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The Kindred Chronicle
Key Figures
THE MONSTER OF EALING
Last night, several people reported the sighting of a "screaming red monster" in a quiet neighbourhood of Ealing. After a power shortage in the area, a building caught fire. It was then when, what was described as a "man shaped, footless creature" emerged from the flames, leaping, running, and screaming. One woman has told our reporters that the man had "teeth like a wolf, and the face of the devil". Police officers are still trying to get to the bottom of this; neither the power shortage nor the fire have still been explained. A spokesperson from Scotland Yard has stated that the "so called monster" might be a wounded person, escaping the fire.

TRAGEDY IN TOOLEY STREET
The police has found the bodies of three TFL workers in the construction site at Tooley Street. One of their colleagues raised the alarms last week, when the three workers didn't attend their shifts. The bodies of the men have been found in a deep hole, uncovered by the refurbishment works that are taking place in the area. According to the Police, the bodies were horribly mutilated, which has led to the wildest speculations. The names of the three workers are being kept anonymous, following the wishes of their families.

HOROSCOPE
MARCH 8 - PISCES
You are used to making sacrifices, to prioritising the happiness of others before yours. Even though that is a noble attitude, there are times in life where the only healthy alternative is to embrace your own selfishness and allow yourself some enjoyment. Reserve one hour per day to do something you really like. Treat yourself! Your colour for this month is blue.
Echoes from the past ring back into London. Their intensity increases until they are deafening. What once was a faded memory of a glorious time, now becomes a shocking reality. The consequences of actions taken decades ago ripple into the present, altering the lives of everybody in the City. Unguided and blind, Kindred wander around, trying to make profit out of the reigning chaos.


The appearance of four mysterious figures turned the city upside down. Mistrust and jealousy became the official currency of London. Serpents and fiends rise to power, misdirecting the blaming eyes of the Camarilla towards imaginary enemies. Only those with clear vision and the ability to trust each other strive, while the rest run towards a shallow grave.



Across The Board
Current Chronicle: Dragons and Lions; Pride and Fire
Current Season: Spring
Controlling Sect: Camarilla



Index
Getting Started
General Information
Central London
North London
East London
West London
South London
Miscellaneous
Out of Character


Population: 31

Camarilla
Anarchs
Other
Ventrue: 1
Toreador: 5 (6)
Brujah: 2 (3)
Malkavian: 7
Tremere: 2
Nosferatu: 3
Gangrel: 1
Ventrue: 1
Toreador: 0
Brujah: 2 (3)
Malkavian: 0
Nosferatu: 1
Gangrel: 1
Setites: 5
Sabbat: ???


THE CAMARILLA

Prince

Nobody

Sheriff
Meredith Furlong
Hounds
Robyne Sheridan
Rosella Marie Allain


Keeper of Elysium
Davvad Bisset

Grand Harpy
Catherine Wilke

Primogen
Ventrue: Marcus Antonio Russo
Brujah: Thomas Krusen
Gangrel: Alexa Mallik
Malkavian: Ellora Reese
Tremere: Hannah Sundling
Toreador: Arsenio Pozzi
Nosferatu: Dogan Khojak



ANARCHS

Baron

Khoza

Baronets
Enfield: Leslie
Haringey & Barnet: Clarice Harris
Harrow: Jelena Korolenko

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Welcome To The Night

You find yourself in London on a dreary, foggy night like any other. But what lurks in the shadows is the stuff of fantasies and nightmares, far from mortal reality.

This game uses the cursed and immortal vampiric condition as a backdrop to explore themes of morality, depravity, the human condition, salvation, and personal horror. We are a writing and roleplaying community dedicated to telling complex and engaging stories.

Your fate is your own. Mingle among the ivory-tower elite in the Camarilla, join the fight of the discontented and chaotic Anarch rabble, or set out independently and attempt to survive in London's nighttime underworld. Anything is possible in our World of Darkness.

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Overlord; Alarik, Caston, Anyone else ask via PM
Topic Started: Tuesday, 18. June 2013, 21:06 (2,348 Views)
Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
"Your trust is appreciated, miss Rivers", Alarik said dryly. The scathing tone of the Gangrel was beginning to wear on him a bit. She was capable and insightful, that much was true, but the manner in which she had chosen to lecture him several times and the way that she'd tended to lead the conversation led him to believe that she thought herself above them.

