2024.09.09: September's Court

A conference room high above New Albion's streets. It
requires its own elevator. When the doors open, the passengers are released
into a sort of plush Deco-Industrial smoking lounge. There is a smallish auburn-haired woman seated in a chair facing the lift doors, the arrangement of
furniture in the room indicating that she is part hostess and part security.
She rises as the other Kindred within city limits begin to arrive.

Mr. Blackett sweeps into the room in all his primness.  And takes a seat nodding to the woman across
the way with a smile. He is giving an air that he is here to support her, but
has no agenda beyond.

Sheridan arrives wearing a nice suit and tie, polished
shoes. Which, given his age of embrace, make him look like a teenager at a
wedding/sentencing/prom. He fidgets, chewing on his lip like an apprentice
waiting for a job interview.

A red-haired, pale skinned, beautiful woman with a petite
build wearing a fancy evening gown enters the room and takes a seat, oddly at
ease for a stranger who has only just arrived in town

Marcus enters quietly, eyes scanning the room before
nodding, first to the woman across the way, and then to Blackett, who, upon
catching his eye, he strides towards in greeting.

The doors are heavily barred, but the security is unusual
tonight. The standard array of suits and sunglasses are conspicuously absent.
Instead, there is a single person leaning on the side of the door. It is a man
in a long duster. He seemed rather annoyed at his presence, but a quiet aura of
menace is unmistakable. Meanwhile, Stephen and Caius Gordon are having yet
another of their painfully apparent spats. The bemused grin of Kenna Baird only
cemented that quiet theory. The Prince was likely in the back. Ideally, anyway.

The tall gentleman is nodded to. Sheridan is beamed at.
Customer Service Charm plus a sort of grace that has been out of fashion for a
century or more. The flame-colored silk dress and its beaded overdress, the fine
bronze silk veil pinned over her hair, the opal and pearl jewelry - she really
looks like someone that itches the back of Sheridan's mind. Someone famous. Or
someone from a painting. "Sheridan. So glad you could join us."

The strange woman is dropped the slightest curtsey. The
picking up of her skirts reveals that the Keeper is not wearing shoes. At all.

It was a handful of decades (centuries) out of style, and
yet Cerriphan had arrived in some form of charm and presence for once in her
meager existence while inhabiting the city. Pressed and cleaned and in her best
dress, though of course she had the same sort of deranged look about her to any
who greeted or attempted to maintain conversation.

She was busy enjoying the sights.

 “I thought it was
best to attend a Prince when a court is called, Miss. I didn’t realize my
reputation preceded itself.” Of course he did - he didn’t go to the Blue Devil
on a whim - but it seems the right thing to say. He’s mostly focused on her,
trying to place the image to the catalogue of thoughts gathered and
accumulated.

"Do my nice clothes make look so strange? Doris asks as
she moves to quietly greet the others.

 “Orphelia... and myriad
Rossettis...” Sheridan mutters.

A bronze-gloved hand lightly brushes the shoulder of the
gentleman who had seated himself next to her. "Mister Antoninus, Miss
d'Galdis. Good to see you both." Warm but professional. A woman at work.

"It is feeling as if forever and a day since seeing
your face," she said, knowing well they'd just seen each other, "And
the Lion! What a sight! I am happy to being here, this time. At this very time,
I am meaning," There's a vague sort of fuss to the way she wiggled in her
clothing.

Marcus nods, his voice controlled. "Keeper Ashview, it
is always a pleasure."

"I am honored you chose your best dress to grace our
presence, Miss d'Galdis."

Then turning to Cerri "And Ms. d'Galdis, what a sight
yourself." A warm smile for the friendly Malkavian.

He strides towards Blackett, smiling, with his hand out to
shake. "Mr. Blackett, it's good to see you! How are you?"

A light touch on the gentleman identified as Marcus
Antoninus' arm and she is off to greet the other ginger woman.

"Fine my friend, I hope we do not mind a tourist such
as myself visiting this court." Blackett speaks to Marcus, but in a volume
obvious intended to be overheard by the Prince.

"Not at all. It would not be the same without you, mon
ami." Marcus replies.

