2024.07.18: Shouting at Gordon

TXT -  A couole of days later. ' "Can you come over? It's urgent."

There is no reply to the text, just a knock on the door.

He opens the door and breaks into a broad grin at the sight of her - in spite of the worry evident in his face. There is an opened bottle of whisky sitting on the table in the living room. "Darling, I believe there may be a problem."

"Did days stop ending in y at some point or are you being rhetorical?" Dry humor. She has been in significantly better temper since Blackett's return, much closer to her usual baseline than the easily stressed, snappish woman he left behind.

A smile "I created a new calendar. Days now end in "n"" He is on edge, but remembers his manners, offering her a drink - and pouring a rather large one for himself before leading her to the sofa.

When she sits, he gestures quietly towards the bottle on the table.

"That is...not your usual brand." Doris frowns, the label clearly registering with her.

"No, it is not. Nor, as far as I can taste, is it strictly scotch." He raises his hand "I only had a sip, no more. But what do you make of it?" He clearly has an idea, and is hoping for confirmation, or its opposite.

"Where did you get a bottle of His Grace's preferred scotch?" The question is asked very carefully. He should answer with the same care, perhaps.

"Well, I absconded with it. The more interesting question, of course, is from whom it was absconded. The concern is why that person had this whisky."

"And, perhaps, more specifically, why that person had this particular... vintage... of this whisky. If my taste buds are to be believed you are able to drink it."

"I am waiting..." The subtle elevation of her displeasure is palpable to his new awareness of her moods. She might already suspect something. Is there anything breakable within reach that he is fond of?

"For some reason, His Grace saw fit to give this bottle to Elizabeth." He waits for the explosion he expects is coming, looking somewhat concernedly at his decanter across the room.

She at least has the decency to drink the contents of her glass before it is sent to its doom. "Give it here."

He hands her the bottle, his face becoming more grim at her reaction.

With the air of someone who is more than likely going to be displeased by what happens next, Doris uncorks the bottle and raises it to her lips. She takes a swallow and waits to sick it up. He waits a few minutes. When she seems able to digest the drink, he takes the bottle, corks it, and pours her something in a fresh glass. "His Grace would not err to give this to a mortal by chance."

"Take it to Victoria. See if she can determine whose blood is tainting it." Flat. The new drink is not accepted. The calm on the surface is tightly controlled anger underneath. It pushes gently against his own self-control.

He calls Victoria's office, and says he'll be there in minutes. "Shall I take you back to the Devil, Doris?"

"No." Still flat.

"Would you like to stay?"

"I am not certain."

He rises. “I need to get this to Dr. Marsden. I will be back as soon as I can." He leans down to kiss her. "It will be alright."

"I will make it all right. She is part of Elysium and thus off limits." As Marcus gets further from his condo, the influence of Doris' anger seems to fade.

Marcus walks in the front doors of the building, bypassing the receptionist and walking straight into Dr. Marsden's office with a mostly-full bottle of scotch.

Kyle comes walking after him.  "Hey!  You need to check in first!"

Marcus barely breaks stride. "Mr. Antoninus to see Dr. Marsden at 2115 on a matter of extreme urgency. You have me on file."

Kyle runs back to his desk and types hurriedly.

Marcus muses - almost to himself - as he enters the office. "He'll learn." Clearly more amused than angered. He places the bottle in front of the Doctor.

It looks like Victoria has just stepped out of her personal office at the sound of the commotion.  The door is still slightly open, showing a nondescript interior of a black wooden desk and office chairs.  As usual, the machine on the back wall is humming away.  She shuts the door and walks to the nearest lab table.  "Good evening, Mr. Antoninus.  What is this?  Scotch?"

He nods, somewhat calmer. "On the surface of it, yes. Specifically formulated for our kind. I need to know whose vitae was used to produce it, if possible."

Victoria opens the bottle and sniffs delicately, then wrinkles her nose.  "I never did learn to enjoy scotch."  She puts the cap back on and sets it down.  "Allow me to run a few tests.  I will try to narrow down the vitae but that may prove more difficult.  Still, we shall see.  I assume I can locate you at the Blue Devil later?"

He considers. "I would prefer to meet you elsewhere - is my office amenable? He considers a moment, and offers her his arm. "I can assure you the vitae is not mine, but for the sake of transparency."

"Perfectly so.  I do not believe I have been there yet."

He hands her a plain white business card with his other hand.

Victoria puts on gloves and takes a small sample.  "I will destroy this once I am finished with the analysis, of course."

He nods. "Of course. Thank you, Doctor." A pause "This is a matter of extreme urgency."

She glances briefly to the machine on the back wall.  "I will get to work on the analysis immediately."

"Thank you."

"Of course."

He turns about and leaves the doctor to her work, giving Kyle a friendly nod as he leaves.

TXT: Testing commenced. Results in a few hours.

TXT: I am breathless with anticipation. And in the bath.

TXT: My place, or yours?

TXT: Yours. I have no bath. Would you like to collect Giles on your way back?

TXT: I can - is he at your place? (And is he expecting me?)

