surrounded by several Lasombra vampires. The quick "stitch" job she'd done on her wounds were holding. Just barely, but they would do untill the Sabbat had returned to their lair.

[Katarina Gordislava]

The sooner they were gone the better. Unfortunately not all of their party had the ability to disappear into the shadows, and therefore transportation had been arranged.

Two black sedans with opaque windows pulled up to them, and Ezserbet was quickly esconced inside. Katarina resisted for a moment, and then followed the Tzimisce inside the second car. Ezserbet would probably be insulted if she didn't get a chance to yell at her. The cars would take them straight to their 'hideout,' where they could feed and rest before the long flight back to Eastern Europe.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

The room was large and fitted with a long couch, on which Sansa sat, and a desk which I leant against. The purveyor was a mortal, but one who the Camarilla had bought off long ago. His desk was strewn with papers and files, all proposed ideas for the gallery. I remember thinking at the time that the proposed destruction of half of the current exhibit wouldn't have been among those potential plans, nor would their have been a directive to paint the walls with blood. It was painful to think about.

“I wouldn't worry about those. I know a tailor who will have them fixed in no time,” I said, nodding towards the boots that the young woman was inspecting. “Free of charge, of course.”

It always seemed the case that in times like these, people began to pick on small, insignificant things in an attempt to distract themselves from the wider picture. Sansa's subconscious mind was no doubt reeling, but the conscious refused to acknowledged such thoughts, for fear that it might crack and go mad. I held out a hand and took the worn and torn shoes, depositing them carefully out of sight behind the purveyors desk, for the time being. As I did so, I glanced out of the window and saw that fireworks were blooming in the night sky. They were beautiful.

“How are you feeling?”

[Sansa]

Sansa tucked her bare feet underneath her on the couch, staring at a corner of the desk. "Lightheaded." She tucked her hair behind her ears, and fiddled with a cushion.

She wasn't sure what had just happened in the art gallery, but it seemed as though whatever it had been had happened a long time ago. Sansa looked up at the man leaning against the desk, their eyes meeting. He was beautiful, she thought, and he made her feel deliciously queer. She could look at his face forever.

Questions formed in her mind, but she only asked one - the one she wanted to know the most. "Who are you?"

[Gabriel Rodermark]

“My apologies. I should have introduced myself earlier. My name is Gabriel Rodermark.”

I smiled. Though she was staring, I made nothing of it. Such was the way of mortals. Just as I had once stood enraptured by the apparently flawless beauty and grace of my sire, so she would find my presence enchanting. It was not by any conscious effort on my part, rather a trait of my blood that brought out the best in oneself and admiration from others.

“... would you like some water?”

Fortunately the purveyor had installed a water cooler in his office - it must have been thirsty work. Without waiting for an answer, I filled her a cup and as I handed it to her, noticed that a large bruise seemed to have formed on her head. Jude had been rather careless with her. I brushed a few strands of hair aside to get a better look at the damage – then, seeing what appeared to be confusion or concern in her eyes, smiled.

“I see you took a little tumble earlier. I don't blame you – those steps are rather narrow, and one can quickly become rather reckless when there's free champagne on offer.”

Yes, she had stumbled. The boots were not hers, she was not yet used to them. This, when matched with the abundance of alcohol, had caused her to take a fall some time in the evening. It was the source of the blooming bruise on her head. The champagne had gone to her head rather quickly... or so her mind told her.

[Sansa]

She flushed, two spots of colour staining her cheeks. Borrowing Emilie's boots had been foolish, in hindsight, and she was mortified at the idea that she had stumbled and smacked her head at such a prestigious event. She did remember having champagne, and Jude…

Sansa sipped her water to cover her confusion. What had happened to Jude? Perhaps he had been embarrassed at how tipsy she'd gotten. But no, that didn’t seem to fit, especially not with what she knew of men. Gabriel ( Mr. Rodermark? ) was looking at her solicitously, but she averted her eyes for a moment. The blood on her dress hadn’t made an impact on her yet, the thin burgundy fabric clinging to her. "I've embarrassed myself then. I do apologize for any disruption I caused. Jude…" She let her sentence trail off, unsure as to how she would finish it.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

“Jude had to be taken home, I'm afraid. He was feeling rather out of sorts.”

