Aspasia - Tulsa - 3/16 - Friday Night (Snapshot VI)
The first part of the clan meeting was unsettling. Aspasia was trying to gauge the best time to introduce the issue of lying, more specifically the concerns raised at Bastian’s festival, as both she and Brooke had promised to do.
The group was at a sizable mass, easily forty or fifty in number, all of the blood. Exodus line numbering some six or seven kindred, while of her own line there was Molly, Lee and Slythe.
Aspasia took a seat near Dominion. And, before serious business could be addressed, there came word of an attack on Claudia Essex. This prompted Raven to depart with a few others. Slythe consenting to go at her unspoken request. She trusted him to contact her if things were out of hand.
Another two or three are pulled away for various personal reasons, and she brings up the concern to Exodus, before the gathered of the blood. Why did he say he had left the Ordo when it appeared that was not the case? Did he in fact lie to the clan?
Exodus looked a bit surprised at the question. Perhaps more so that she was asking it, rather than that it had been asked. Aspasia explained that others of the blood had come to her about it and she was honor bound to bring the question out.
Dominion speaks, explaining the stance of the Dragons. Exodus, even if he wished to leave, as he expressed his intent, would not be allowed to sever that commitment. By virtue of his blood and knowledge, only death would make that possible.
In that the Circle is far more civilized. Despite the severity of oath that was required of me to gain liberty and keep my life.
Exodus makes his statement. And Aspasia canvasses the clan. Is he a liar, should he be censured for it?
And no voices speak up to say he is at fault. Not one. This will not be what the others in the clan will wish to hear, and this concern may be brought forth again in the future, but for now, the voices of condemnation are not numerous enough to effect a change.
And just when this serious matter is put to an end, word comes that Charles Grant, a fellow Gangrel, has been threatened by the Invictus and is trapped in a room with that covenant. That they are intent on his ending. Without securing right to do so from the Prince.
This is enough to set the clan as a whole into motion. Raven is said to be there or close to them, but Exodus and Aspasia lead the massed gathering of Gangrel all the way to the doorstep of the Invictus closed rooms.
And Exodus is denied admission.
This is not to be tolerated, so the Gangrel, one of them, busts it in. And standing only steps back from the singular entrance, hands at their swords are Invictus, ones with silly pins over their hearts, like targets for her claws, telling Aspasia where to strike. There is a short, uncomfortable moment as she glances to her left, taking in Exodus expression, standing perhaps a half-step behind, while Gangrel form a wedge to either side.
This is about to become a bloodbath. Do the Invictus do this deliberately?
She scans the room for faces unfamiliar. Are there agents of Winterbourne in this company. Someone here who took part in her daughter’s murder?
The anger rolls up along her spine and is displayed in the set of Aspasia’s jaw. She leans forward just a touch, weight on the balls of her feet, ready to spring and to cut down those trying to stand against her at the least provocation.
Then, one of the ranking Invictus, an Essex?, declares for the wall of guards to give way, to allow the Prince and others through. And war is avoided for the moment. While Exodus makes a line for Raven, to gather the information critical to this situation, Aspasia’s steps take her to Charles Grant, to assess his status.
No wounds. No sense of trouble or relief at our presence.
If he is in danger, then the man is either unaware, or does not care about it.
Hearing the words of the group behind her, Aspasia glances over her shoulder and makes her way through the crowd, to part to make space, even if they don’t want to, and she stops at Raven’s side.
The group speaks of a bounty offered by one of the covenant here.
And proof is offered - in the hand of the accused, given to Exodus hand. An Invictus saught the death of three officers in Tulsa. Offered boons and objects for the deed.
Things move swiftly then, in this mingled group of predators - several Gangrel on edge, herself included and pompous Invictus who are powerless and grow frustrated because of it. One word, that is all Exodus would need to say, and enough would find excuse to vent their beasts on other predators. The floor would be coated in blood and ash.
But he does not do this. Instead, the Unholy’s Angel takes a stance above the crowd, on a chair so all can see. And he dispenses Tulsa justice.
In doing so, his face ashens. His eyes are harsher, darker. His skin becomes taut against the bones of his body. And none can turn away from the effect visible before them. Justice at the cost of his soul. A shard peeled away before them. And Exodus is that much more a monster.
The loss of what he struggled to hard to find only months ago.
He is the physical reminder for Aspasia of how hard the journey back from the edge will be, and how easy it will be to slip back down. Like trying to climb the walls of a glass mountain.
And for a moment, in her soul, there is a shudder of fear.
She is determined to avenge Hisa. Is she willing to pay the cost that fate demands. But there are dreams, nightmares more than anything else - except they don’t disturb her as much as they once did. Aspasia has been closer to losing all of her soul than even the decay that Exodus suffers from this night, but she remembers so little of it.
Only that it felt good. To be undeniably powerful. To be like Atrophos, choosing when to cut the threads of another - kine or kindred. To be unrepentant. To revel in the darkness.
She is afraid to be that again. To fall that far. Afraid that Raven might ever see her like that.
And what would be worse - to see rejection or admiration in his eyes?
No.
As the crowd starts to disburse, everyone uncomfortable in some measure at the death and the change witnessed, she glides gracefully past this Invictus and that clanmate to come up behind Raven. Leaning forward, she murmurs in his ear, laying a gentle hand on left shoulder. “You are right. I have seen what it did to him and you are right. I will find another way.”
The Amazon withdraws, even as she can feel his gaze on her back, as she heads to the exit. Nothing more need be said there. He understands.