TXT: Yes and no. I left without much warning or explanation.

TXT: I'll pick him up (and am getting him now)

TXT: Good.

A few minutes later, the door to Marcus' condo opens, and Blackett steps in - Marcus holding the door

"So my friends, what is this all about that disturbs a nice cup." Blackett says in jest.

Marcus looks to Doris to begin - she IS the keeper

Doris turns up, still dripping slightly and wearing a towel. Somehow there is no reduction in dignity. "Elizabeth has been gifted a bottle of scotch from a Gordon Industries-owned distillery by a 'friend'. It is scotch I am perfectly able to drink." A pause. "I did not give it her."

"More particularly, she claims it was a gift from His Grace himself."

"The Scotch is... vitae or blood?"

"The whisky is in the care of Doctor Marsden as we speak - she will be reporting to me - to us - here when her analysis is complete."

"I will be pleased to be wrong." Doris has commenced pacing, her agitation needing an outlet. "How dare he?"

"I have never met His Majesty, I could not presume to be capable of that Answer" Blackett says plainly, "I would like to make an introduction when he has a moment of course."

"As your primogen, I shall make arrangements."

Marcus rises and steps towards Doris, placing a hand on her shoulder "For now,we only suspect - we do not know. Save your anger until you know both whether - and at whom - it is warranted." His voice is grim - he has reached his own conclusion already but is trying to calm things down.

The eloquent "calm down" has minimal effect. "...I should get dressed. Do brief Keeper Blackett on your suspicions."

He nods and gestures down the hall - noting that she referred to him by his formal title.

Doris vanishes. Better to not be distracting, even if she does not personally particularly care about clothing conventions.

"So what is the grand conspiracy?" Blackett watches the half-dressed Doris disappear as he speaks.

"Can I get you a drink, Giles? You may need one."

"Just not the special whiskey?" he grins.

"I have my own special whisky. Talisker - 30 years old." A grin back "As god intended it - straight from the cask." He pours two generous glasses, giving one to Blackett, and gestures for him to ait down

"Happily" Blackett takes the offered drink.

Once the gentlemen are settled with brandy and cigars in the study, the lady reappears. She must have left a change of clothes in the guest room closet. When did she get a linen suit?

Blackett just watches her return and shakes his head. "Anyway, So what is this theory? So much suspense"

"You know I prefer not to speculate on the motives of others, at least publicly, however I can see three possibilities - one more likely than the others. I discount the possibility that His Grace gifted Elizabeth this bottle by accident, and I discount the possibility that Elizabeth lied, or is mistaken in its source.”

He pauses, taking a sip of his drink.  "As such, we know that His Grace deliberately gifted Elizabeth with a very excellent bottle of blood-tainted whisky. There is no reason for him to do so unless - as I expect Ms. Marsden will confirm shortly - it contains vitae - probably his own. Thus his intention is to make her a ghoul. He is far from stupid, and would assume that you." he looks towards Doris "Would find out. So we must ask why he would ghoul her."

"Scratch that, one possibility that covers everything." He continues. "Doris, you are the Keeper of Elysium - His Grace is, I am certain, aware that you are vehemently opposed to ghouling, and that you consider your staff as a part of your Elysium. Thus, he felt it acceptable to breach Elysium knowing that you would find out. I had a strange conversation with Elizabeth recently, in which she outlined - in brief detail - a strange conversation she had with Mr. Cruz. Based on the details of that, I believe that Mr. Cruz - whether through stupidity or something else - informed Elizabeth of some aspect of our nature. Upon finding out, Mr. Gordon took matters into his own hands, attempting to ghoul Elizabeth as the least of three possible evils. Though..." A pause - the only hesitation - "Why she would speak to Gordon instead of you or I, Doris, is beyond me. That said, for now, that is theory. Evidence and investigation will give further information that may refine, confirm, or refute any or all of it."

“Do you trust His Majesty” the question is put out to both Doris and Marcus.

"He is not an intolerable master." A thoughtful pause. "You have made her suspicious of you before. Additionally, he is charming. I am suspect because we are lovers."

"I trust him no further than he could be thrown- without potence."

"It is a rather clever way to test both of our information networks and their security..."

"If you trust him, then why not bring this to him directly? Again, I do not know him... but if you do not trust him why stay here. I am sure Prince Moreau has room."

"The city needs me, and I am not going to go shout at the bastard without some solid proof. I will not give his son or his Scourge the satisfaction of catching me out. The angel was bad enough."

Marcus nods "As I said - I have a theory. We are working on gathering evidence. The rest is academic until we have any."

"Why "accuse" with evidence. Why not ask the prince you trust. It can even be an off hand comment while introducing me to His Majesty and continue to gather evidence in the background."

"You are such a Norman, love." Doris sighs affectionately. "We are Celts, he and I, and thus both excellent dodgers of questions."

She paces, making erratic circles in the center of the room. "If he is testing me, which I have no doubt is part of the reason for this nonsense, it also does no good to casually suggest I know anything but instead go for the throat."

More theorizing. "If it is Caius, he was either ordered or volunteered to spite me. I would like to make sure of exactly how many individuals I am censuring."