None of this harmed the Ventrue's ego. But it did make him wonder about the source of all this confidence. Was it to be found in numerous allies that he wasn't aware of? Information about London's political situation that he wasn't privy to? Or was she perhaps older than she appeared to be? Not all clans tend to wear period clothing, after all. Certainly not the gangrel.

"Since the Primogen Council will bear collective responsibility for handling the affair, I would be curious to learn where you stand."
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Kiara
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Elder
* *
"Me too" replied Kiara clasping her hands together, seeing the imaginary line being drawn in the air between them "I'm sure someone who has rised to the position of Primogen wouldn't have done what he did without any sort of plan, or insurance, wouldn't you say?" she inquired looking at Alarik yet again, her unblinking stare becoming noticeable again.

"Wheels within wheels" said as she stood straight again. It was as much of a hint as she could throw out without ending up "lecturing" Mr. Blucher again.

Alarik stood out to her as what any aspiring Ventrue should look to when in need of a role model. He seemed young but that didn't make him clueless, on the contrary, thus far Mr. Blucher was the most promising Ventrue in the city she had seen in a long time. While it was true he seemed more capable than Hamilton, such a thing was a double-edged sword when given enough power. As the saying goes, there can be only one.

"I look forward to the Council meeting, and to see you once again Mr. Blucher."

With that, she was ready to take her leave. "Mr Kane" said then as well, a slight nod to say goodbye to the Toreador as well.
"There are no mistakes in life, only lessons. There exists no negative experience, only opportunities to be seized to advance on the path of self control. From struggle comes strength. Even pain can be a very good teacher."
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Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
After the conclusion of the meeting, Alarik and Caston returned to the back seat of the Ventrue's beige Audi A8. The engine of the vehicle was humming quietly as it headed back to the City, rolling down ever-broader streets. Jhael had been instructed to drive them to the Toreador Primogens' club, where they'd picked Caston up earlier that night.

"She is an interesting woman. Very interesting", he mused by way of broaching the subject in a very non-committal way. He wanted to know how Caston felt about her without first tainting his ideas by giving his own impressions. Glancing sideways to try and find his eyes, he brushed his hand over that of the other man. "Wouldn't you say so?"
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Caston Kane
Don't Be Jealous.
* * * * *
What did Caston think? Caston thought that Alarik wanted the Princedom for himself. Now that he knew that Kiara eyed the throne of London, she was throwing a proverbial wrench into Alarik's plans. Caston was non-committal.

Kindred always assume that the Princedom was passed from Ventrue to Ventrue, and surely, if Hamilton should ever abdicate (or if something ever happened] to him...), Alarik would be his natural and all but certain successor. Though if Alarik looked at Kiara as his opposition to his eventual ascension, he'd be too distracted to see Caston as anything other than his lover and loyal supporter.

Caston thought for a moment: If Kiara and Alarik were to go "at it" for the Domain, Caston could feasibly and easily take them both by surprise, and offer himself as a compromise contender in order to prevent further intrasect strife and division. Should the cards be dealt in this manner, he could hypothetically ensure that both sides believed him to be their considerate ally... that way, his act would be seen as a responsible one; done for the greater good of the Kindred of London, rather than the self-serving, manipulative ploy it really was.

Of course, this was all too far ahead in the future to be anything but a hazy pipe dream for now. Caston would eventually make his move. Though, for now, he would play his game and he would play it well, with a poker face that would fool Caine himself. He was more than happy to let both the Ventrue and the Gangrel go on about their business, completely unsuspecting of him - and he would give them no cause to believe him to be anything other than disinterested until the moment of opportunity arose.

"She's ambitious, to be certain," he said to Alarik. "But, I must wonder... aren't you, technically, next in the line of succession? Hypothetically, that is..."
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Caston's Battle Music
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Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
Alarik had to smile when Caston immediately turned the question back to him. It was the blood, he supposed, that made the Toreador obsess about him. For all that, he felt the need to temper Caston, whom he thought was getting ahead of himself quite a bit.

"Technically and hypothetically, His Highness will live forever and as his Primogen we are bound to serve him in perpetuity. It is little use to fight over a crown that is firmly planted on a Princes' head. Especially when there is no plot to depose him."

Alarik stressed that last sentence, wanting to make it very clear to the Toreador that he had meant it when he had told Kiara Rivers that he wasn't prepared to have any part in the overthrow of Archon Hamilton. Not without a serious reason to do so. And his dalliances with lady-ghouls were not even close to a valid motive for a deposition.

