Rule Britannia

[Roland Salisbury]

The nations, not so blest as thee,
Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall;
While thou shalt flourish great and free,
The dread and envy of them all.

Rule Britannia

***


What is a kingdom without its king? To whom do the people look to guidance, from whom to they hear the divine word? The people of Britain had their Prime Ministers, their Royal Family – but the kindred paid little mind to these political puppets. Their leaders were the Primogen and the Prince.

The Battle of Avebury (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=16171&highlight=stone+henge) had cost the Camarilla so much, but the highest price paid had been the life of Gabriel Rodermark. Where the Toreador Prince of London was now, Roland Salisbury could not say. For some inexplicable reason, he felt that Gabriel was still alive somewhere. No body had been found on the bloodied field and no claim had been made from either side upon his life. He walked the Earth still, somewhere, though Roland could not say upon which scrap of land (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=17086).

Until the time that the Prince returned from whatever exile he had placed himself in, London was leaderless. Roland had taken charge of business as best he could, but the absence of the Prince had repercussions. Aside from the official duties Gabriel was expected to perform, he was also an important public figurehead. His presence signified stability and civility. In the hole he had left behind, there was only doubt – and the seeds of conflict...

“This throne is not yours to claim.”

“If not me,” Marcus Thornby countered, “then who?”

“No one, Marcus. The seat belongs to Gabriel until the Primogen as a whole elect to remove him from it. You cannot challenge him, when he is not here to challenge.”

The Brujah Primogen snorted, turning away for a moment. Then, whirling back to face Roland, he continued: “And what if he doesn't return? How long do we have to wait for him?”

Roland's eyes shifted away, to the head of the table he was sat at. It was in this room that Thaddeus Post had delivered word on the fall of the Tremere Chantry (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=15273). Gabriel had commanded them all then, so effortlessly. Yet without a physical presence amongst them, his name held so little sway. Roland's gaze drifted back to Marcus, who stood staring expectantly, his jaw set, his eyes alight and fierce. When there was no one to hold the leash, even the most obedient dog could become rabid.

“We wait, Marcus... as long as it takes.”

[Marcus Thornby]

London wasn't Carthage, but Marcus couldn't help but think of it that way.

Back in the dark old days, the most loyal son of Brujah had founded the city of Carthage – the Third City of the Kindred – as a place where vampires and humans alike could live as equals. There was peace and prosperity there. Immortal and mortal came together, learning from one another, growing strong – but not all where happy to see such things.

The other clans grew bitter and jealous, not willing to forget how the Brujah had defied them in founding this city – and so, through their pawn the Roman Empire, the Ventrue and Malkavians had torn down the walls of Carthage. The fields were burnt and Troile, most loyal son of Brujah, was entombed forever, cursed by his brothers.

It had happened then, and it would happen now. They would turn on one another, when the time came – but this time, Marcus would be ready. The impotent rage of his forefathers lived on in Marcus Thornby, as it did in the blood of all his clan. They would be powerless no longer.

Without another word, he left Roland Salisbury and damned the Camarilla to hell.

[Liam Dunsirn]

London. It smelled of cars and cobblestones and people. In the darkness of new night the young man driving pulled into a parking garage. A suitably plush flat had been rented for the next few months.

Arrangements had been made as to their arrival in the city. It was so different here, but then, he'd never been out of Scotland before. Swiping at his longish hair, the man parked and stepped out of the car.

"Cousin..." Liam Dunsirn opened the door of the limo for his elder relative. "We've arrived."

[Ewan Dunsirn]

With a gracious smile, Ewan stepped out into the cold night air. In spite of appearances, he wasn't happy to be there. London was a hell-hole, all but run into the ground by the neglect and decadance of the Camarilla. They were here to bring it back from the brink – and yet there was no one else around to witness their arrival. How anti-climactic.

“What, no welcome party? No fanfare?”

His tone was full of disdain, and yet the smile he wore said he was jusssst kidding. He pushed his hands into his pockets – feeling a handful of coins, counting them once, twice, three times - he strolled away from the limousine, eager to be out of the stench of petrol fumes.