"This is a line I do not know, everything in the city is the Princes, including the sanctity of Elysium. Although he can be in breach... he also technically "owns" the assets of Elysium and we the Keepers manage them."

"He can kiss my Irish ass and explain to Lucinde why I left, if he likes." Acid. She almost bares her teeth at Blackett. "Elysium existed before the current system of governance. It is our oldest custom. He may have appointed me, but my authority comes from more ancient sources."(edited)

"Of course it is... and this is me saying it, in all my grand fuss... the gray lines are the places where diplomacy lives. I know your passion, love. You need to balance it and the city. Being right is good, winning is better. Catch my meaning?" Blackett inhales and exhales, "I have been dealing with a Tremere prince for years now. Years.  And my lineage, and clan as a whole hate his." He grabs her hands in his "Moreau and I work well together... not by accident, but by much work and sacrifice"

"If I might add a more pragmatic concern - we believe, at this time, that His Grace has perpetrated a deception upon us - or at least on you." He looks towards Doris "Asking him about it before we know more will not necessarily elicit the truth - merely more deception."

"I really do not have a horse in this race my friends, except my support of you."

"Being right and winning is the goal, here. I am uncertain whether our heroics on behalf of our lost lamb are enough to charm support for me, so I do not wish to openly declare my true allegiance." Doris continues to pace. "Moreau is the only Tremere my family can stand. He should count himself lucky. Ventrue warlords are our stock-in-trade."

Marcus chuckles at the reference to Ventrue warlords, looks at Blackett. "I know - and your support means the world, my friend. You know as well that Prince Moreau has my trust - because he has earned it over many years now. His Grace has not earned that trust, and so I must play the odds." He looks at the other two "Wisdom dictates that WE must."

"Oh he does not have my trust, those I surround myself with I have faith they will be true to themselves, and that I know them adequately enough to predict their behavior... Current company included. You just need to predict Mr. Gordon enough then?"

"I merely wish to know what game we are playing so I am aware of the rules." Her pacing slows.

Marcus nods, his grin somewhat saturnine. "Then you generally understand my definition of trust."

Giles: "So, you are going to wait for this Doctor of yours to find out if the bottle does in fact contain Vitae. And then?"

"And then I go shout at a Scottish warlord." Doris shrugs.

"She should be able to tell us both if it contains Vitae, and hopefully whose. And I have a chat with Elizabeth and see if we can get to the truth of what is going on."

"Perhaps we should let our charming colleague chat her up. Considering how tangled things are." Doris eyes Blackett meaningfully.

"I am an unknown person to her, would you like me to have that conversation? Not being known may be a boon... or not, but worth a try."

"Elizabeth and our Marcus are more than merely socially acquainted, my love. It would be a sensible courtesy for you and she to at least be cordial acquaintances." Doris smiles slyly. "It will make double dates less awkward."

"A foursome! I thought you would never ask!" he says with a completely deadpan expression.

"Three handed whist is so awkward." Equally deadpan.

"Agreed, have you ever plaid Kaiser, it is a bridge like game, popular amongst the Slavs"

"We are getting distracted. What do you propose are the next steps than? And how may I aid the two of you? It sounds like you have the gist of a scheme already"

"It is hardly a scheme. I take you for introductions, Marcus because he is a Ventrue, and the good Reverend because it is always wise to bring a Brujah to a fight with a Gangrel in...and then, after I introduce you and formally in his presence acknowledge your equal right to exercise your authority, he and I have a shout and he explains himself." Doris is slightly more singleminded than normal.

"It sounds like a good plan. Though first, we gather the information we need so that when you shout at him, you have evidence to back it up."

"I would like to find a way to prove that somehow in my accord with His Grace about Raziel His Grace managed to geas the boy into being compelled to put himself in harm's way for my sake." Doris' arms fold, her fingertips drumming against the opposite forearm. "While he loves all creation, that was extremely rash, going toe-to-toe with a monster of that nature."

"Proving that could be a challenge."

"I know it was not for love of me." Oblique. "Well. No more love of me than for any other things of the earth."

“Umm who is Raziel?”

"A stupid boy who was badly injured the other night." Doris sighs eloquently."Or, if you are feeling indulgent, an angel who is trying to find his way home."

Blackett has a moment of realization “the child of the Malkavian that refused to introduce himself to me. At least I presumed Malkav by his manner of speech”

"So did we all, but...we may have been wrong. He did not cry the way we do, and I cannot imagine any Kindred as old as he would have been reduced to tears by having his ear wrung and being scolded like a naughty schoolboy. Particularly the moon's children."

“Who knows... I have seen Malvavians cry at less..., or things that would destroy me the Malkavians shrug off. They are quite an odd creature”

"Neither you nor a Malkavian would leave my fingers unstained when I wiped away your tears."

Blackett frowns “Sorry you lost me”

"Saltwater, not blood."

"Oh so Enoch's ghoul then. Fine"

Marcus shakes his head "No, not a ghoul."

"It is...complicated, love." Doris actually wrings her hands helplessly.

