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Presentation with the Primogen; Andrew, Armande, and Stella
Topic Started: Dec 31 2013, 04:25 PM (203 Views)
Armande Roux
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Childe
He stood in front of the mirror of the hotel room and loosely fashioned a tie around his neck. He flexed his hand a few times, most of the healing process now completed from the damage that had been inflicted when he attacked the Toreador Primogen of London... in Elysium.

He frowned slightly in the mirror as he reflected on this. Would Antoine hear of his transgression? Would it reflect badly on his sire to have it known that his child broke one of the most time-honored rules of Elysium?

Fuck, get it together. He told himself as he glanced to Stella's reflection in the mirror. It is what it is...

He moved to light a cigarette as he waited for her to finish. He had nothing less than patience for the process and he certainly did not mind watching her move.

Together, they would arrive by taxi to The Cutting Building at the directed time. He paid the driver and then offered Stella his arm as the roses would again gather and face some measure of judgment.

[ OOC: Will allow Stella to post her way in to announce us to the Receptionist... ]
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Stella Harlow
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Toreador
The hotel was as drab, as unimaginative as they had needed, and though the decor was somewhat old and worn, it was entirely off the beaten path;something that,with enthusiasm proclaimed itself as a"quaint" bed and breakfast inn. Somewhere they -never- would have stayed under other circumstances. They had checked in as the shyly bashful newlywed couple Mr and Mrs Hewson, and delicately murmured that they would be very quiet, for they had eloped, and now were en route to their honeymoon destination, after spending the new year with the wife's grandmother.The proprietor had nodded tenderly, her initial suspicion fading, even as the obviously -too- pretty couple long leggedly sashayed their way to the " Moonlit Walk"suite.

"Don't worry, Mr Hewson";she had said, wrapping her slender arms around his neck and smiling at him, tiny, delicate fangs glinting."It will be alright"

Now, as they step into the building, her calf length brown suede boots daintily avoiding the ice and snow, she hopes that is the case; she had even-prayed- last night, while taking a bath, her long hair fanning out mermaid style in the hot water, cigarette held high enough to not get wet, silently reciting the words to Our Father.They would need all the help they could get, -but-, if the Primogen is even slightly more alert and aware of what is going on than the ridiculous one in London, he would recognize her.And even if he did not, she would, via her contacts and influence, make sure he did.

For the first time ever, she thinks it might come in handy, this...fame thing. Normally, either too strung out, too drunk, too lightheaded to even-care-, staggering out of club after exclusive club, her fellow party-goers all part of the -very- inclusive fashion world, to even be aware she was being watched, photographed,-admired-; only when posing for photographers who raved about her looks, or on the catwalk, something she enjoyed for she could become someone,-anyone- else, was she aware of the upturned, featureless faces, here and there a familiar person, clapping, gasping, admiring,-coveting-.

She smiles politely at the receptionist, enjoying her accent when asked their names.
" Miss Harlow and Mr Roux to see Mr Cutting"- her own dialect very East End ish, but only to someone who was familiar with the little intercity nuances that mark each metropolis as unique.

It is, what it is. She chants to herself, shooting Armande an encouraging smile, as they are shown into a large, pleasantly furnished room.
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Andrew Cutting
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Toreador Primogen
Between receiving the email from Armande and this meeting Andrew had made inquiries, or rather he'd had his people make them for him and present him with a summary. A well to do Toreador couple with a coloured history but of a sort which was entirely acceptable with him, well all but one matter which he would have to raise with them but all told he considered it minor; the troubles of London were many and the local Camarilla was as much a mess as it was here yet unlike Detroit they did not have the excuse of London being a Free City. He was still reading through the summary report on his desk when the call had come up from the receptionist that they were on the way to the receiving room; he'd had a leather upholstered couch with space for two placed up opposite his own chair tonight to allow the pair a seat next to one another. He had not long to wait for them to arrive and their punctuality was noted and appreciated; he stood as they entered and bade them sit in the couch with his hand before himself taking a seat.

