[Sodium_noir] The Princess and the Peon

[Christian Delaney]

Tristan arrived quietly in the city, understated and
nearly invisible to the eyes of most.  Well-schooled
in the expected etiquette, he had made arrangements
prior to his arrival and, upon setting foot in the
city, made haste to seek out the Primogen of his clan.
 The young Neonate had seen a Scourge in action
once... He wisely chose to do his utmost best to avoid
meeting another of them, even in casual acquaintence.

They'd driven the last couple hundred miles in the old
van and Jennifer was tired of the stubborn wretched
thing.  It was noisy, it smelled of must and it had a
strong tendancy to pull to the right, but Tristan had
insisted that they take this.  He loathed the close
confines of her little sports car and, considering
this was his first time in the city, a taxi cab would
not suffice.  Pulling the van to the side of the
street, she put it in park and glanced to the figure
of a young man in the passenger's seat.

"We're here.  This is close by where you wanted to go.
 Tristan?"

The young male's eyes were focused off on nothing in
particular, his senses zoned in on the music that
blared in his headphones and drowned out the soft
sound of her voice.  One hand stroked the air, as if
it were the back of a cat and Tristan's eyes slid
shut.  She never should have bought him that new music
cd.  She had known he'd get caught up in it.

Reaching over, the woman pulled the headphones from
his head, earning first a startled look and then one
that was best described as a sulk.  "You can listen to
it some more, once this is over and done with," she
offered in a motherly coaxing tone.  Tristan flipped
her the bird and straightened in his seat.

"You know the routine, right?" he questioned her,
those dark eyes searching out her gaze for
confirmation.

"Yes Tryst... It's the same every time we do this. 
Drop you off.  Go to the hotel, drink sludge-like
complimentary coffee, watch overpriced movie and wait
for your return."  She smirked at him and, just as he
opened his mouth to say more, she interjected, "If
anything feels strange or you fail to come back before
morning, hop into your sardine can of death and get
out of Dodge."  Jennifer flashed him a cutesy smile,
obviously faked and quickly dropped as she leaned back
in her seat.  She prayed that the later never
happened, as she was under orders to seek out
Tristan's Sire and inform him of what had become of
his only childe.  While there appeared to be no love
between the two, Jennifer was not foolish enough to
doubt the kinship that clan felt with one another.  

His hand was on the door handle when he glanced to her
and fashioned his expression into a hopeful smile. 
"Wish me luck," he intoned and gave her a wink before
sliding from the van.

She kept the lights on bright, to illuminate his path
until he disappeared from her view and, even then, she
sat there for another few moments, just in case. 
"Break a leg, Tryst," she whispered, then pulled the
van out of park, turned it round and was soon heading
back in the direction that she'd come.

~~~~~~~~~~

The house of Gaston the hunter was old, but far less
ostentatious than many of the Primogens' abodes. It
was lacking in a tended garden or a gravel driveway,
and it had no large grounds to surround it. Instead it
was set behind a high unkempt hedge and reached by a
short concrete slope. A set of storm doors that
appeared to lead to the basement had been replaced by
a steel shutter. The windows had shutters and the door
clearly reinforced. Since her sire died and she had
risen to his post of Primogen and inherited his haven,
Princess had cultivated the scary old woman look of
her territory. Brambles and gaunt trees were
encouraged and her dogs barked and yapped in the yard
out back.

Having been dropped off a short distance away, Tristan
moved quietly up to the house on foot.  The door rang
with a tinny electronic sound and the young male
canted his head almost animal-like, listening for the
sound of footsteps.  Within moments, the door opened
and his eyes fell upon the strange sight that greeted
him.  Covered in lace and embroidery, there was little
to make of the woman before him, save for the fact
that she was petite creature with clawed hands.

Keeping her face hidden, the individual beckoned him
into a quiet room with period furniture and Tristan
followed dutifully, his hands clasped behind his back
as he moved like a silent shadow at her back.  Only
when she had taken a seat and indicated he was to do
the same, did he do as she requested.  She had not
uncloaked, nor had she indicated that he should drop
his Obfuscate and so he maintained it still.  Unlike
many, he did not indescriminately drop mask for the
sake of shock value, nor did he feel it necessary to
play games of what's grosser than gross with fellow
members of his clan.  He waited until she gestured for
him to speak and then did as requested.

Rising quietly, he inclined his head slightly and then
addressed her; his voice American but tainted with
enough of a French accent to suggest he had spent some
period of time there.

"Madame Primogen," he began, his eyes focused in on
where he guessed her gaze to be, "My name is Tristan
James and I am newly arrived from the city of Paris,
France.  In accordance with the laws of our Elders, I
am here to petition the Prince, as per the Tradition
of Hospitality, for visitation and possible residency
within this city."  A hand raised to absently touch
the labret piercing beneath his lip, the male's eyes
darkening slightly in thought before he caught himself
and dropped his hand away, waiting for her reaction.


		
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