“Grab my suitcase, will you?”

[Liam Dunsirn]

Liam's eyes deadened a little as his lips compressed into a line. "Sure thing." He went around to the boot, and used the key to open it. Ewan's suitcase was a large, designer bag that was just big enough to be unwieldy and hard to lug around.

"Oh, you'll need these, Cousin." He tossed a second set of keys at Ewan, who caught them without looking. Liam eyed his own, smaller suitcase still nestled in the boot, and closed the lid. He'd get his later. "The party is this weekend, at the Barbican."

He said it not because his cousin needed reminding, but because he knew it would annoy Ewan that he'd reminded him. Liam smiled a little, and followed the other Dunsirn into the lift that would take them to the rented flat.

[Ewan Dunsirn]

The flat was in Soho. It was a little too far from the Docklands for Ewan's taste, but there was something fitting about living in the district that 'never slept'. Sarah, the girl who had arranged the lease, said there were plenty of bars and clubs nearby that would keep two men like Ewan and Liam busy (nudge wink) – as if they didn't have enough on their plates. The apartment was big, at least. Having to share with a living-space cousin Liam wasn't high on Ewan's list of things to do, but his presence was necessary.

“So, what d'you want to with the rest of the night?” he asked, kneeling beside his suitcase to pop the lid open. There wasn't much inside: socks, underwear, and a bulky cooler bag which sloshed as Ewan removed it, glancing around to find the 'fridge.

[Elizabeth Atkinson]

“Elizabeth... Elizabeth! The phone is ringing.”

Standing before a wall-mounted miror – one of many in the apartment – Elizabeth Atkinson tossed her long, blonde hair over her shoulder, a gesture of both vanity and irritation. “I'm dead not deaf Sebastian! I can hear. What does the caller ID say?”

The young man stood beside Elizabeth disappeared from the mirror's reflection “Withheld.”

A single 'ha', sharp and sudden. “Saul. Filthy brute.”

“Him again? What is his problem?”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose and shrugged, though looked just as much like she had shuddered in revulsion. The Nosferatu Primogen was calling too often, lately, and not for business. It was becoming... worrying. Sebastian's face reappeared in the mirror, peering over her shoulder, ruining the picture perfect image she had created.

“Where are we going tonight?” he asked, with that hopelessly desperate voice of his.

“We?” she pursed her lips together, in a pretty sneer. The truth of the matter was, though, she would let him come out with her. Since Gabe had disappeared, everything had gone to hell. She needed to keep a loyal coterie, just in case.

“I'm going to Compton Street,” she said with an air of distraction, eyes still focused on her mirror image. In times like these, she needed friends – not because she desired their company, but because having strong (and numerous) allies was going to be important in the coming weeks and months. A new Prince was going to be chosen, she could feel it, and it was only natural that another Toreador should take the position. Tonight was her attempt to win a few more votes, and hearts, in the decadent haunts of Soho.

[Liam Dunsirn]

Liam flopped onto a sofa, his head leaning on the back and staring up at the ceiling. "Go out and get drunk." He twisted his head so he could watch Ewan as the other approached the fridge in the kitchen. "Find a hot bird. Get laid."

He smiled toothily. "Hungry?"

[Ewan Dunsirn]

Glancing back over his shoulder for an instant, Ewan grinned. The cooler was full of individually wrapped blood begs, each marked with a neatly written label. He stacked them on the highest shelf, closest to the ice box, and then picked out a bottle of champagne which had been left in the door. There was a card tied to the bottleneck with pink ribbon, and a message written in overly elegant cursive. Ewan read it aloud, in a voice that was sickly-sweet with happiness.

“For Ewan and Liam. Don't work too hard! Congratulations again. Hope to see soon - Sarah.”

He wanted to smash it right then and there. Tear the tag off with his teeth, throttle the thing against the kitchen counter, watch the glass explode and twist the jagged edges right into – “You want a glass?” he asked, giving Liam a pleasant smile. “It looks good, like she spent half a months pay on it.”

