You've got mail!

[Arabella Balfour]

"Have new guests started arriving?"

A petite young woman, mid-twenties, black hair in a bun, wearing a scandalously short French maid's uniform bobbed a curtsey and lowered her head a notch. She answered the question, without any elaboration, in a high class Parisian accent.

"Yes, Mistress."

The "Mistress" was seated behind a massive desk, turned away, staring out the window at the beauty of a Paris sunset, she never tired of seeing one. The room was in shadow already, no artificial light being in use, as yet, it was already quite dark. Not taking her glance from the window, she continued her ritual inquisition of her staff. Her accent was also Parisian, but a good listener good tell you it wasn't her first language.

"Anyone of note in residence at present?"

Rose, like an automaton, answered the question as she did every evening. "No, Mistress. Only the usual clientel." Her baby doll blue eyes never blinked.

It wasn't that the girl was drugged, or slow in the head. It was just the monotony of the same conversation, replayed daily for weeks now. Things had been quiet lately at the Maison Plasir. Too quiet. Like a barometer, the city's hub of information could fortell the events going on around them. Right now, it was saying a storm was coming. A big one. Silence, was not a good thing in Arabella's line of work.

"Thank you, Rose. Dismissed. Inform me of any changes; guest requests, new arrivals, anything out of the ordinary."

Bowing, the little "maid" turned and left, a pair of handcuffs and a length of tourniquet bouncing from where her feather duster should have been. Arabella smiled, a cold smile that didn't reach the jaded and dead silence in her brown eyes.

It was too quiet. What was everyone on pins and needles about? Someone had to talk sooner or later, they always did. She just hoped it was in time to let her react.

As the pink and gold line of the sun settled in for the night, darkness engulfed the room. Her computer screen came alive, casting the room in its glow. Her welcome message flashed and the image of a tiny butler walked forward, with a silver tray.

"Mistress, you have mail.." He informed her.

"Thank you, Mr. Grim. I shall read it now."

The message appeared on the screen. Her pulse quickened. It was from Byron. This could be the news they had been waiting for!

She quickly scrolled, thinking it to be a lengthy correspondence of olde, but instead the screen hardly moved. The message was that short. It did get its point across though.


You are summoned.
B

Oh, how she missed the days of prettily written script, sealing wax and manners...

She replied, her fingers carressing the keys with speed.

On my way.
'Bella

Well, if the Prince of Paris summons you, you go!

[Byron Legard]

The evening had only just begun and already Byron was tiring of it. Like so many days before it, his schedule was almost half-filled with meetings – meetings with Kindred who wished to embrace a new childe, or Kindred who had arrived from other cities and wished to make Paris their home. Ever since the beginning of the 19th Century, there had been a steady increase in the number of Kindred who wished to call the la Ville Lumière their home. In particular those of Clan Toreador seemed to favor his domain over all others. Whilst he was proud to have such a thriving community, it also frustrated him, as it felt as if he could barely rest a minute without some crisis arising.

There was a light knock at the door. “Monsieur, quelqu'un est ici pour vous voir.”

Looking up from his desk, Byron frowned. Already? The sun had barely set.

“Qui?!” he demanded. “J'ai le travail... peux il attendre?”

The young man in the door stuttered. “Uh, monsieur.. elle dit que vous avez envoyé pour elle.”

Some of the anger that had marked Byrons face seemed to drain from his complexion.

“Montrez-la dedans,” he sighed, setting aside the computer keyboard in front of him.

After a moments wait, the messenger returned. He bowed silently and allowed a young woman to pass him by, before departing quickly and quietly. Legard stood from behind his desk, walking forward to welcome his guest. “Arabella,” he embraced her, though his body was stiff and somewhat tense. “Thank you for coming so soon... you are a most welcome distraction.”

[Arabella Balfour]

Ahhh, there it was again.

As Arabella was led to the Prince, she could feel it. The eyes of the other Kindred were following her every step. Her presence amoung them was tolerated, but just barely. She was after all an outcast, a pariah, a bastard of Kindred society. Her saving grace was her relationship with not only the Prince of the city, but with other influencial and respected names. She had earned that on her own. So they could look all they wanted, but none of them would dare to touch her. Not anymore.