Meanwhile, to Veronica: "Welcome to New Albion, my
lady. As is pleases His Majesty the Prince, I am Keeper of Elysium. If I am
pleasing myself, I am Doris Ashview, proprietor of the Blue Devil piano bar.
What brings you to our little outpost?"

Veronica smiles warmly and nods “Oh, you know, just a bit of
business involving a client and a painting he was interested in. It’s the kind
of thing that calls for a personal touch, as I’m sure you can well imagine.”

"Ah. Of course. Some things must be managed in
person." A faint upnod of understanding.

 “I’ve only just
arrived in town and thought that this would be the best way to make the
necessary introductions in the name of good form, of course. I’m Veronica,
Veronica Black, at your service.”

"At yours and your family's." A reflexive reply.
"Art dealers are rare here. I did not know we had anything outside of His
Majesty's collection worth a tinker's damn."

“Oh, I maintain a collection of paintings and sculptures to
suit all tastes and decorating styles. she pulls a business card from her
clutch Black Box Galleries, again, at your service.”

The business card disappears into the lefthand glove. Her
pockets are currently lounging primly in a club chair halfway across the room.
A different one is produced from a case tucked into her right. It reads: *Doris Valeria Ashview Director, Human*
Resources Gordon Industries*. The logo inlaid in the lobby floor all those*
floors below is embossed into the card.

 “A pleasure to make
your acquaintance, Ms. Ashview.”

"Well, I work far harder than I should to be the devil
rather than the angel on one's shoulder, but even the most unrepentant sinner
needs a shower every now and then." There is a note of self-mockery in the
response.

Elsewhere, Sheridan looks... honestly, if he were a mortal
you’d figure he’d be sweating. The usual composure and ease are not evident. He
looks like he needs the damn toilet. One of his legs even appears to be shaking
a little, and his fingers are gripping his palms so tight his knuckles have
turned white.

"Are you well, Mr. Sheridan?" Marcus asks.

Eyes flick to Marcus. “Mmmhmm. Hmm.” A nod. A moment to
focus. “Fi... fine. Thank you. Mr Antoninus. Hope you’re all clean after our
recent excursion. Cleanliness is next to Godliness.” Weirdly, this seems to
relax him. The grip loosens.

There is a chuckle at Sheridan's comment. "Well even
with a natural talent, one must still make an effort." There is no trace
of offense or malice in his voice as he turns back towards Blackett and the newly-introduced
Ms. Black, extending his hand towards her. "Mr. Antoninus, also from
Montreal on a rather lengthy holiday." His tone is friendly, and the voice
is deep and rich, the accent from the American southeast.

Back with Veronica, there is a slight air of distraction
about Doris every now and then, as if the ambient conversational noise is
making it hard for her to hear the person in front of her. "The pleasure
is mine, I am certain. If you will excuse me?"

As her distraction came apparent, the heavy doors opened
slightly, and a suit appeared, looking to Doris expectingly.

Caius squinted at this display, and retunred focus to his
already flustered conversation.

 “Of course, although
there is another, more...sensitive matter relating to my presence here that I
think it only proper to discuss, when you have a moment, naturally.” pleasant
smile. "I shall be at your disposal as soon as duty permits, Miss
Black." She pads back towards the gentleman in the chair, then leans down
to whisper in his ear.

The british gentleman, in his RP accent cants his head a
moment as though he was listening to something unheard. "Miss Black, half
of a noble name. " he gives a slight smile and extends a hand "Mr.
Blackett, Keeper of Elysium from Montreal, on a somewhat extended holiday
here."

Veronica Black09/10/2018

takes the offered hand (Veronica herself speaks with an
English accent) “Charmed. Keeper of Elysium, you say? I simply MUST pay a
visit. I always enjoy taking in the sights of a new city.”

"Oh you would be more than welcome, the Chalet sits atop
Mount Royal, and has a beautiful look over the city... just" he pauses,
"Do not tell the locals their mountain is but a hill, they get quite cross
at that notion"

 “I’ll be sure to
catch a cab out that way as soon as I’m settled in.” smiles warmly.