[Liam Dunsirn]

Perking up, Liam sat straighter. "Nah, just toss the bottle." His cousin hesitated, champagne held by the neck and looking sideways at the counter, then he relaxed his shoulders and the bottle went flying through the air towards Liam.

He snagged it, tearing quickly through the foil and pulling out the easy access cork in a lazy show of strength. Ha. Take that, champagne. And don't cross me again, or it'll be the worse for you next time. Liam grunted, and tipped up the bottle with his lips pressed against the mouth of it.

Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he burped. "Not bad." He got up, bottle still in hand. "I'm gettin' my bag." If they were going out, he'd need a change of clothes. Ewan said something, but Liam didn't pay attention. He crossed the room laconically, and exited the flat.

When he returned a short time later, bottle half empty and suitcase in tow, he went in search of what would become his bedroom. Unlike Ewan, he actually used a bed.

[Ewan Dunsirn]

Ewan was still in the lounge, straightening his collar in front of a mirror. The shirt he wore was obviously expensive, and had silver-crosses in the cuffs. By just removing his tie and jacket, he'd gone from business-smart to smart-casual.

“Get dressed, Liam. The night isn't getting any younger.”

[Liam Dunsirn]

Liam nodded, set the champagne on the coffee table, and disappeared into the bedroom that Ewan hadn't put his suitcase into. Stripping off his slightly soiled shirt, he replaced it with a crisp white button down. Pairing that with a pair of jeans, he peered into a mirror at his hair.

Looked fine to him. He ran a hand through it before exiting to the lounge. "Ready." He snagged the champagne, taking another big swallow. "Want me to drive?" Liam swirled the liquid inside the bottle.

[Ewan Dunsirn]

Looking away from his reflection, Ewan shot his Liam a glare that said in no uncertain terms: you idiot. Perhaps giving his cousin the champagne bottle hadn't been the wisest idea.

“I want to kick things off with a bang, not a crash. Anyway, we can walk. I'm confident,” he added with a smug smile, “...that there's nothing out there tonight more dangerous than the two of us.”

[Liam Dunsirn]

Liam grinned, setting down the bottle on the kitchen counter. "London doesn't know what hit it." He rolled his head, popping his neck and loosening the muscles in his broad shoulders.

Without another word the garou Dunsirn followed the vampire Dunsirn into the night. It was a cool evening for midsummer, but jackets weren't needed. Liam wouldn't have worn one anyway. He liked the feel of the weather on his skin.

After a short walk, the pair found themselves surrounded by pubs. Ewan ducked into the very first one, quickly drawing the attention of several birds near the door. Liam grinned wolfishly at them, and headed for the bar.

[Ewan Dunsirn]

Liam seemed happy to shoulder his way to the bar, amongst the throng of bodies, but the faint smell of sweat kept Ewan at a distance. The vulgarities of the mortal body were something he smothered himself in only when absolutely necessary. Regrettably, it seemed that by standing alone he had caught the attention of a waifish brunette with a wine glass twice the size of her fist. She gave him a coy glance, trying to affect some kind of demure allure that might have worked had it been directed at anyone else. Ewan smiled politely, but did not take the bait – blood mixed with wine wasn't appealing to his palette.

A group of young gentlemen in rugby shirts had just come in and prowling about the place like predators, eyeing up all potential mates with the kind of open hostility that would have gotten people like the Dunsirn's in a whole heap of trouble. It was like a free-for-all; the main room was heaving, like the floor of a cattle-market. It looked as if Liam was making headway at the bar, but Ewan decided to explore a little without his dear cousin. There were some alcoves a little distance from the main pub floor, booths which provided a little more intimacy. With a group just leaving one such booth, Ewan claimed it. From there, they could survey the lay of the land, so to speak.

[Sophia Baxter]

Do you know what is absolutely dreadful about being in another country? Having your so called friends from work dump you at the first sign of being laid. It's atrocious, let me tell you.