"Welcome, both of you, to Detroit. I am Sir Andrew Cutting your Primogen and the Keeper of Elysium. While I appreciate your direct message to me with regards to a presentation I do find it necessary to make one or two things clear before we proceed any further; the Camarilla's grip on Detroit is weak and thus it is considered by most a Free City, but that does not mean that you can flout the rules. I have heard of your 'problems' in London, and in Elysium no less and I will say now that I will not accept any such transgressions here; likewise you can be assured that I hold myself to the same high standards I expect of you." He produced a small tin of thin cigars from an inside pocket of his jacket and opening it offered them to the pair before taking one for himself and lighting it. "With that unpleasantness dispensed with I see no reason why we cannot get along as like minded kindred of our clan ought, that is to say with a degree of mutual respect. From your conduct since arriving in this city I have gotten a distinctly good impression despite your past issues and I would like to keep it that way. Now tell me, have you made adequate arrangements for a haven in the city as yet?"
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Armande Roux
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Childe
He was deeply comforted by Stella’s presence. His mental state was improving day by day but he still struggled with his own demons that were brought forth from the events in London. He drew in a breath as Stella announced the both of them to the receptionist, careful not to clasp her fingertips too tight in his as he offered the receptionist a reserved smile as he followed her lead.

He took the seat when offered. Instincts kicked in as he felt himself in an environment that was comfortable to him. How many nights had he spent with Antoine in Elysium quietly observing the Kindred in their natural habitat.

He watched Andrew with a reserved measure of respect. A slow swallow offered when mention was made of London. His hand lifted in a silent gesture of dismissal at the offering of the cigar. He sensed that the information that was probably gleaned from London had no doubt painted him in an unflattering light. He had no doubt that Alarik would do everything in his ‘power’ to hold the Toreador Primogen’s kingdom of shit together.

He offered a glance to Stella before he looked back to Andrew. ”Primogen Cutting… if I may… speak to my actions in London?” He gave a thoughtful pause before continuing, ”I know my actions were wrong, but as the appointed Whip of the Toreador of London I felt the integrity of the Clan was at risk given it’s Primogen was more concerned with how he serviced the Prince himself rather than the individuals that served him and gave him the power to serve.” His hand lifted to splay over his heart. ”I… well, it matters not. What’s done is done, but I would wish to do whatever it is needed to restore what honor I owe to my sire.”

He would wait to see if the Primogen really wished to hear it or not. Perhaps it made no matter, all the same, but he knew that his actions would reflect on his sire and one must always pay for one’s sins one way or the other.

”I can assure you that it will not be repeated.” He glanced to Stella with that as he settled back and would… find his reserved silence again.
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Stella Harlow
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Toreador
Swathed in pale cream cashmere, the simple turtleneck dress skin tight, and belted with brown suede to match both her boots and the coat she had worn over it. Accessories that were pink gold, and others-ropes of leather around her wrists, colored beads, a few rings, thin and without any ostentatious rocks, worn on her index fingers; a tiny tattoo of a bird on her right wrist, wings stretching out right where fang marks had once healed and been re opened again...always in flight, but never quite making it to freedom. Beauty in slavery, perhaps? Or maybe it was all bullshit, she was not the type to give it much thought, not anymore

Her eyes widen with childlike delight at the offered cigar,and she offers him a bright smile of thanks, watching him through the gauze of grey smoke. He -seemed- on top of his game,to use a very modern phrase, but..indeed, the London one had too, all business and no play, stiff and rigid not only as a slave to his own Ventrue obligations but at the sight of the little prostitute they had called primogen. Of course, to each their own, especially in the bedroom; who was she after all, to suddenly play the shy and virginal card, however...one's sexual hobbies should by no means dictate politics. That was such a bloody -novice- way of doing things, wasn't it? She bites her lip, her cheeks lightly flooding with unnatural color at the thought. Clearly, the primogen of London had not received the memo; after all, if every Toreador in the city was almost at torpor level with sheer mortification, it might..just fucking-might- be the time to step down, and have at it.

Her gaze flickers to Armande as he explains his actions; he was simply put, too good, too-noble- and earnest for this world; perhaps his sire, in all his wisdom, had been tempted by his beauty, and succumbed to temptation? Armande should have been left to live, create, marry out of love, -breathe-. Not this, not eternity, as his morality was gnawed on by the rats that call themselves Kindred.

Detroit was as good a place to hide and lick his wounds as any; this Primogen, just might surprise them all.

Time would tell.

She crosses her legs, bracelets murmuring a pleasant jingle jangle, and pays attention, school girl style, brow lightly furrowed with the effort.
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Andrew Cutting
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Toreador Primogen
Andrew simply offered the pair a wry smile, one of those magnificent thin lipped ones which so few manage to pull off yet in this case was executed to near perfection by a man whose very features seemed made for it. He took a long draw from his cigar as Armande spoke but politely waited until he had finished before exhaling, wafting the thick, aromatic smoke away from the two younger kindred with his free hand. As the neonate finished his explanation and declaration of intent Andrew allowed his smile to break, in what seemed a purely genuine and caring way into a more genial expression of acceptance; he'd heard stories of the goings on in London and few of them were positive and he'd done a little more reading when he'd learned that so many kindred from that city were fleeing to Detroit so in this instance he was inclined to accept Armande's word as gold, at least for now.