"So... mortal, or something else?"

"Why would that Malkavian care about a Mortal?"

Blackett corrects himself, "I mean I care about many mortals, but not to the point of emotion he showed when he... yelled at you."

"Razial is Enoch's childe. Or was. As I said, it is complicated. But now he is something else and somewhere else." Doris wrings her hands again. "You wanted to say something else."

“And Enoch is? The Malkavian? So, I guess the only question remains, do we leave now to meet the Prince or Foursome first?”

"We cannot meet with His Grace until we hear back from Doctor Marsden. Elizabeth is enjoying a night off and may not want to be bothered." Doris shrugs. "Yes, Enoch is the Malkavian who has earned your ire with his poor manners."

“So threesome first? That is not as exciting. Isn’t that some sort of food dish in your home province?”

"Threeway, not threesome." Doris sounds exactly as exasperated as one would expect. "There is a fourway version as well, by the by."

"Well, I could see only two of us enjoying the threeway." A quip from across the room

"It would smell nice and make me homesick." The admission is tinged with misery. "Marcus made me beef wellington the other night, Giles. I had never had it before."

“Lovely, I have to admit, my ability to still enjoy a good cup is likely the only thing that kept my humanity all these years.” He pauses, “My grandsire has the same ability would you believe? Did I tell you I learnt something new about my sire, and my Grandsire? Elder Rhiannon Byrd.”

"Oh? Wonderful! You had been researching that when I left." The distraction from discussing food she cannot technically eat is seized upon.

“I have, which is why when Elder Byrd brought me letters from my sire I was suspect. But it all checked out with what I know.”

"I am glad. Should I write your sire? I would hate to be thought less courteous than my suitor." There is a tiny smile.

Blackett actually blushes "Do as you will, also I am sure she would find it as amusing as Mme. Tonerre did."

"You are *adorable* when you blush, love." Gently teasing.  "Leave me her address."

Marcus steps quietly towards his kitchen - pouring drinks and allowing the other two a moment of privacy.

In the moment alone, Doris crosses to Giles and reaches for his hand, seeking a comfort and calm that only the other half of her heart can provide and celebrating a moment of triumph for him, however small and personal it might be. Her fingers interlace with his, a wordless communion. There is no feeling of exclusion, however, when Marcus turns back to them. Just a difference.

Blackett takes her hand and holds it firmly. "It is nice to finally know where I fit in, I am not going to lie." and then "Should we think about making the trek to meet His Majesty?"

"I need to change. I cannot shout at him dressed like this..." The flawlessly tailored linen suit in a flattering gray green has nothing wrong with it beyond the innately casual nature of the fabric and the fact the lady does not appear to have decided in favor of a shirt, instead letting the jacket do all the work. "You may want a better jacket, love."

Marcus returns with fresh glasses for each of them, gesturing towards the room with a few of Doris' things. He looks at Blackett "Once again into the breach?"

“That is your idea of a pickup line?” He smiles “or is that Ventrue Foreplay?” He teases

"You boys can flirt at the bar while I dress for war." Breezy. She takes the glass and drains it. "But if you steal my boyfriend, Marcus, I will steal Elizabeth.”

He grins at Blackett "Giles, you should know Ventrue do not engage in foreplay. That would require caring about other people's feelings."

"We do that as often as we make self-deprecating jokes." Deadpan.

"Lying's a sin, darling..." There is amusement in Doris' singsong chastisement.

Giles: "Let’s go hit the bar and leave the lady to it."

"My good dress is at my flat."

Marcus: "I can drive us."

"Good. I never have bothered to learn and now they are becoming capable of driving themselves so no point." Doris grins.

Marcus simply shudders "I would always rather drive - I know far too many people with my skills."

Marcus takes a quick call, stepping into the spare room. You hear muffled words punctuated by a very loud "Fuck!"

"Now? Really?" Automatic. Deadpan.

"When I'm off the phone." Quick, also deadpan.

"Fair." The pacing resumes, Marcus' reaction to whatever is being relayed galvanizing her back into restless action.

He walks back into the room. "The whisky was laced alright - with Ventrue Vitae. Very powerful, according to Dr. Marsden. I'm having a second report prepared indicating that the whisky has been poisoned.

“Of course it was. We knew it. Now it is confirmed. Next steps Doris?”

Marcus is now down two undoubtedly expensive tumblers. "Dia ár sábháil," she mutters. Apparently, the next step is break something and swear. "Tha tears it. Ye'll be a-holdin of my earrings, aye?" The modern American slang in her soft Irish country brogue is slightly jarring.

He looks down, up at Doris, and back down again. "That's it, you're relegated to sippy cups."  He deadpans, before continuing "Yes, I'll hold your earrings." No idea what the phrase means, but he can guess.

"Take me home. Then be a good lad and get me an appointment with your boss." Doris reaches up to pat Marcus on the cheek.

He nods "Let's go."

"Did you pack something formal, mo ghrá rúnda?" Doris asks with a glance at Giles. "This calls for something formal."

“I brought one thing informal. This suit has no vest. I will put on a vest”

"You always look so formidable in Victorian formal, but we shall work with what we have." She sighs.