"As far as the line of succession goes, there are different perspectives based on different traditions, none of which make me an automatic successor. His Highness takes the perspective of Primogeniture himself, I believe. He's mentioned to me that he is grooming Ms. Ashley Amber for command, though I suspect it would be years, if not decades before such a succession plot is plausible."

Alarik privately suspected that Prince Ashley Amber would not see out the first night of her reign, considering the general opinion of the cities' Kindred during her praxis seizure. However, he didn't think it worth his while to dismiss the idea entirely. People often changed after the Embrace, and Ashley might just learn enough from her Masters' misfortunes to become adept at the politics of the Kindred. If Caston wanted to mock the idea of Princess Ashley, he'd have to do it himself.

"Alternatively, there is the tradition of seniority succession. Primogen Henderson has been seated on the Primogen Council for as long as anyone can remember. If he wanted to seize Praxis in the wake of Prince Hamilton's hypothetical demise, he'd have a decent claim to it. The only reason why he was not supported over His Highness, I believe, is the fact that he did not want to become Prince."

Alarik wasn't quite sure of Henderson's ambitions, but thus far the Nosferatu had proven to be a most helpful chap. When considering the matter from the perspective of the Domain, Alarik found that he could think of worse Princes. On the other hand, his own power would most likely be curtailed under a Nosferatu Prince. It was a prospect he disliked, even resented.

"Then there is the possibility of the Primogen Council electing whomever they think most meritorious for the job. Which could be anyone, really. Or the title might be seized by brute force. If Ms. Rivers is truly an elder, she might claim Praxis by merit of her age. And that implicitly means that she could tear apart any Kindred who might challenge her claim on that premise."

The Ventrue wrinkled his nose. Violence was always the last recourse in his mind. He noticed that he had been babbling, though, and turned again to Caston so that he could ask another question of him: "Do you believe Rivers has the ambition to claim the Domain for herself, though? She appeared to be... hedging her bets, I thought."
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Caston Kane
Don't Be Jealous.
* * * * *
Caston was disappointed that Alarik reiterated his support for Prince Hamilton, though he supposed that it was the 'Ventrue Way' or some other nonsense. His own ambitions aside, putting Alarik on the throne, and serving him, would not be an unpleasant experience for the Toreador. He paused for a moment and wondered what, if anything, that would make him. His secret consort? Their relationship had already brought the Ventrue and Toreador clans politically closer together than they'd ever been before, and he figured that for each of them, the other was an important and invaluable ally to have. He was convinced that if they played their cards right that one night in the future, sooner or later, they could rule this city together: Alarik, King of Diamonds and Caston, King of Hearts.

Alarik had continued to address his question: "As far as the line of succession goes, there are different perspectives based on different traditions, none of which make me an automatic successor. His Highness takes the perspective of Primogeniture himself, I believe. He's mentioned to me that he is grooming Ms. Ashley Amber for command, though I suspect it would be years, if not decades before such a succession plot is plausible."

Caston couldn't restrain the laughter that erupted from him like he'd heard the funniest joke ever told. "Hahahaha! Prince Ashley Amber?" He asked, the concept itself sounding so ridiculous to him. "That's a good one. Tell me another, hahaha!"

He mockingly moved to take his phone out from his pocket. "Let me go and text a few old friends back in New York and ask them how 'President Romney' is doing, while we're at it! Hahaha!"

The fact that the human had assumed herself such a place of alleged importance at a gathering of Kindred had already written her off as a non-factor in the Toreador's eyes. He would sooner envision letting himself meet the sun with a smile on his face and a spring in his step than he could ever see her taking the throne of London.

"Alternatively, there is the tradition of seniority succession. Primogen Henderson has been seated on the Primogen Council for as long as anyone can remember. If he wanted to seize Praxis in the wake of Prince Hamilton's hypothetical demise, he'd have a decent claim to it. The only reason why he was not supported over His Highness, I believe, is the fact that he did not want to become Prince." Alarik said. "Then there is the possibility of the Primogen Council electing whomever they think most meritorious for the job. Which could be anyone, really. Or the title might be seized by brute force. If Ms. Rivers is truly an elder, she might claim Praxis by merit of her age. And that implicitly means that she could tear apart any Kindred who might challenge her claim on that premise."