She remained calm in their presence. A skill that had been learned after long years of exposure. In the beginning they had terrified her. The more she let them get to her, the more they tried. Until someone had taught her to mask her fear with serenity. That someone had been Byron.

As soon as they were alone, Arabella returned his show of affection. In public she would have given him her very best curtsey and the kiss reserved for her Prince. Privately though, she knew it was not necessary. Laying her cheek against his, she gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze.

"Byron, it does me good to see you!"

She could feel the tension in him beneath her fingertips. That was nothing new, the responsibility that fell on him as Prince was a constant effort. He managed to hold it all together nicely though. She had seen him gentle, as he was with her. She had also seen him at his very worst, a sight she would not soon forget, yet dreaded to remember. This was different. Something was not right.

"What's amiss, mon coeur?"

[Byron Legard]

“I was hoping you might have the answer to that question”

Legard lent against his desk, a frown cutting into his brow.

“There is... unrest in the city. Have you heard nothing?”

[Arabella Balfour]

"I wish I had something worthy to impart to you.."

She scooted along side the Prince, her hip touching his as she also leaned back against his desk. Arabella crossed her feet at the ankles and her arms were folded across her chest, her unrest showing in her defensive posture. After a companionable silence, 'Bella brought her left hand up to her forehead to squeeze at her temples.

"The only fact that I can give you for certain is that something big is on the rise. The drifters seem to be more aware of the tension than your loyal clans. It's much like when you see a trail of rats fleeing a sinking ship. My register is at a nearly record low, the patrons I do have are the regular questionable types, but no one I haven't seen in Paris before."

With a sigh she looked up. "I'm worried.."

[Byron Legard]

That Arabella should be ignorant to whatever was going on was not a good sign. She was rivaled only by the Nosferatu in her ability to ferret out the information that Byron needed. For her services, he entrusted her with news that would typically travel nowhere outside of the Primogen. The particular nugget that he was about to offer had only newly arrived in the French capitol, and was of great concern to the cities Camarilla contingent.

“I have heard disturbing news from London, of attacks from Russia.”

[Arabella Balfour]

From Russia!? Who would dare? Of course.. Sabbat.

"Attacks? Care to elaborate?"

It must have been a very well planned attempt. London was no easy city to infiltrate, let alone attack. Gabriel Rodermark, was a good Prince, well informed, protected, feared and respected, as a Prince must be. She didn't yet know the nature of the attack, but she would bet her business on the fact that Gabriel would have a riposte that would make them think twice about attacking his city again.

[Byron Legard]

“Gabriel hosts an annual party to celebrate the New Year... and this year the Sabbat decided to crash it. Apparently the Archbishop of Moscow and a rabble of Tzimisce broke in and tore the place up.”

Though Byron had dealt with Gabriel in the past, they were not especially close. The two Princes often ran their cities in very different ways, so did not always see eye to eye. Still, Byron was surprised that he had not heard more from Gabriel himself, asking for assistance.

“London has been free from Sabbat invasion for centuries now, and any attacks that have occurred have been thwarted easily. It's a troubling sign when such a Camarilla bastion can be infiltrated so easily... a sign that does not bode well for the rest of us.”

[Arabella Balfour]

She didn't need to tell him to be careful. It would have been rude, let alone redundant. Arabella began to pace, agitated like she hadn't been in a very long time. But her mind was sharp and she had years of experience to guide her.

"Alright. If London was hit, we can assume that Paris is threatened as well. If the Sabbat is in proximity it can only make sense. Why one city when they can have two so close? Here is what I will do."

She stopped pacing and took a breath.

"Any talk regarding this will have to be conducted personal. Nothing is safe in this horrible age anymore. I'll return to the Maison. My girls will be placed on high alert and will venture out into the streets, like they haven't had to do in years. The business normally comes to us, in this case, the business is scared, so we will go to them. Someone will spill. "

She moved to the window to admire the view of the city, so beautiful. "If I were going to move into Paris undetected, I'd use the sewers and catacombs. If there is something down there the Nosferatu will know about it. They never cared for me,, so I'll leave them to your capabilities!"