Giles: "Is my usual acceptable, or do I need something black tie?"

Doris: "Slightly dressed down from black tie would be preferable. There may be a duel, after all."

Marcus: "Do you require a second?"

"Are you not already my second?" She is not completely lost to outrage. She can still make salacious wisecracks.

"I meant for the duel." Blase.

“We know what a second is... we were born when duels were still a thing. We simply chose to move on from you comment.” He turns back to Doris “Apologies, I just really think we need to focus. What specifically is your intention? I need to know and how it will affect my standing with tower.”

"I am planning on engaging in a discussion about sneaking about behind my back with Justicar Lucinde's protégé. If things go poorly, you can always be my Architect."

“Hmmm, let’s introduce me to the prince and have my status recognized. Then you do what you need to.”

"I do remember my manners," Doris replies a bit stiffly. Any other questions?"

Doris frowns and pulls out her phone...and then swears in Gaelic, taps out a reply to whatever message has her swearing, and hurls the phone across the room. "Mother of God."

Marcus looks up, questioningly.

"Independent confirmation that someone has been messing with my girl." Doris drags her hands through her hair.

"What further?"

"Tell me what you know, Marcus. I ow you went to talk to Gordon about the raid. What do you know?"

He slips a folder from his briefcase and hands it to Doris. "Mr. Gordon has instructed me to take Elizabeth as my ghoul."

"Absolutely not." Flat. The folder is ignored.

"Not after I have spent so much time and effort on her and her wellbeing. And absolutely not because I know what it does to people and she deserves better than to have your relationship destroyed." There is the faintest flick of her gaze to Giles. "She will end up like her brother."

"I went to deliver my report to His Grace, and he presented me with the masquerade breach question - apparently it was on his desk. He asked how I would recommend it be addressed. He suggested killing the Kine (which I presumed - correctly) to be Elizabeth. He instructed me directly to give this to you and gave me charge of Elizabeth - calling her "My new ghoul." I believe our worst concerns are realized

"I will sort him out. Toliver and Giles can get her out of town." Doris chews her lip enough to draw blood.

Marcus looks up. "No. At least not yet. Doris, you know the choice I was given - or not, as the case may be. Should she not be given a choice in the matter? She is not bonded to me - not now - let her speak on her own behalf. Though I am sorely tempted to leave Mr. Cruz for the sunrise."

"She is possibly bound to Gordon, boy. Are you so stupid as to not make those connections?" Doris finally snatches the folder.

"I PRESUME she is bound to Gordon. That is the only reason he would give her that whisky. In other words, she can make the decision on whether to be bound to me of her own free will if she is asked without his presence." There is a hint of anger now - anger at the presumption that he has not thought this through, and anger at Gordon - and at Cruz. "If she runs - even with the father and Giles - how long before he finds her and kills her? How long before he kills me for insubordination. You know I am right."

"You were told to tell me. Go with them. This is my fight." Hissed. She scans the document. There is swearing in Maltese French. It is deeply saceiligious.

"Your fight, yes - and I am sure I speak for Giles as well when I say that we will fight with you. But it is HER life - and she is not a pawn to be pushed around a board." His voice softens, and he withdraws his phone. "You spent your life fighting for the notion of libertas. Do not deny hers in this moment."

"Do not presume to lecture me, Marcus Antoninus." Cold. "I have an appointment to keep. Excuse me." And with that, Doris walks out of the condo.

Marcus looks at Giles "Let us ensure she does not lose herself in there." quietly

Giles looks after the door, "And take us with her"

"If she has not already left. My car is out front."

*A few hours after a couple of intense conversation...*

She has chosen her flame-colored silk Court gown, with its veil and the delicate beaded net overlay. His style decision. His jewels at her throat. Bare feet, but this is Texas and July, so that is not entirely odd. She chooses to stand on the sidewalk opposite the gleaming silver tower, echoes of her arrival. Then, she waits.

Someone will notice eventually. A short while later, a black car slides to the curb, Marcus and Mr. Blackett step out and walk towards her. The men are ignored. She may as well be a statue

Finally, an elevator door opens, and Caius is waiting. He gestures Doris inside, and gives a knowing nod to Marcus. "The Prince will see you, now."

Marcus nods back, quietly.

She sweeps across the street, handsome men in her wake. Caius is not spoken to or even really acknowledged. The silence is deafening. Whatever emotions lurk behind the frozen mask of the Siren's face, anger does not seem to be among them, despite the set of her jaw.

"Ummm, Yes, Um... Blackett... Mr. Giles Blackett." He extends a hand to shake with Caius as he passes, trying to keep pace with the angry Woman.

Caius Gordon stopped, and stared at the newcomer. Doris giving him the coldest of shoulders is something of a habit, but this was altogether unusual. Normally he would have heard of the newcomer. Not good. Not bad. Just interesting. He shakes the hand. "Caius Gordon, welcome to New Albion Mr. Blackett. I trust you are here to pay your respects to the Prince?" he asks, eyes glittering with idle approval, gesturing them inside the elevator. "I'm certain Doris wouldn't mind taking a moment for the discussions to give an appraisal." he smirks knowingly.