Caston was once again disappointed that his lover didn't consider him to be a candidate himself, let alone a contender. Every Kindred wondered what things would be like if they were in charge, but he had been on the Primogen Council almost as long as Henderson; Prince Caston Kane of London had a nice ring to it. He'd never tell Alarik of his intentions or ambitions. The American would allow his lover to go on believing him to be disinterested in ruling himself - there was nothing to be gained by declaring his intentions to anyone, at least not at this point. Still, he was certain about one thing: The next Prince would either be Alarik or himself. Caston would see to it, personally. All he had to do was allow the house of cards that Archon had built himself to start to fall.

Alarik spoke up: "Do you believe Rivers has the ambition to claim the Domain for herself, though? She appeared to be... hedging her bets, I thought."

Time to start sewing seeds.

Caston stopped and took Alarik's hand, getting close to him. "I think you are the natural successor to the Domain of London," he said. "Think of it, Alarik. Think of everything you could do, everything that could be accomplished, everything that we could build."

He reached his hand up to affectionately caress his cheek, and leaned in close, speaking softly into his ear. "One night soon, we could rule this city together..."

The Toreador's gaze locked into his own, his hand slipping back down to his lap.
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Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
In response to the talk of ruling the city together, Alarik turned to face the Toreador Primogen and wrapped an arm about his waist in a possessive manner, head tilted towards the man's ear in turn. "I love it when you seduce me with fantasies of treason," he said with soft-spoken affection, pulling the Toreador towards him and attempting to treat the ghoul in the drivers' seat to the sounds of a sloppy kiss.

When he withdrew, his lips still hovered in front of Caston's. "I suppose that Archon might expire, as Princes sometimes do. Or he might retire. Or be elevated to some higher posting. It's not entirely inappropriate to be concerned about the succession - as long as we do not plot anything that is... disloyal."

The Ventrue laid a hand on Caston's chest, the tips of his fingers curling around the man's shirt. He leaned in to bite on the Toreador's lip, just wanting to smell the man's blood as he whispered: "Give it a century or two, ambitious, impatient Mr. Kane. We are still young, and there is so much that we can do to enjoy ourselves besides sentencing everyone that has ever crossed us to death. When that night comes, the list will be so much longer, and the fires of justice will burn all the brighter."

The talk of legally sanctioned murder appeared to rouse a passion in the younger Blücher that normally lay dormant. He slid his right hand under the man's shirt and reached up to try and grab one of the man's nipples, pinching it hard, then twisting it slowly. He wanted to hear the sound of Caston in pain, to feel the other Kindred's muscles contract involuntarily in response. If he'd still been a breather, he would have panted lightly in anticipation.
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Caston Kane
Don't Be Jealous.
* * * * *
The small pain on his chest made him squirm. He audiably inhaled and exhaled, a slight tremble in the sound. He licked the blood from his own lip and swallowed it. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation he was feeling. "Alarik, we don't have the whole of the Council here, it's just you and me talking," he said, almost breathlessly. "When Archon falls, London will fall too, unless we have a plan."

Instinctively, he grabbed Alarik's face with both hands, kissing him on his cheek and then his lips. He leaned back in the back seat of the car, his head uncomfortably pushed against the door of the car, but he didn't care. He wanted to pull Alarik down to him, over him. He kissed him again.

"You will be Prince..." He breathed softly, pulling him closer. Caston kissed his lips again, quietly whispering to him, his voice intimate.

"This Domain will be yours..." He kissed under his jawline.

"And I'll be right there..." He kissed his earlobe and gave it a gentle bite.

"At your side, where I belong." He kissed his neck.

"I may bend my knee to Archon when I have to," he breathed, closing his eyes and kissing his cheek again. "But I'll always bow to you."

Caston broke away from his kiss, his forehead pressed against the Ventrue's. He shifted his hips, positioning himself under Alarik's frame, so that if his fellow Primogen wanted to take him, he could. The Toreador bit down on his bottom lip and punctured it, the dark vitae swelling to the surface, slowly dripping from his mouth and inviting Alarik to taste...
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Jhael
Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
* * * * * *
The windshield wipers thumped back and forth, but only once. In the movies, it would rain at times like these, but the sky was clear, the moon a bright sliver.

He focused on the road ahead while Mr. Blucher plotted over a century with Caston. He focused the spreckle of stars in the night sky while Mr. Kane declared that he would only bow to Alarik.

