[Sodium_noir] Hell is Other People

[Liz Oleksyn]

Jeremiah Buford, Ettienne St. Clair, Ash, Alessandra
Gaspare
Nosferatu, Toreador, Toreador, Old Clan Tzimisce
Sinclair Mansion
 
Ash's eyes go distant for a brief second, too short a
time for anyone not gazing at him with adoration to
have noticed. With a wry smile he leans forward and
turns the handle to the door.

"Shall we my dear?"

It was because she’d come to adore him that Alessa
caught the change in his eyes and knew his thoughts
were, for an instant, connected to his sire’s.  She
smiled and, taking Ash’s hand, followed his lead.

Beyond the door is a darkened room, furniture placed
here to make more room elsewhere perhaps. A Chair has
been kicked or bumped into and stands in contrast to
the perfectly arranged stacks. Ash leads them through
the maze and towards a light. The scent of a garden,
or of flora at least, fills the space. Eventually they
come to a glass door and through that to the
Conservatory. Every bit as opulent as the rest of the
house but somewhat separated from it by the
intervening storage. 

Stood amidst the greenery is Ettienne and an older
Gentleman smoking a pipe.
   
Ettienne St Clair turned to the two and smiled. 
“Ashlar, Alessandra, I’m so pleased that you could
join us.”  He crossed the distance between them,
knowing that while Ash had met Buford before, his
companion as yet had not.  “Alessandra Gaspare, I’m
pleased to present the enigmatic Colonel Jeremiah
Buford.
   
Buford turned, allowing his profile to come fully into
view.  A rather large man with skin like a pockmarked
albino fish and lidless eyes like fried egg yolks,
topped with a mustache of limp shreds of flesh that
seemed to wiggle and move as he turned towards them,
all stuffed into a perfectly tailored white suit.
   
He paused, as much to brace himself for Lady Gaspare’s
reaction as to give her a chance to collect herself
once the full impact of his appearance hit her.  It
took an iron will not to slightly blanch upon first
meeting one of his clan, and Buford had yet to meet
anyone with that kind of intestinal fortitude.

A few seconds later, he followed St Clair to where
Ashlar and Alessandra Gaspare stood, his cane mutely
echoing his footsteps on the thick carpeting.  He
removed his pipe and took her proffered hand in his,
lightly kissing it the same way his mother taught him
to do several lifetimes ago.  Through the English
Cavendish he was smoking, he could taste roses and
something else clinging to her hand that brought
flashes of Moroccan markets and the apothecaries of
Chinatown to mind.  “Lady Gaspare,” he said in a deep
voice that rubbed everyone in the room like black
velvet molasses, “I’m very pleased to meet you.”
   
Despite her years, Alessandra had, comparatively
speaking, met few Nosferatu.  She was fascinated by
the uniqueness of their deformities and how the
Embrace touched each one differently. She was envious
of their vast stores of knowledge and tightly-knit,
secretive society.  

After more than two centuries, her level-headed nature
allowed her to easily maintain a calm exterior. 
However, Alessandra had never seen a creature to
compare with Colonel Buford, and that calm exterior
nearly disintegrated embarrassingly into wide eyes and
gaping jaw.  As the Nosferatu held her hand, the other
hand, still clasped in Ash’s, nearly broke the
Toreador’s fingers in shock.  It was, to her credit,
the only outward sign that betrayed Alessa’s reaction
at seeing such a monstrous visage.
   
She recovered quickly and, hoping not to offend Buford
(or injure her beloved’s digits any further),
Alessandra smiled warmly.  “And I am most pleased to
make your acquaintance, sir.”  The Koldun made a small
curtsey, a demonstration of etiquette from an older
time and one she hoped the Nosferatu would appreciate.
 “Please forgive my...surprise.  It was quite rude of
me and entirely inexcusable.”

She smoothed her dark blue gown.  “You have met
Ettienne’s childe, Ash - yes?”

(tags)

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