"That is sufficient from you, boy." Haughty as the Roman matron she is dressed as.

Caius simply sighed. "I am certain your benevolent nature will win our esteemed Prince over, my Lady." he straightens his tie with a smirk. If one didn't know better, you'd think half the tower despised Doris. The elevator would climb with a quiet dread. The normal music was absent. Long way up. Quietly, Doris begins humming, because Siren. The tune might be vaguely familiar to anyone up on their Irish and Scottish history. This may not include anyone else in the elevator. It does not include Caius, funnily enough.

Blackett lags back a moment, and with a half-smile, and says quietly enough that only Caius or Auspex can hear "Ask me some time to tell you about her meeting with Lucinde." and then he walks briskly before there can be a response to catch up to Doris.

Marcus sits in the lobby, withdraws his phone, and sends a text.

Silent elevator. The anger that had animated Doris seems to have transmuted into something else, something softer but heavier. Caius continues to be ignored to the point of what some might consider rudeness. Blackett does consider it rude, it can be seen on his face. But he knows Doris and knows he should pick his battle. He silently stares at the elevator door preparing how he will make a good first impression AND stop Doris from throttling her Prince while keeping Doris from throttling Blackett. He thinks the attack on Normandy likely had fewer variables to plan around.

Doris holds the doors shut at the top for a moment. "Before the meeting comes to order, does anyone want to stay in the car?"

The elevator would slowly climb up, and finally would open. "I fear we cannot wait for the idle ones. Stay if you stay, go if you go." Caius would hover to Kenna, who was waiting in her 'royal' armor that she so enjoyed flashing about. Gordon was already inside. There is a palpable dread unfamiliar to the room, as the lights that were normally stuck to 'dentist room bright' were dimmed to merely enough to see. Burning blue gleamed silently from its desk.

The dimness only serves to highlight the ethereal glow the Siren's attire grants her as she moves through the space, the flame colored silk and metallic gauze veil giving her a sort of halo as they catch and reflect what little light exists. It is perhaps not enough steps to reach her mark in front of His Grace's desk. It does not seem to matter. She moves with a sort of fatalistic grace slow and measured.

Gordon pauses, and glances past her. "Always one for surprises." he mutes. "Either introduce them or shut the Door, Miss Ashview. I am not gleaming with good humor at the moment." his features were obscured by a wall of shadow that scattered over every inch of his face save the burning Sapphire orbits.

"May I present my esteemed colleague from Montreal, Giles Blackett? He is a son of Ishtar and much favored by the Prince of a Thousand Spires." Doris, slightly dramatically, gestures towards Blackett to draw him into the conversation. "Keeper Blackett, His Grace Marcellus Gordon."

No additional fanfare or recitation of titles for either gentlemen. This is a little odd, but perhaps it speaks to the overall gravitas of the situation that she keeps things short and sweet.

The Prince turns his gaze. "Seems that much of Canada is flying south for the winter." he smirks softly to himself. "Welcome to New Albion."

"Before coming to serve the crown here, Mister Antoninus served as deputy Keeper under Keeper Blackett's direction." Doris adds pertinent details.

He standing in a perfectly tailored black suit, with vest. The shine on his shoes perfectly reflects the dim light of the space "I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Your Majesty."  His British Receive Pronunciation accent rings out. "Ms. Ashview has summoned me to help with..." he pauses "Something she has not completely explained yet. " he shrugs "That Said, my hope is that His Majesty would recognize myself and my status in the tower. At which point I may inquire further as to why precisely I was summoned. Of course if my aid is not needed I will happily be on the next flight at His Majesty's bidding." He smiles, and adopts a body language not suggesting this as an ultimatum or any other such thing... simple of course... the proper thing to do.

"*He has no Gaelic*," Doris comments quietly in Gaelic. There is a particularly Irish shrug. "*I have found him a useful ally in the past and a skilled diplomat.*"

He leans backwards, and judges him with a delicate frown. "You are welcome in my fair city, and if you carried wonderful company with Mr. Antoninus." he bows his head in deferance. "I would be honored to have one of your esteem join our ranks. I fear today is not ideal for a presentation in full, but I wish for you to know how happy I am to have your arrival." he slowly reaches into his desk and pulls out a leaf of paper. "The Blue Devil is a suitable waiting area for Miss Ashview, I would imagine. She will be happy to brief you in full of what we need your talents best on. If that changes, I will send my Scourge to fetch you." he bows his head towards Kenna, who was standing with a straight back and a steel face at the door.Giles bows a exact and notable amount lower than Gordon's head dipped, "Of course your grace." He Looks to Kenna and back to the Prince, "With your leave, I will collect Mr. Antoninus immediately proceed to the Blue Devil. Unless there is anything else I can do for your majesty immediately." he glances subtly in the direction of a quietly fuming Doris.

Doris does not appear to be fuming right now. She seems ineffably sad and disappointed...and resigned. This might be worse than fuming.