Ryan's last words to him were that he stuck too close. Later words came second hand. They were more harsh, but the ones he heard first hand stuck more. They stuck with the words of Mr. Henderson's assistant.

They discard the broken thing and get a new one.

Would either of them hesitate to get rid of him? He wished he could say he wouldn't waste a second against them, even though the ditch looked rather inviting.

He shoved the plug of his earbuds in the slot, not wanting to listen anymore.
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Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
London by night whizzed by the pair, a million sparkling lights bathed in darkness. Alarik only had eyes for the Toreador that lay under him. The heavy droplets of blood that glistened on the other's bottom lip were tempting, and the younger Blücher felt a dryness in his throat that needed to be quenched.

With quite the display of will-power, the Ventrue managed to hold off on having his third taste. Instead, he fumbled to undo the fasteners of the man's the grey buttondown, pushing it and the man's dark jacket aside to reveal the Toreador's bare chest. For a moment, the vampire hissed an airless breath as he admired the glory of its male form. It was beautiful, arousing, and it had to be his.

He got himself into the proper position for what he was intending to do. He moved so that he could dominate the others' form, his arms grabbing Caston's and pushing them back, his weight coming down against the man's hips, his feet positioning themselves against the chair of the passenger seat and the back of the couch, giving him something to push his weight against if the other vampire might decide to struggle. Then, the Ventrue bared his fangs. They were long, pearly white and razor sharp.

"You are mine already" he hissed, dominant and victorious. He then tilted his head at an odd angle and allowed his left fang to graze against the man's chest, just above his nipple. He drew a line of pain and welled-up blood across the skin, shaping the first forward slash of what he intended to be his initials, carved into the flesh of his blood-bound mate.

A B
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Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
OOC


'His already?' Caston thought. He didn't struggle. Why would he? As the fang came down and contacted his skin, he winced in pain; first unsure of what Alarik was doing, but as he watched, squirming a bit with discomfort, it became clearer to him. He was being marked. A surprising gesture, to be sure, but it left the Toreador disappointed that his invitation wasn't accepted. "Yours," he repeated, looking down on the AB sliced into his chest with a small smile. He looked back up at Alarik, hovering over him still. "Yet, you won't be mine?"

Alarik wiped his fang off on the man's chest, underlining the two letters he'd just written. Then he came up, making eye-contact. "I'm yours", he said, though sporting the tiniest of frowns. This was a conversation he had hoped to avoid.

Caston shifted himself underneath him, propping himself up on his elbows, his face so close to the Ventrue's. He leaned forward and left a bloody kiss on his cheek. "Then take me in," he said soothingly, as he licked his teeth inside his mouth and parted his lips, his own canines visible. "As I will you," he whispered. "This is who we are, who we're meant to be." Caston kissed his other cheek, leaving a bloody print of his bottom lip on his face.

Alarik exhaled, giving voice to his frustration. He shifted his weight some to make Caston more comfortable and placed his own arms under the other Kindred's elbows. His fangs retracted as his plans shifted from biting to talking. "It's .... it's a big step", he said. His expression tightened as he realised what a crude way of putting it that had been. "I mean. A third sip has consequences. We both know that. Is it wise? Are we ready for it? What does it mean for us? What will the Community think of it?"

Caston furrowed his brow. He exhaled too, the heat of the moment beginning to dissipate with Alarik's sudden turn. "Sure, it is," he said, studying his face. "It has its rewards, too. We would be each other's. No matter who you're with, you'll carry me with you." He leaned his head comfortably against the back cushion of the seat, his lips curving up in a smile as he pictured a possible future. "And I'll carry you with me... And when the night comes that we take this city, no one will be able to stop us. ...I'm sorry, I don't see a downside, here."

"There are all the other nights to come..." the Ventrue began, his tone more doubtful. He realised how this might sound and quickly added: "I'm not saying no. But we should have a conversation about the implications before doing this. It will we difficult to hide. Can we? How will we deal with clan-mates? Will we share a Haven? Does this bind us together in all matters of politics, too? What if...." he trailed, not thinking the other man would have an answer to all these questions. "I have been carefully planning and plotting all my life. I cannot change that habit now without... without ground rules. Without a Plan."