Of course, the fates do not care what the intention of individuals may be. They will make the threads serve their will. And in that moment, that truth was something Aspasia forgot.
The group was at a sizable mass, easily forty or fifty in number, all of the blood. Exodus line numbering some six or seven kindred, while of her own line there was Molly, Lee and Slythe.
Aspasia took a seat near Dominion. And, before serious business could be addressed, there came word of an attack on Claudia Essex. This prompted Raven to depart with a few others. Slythe consenting to go at her unspoken request. She trusted him to contact her if things were out of hand.
Another two or three are pulled away for various personal reasons, and she brings up the concern to Exodus, before the gathered of the blood. Why did he say he had left the Ordo when it appeared that was not the case? Did he in fact lie to the clan?
Exodus looked a bit surprised at the question. Perhaps more so that she was asking it, rather than that it had been asked. Aspasia explained that others of the blood had come to her about it and she was honor bound to bring the question out.
Dominion speaks, explaining the stance of the Dragons. Exodus, even if he wished to leave, as he expressed his intent, would not be allowed to sever that commitment. By virtue of his blood and knowledge, only death would make that possible.
In that the Circle is far more civilized. Despite the severity of oath that was required of me to gain liberty and keep my life.
Exodus makes his statement. And Aspasia canvasses the clan. Is he a liar, should he be censured for it?
And no voices speak up to say he is at fault. Not one. This will not be what the others in the clan will wish to hear, and this concern may be brought forth again in the future, but for now, the voices of condemnation are not numerous enough to effect a change.
And just when this serious matter is put to an end, word comes that Charles Grant, a fellow Gangrel, has been threatened by the Invictus and is trapped in a room with that covenant. That they are intent on his ending. Without securing right to do so from the Prince.
This is enough to set the clan as a whole into motion. Raven is said to be there or close to them, but Exodus and Aspasia lead the massed gathering of Gangrel all the way to the doorstep of the Invictus closed rooms.
And Exodus is denied admission.
This is not to be tolerated, so the Gangrel, one of them, busts it in. And standing only steps back from the singular entrance, hands at their swords are Invictus, ones with silly pins over their hearts, like targets for her claws, telling Aspasia where to strike. There is a short, uncomfortable moment as she glances to her left, taking in Exodus expression, standing perhaps a half-step behind, while Gangrel form a wedge to either side.
This is about to become a bloodbath. Do the Invictus do this deliberately?
She scans the room for faces unfamiliar. Are there agents of Winterbourne in this company. Someone here who took part in her daughter’s murder?
The anger rolls up along her spine and is displayed in the set of Aspasia’s jaw. She leans forward just a touch, weight on the balls of her feet, ready to spring and to cut down those trying to stand against her at the least provocation.
Then, one of the ranking Invictus, an Essex?, declares for the wall of guards to give way, to allow the Prince and others through. And war is avoided for the moment. While Exodus makes a line for Raven, to gather the information critical to this situation, Aspasia’s steps take her to Charles Grant, to assess his status.
No wounds. No sense of trouble or relief at our presence.
If he is in danger, then the man is either unaware, or does not care about it.
Hearing the words of the group behind her, Aspasia glances over her shoulder and makes her way through the crowd, to part to make space, even if they don’t want to, and she stops at Raven’s side.
The group speaks of a bounty offered by one of the covenant here.
And proof is offered - in the hand of the accused, given to Exodus hand. An Invictus saught the death of three officers in Tulsa. Offered boons and objects for the deed.
Things move swiftly then, in this mingled group of predators - several Gangrel on edge, herself included and pompous Invictus who are powerless and grow frustrated because of it. One word, that is all Exodus would need to say, and enough would find excuse to vent their beasts on other predators. The floor would be coated in blood and ash.
But he does not do this. Instead, the Unholy’s Angel takes a stance above the crowd, on a chair so all can see. And he dispenses Tulsa justice.
In doing so, his face ashens. His eyes are harsher, darker. His skin becomes taut against the bones of his body. And none can turn away from the effect visible before them. Justice at the cost of his soul. A shard peeled away before them. And Exodus is that much more a monster.
The loss of what he struggled to hard to find only months ago.
He is the physical reminder for Aspasia of how hard the journey back from the edge will be, and how easy it will be to slip back down. Like trying to climb the walls of a glass mountain.
And for a moment, in her soul, there is a shudder of fear.
She is determined to avenge Hisa. Is she willing to pay the cost that fate demands. But there are dreams, nightmares more than anything else - except they don’t disturb her as much as they once did. Aspasia has been closer to losing all of her soul than even the decay that Exodus suffers from this night, but she remembers so little of it.
Only that it felt good. To be undeniably powerful. To be like Atrophos, choosing when to cut the threads of another - kine or kindred. To be unrepentant. To revel in the darkness.
She is afraid to be that again. To fall that far. Afraid that Raven might ever see her like that.
And what would be worse - to see rejection or admiration in his eyes?
No.
As the crowd starts to disburse, everyone uncomfortable in some measure at the death and the change witnessed, she glides gracefully past this Invictus and that clanmate to come up behind Raven. Leaning forward, she murmurs in his ear, laying a gentle hand on left shoulder. “You are right. I have seen what it did to him and you are right. I will find another way.”
The Amazon withdraws, even as she can feel his gaze on her back, as she heads to the exit. Nothing more need be said there. He understands.
Of course, the fates do not care what the intention of individuals may be. They will make the threads serve their will. And in that moment, that truth was something Aspasia forgot.