Mr. Gordon simply shakes his head. "Kenna, see our guests out. Lock the door behind you." he orders, flatly. His gaze sets upon Doris. "We will handle business as quickly as we can."

Blackett walks to the door, turns and bows deeply and takes his leave.

Kenna slowly shuts the door. "My Prince." she utters, voice as close to amused as she dared in such a professional environment. The doors locked with a heavy 'thud'.

As the door shuts behind him, Blackett can hear soft singing begin. Inside the room, Doris is expressing her displeasure as only a Siren can. No powers of the blood, no pedestrian gross manipulations of emotion, simply her inhumanely flawless ability to put her feelings into her performance. "'Sé mo laoch, mo Ghile Mear, /'Sé mo Chaesar, Ghile Mear,/ Suan ná séan ní bhfuaireas  féin/  Ó chuaigh i gcéin mo Ghile Mear."

The lament is truly an expression of grief and betrayal. It is also very pointedly Gaelic in nature, evoking the anguish of a people oppressed. She is very blatantly mourning...something.

The reply comes in Scottish Gaelic, and the accent of a modern man was shed with a rapid discarding, as if it was a blatant lie he was happy to leave behind. No language barrier was needed to understand his own tone. He was furious. "*I aim to save this city, Doris. Protect everyone. Your heart is making that harder.*"

She continues to sing, shaking her head slightly. His anger slams into the wall of her heartbreak, the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object. "*For a while I was a gentle maiden/And now a spent worn-out widow/My spouse ploughing the waves strongly /Over the hills and far away./The cuckoo sings not pleasantly at noon /And the sound of hounds is not heard in nut woods, /Nor summer morning in misty glen/Since he went away from me, my lively boy.*"

She comes to the end of the lyrics and repeats the chorus once more, then protests, "*But what good is it to save the city at the price of its heart?*"

"*This city has no heart, Doris.*" he flatly replies. "*I try with every sunset to give it one, but I cannot lose our entire civilization over my ego.*" he rises up from the desk, resting his hands firmly upon the heavy wood. "*Drape yourself in my tongue as you wish, Siren. I brought you here to help me give the city life, not doom us all for the sake of helping you sleep at night.*" his eyes burned with a soft anger. Blue lapping against the darkness.

"*This is not about helping me sleep, Marcellus. This is about doing what is right. I cannot give life to something you are determined to steal it away from. She is my asset. Mine to deal with. You gave the people to me to shepherd and now you prove you do not trust me?*" Doris carefully removes her gloves, then her earrings as she speaks. Both are placed on the desk. They are followed by the necklace and the veil. "*I cannot do my job where there is no trust. I cannot stay where I am unable to do my job.*"

Gordon stopped. His eyes gleamed brighter... Anger. Something terrible played out in those eyes for a moment... And then, finally, they subsided. "*She stopped being your asset when you lost control of her.*" he said, flatly. "*You had a massive, massive masqerade breach. She was not killed, nor was she whisked away. She is a punishment for your failing to take preventative measures.*" he shakes his head. "*When I hired you, I knew you have been in different theaters of this conflict, but allow me to make something clear: We have genuine nightmares south of the river. They are here to enslave a thousand 'Lizzys' and butcher a hundred of us.*" he slowly leans forward. "*Every other person in this city can adore you. I am the only one who when I say YOU. DID. THIS*." he slams his hand on the table for added effect. "*I want you to believe it. Don't pretend your blameless. Don't pretend it was me being over-reaching. This poor girl was due for a damned execution. You never should have let a Mortal this close to our circle.*" he watches her take off her assets of his power. He simply stares. "*Are we going to play this game out?*" he asks, simply.

"*I did not cause Hibernia to become a target. I did not draw the Sabbat and the Kuei Jin here.*" Doris pauses, gathering her thoughts. "*I will not bear your guilt over the harm you have caused this little town for you, Marcellus Gordon. But I will make right what others have set wrong. Not for you. For her. I will not have her suffer under the weight of a blood bond, losing herself to addiction. I will not have her become her brother.*"

There are implications of emotion in her tone that suggest she is very much thinking of more than just the sad fate of Jason McCrory in this moment. "*If Mister Cruz is so keen on supply education, let him be responsible for her Accounting. But next time there is a problem of this nature, I will be informed at the outset, not in the middle of the mess. Understood? If I am to be Sherriff as well as Keeper, you will ensure I am fully empowered to act in both roles.*"

He shakes his head. "*Bring me a peace treaty with Miss Moore, and I will have no more need for Miss. McCrory. She remains a Ventrue asset until then.*" he smiles at her coldly. "*And you will have to be the one to break Mr. Antoninus' heart on the subject.*" he then quietly sits back down. "*I have not named a sheriff yet, and that is an intentional decision. I do not want to have rumors slipping out you can walk in her being punished and walk out with a promotion.*" he shakes his head yet again. "*And I will not have Mr. Cruz accounting. His punishment will be serving you directly in investigating Sabbat activity. I understand we lost that Angel boy, and I intend to drown them in Blood for it if it is proven to be direct.*" he scowls at the thought. *"I did not draw them here either, Miss Ashview. The will of the Camarilla is absolute. If it was not me, it would be another. Count yourself lucky that the vain egoists of the old world are not marching down here. I am the best-case scenario for a gentle one such as yourself.*"