 “Oh God is arf the
room English?” Sheridan mutters quietly. In a very non-RP English accent. His
eyes are now practically rooted to his shoes.

Veronica laughs “That sounds like a glass half full
situation to me, darling.”

"I am afraid that would be a very long cab ride, but do
as you will." Blackett smiles warmly "I would recommend a flight if
possible. Montreal, where I am keeper, is about 2500km from here you see. I am
Visiting Keeper Ashview you see. I’m still not too sure of where everything is
quite yet. Apart from my hotel room and a few bellboys, I’m quite in the dark
on local geography.”

“I’ll be sure to keep my passport handy then.” Veronica
quips.

"Regardless, if you make it up there I will be happy to
show you about"

 “Well, I have a spot
of business to attend to here before I can think of traveling, but who knows?
Maybe sometime in the near future I’ll have a client in Montreal and I’ll have
a chance to head there and make a killing.”

Meanwhile, with the Malkavians:

"Is there some dread to coming from you, Sheri-friend?
Whatever is being the matter? Would you liking to sitting down and being
friendly faces with kin instead?" Cerriphan offered ever-so-sweetly to
Gavin, her body turning toward him in a half-blocking motion from the rest of
the room.

Sheridan gives an attempt at a composed smile to Veronica,
an attempt to be sociable. But for some reason, right now, it’s like someone
trying to keep their composure when needing to sprint to escape. His simulation
of breath judders a little at Cerriphan’s suggestion, and he nods, focusing
on... just focusing. “Yes,” he says to her. “Please. Cerriphan. Thank you.”

The woman offered a barely exposed hand, only the wrists
showing, to the miserable man politely. "To soothing and speaking of
better things, yes, coming along to seating at tables and enjoying the company
of family. As it should being at Court, striding business, yes?"

Sheridan nods, and takes Cerriphan’s hand. And again, this
direct focus seems to help. “I’m... always happy to talk. About anything. Name
a subject. Music. Art. Whatever.” There is a very sincere smile with pleading,
screaming eyes.

"I am enjoying music!" There was something. She
was leading him to a table for them to be seated and take a moment to chat. Of
all people, Cerriphan understood the need. "Do you having a favorites from
these modern ages or preferring others?"

 “Bowie. David Bowie.
Diamond Dogs. Hunky Dory. Uh... Fleetwood Mac. Uhm... is that modern? Or is
that too old?”

"Those are modern enough for mine tastes," she
fussed slightly, nodding, "I am liking some, heavy-metal things? Sometimes
alternative strangeness. Oh, you would liking... a Florence and the Machine,
maybe? I am listening to that. Sometimes, on the radio." And Cerriphan
would babble on and on for as long as he wished, of course.

“She’s great. Great. Heavy metal. What heavy metal?
Something loud.” His eyes water. “Uh... do you... like Belgium?” He just seems
to be going in to word soup.

"Belgium.. the country..." She slowly ventured
awkwardly. "Belgium is a place I am never having going, though close, very
close."

Marcus is quietly watching the two Malkavians as they
converse together - clearly seeing Gavin's discomfiture growing rapidly as the
evening progresses.

 “Where? France?
Plucky little Luxembourg? Netherlands? I was born in Southampton. It’s not far.
Ferry goes there now. Not when I was born.”

Sheridan’s pace of questions gradually slows down, until
it’s more or less normal. Cerriphan is definitely helping.

"More east," she hummed, hands folding on the
table as she tried to slow the line of answers to stifle his line of questions
as well. She looked up at the start of the Court official, smiling at Doris and
the Prince.

Keeper Ashview has been closeted in the Prince's office for
almost an uncomfortable length of time. Almost. Then the doors open. There is
the slightest and most awkward of pauses, as if a moment of routine protocol is
somehow not so routine...

The suits follow her to fan outward in a grand display.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome to the Glorious Court of Prince Marcel
Gordon... May you all be seated in the room behind us... And may you take a
moment to greet with the Seneschal of New Albion, Miss Doris Ashview."