"Now we all owe our fealty to the Prince, though I will admit I draw a clear line between loyalty and... well other nonsense. In this city I have two primary concerns, the prosperity of the Camarilla and the prosperity of my clan. These nights are growing ever darker with news from Europe becoming more dire all the time and now London... well I think it need not be said that my two priorities go hand in hand. You need not worry, our Prince is not one given to strict adherence to the traditions perhaps as one would expect in a city such as this; however he is a man to be respected in his own way so we shall do this properly and I hardly think it necessary to mention your little ah, 'scrape' in London at all. Time will give you every opportunity to expiate any loss of honour I'm sure." Then Andrew turned his attention on Stella, his authoritative gaze analysing her closely, drawing conclusions and considering factors; he could see why she and Armande came as a pair they were the picture of youth and complemented each other like peaches and cream. "Now I've yet to hear a word from you, Ms Harlow, where do you fit into this rather comely picture hm?"
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Armande Roux
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Childe
Were one to have the need to breathe, he would have exhaled. He nodded simply in acknowledge and understanding with the Primogen essentially putting THAT matter to bed. He glanced to Stella as the Primogen seemed to call upon her and would relax his posture enough to settle back into the seat that they occupied.
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Stella Harlow
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Toreador
Had she known what Armande was thinking, she might have barked out a small laugh-putting things to bed was about right. She has of course witnessed debauchery at both its finest and ugliest during her time roaming the night. She was entirely aware that everyone has their weakness; after all, we seek affection, love, passion where we can find it, and sometimes are just fortunate enough to bump into one that seems to fit the bill, aided by the sweet sting of crimson.

She had arranged her long legs neatly crossed at the ankles, slightly to the side; still ladylike after all these years, something Mother had hammered into her time and time again[ though ladylike was not the term she had used; it had been more like" Don't sit around like a cheap slapper ", paired with a swat of dishcloth]. Maybe, she had not really given much thought to the initial impression they both might make, when together; both young, pretty, with the world like an oyster, just-waiting- for them. or maybe, she was too jaded to believe there would ever be a pearl hidden inside the shell. In this, Armande was showing her many new things, for with his wide eyed beauty, he still-believed- in the beauty of life. Unlife. whatever.

She smiles slightly at the question, for it is both a very simple one, as it is is complicated; it would seem, this primogen was more adapt at navigating the labyrinth of kindred politics than she may have assumed, at least based on her experiences in the city she no longer could call her own. As it stood, she would be honest with the man. There was no reason-not- to be.

" Armande is my friend."; she begins, as if this explains everything, and perhaps it does. " he is the first real friend I've had in a....while ";she falters here; in what? years ,decades, lifetimes of Kindred scheming, manipulation and lies. She knows how to deal with -that-, has softened the sting with many substances; it is his sincerity and genuine kindness that unravels her.

" I felt I owed him some trust in return, so when he had to suddenly..run, leaving everything he had created behind, I went with him."

Her long lashed gaze meets the primogen's on a delicate little shrug of shoulders, as if suddenly embarrassed by her own sincerity; she is not used to being so frank with strangers. Most, especially of their kind, don't really care for it, preferring the complicated snakes and ladders boardgames of manipulation. -Everybody- wants somebody who doesn't want-them-; maybe even sir Andrew?

She looks at Armande, offering him a small grin. Everything would be ok, she can just-feel- it.
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Andrew Cutting
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Toreador Primogen
Stella's honesty and frankness surprised him for a moment, he'd not expected such an unveiled answer, though he was sure he wasn't getting the whole picture her forwardness seemed quite refreshing and her response was acceptable for the time being. Perhaps given time he would learn more about the pair, as he hoped, but for now they were just running through introductions and there was simply no need to start digging so deeply. Sitting back more heavily in his chair, causing a soft creak of leather, he drew in from his cigar before exhaling once more and tapping the ash from its end into the ashtray beside him; peculiar habit for a kindred really, smoking, one might not expect it given their fear of fire but the danger was minimal. His appraising look turned to one of satisfaction, displaying that he found her answer suitably acceptable and that she need say no more on the subject.

