Aspasia - Tulsa - 3/16 - Friday night (Snapshot III)
Brood.
Gods and Goddesses. Of course there would be brood. It’s Exodus’ city, throwing a party for kindred society, how could they resist?
Aspasia sighed internally. This had the potential to become one explosive headache. And Exodus was still tucked away in the forest, watching the Crone’s exchange stories. She supposed he must be regretting having all these interlopers in his city and only now coming to the realization of what headaches and demands on time that visitors would make of a sitting Prince.
So, instead of Exodus, Raven was spending his evening on the run, handling this manner and that. Hopefully the efficiency of the city officers would buy Exodus a little more time before people realized he was not only hard to find, but impossible to find.
These were the thoughts running through Aspasia’s head as she began a conversation with Azarael of the clan.
He was a conundrum. Proclaiming his age with every fourth breath. Making sure to drop it in conversation both with the clan when they had gathered to talk and now with her.
Age does not always confer wisdom. Sometimes it means one is merely lucky, favored by the gods.
Perhaps in a different world, the importance on the date one was made vampire would carry more weight. But for the Amazon, some vestige of Carthian philosophy still held true, - she would judge people on their actions and contributions, not the posturing and implicit demands or whining to be respected.
Azarael was bordering on losing what he had accrued. And if he could not alter to accomidate to the reality of the current society, he would eventually either sleep, or be lost to ash.
But the topic of conversation was more irritating than the thoughts of petulant clanmates. No. He and she spoke on December Carnivale. Aspasia did nothing to hide her disdain of the Carthian, considering him a man little honor, leading a gang of like-minded hoodlums.
Azarael means well, but he is so concerned at being seen as a man of importance, that he undermines his own purpose, and she believes as well that any advice she might offer to him on this will offend his pride. Which is not her intent. He is earnest, and a good clan mate. If his only flaw is to remind everyone he is an ancient vampire, that can be ignored.
So, she excuses herself, seeing that the Doctor is standing alone on the ballroom floor. He always provides diverting conversation. This continues to prove true as the two trade commentaries about the Ordo Dracul. Her mood lightens when Raven, taking advantage of a momentary respite from the demands on his time strides up and joins in the conversation.
Automatically, she reaches out to touch him. Tucks her hand in the curve of his bent arm. Raven glances at her, perhaps a hint of surprise in his gaze, but he does not pull away.
With an amused glint in her eye, Aspasia drops a mention of the one Dragon who was so vocal in Phoenix, using at title “Master of the Dying Light”. Both men look at her, neither speaking, but the expression is enough. They know she is teasing them. After all it is not their fault, every covenant, every clan has its lesser lights.
Gods and Goddesses. Of course there would be brood. It’s Exodus’ city, throwing a party for kindred society, how could they resist?
Aspasia sighed internally. This had the potential to become one explosive headache. And Exodus was still tucked away in the forest, watching the Crone’s exchange stories. She supposed he must be regretting having all these interlopers in his city and only now coming to the realization of what headaches and demands on time that visitors would make of a sitting Prince.
So, instead of Exodus, Raven was spending his evening on the run, handling this manner and that. Hopefully the efficiency of the city officers would buy Exodus a little more time before people realized he was not only hard to find, but impossible to find.
These were the thoughts running through Aspasia’s head as she began a conversation with Azarael of the clan.
He was a conundrum. Proclaiming his age with every fourth breath. Making sure to drop it in conversation both with the clan when they had gathered to talk and now with her.
Age does not always confer wisdom. Sometimes it means one is merely lucky, favored by the gods.
Perhaps in a different world, the importance on the date one was made vampire would carry more weight. But for the Amazon, some vestige of Carthian philosophy still held true, - she would judge people on their actions and contributions, not the posturing and implicit demands or whining to be respected.
Azarael was bordering on losing what he had accrued. And if he could not alter to accomidate to the reality of the current society, he would eventually either sleep, or be lost to ash.
But the topic of conversation was more irritating than the thoughts of petulant clanmates. No. He and she spoke on December Carnivale. Aspasia did nothing to hide her disdain of the Carthian, considering him a man little honor, leading a gang of like-minded hoodlums.
Azarael means well, but he is so concerned at being seen as a man of importance, that he undermines his own purpose, and she believes as well that any advice she might offer to him on this will offend his pride. Which is not her intent. He is earnest, and a good clan mate. If his only flaw is to remind everyone he is an ancient vampire, that can be ignored.
So, she excuses herself, seeing that the Doctor is standing alone on the ballroom floor. He always provides diverting conversation. This continues to prove true as the two trade commentaries about the Ordo Dracul. Her mood lightens when Raven, taking advantage of a momentary respite from the demands on his time strides up and joins in the conversation.
Automatically, she reaches out to touch him. Tucks her hand in the curve of his bent arm. Raven glances at her, perhaps a hint of surprise in his gaze, but he does not pull away.
With an amused glint in her eye, Aspasia drops a mention of the one Dragon who was so vocal in Phoenix, using at title “Master of the Dying Light”. Both men look at her, neither speaking, but the expression is enough. They know she is teasing them. After all it is not their fault, every covenant, every clan has its lesser lights.