Perhaps I should back up just a tad. You haven't a clue who I am or what I'm really going on about do you? Apologies. My name is Sophia Baxter, a native from Boston, Massachusetts. That's right. The good old USA. I decided to jump on an opportunity to work for our sister Bankers here in London at the Bank of Scotland. I'm a consultant to their high to do clients. It's a plump position. Corner desk, lovely salary, a stipend, and the chance to go see the world!!! Seriously! I almost squealed when I landed the job. Having the chance to hop over the channel to see Europe in my free time is amazing!

Problem is, I moved here only a month ago and have no social life because I know no one. Where is the joy in sightseeing without any friends? So I buried myself in work and decorating my loft, but even that grew tiresome. Finally some co-workers convinced me to come here to the Pub tonight for a 'let's get to know one another' girl night. Which was a load of crap as soon as the Rugby team came strutting in full of victory and testosterone. I'm not the one night stand kind of lady, so I stayed behind as they exchanged pheromones. Disgusting really.

I'm actually quite enjoying my martini and relaxing for a change, fortunate enough to stave off any ... Oh wait. No. I knew I shouldn't have thought anything. It seems a drunken champion is wobbling his way towards my booth to try and charm me. I'm impressed that he hadn't stumbled into any one yet, but I'm quite certain that by the time he gets here, the drink he bought me will be half empty from him constantly tipping his hand over. Just avoid eye contact. Drink your martini and face away from the catastrophe heading your way, praying that you misconstrued his direction and has actually targeted another table to haunt.

[Liam Dunsirn]

The place was practically thumping with life energy. Gaia's breasts were full and plump and the people here were all crowding around her teat. Or some such nonsense. Liam shouldered up to the bar, ordered a Guinness, and was jostled by a group of rugby players who were loudly trying to impress the flock of adoring females around them.

Hunching his big shoulders against the pulsing crowd, Liam put his money on the bar as he picked up his glass, and turned to look around. Ewan was heading towards a likely looking booth, but his cousin wouldn't want a slightly buzzing Garou around to ruin the vibe.

Speaking of vibe... Liam caught the eye of a tiny blonde bird who looked like she was picking up drinks for several people and smiled at her. She smiled back, blushing slightly, as she tried to get her hands around the four drinks in front of her. He pushed himself up from the bar, eased around a few people and settled beside her.

"Need some 'elp?" He didn't wait for an answer but picked up two of the drinks as she stammered something, and parted the crush around the bar for her so she could lead the way to her party.

Unfortunately it looked like the rugby brutes were there already. But there were a lot of good looking girls... plenty to go around.

[Ewan Dunsirn]

The whole place was like some grand circus. Ewan frowned as he examined it all, wondering why he'd decided this was a good idea. People were swaying about the room like marionettes, though some had already had their strings cut and were slumped in booths or against walls, cradling their dizzy minds in dirty, damp hands.

One figure was looming precariously close by, his hands full of glasses and his head doubtlessly full of filthy intentions for the prim brunette in the booth beside Ewan's. He eyed the swaggering, staggering figure and imagined that he was suddenly tripping forwards, stumbling over his own clumsy feet, his glasses shattering and carving stigmata wounds into his crude palms – and just like clock-work, the oaf began to trip forwards.

[Sophia Baxter]

Oh hell. I AM his intended target. In preparation for my escape, I creep forward to the edge of the booth to where I can politely excuse myself. He can keep the booth as long as he isn't bothering me. Hell, I'll probably just head home anyway since I've more then likely been abandoned to this fate of drunken fools hobbling their way towards me for the rest of the evening.

I have finally locked eyes with him, but his half smiling face with eyelids that drooped with much alcohol intoxication, widened with shock. My head jerked back, confused at this change in demeanor, but I was too late to realize that stumbling fool had tripped over his own two feet and was falling dangerously close to me. I hug my knees to my chest and face away, trying to avoid the glass shards that scattered everywhere when they hit the floor. I could feel tiny pieces bounce harmlessly off my bare arms, which was soon followed by horrible splashes of vodka and beer all over me.

Horrified, I open my eyes and look over my blouse and arms. It was a terrible mess. Blotches of stains continued to grow on my beloved silk blouse. It would take forever to blot the stains myself or stupidly expensive to send out! Urgh!!!