It often felt like there wasn't a day went by that I didn't lie for and because of Jude. Like any true-blood Malkavian, madness and confusion followed him everywhere. It felt like his very presence was enough to turn a once cordial social gathering upside down and inside out. He was like the proverbial butterfly, beating its dainty wings and calling into life hurricanes. Soon, I knew it would be necessary to remove him from her mind, but for the time being I satisfied my curiosity.

“How long have you known one another?”

[Sansa]

"Only since tonight." Sansa carefully explored the bump on her forehead with her fingers. "He threw a snowball at me while I was on my way home…" She sighed, and said, "He invited me tonight – I really am sorry. I don’t usually do this sort of thing."

The last bit included coming last minute to parties she hadn’t been formally invited to, and getting too tipsy and falling down stairs. Or whatever it was she'd done. Sansa leaned back against the couch, hugging a throw pillow. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. What if she had a concussion? A second thought followed closely, was Emilie home yet? She tried to surreptitiously look for a clock.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

They had only just met. That would certainly make things easier.

“There's no need to apologize. I'm only sorry that you couldn't have enjoyed the party and seen more of what the gallery had to offer.”

I took a seat beside her, on the couch. Though I could no longer see the fireworks of the new year, I could still hear the crackles and pops they made. It must have been sometime after midnight now – the absence of chiming clocks suggested as much. I leant back on the sofa and wondered as to the progress of those attempting to contain the damage downstairs. I was confident that my staff would do their job as efficiently and as professionally as they had always done.

An idea struck me then: how I would go about ensuring this young woman's ignorance of the Masquerade.

“You must let me make it up to you.”

[Sansa]

She couldn't find a clock, but she figured it was somewhere between midnight and one in the morning. If Emilie and Jack had hit it off (Emilie usually hit it off with everyone), the mademoiselle wouldn't be back to the flat until much later.

When Gabriel offered to make it up to her, Sansa was going to politely decline - after all, it was she who had intruded, no matter what he'd said - but found herself unable to. He was sitting next to her on the couch, not even very close, but it felt completely intimate. She imagined that the side of her body closest to him was warmer than the rest of her body. Most likely it was just her overactive imagination coupled with the nasty bump on her head.

She twisted on the couch so she was curled with her back to the arm, facing him. "What did you have in mind?" Sansa raised an eyebrow playfully.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

I paused a moment, deliberately. Our eyes met and I smiled, pert. How quickly worries and anxiety slipped from her mind once we were removed from the chaos the main hall. “A private showing of the gallery... dinner, perhaps?”

[Sansa]

She couldn't look down at her hands, but they were clasped tightly together. "Really? That would be amazing. I've never seen the collection here at the Barbican."

[Gabriel Rodermark]

“You haven't?” Gabriel looked quite genuinely surprised. London had such things to offer, it always amazed him when its citizens did not seize the bountiful opportunities. “Well then, you must come.”

There was a soft knock at the door. Gabriel smiled apologetically for the interruption and rose to his feet. He opened the door only slightly, peering out into the corridor.

“We lost track of them,” said a voice that only Rodermark would hear, hushed in its tone. “A coterie followed them on foot for a while, but they split into a couple of groups and we lost the trail.”

The Sabbat had made their escape. It was not unexpected. “And the police?”

“Dealt with, sir... although I'm not sure how you're going to explain the state of the gallery.”

“So long as you all do your jobs, I won't have to – and if worst comes to worst, we can say it's modern art,” Gabriel replied, dry humour in his voice. “Don't worry, Cael. I have utmost faith in you all. For now, however, I am in the process of doing some work of my own. If you'll excuse me.” Without further word, Gabriel closed the door.

“Where were we...”

[Sansa]

As Gabriel answered the door, Sansa yawned, and looked at the scratches on her arm. How had she done that? Falling while drunk? They looked like they had been quite deep, but were partially healed. With the Prince distracted momentarily the fog that obscured her memory thinned a bit - but she still could not grasp ahold of any one thought long enough to construct a memory.

"Where were we..." He was back, and smiling at her. She smiled back, absently fingering around the wounds on her arm.

"On the couch." She blushed lightly, and added, "I've wanted to visit the Barbican before, but I can never get my flatmate interested in museums or galleries."