She turned with a competant smile. "Anything else, mon coeur?"

[Byron Legard]

“Be careful. I have had my fair share of encounters with the Sabbat and even when they have been defeated, they will make sure that they take many of their enemies down with them. They'll rip you and your girls limb from limb if they catch even a whiff that something is amiss.”

If Byron had instilled any fear in her, it was intentional. Arabella was not yet a childe of Caine. She possessed none of the enhanced strength, speed or stamina that Legard was gifted with. While she could achieve a temporary state of elevated being, through sampling the blood of Kindred, this would not be enough to stave off a slavering Sabbat pack. Even those who were touched had trouble with the self-proclaimed 'Sword of Caine'.

“I believe it's time that I spoke with the Primogen... you may sit in on the meeting, if you like.”

[Arabella Balfour]

She knew his words were true. She was no match for the Sabbat, they would tear her and her girls apart, exactly as he had said. However, Arabella and her girls were professionals. For years they had been extracting information without anyone realizing that they had even given something away. The simplest clues, when put together told quite a tale.

Nobody knew that she was Byron's informant. They all saw her as nothing more than a magdalen. Only now she was hated for different reason. In the past her choice of profession had earned her the contempt of her peers, mortals. Now it earned her a place as an outcast among Kindred. Her greatest weapon was that they underestimated her, greatly.

She was tolerated, but sitting in while the Prince met with the Primogen? She would have loved it, but she simply couldn't allow it. Unless she was ordered to do so, she would refuse. Byron didn't need the questions or complications her presence would evoke. For her Prince, she would regretfully decline, as she always did.

"You know I can't.." she spoke in a soft voice. "A mortal..? With no tie to a clan, friend of the Prince, and hated by most others, present at a meeting of the Primogen, at a time like this?"

She laughed sadly.. "I seek to help you, Byron. Not have them challenge you.."

[Byron Legard]

Byron gave a snort, as if the mere suggestion of the Primogen challenging him was ludicrous.

“Very well, then.”

He paused, looking lingeringly out at the Parisian skyline.

“It may be necessary for us to travel to Britain. It would be better for us to nip the problem in the bud, before it has the chance to spread into the rest of Europe. If we can't stop them, we can at least contain them there until further reinforcements arrive.”

[Arabella Balfour]

"As always, I am your servant. If you wish it, I shall go with you. I haven't been home in some time.."

She seemed both sad and curious about a return to her native soil. The place held many bad memories for her, but also many good ones. If Byron asked her to go, she would go. She still felt capable of protecting her own turf however and before she went sprinting off acrossed the channel she was going back to the Masion to put things in order.

"I'm just so.. tired. I know I don't look it, but sometimes I quite feel my age. It is creeping up on me. How long do you suppose I can keep this up before the choice is taken from me?"

[Byron Legard]

“It has already been taken from you. You have lived for too long, now, to simply fade away and die.”

There was a slight severity in Byron's voice; a hint of... frustration, perhaps.

“It is only a matter of time... and I suspect your time will come sooner rather than later.”

[Arabella Balfour]

Turning she offered him one of her world weary smiles.

"I'm not permitted the luxury of a choice in this matter.. No matter what I chose I anger someone."

A sad laugh, along with a self mocking shake of her dark hair. "It's always business and negotiations with me, isn't it? "

[Byron Legard]

“You know you bring it on yourself,” Byron replied, with a melancholy smile. “You need to stop worrying about the opinions of others. It is your choice; damn them if they do not approve of it.”

[Arabella Balfour]

"You are right of course." She turned and closed the distance between them wrapping her arms around Byron in a tight hug.

"Thank you. Perhaps someday a solution will present itself that I won't be terrified to accept. Until then.." She reached up on tip toe and planted a sound kiss to his cheek.

"I'll see you later. I'll call if I hear anything."