"*You think me gentle. How sweet of you.*" There is ice in her tone. "*You do not need a peace treaty with Miss Moore, Reverend Toliver and I have seen to that. And she is your asset alone or we have no accord. Is that clear? I will not have the child cleaning up our mistakes.*"

He stares her down. "*Then bring me this Anarch malcontent. And I want Moore's treaty in blood.*" he scowls. "*And, fear not, Miss Ashview..." he opens his hands, almost warmly. "Every Ventrue is my asset alone. It is written in their being.*"

"*Leave Mister Antoninus out of this matter or I go back to Montreal with Keeper Blackett and resume my reign as the Lady of the Court of a Thousand Spires, with Mister Antoninus and Miss McCrory to boot.*" Flatly. "*Otherwise, leave the Anarchs to someone who would be Advocate if you let her.*"

Very pointed.

Gordon frowns. "*You are a very long way from Montreal, Miss Ashview. And the reputations of any Ventrue that abandoned the war effort here because of an Anarch's request would be suicidal. To call it a staggering loss of dignitas would be using far to small of words. And the Justicar, I assure you, has been receiving full information about the actions abounding in our city. There is no Camarila Ventrue who would open the door for him.*" He stares he down. "*Dragging him to his doom for ego seems rather cruel, no?" he leans backwards. "If I am going to be threatened, I would ask you pick something you have the stomach to lose." his gleaming eyes burn. "I will happily take direct control of Miss McCrory in the meantime, if it puts you at ease. When Miss West is removed as a threat, we can renegotiate her outcome.*" he smiles. "*I have faith in you, Miss Ashview. What I fear is that you do not realize how many enemies are at the gate... And how cunning they are.*"

Doris snorts, redressing herself in her gifted finery. "*I am quite aware of both of those things. I was involved in the liberation of Cincinnati from Camarilla and Sabbat infighting in the seventies. I was assisting in the management of a delicate balance of all three Kindred factions exclusive of the Sabbat in Montreal through wit and charm alone. By the time I was sent here, I had seduced half of the officers of the Court, including the Prince, and won the approval of the President of the movement. Charming people into doing what I want is easy. Miss West is not a threat so long as you allow yourself to give Miss Moore the ability to look after her town.*"

She adjusts her gloves. "*And, Your Grace, it will behoove you to remember that my grandsire had me hunting Elders as my Accounting.*"

Gordon stopped at that, and went silent. His eyes were deadset upon her, a moment held in the air.

"*When one's first nights are spent reclaiming the blood of your clan, one tends to remember those skills best.*" She is not intimidated. Nothing in her voice or posture suggests she is doing anything but stating facts.

Doris watched as the blue grew in brilliant hue. Brighter and brighter it went. "You are a brave one." the words say, from an un-moving mouth. They come from everywhere at once. "To care so much for so many so often." he offered with a warm brush of physic appreciation... "I think, then, I finally figured out your problem."

The darkness settled in. Only Blue Remained, terrible blue.

Rather than words, a melody came quietly against her ear. Past her ear. Into her very being.

"Now..." his words came again from his mouth, so weak by comparison. "Do what you must." he waited, watching.

Her eyes close, listening. Then, softly, she hums along for a few bars, getting a feel for the music. She does not seem bothered at all. Then again, Justicar Lucinde's theatrics had not particularly bothered her either. As the song fades out of her awareness and back into the great Song that is constantly in her ears, she opens her eyes, tips her head to one side, and smiles. "You always say the sweetest things, my Prince. I shall go and do what is necessary. By your leave." There is a warmth and graciousness in her tone, tinged with a hint of sly humor. She has reverted to English again. A pause. "...did you command Raziel to defend me or did he attack a warrior of the Tzimice of his own volition? I am certain Mister Malachai will be curious to know the answer."

He shook his head. "I had no relations with him beyond what you saw at the Tower." he smirked. "Not every shadow of doubt ties back to me, despite my best efforts to the contrary."

"He cannot be bound by ties of blood, by the by. That burden seems unnecessary, however." Now she is giving a report. "Should he choose to remain with us when he returns from whatever darkness dragged him off, I suggest we let him alone to his own devices."

He rolls his eyes. "You recommend a loose hand. Color me terribly shocked."

"He does what is asked, when he is asked, because he believes his existence is to serve. What more need we do?" Doris shrugs eloquently in Irish.

He frowns. "Win."

"First you must figure out the game, mo ghrá geal," she quips. "But we shall win. I promise you that.  After all, are you not known as the man who never loses?"

He simply watches her for a moment. "If I was anything else, this Tower would already be ashes." he leans back. "Go. Win the battle." He turns and looks out the window. Brooding.

Doris makes a slightly more elaborate than necessary courtesy, then turns on her heel and sweeps out. There is the presumption that the door will be opened for her. It is opened. Kenna, rare for her, is silent and simply does her job. Enough angry Celts, probably.