Marcus stands at attention as the Crown enters - arching one
eye at the ascension to the position of Seneschal of Ms.  Ashview

The newly-appointed (and still barefoot) Seneschal inclines
her head slightly. She is a bright spot of color in a sea of dark suits.
"Let this be a warning to the rest of you to avoid appearing too
competent."

"It can be a bother..." Blackett says simply
"Congratulation Seneschal Ashview."

"Congratulations indeed, Seneschal Ashview."

Gordon sits silently at the head of a long table, his brilliant
blue orbits assessing everyone's reactions to the news as they take their
seats. "Please, please, welcome."

Cerriphan is appeased, but does not verbally congratulate--
she merely does a cute little wave with her fingers.

"Rí túaithe Gordon honors me with his confidence,"
Doris offers in response to the congratulations. "But yes, please...let us
be seated. There is much to discuss."

She, of course, waits until such time as the Prince is
seated, as is socially appropriate.

Marcus stands near his chosen seat, eyes still scanning the
room quietly, taking in every detail. He waits for both the Prince and the
newly-titled Seneschal to take their places.

The Prince is seated. He begins with a glance around the
room. "We few in the Midnight Court are here because we are careful.
Cunning. And above all: Aware of our fragile place in the world. I want you all
to consider, among yourselves, for just a moment, what would give me cause of
fear in my city. My walls are high, my defenders many... And of course, my
Court is powerful." he provides a kind bow of his head to Ashview.  "What... Could give me fear?"

Cerriphan wriggled her lips mildly, brows scrunching up
besides. Unsure of whether or not to speak up-- the question. Rhetorical? Many
answers to many fears. She leaned back mildly in her chair and politely pressed
her little digits together in a contemplative manner.

 “Well, there’s always
the notion that eventually, those in power have nothing to fear save the loss
of said power.”

The neonate, Marcus, is sitting quietly, watching the
proceedings somewhat quizzically.

Gordon locks eyes with a unfamilar face... He smirks at
that, though. The trappings of childehood. "... No. The fear I carry lies
in something far more beastial." he nods to someone on his right... And a
series of television screens illuminate. The scene is a grisly one. Elongated
tends flayed out to extend what appears to be a human eye... This... Thing...
Is peeking out from a sewer grate, staring at several persons of interest.
Dozens of these eyes appear to be recorded all over the southern New Albion
locales. "I fear wasting a war on good people I disagree with rather than
on monsters."

"Disunity, as it were, and an accordant dilution of
effort?"

He nods, only once.

Quietly: "Are we not discussing the...whatever that is
in the sewers?"

He looks to her. "... That 'thing' is the result of
experimentation on 36 missing persons around the docks. And thanks to the
heroism of a few key Kindred... Well, the Brujah avoided adding a trusted Ghoul
to that list."

Marcus: "That thing is what was being ... built at the
facility we cleared in the Riverwalk."

 “You have....sewer
mutants?” Veronica asks.

He nods at Marcus Antoninus. "The Sabbat have decided
that our Kine are fair game... And nearly killed our Ghouls." he looks to
Ashview. "Does this suffice as a breach?"

Doris: "You are the one with the ear of a member of the
Council, rí túaithe, not I." Still quietly. "I consider it, at the
very least, dreadful manners."

Gordon nods. "Then we must offer a reply." he goes
quiet, a chance for some to give their opinions.

"How strong a reply would you consider
appropriate?" Asks Marcus quietly.

"We call their bluff,” Doris replies. “They think
themselves unobserved, for the most part. I do not know offhand the appropriate
title of the representative of the Sword to whom we would appeal, along with an
appeal to the Council, stating that we believe there are either rogue agents or
deliberate saboteurs within our borders seeking to undermine the Accords. Then,
when they are predictable disavowed to save face, we do what is
necessary." There is an unpleasant air of finality in the little Siren's
voice.

 “Well, it would seem
that my arrival is most fortuitous,” says Veronica. “I happen to be in the
business of what is necessary.”

Marcus: "And if they are not disavowed - or if the
Sword's representatives dither - what then?" It isn't a challenge - but a
clarification of the prospective plan 'B'.

Doris: "Then we are at war."