I flap my arms in disgust, trying to fling off as much of the mess I could before grabbing my purse. This was the last straw. First abandoned by my friends and now the laughing stock of the bar. I'm going home to bathe with some soothing music and wine to unwind, because if I don't, I'm going to go postal at work tomorrow!

[Liam Dunsirn]

Liam chuckled and joked and passed out drinks and finished off his own while meeting the group that the blonde had led him to. After just a few minutes it was clear that some of the girls were interested, but they were also a shrill bunch, tittering and gossiping and fawning over the rugby players.

The Garou smiled down at the blonde who was leaning against him tipsily, giving her a friendly wink. "I just need to get a refill..." Sensing the moment was good, Liam bent over and kissed her on the mouth. She tasted of cranberries and vodka. And life. His heart quickened at the thought of her naked on his bed, but he heard the call of the ales behind the bar more clearly, and reluctantly pulled away as her friends giggled and whispered behind their hands.

Ewan was causing trouble elsewhere in the bar. Someone had just fallen down, spilling several drinks on a hot brunette who was mortified. The blood was high in her cheeks as she slapped at the stains on her blouse. Liam tipped up his refreshed ale, letting the amber liquid flow down his throat.

[Ewan Dunsirn]

The clumsy drunk was already staggering on his way onward, forgetting his drinks and the girl he'd thrown them all over. It was, in a word, unacceptable. Ewan stopped the drunk, stepping precisely into the path he was treading.

“Now, that isn't very polite, is it?”

The drunk looked up, sneering. “What's it to you, eh?” A cockney. Southern degenerate.

“You ought t'pay the poor girl for that mess you've made,” Ewan countered, with a nod towards Sophia.

[Sophia Baxter]

I wasn't entirely out of my booth yet, half my backside was sliding off the cushion to eventually stand up right when another patron decided to intercede on my behalf. I was flustered, almost stuttering in response to his chivalry. "That... That really isn't necessary!"

The drunk wasn't paying attention to me any longer and I'm not sure if the other gentleman heard me.

"I ain't payin' 'er nuthin' nor apolgizin'. Now leave me be."

Oh dear. This is going to get more messy then my blouse I think.

"Seriously," I stand up and fumble with the zipper on my purse to close it, "I'm fine."

[Liam Dunsirn]

Liam stretched almost lazily there at the bar, his muscles tightening and bunching up under his fine white dress shirt. Something his cousin had picked out - not that he particularly cared what Liam wore, just that he cared what he wore when he was around him in public. Too many pronouns.

Ewan's target was blushing, mortified, terrified of making a scene. She didn't need to worry - everyone else was too busy worshiping at the altars of Bacchus and Eros to notice. Humans seemed to long for Gaia, to suckle at her teat and take in all the life-giving wonder of it all. But they grasped at substitutions, at chemicals to alter the mind and jobs and successes to celebrate in bars.

In bars, like this one. The blonde bird was weaving her way over to him again as he got another refill on his drink and Liam could see her friends wishing her well and trying their own luck with the rugby players. L'chaim! To life.

The booze was creating a philosopher out of him which always annoyed Ewan, who would be glad he was missing this, and he knew that he would be more than glad to help this child of Gaia - stunted and shriveled though she was, not a true child like him, nor a non-thing like his cousin, a demon if you will - to find a true purpose under the stars.

He liked to do it under the stars. The girls did too, at first. Until after.

Liam boisterously caught the girl around the waist and dragged her close for another cranberry kiss, his mouth pressed on hers, wanting, his tongue penetrating with primal urges. She was pretty drunk, most of her weight on him and uncaring at the catcalls they were receiving.

Too drunk. He set her back down on her feet as she'd risen up on her tiptoes, and whispered in her ear. Birds loved it when you whispered in their ears. Except when it was rejection. She frowned and stomped her foot and swayed unsteadily when he released her.

Liam went back to his golden elixir, watching the exchange between the drenched brunet and his cousin with interest.