[Gabriel Rodermark]

“Such a shame when London has so many to offer. I've worked closely with most of them... I could be persuaded to give you a tour or two if you ask nicely,” Gabriel said with a smirk. “Would you like that?”

It was all a matter of distraction. It would be too much of a risk to take her out of the gallery while the others were in the process of cleaning up blood and bodies. I could only hope that her mood would remain as amicable and conversation free and easy for the time being. For all small talk could be so inane, it would prove invaluable in pulling the wool over this poor girls eyes.

[Sansa]

"Oh, I’d love it," she replied. "I've been to the Louvre - seeing the Mona Lisa in person was amazing."

Gabriel was listening intently to her, and the conversation progressed naturally. Sansa was a bit overwhelmed by his attention. She considered herself a bit plain, although occasionally she would describe herself as pretty, and to find herself being invited to private gallery viewings by a man like Rodermark… well, it was beyond the realm of her knowledge. However, the part of her that craved attention, that didn't want to be second fiddle, was eating it up.

Fiddle. She was giving Victoria Brown her first violin lesson tomorrow. She started, and was conscious of her bare feet, which she swung down to the floor. "I have to be at work early tomorrow. Today, really. Thank you so much for your hospitality, Gabriel, but…" Where had he put Emilie's boots? She started to get up, but felt a bit lightheaded and sat down again.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

“Oh. Time seems to have gotten away with us...” Gabriel went through the motions of looking at his watch, in spite of having every knowledge of what it would say. He had kept a close eye on the clock throughout the morning, though made sure his observations were subtle.

“Working on New Year's day. You certainly are committed... Let me get you a taxi.”

He moved to the desk again and picked up the phone. It only took a matter of moments to order a cab. In actual fact, Gabriel was speaking with a Camarilla ghoul. The man was a no questions asked character who the associates of the Prince and Primogen used regularly. He ferried them to and fro in exchange for a taste of power.

Gabriel replaced the receiver and smiled disarmingly.

“The front desk will let us know when they've arrived. I would expect it won't be more than twenty minutes.”

[Sansa]

"Thank you." She gingerly fingered the bruise on her forehead again, and added, "Though I may have to call in sick. I don't think I want to try to explain this knot on my head to the Browns."

He looked interested, but slightly detached, so she explained, "I nanny for them – two little kids, and the oldest starts violin lessons tomorrow." Sansa turned her left hand over to show the calluses on her fingertips from playing. "I studied education in university, and the Browns have offered me a nearly permanent position, teaching their children at home. Mr. Brown likes the idea of home-schooling, but Mrs. Brown doesn't have time in her social calendar for her children, so I’m their compromise."

[Gabriel Rodermark]

“You play the violin? I would very much like to hear you play, if you are open to the idea.”

Gabriel's eyes practically lit up with interest. In his youth he had been fascinated with the idea of playing, however his family's modest income hadn't been able to incorporate music lessons into their budget. Since his embrace he had ample time and opportunity to learn, but somehow every time his bow touched the strings the instrument seemed to cry out in anguish. Such was the curse of the Toreador – forever enraptured by the beauty of art and music, yet impotent to create it themselves.

“Do you enjoy it?” he asked. “Nannying, I mean.”

[Sansa]

She shrugged, "The kids are great." Sansa wriggled her bare toes into the rug and added, "I could bring my violin along... next time."

She looked up shyly. "But I can't go home barefoot."

[Gabriel Rodermark]

The boots. Ah. Gabriel had hoped, naively, that she would forget them. They were a piece of tell-tale evidence to what had truly gone on that night. For all he had endeavoured to bury the truth of the evening in some inaccessible recess of her mind, plying her subconscious with lies, the fact remained that the truth was still there. There was some amusing irony in the fact that a simple pair of boots could, if studied enough, unlock her memories. Nevertheless, he retrieved them from behind the desk and willed her mind to be still, to think nothing of their damaged state, at least for the time being.

As he passed the window, he caught sight of some far off fire and wondered if it was the product of mortal inebriation and celebration, or something darker, some extension of the attack that had taken place on the gallery. The ring of the telephone broke the silence in room. The speaker phone activated and a well-spoken voice said: “Your car has arrived, sir.”

Gabriel exchanged a feigned look of slight surprise with Sansa, “Unusually quick, weren't they?”