Veronica sighs. “How do I keep finding myself in these
situations....?”

Marcus: "What situations are those, Ms. Black."

“Oh, you know. Things that go bump in the night “bumping” in
to one another and the situation getting.....messy... Last time I got involved
in something like this it was in OHIO of all places.”

The Seneschal studies the ceiling for a few moments. Her
expression suggests that perhaps she might be counting to some unspecified
number.  Her overall accent has been that
of the southwestern portion of the aforementioned state, simply lacking the
desperately annoying "D'whut?" or more passive-aggressive
"Please?" verbal inflections.

Gordon's face was cold. Eyes dead. He simply waited. Kenna,
however, was already looking for someone to just give her an excuse.

 “It was a few years
ago. A little conflict with the Sabbat that I was hired to lend my talents to
and aid in resolving. I wouldn’t suggest you ever go to this filthy little burg
called “Dayton.” Ugh....the name still tastes bitter on my tongue. You can’t
find a decent cosmopolitan in the entire city.”

Doris: "So once your 'delicate' business is concluded,
Miss Black, are you declaring yourself in?"

 “That’s a good
question I suppose,” Veronica answers. “Since we’re discussing such things I
suppose now is as good a time as any to bring it up and let the masks fall
away. I came to this city to kill a man. A former Bratva who left with more
knowledge than was healthy, and I’ve been promised a substantial sum to see
that he takes his secrets to the grave, and help him get there with a certain
haste. Normally it’s the kind of thing they’d handle themselves, but due to
certain familiarities they chose to enlist an outside contractor as it were.”

The Prince: "And your Clan, Ms. Black?"

 “I haven’t finalized
arrangements yet, I wanted to make my presence known first and make sure that I
may ply my trade. I am of Clan Toreador.”

"Naturally." Kenna chimes in, while Gordon nods.
First to her, and then to Ashview.

 “Like I said, I
haven’t officially taken the job yet.” Veronica turns to Mr. Gordon. “I’d
rather not meet the Prince that doesn’t mind any old fang showing up and
dropping bodies.”

The Prince: "I am not familiar with a Bratva in my city
that fits that bill, so if nothing else you may bring me information prior to
the informing of a decision. I alone have mastery over the 6th tradition, and I
will not have it broken without justifiction."

Veronica:  “Oh he’s
not one of ours, this is strictly mortal business.”

The is the faintest inclination of the Seneschal's head in
acknowledgement. Then an equally faint cough. However, now is not the time to
discuss the finer points of Elysium-keeping.

Veronica Black turns to Doris I know I may not have been
entirely forthcoming with you, Ms. Ashview, but due to the delicate nature of
my vocation it makes it a somewhat difficult topic to get to in polite
conversation. It was easier to start with the art dealing.”

Doris: "We all have our secrets, Miss Black." Nothing
ominous in that statement or tone.

Gordon raises another brow at that, but simply glides over
it with an idle "Forward the person's file to Doris, she will know if they
are on my payroll. If they are not, what you do with them is certainly your
business."

Veronica: “Of course. My client provided me with an
extensive dossier. I don’t have anything else lined up after this, so I would
be available should you need someone of my particular talents. Or if you just
want to do some decorating. I have some wonderful pieces in the Florentine
style available.”

Doris: "I would also like to bring Gavin Sheridan of
the Clan of the Moon to your attention, rí túaithe. He has meet with Doctor
Pendleton and all is in order. I shall have a report about his adventures with
Mister Antoninus and Miss d'Galdis in the sewers on your desk shortly."

The Prince nods. "The story has reached me already, and
I am very fortunate to hear that he is already being of use to the Camarilla
here." he frowns for a moment in thought. "I would hope he could
arrive for presentation, but I understand we live in busy times."

Cerriphan gestured mildly to her compatriot, nervous as they
were, "Sheri-friend and I were having time, a good time to seeing what is
lurking beneath. And the lack of rats is speaking deep volumes. The report to
coming soon, yes." She rattled off, then smiled sadly.

"Is there any additional business before the
court?"

With the answer at a negative, the evening descended into
the boring routine of court assignments.