Caston shifted himself again, this time to sit back up. He swiped some of the excess blood from his chest and dabbed it on his tongue to clean it up before starting to rebutton his shirt. "Usually, when someone says I'm not saying no, it's a way of letting someone down easy," the Toreador said. This was the first time he hadn't gotten what he wanted in a long time, and it perplexed him. Why? Wasn't he attractive? Wasn't he powerful? Didn't Alarik place him above others? The thought that he could be rejected was nearly unfathomable to him. "I get the questions, and yes, these are the issues we have to address, but, maybe I'm wrong here, but it's not something you seem very enthusiastic about. Like, at all. So..."

The American finished buttoning his shirt and tugged on his jacket, straightening it out, sitting exactly as he was earlier. Alarik's upper lip quivered and his jaw went up and down as he mentally said and un-said several things. All of them seemed inappropriate to the situation. He, too, sat up, glancing sideways with a dismayed look: "I am enthusiastic!" he insisted. "There are just things we should know, I think, before doing something that is so difficult to reverse. For example..." he bit his lip, making a confession that the Toreador might find rather naive: "I'm blood-bound to someone else, in the second degree. My Sire's Sire. I never told you before, you might find it... troublesome."

Caston looked at him, clearly offended by what he perceived as a rejection that Alarik now wanted to backtrack on. "Is your sire's sire in London?" He asked. There was a venom in his voice, as though the question itself was an attack.

"No...." Alarik said, his own tone growing a little defensive in response to the venomous inquiry. "But what do I know about you, really? I know you are intelligent, cunning, capable, witty, beautiful, passionate.... but I know nothing about your past, your affairs, your other blood bonds, your enemies. And you in turn know nothing about mine. I want to know these things.... and so should you."

Caston looked out the window of the car, the streetlights illuminating him in waves as they passed by. "Maybe... yes. But.." He couldn't really find the words to phrase what his thoughts were. His clan nourished itself on passion. Planning something like this out was antithetical to everything he'd known and done for a century. "I mean, come on, it's not like we're two kine rushing themselves off to the Elvis chapel after a few too many g-and-t's at the Luxor." His words were meant to cut, but he still conceded some ground to Alarik's larger point. They really didn't know as much about one another as they should. He sighed. "What do you want to know?" Caston asked, throwing up his hands with an eyeroll. If Alarik wanted an open book, then he'd get one.

"You're right, Caston. We're not as fortunate as that Las Vegas couple. Kine can get a divorce. The blood does not allow us to separate so easily." He sagged a bit against the leather and looked out the other side window for a moment, trying to think how he might best respond to the other Kindred's question. What did he want to know? There was so much that he could think of.

"I want to know many things. Too many things to be covered in a short ride, when I've already spoilt the moment." It was the closest the Ventrue wanted to come to an apology for his actions. He didn't understand the Roses' rashness about these things, and didn't want to consider the other man as a mere cliched expression of his clan's nature. "We should spend a few nights together, sharing secrets. Dreams. Fears. Our past, present and future. That could culminate in a bonding that is so much more meaningful than ..." he paused, not wanting to give further insult while still expressing how he felt about this. "...than a little accident in the back of my car. If we are to be together I want it to mean something."

"I was embraced in '38," Caston said. "I know how bonding works." He turned slowly to look at the Ventrue as he was speaking, so dispassionately, so calculating. Would it have killed him to say he was sorry? Or did that not compute inside that Blue Blood head of his? Still, it probably didn't register with him in the same way that the Toreador not letting himself be governed by his passions was inconceivable to him. Therein lay the difference between the two of them: Caston found him beautiful, almost picture perfect. His handle for business and his talent for governing were almost like exquisite art forms. His refined nature appealed to him. But he was still a Ventrue and Caston most certainly wasn't. Up until now, they'd never quarrelled, never disagreed. In his mind, he wished that any Kindred who claimed that the Roses and the Kings were just two sides of the same coin could have witnessed their conversation.

On the other hand, his thirst for a deeper meaning to their bond was a little... endearing; and Caston certainly could see the beauty in finding that depth of connection between them. In the end, that beauty was enough for him to surrender. This time.

He looked over at the Ventrue and gave him a smile. A genuine one, at that. "You're damn right about one thing: you did spoil the mood," he said. With an exaggerated, almost sarcastic sigh that conveyed his sincerity, he reached out and put his hand on the other Kindred's. "Alright," he said. "Let's do it your way."
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