"Good friends can be such elusive things I find, perhaps harder to find even than true love or real art. Such a rarity; well I am wholly satisfied with the situation and I can see that you will need little help in this city. As for a presentation before the Prince, it may not be entirely necessary, but I shall speak with him - he prefers more informal encounters than I do and has less time for history so it shan't be a problem." He smiled once again and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced what looked like a small business card with beautifully embossed lettering. "In the meantime take this card, go down to the head receptionist in the lobby and give it to her; I can't have the pair of you staying at that ghastly, what is it the Americans call them? Motels? No that will not do; we shall stay here in an apartment in this building as my guest until you are able to find yourselves more suitable permanent accommodation. Just give her the details of where you are staying and she'll have someone sent over to collect your personal effects for you."

"I'm afraid the apartments aren't quite the honeymoon suite in the Prince across the street but they are quite comfortable I assure you, and as guests of mine in Elysium you need fear for nothing while here. Now before we conclude this, sadly brief, meeting is there anything else that you would like to discuss or that I can do for you? I have just two rules for my guests, respect Elysium and respect me; I am quite a generous host and a conscientious Primogen, so all you need do is ask and I will render what assistance I may."
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Armande Roux
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Childe
He bowed his head as Stella spoke. His own confidence still quite rattled from his experiences in London. He blinked a few times as she spoke and looked up to her. Amazed at her honesty. Touched on a very base level. He reached over and took he hand in hers, offering a gentle squeeze.

Some bonds ran deeper than the blood and this may very well be one of them.

His gaze moved back to Andrew as he spoke. A silent assessment given. He did believe that this man would be so much different than the shadow of a Primogen that existed in London. Small gestures that reminded him of the nobility that carried itself in the blood he found in his sire. It was comforting.

When the card was offered, his touch slid from Stella’s and he rose to take it. ”Thank you, Primogen. We… We won’t be a burden for long, Oui?”

Nervousness always made him fall back into his native French.

He stepped back and would offer the card to Stella.

”We are humbled by your generosity… and would wish to be any service to the Clan that we can.”

He sat down again by her side, a thoughtful hesitation before he looked to Andrew, ”I am a glass sculptor by trade. I would look to open my own studio space… and would be happy to furnish your Elysium should you desire.”

One did always find comfort and solace in the muse. His had been too far away for too long. Manifesting itself in the fleshly beauty he now kept company with.
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Stella Harlow
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Toreador
" Thank you for your willingness to allow us to begin with a clean slate, sir Andrew "; her east end London accent so full of sneaky sass, that, paired with her slightly husky voice, it can coax a smile out of anyone.

She had taken the card from Armande, relieved to see the tense set of his shoulders, the slightly clenched fists, gone. it was as if his body was no longer bowed beneath a terrible weight.

" You see? its going to be much better from now on "; she would murmur later to him, his lonely self, his lost self, now letting go.This cold, strange, ruthless city just might be the place that would carve the Kindred his sire had meant for him to be, out of ice and snow laced marble. beautiful, perfect, strong.

As for her? Now that her friend was at least comfortable, she found herself restless. Hungry. Slightly jittery. She doesn't want to disappoint him, and take anything; it is so vivid without it, like staring into the sun, eyes narrowed, knowing it is dangerous but unable to stop.

Surely there -must- be a place Kindred of the city met up in? She would do some research, she decides, reaching for her phone and her little address book, the whole things scribbled in, photos sticking out from rehearsals and shows, business cards, matches with french bar logos, an origami frog, squashed and flat.

Her clothes, shoes, exquisite, designer, expensive flimsy works of art,all over the floor; pedant she was not;Armande would pick them up with a long suffering tsk that cannot help but end on a smile. She now makes herself comfortable, propped up against the pillows, ankles crossed, toenails painted metallic gunmetal, pale grey cashmere cardigan almost dwarfing her, ashtray faithfully at her side. Time to get to work.
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Andrew Cutting
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Toreador Primogen
"I thank you for the offer and for coming; now please, go to the lobby and arrange for your things to be brought over; you can stay here as long as you need and will find the distractions available on the lower floors quite acceptable. The restaurants I am told are sublime." Andrew smiled and stood once more offering his hand to shake Armande's, "Now let us tarry no longer; if you will excuse me, I will contact the Prince at the earliest convenience and have a presentation arranged."
Edited by Andrew Cutting, Jan 6 2014, 09:39 PM.
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Armande Roux
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Childe
He rose and extended a hand to Andrew. ”Merci.” He offered a somewhat shy smile and would step back, his hand falling to Stella’s lower back as he allowed her to say her good bye’s and then would move to head down to the receptionist and make said arrangements.

They didn’t have much that they left London with. No doubt a shopping trip was certainly in order. One did have to keep up appearances, after all.
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