Before she could move, he stalked across the room to the doorway. Again, he opened the door only slightly at first. He could here hushed voices and movements, but saw nothing of the ghoul carcasses that had littered the walkway previously. The room had a dark aura about it, a halo of pain and violence – but it was one that was visible only to Kindred eyes.

“Still a few stragglers left,” Gabriel said, turning back into the room. “Have you got everything?”

[Sansa]

It was fairly fast for a cabbie, especially on New Years, one of the busiest nights of the year. However, there were probably many party guests downstairs that would have needed a ride home, so it made sense that one would arrive quickly.

"Ah..." Sansa zipped up the boots and stood experimentally. "Yes, that's all. No, wait - my coat is downstairs. I - I'm not sure where though." She hugged herself, rubbing her bare arms.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

“The cloakroom, I suspect.”

Gabriel lead the way back out onto the walkway. He moved casually to the pathways edge and glanced down into the floors below. Some of the artwork that had adorned the walls, floors and ceiling had been mysteriously vanished. There were a number of men who must have been gallery employees sweeping up. Here and there a more finely dressed figure stood, occasionally a couple nursing one another. Many were speaking on mobile phones.

Looking back to Sansa, the Prince motioned ahead. He noted who was still present and silently wondered who amongst those absent had suffered Final Death. The dust cloud caused by the falling sculpture had cleared now, but earlier it had been thick enough to blind him to the conflicts of others. Though he suspected the Sabbat had suffered greater casualties, namely in their legion of ghouls, he did not doubt that a handful or more of his own guests would have to be struck off the invitation list for all future gatherings.

The atmosphere on the first floor was uncomfortable. Those still remaining were no doubt eager to leave, yet some still hung at the gallery's entrance. Gabriel felt the eyes of many on him, as more than one Kindred tried to meet his gaze. No doubt the Ventrue in particular had many harsh words for him. They would have to wait.

“Here we are.” In the foyer, the pair were greeted by a weary looking and rather out of breath young man. He had Sansa's coat in his hands.

[Sansa]

Navigating the stairs, all four winding flights, was easier than she'd thought it would have been, and Gabriel led her out into the foyer. The party seemed to be well over, with just a handful of guests left, waiting for their cars or companions.

She accepted her coat, a bit embarrassed that Gabriel would see her in it, and shrugged it on. Pulling a scarf out of a pocket, she wrapped it around her neck, and was momentarily puzzled by a slight soreness on the side. Sansa glanced up at her host, and all such thoughts vanished. She smiled.

"Looks like that's it." She hugged her coat around her as the front doors opened, blowing in a bit of snow from the steps outside. "Do you... ah..." She'd never given her number out to someone she'd just met, but she was dying for the gallery tour and hoped he had been serious about it.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

The steps from the gallery's entrance were covered in a snowy blanket. A carpet of white, peppered with black footprints, stretched off in all directions. Gabriel paused a moment, his senses extending as he felt the presence of numerous other Kindred hidden within the shadows.

The Prince took his companions arm, leading her down the icy steps. He glanced in all directions. To the right, some twenty feet away, he sat a black cab waiting. The driver gave a casual toot of the horn. Gabriel smirked and began to follow the trail of steps already left in the still falling snow.

“If you do still want that tour,” he said, as they neared the car, “you can reach me on this number.”

Removing a slip of paper and pen from his jacket pocket, he carefully jotted down the digits. The pen returned to his pocket and the paper he placed into Sansa's hand. He held her gaze for a moment, ensuring beyond all doubt that she would return to the gallery once more. The cab driver gave another startling honk on the horn, as if to say that he hadn't got all day to wait.

“Well, my lady... your carriage awaits.”

[Sansa]

Her breath caught in her throat as his eyes held hers, and then the cabbie blew his horn and the moment passed. Gabriel helped her into the cab, and the car pulled away from the curb.

She looked over her shoulder, and saw him standing there in the falling snow, the street lamps lighting the scene with a strange glow. He looked after her for a moment, and then turned back to the building. Sansa settled back into her seat and told the driver where to take her.

After a few moments of utter silence except for the crunch of the tires through the fresh snowfall, her mind wandered. Where had he said Jude had gone? She had a faint recollection of something pleasurable to do with Jude. Her hand went unconsciously to her scarf, and she fiddled with it around her neck.

Never mind that, Emilie would never believe what she'd done for New Years. Or who she'd met!