Aspasia - Tulsa - 3/16 - Friday (Snapshot VIII)
The first part of the hunt is a blur in Aspasia’s memory. Dominion’s son noticed what no one else did, the presence of an interloper on the edges of the clan meeting.
He is taken prisoner. They are not kind.
It is all the Amazon can do to hold herself in check. Here is a direct connection to her daughter’s killer. He is a minion of Winterbourne, sent to spy and to follow in the time before the sunrise.
To mark the resting place of a select few. To ambush and to kill.
Winterbourne’s tool is easy to break and he gives over the information they demand.
***
Her soul sings of vengeance. Her enemy is close at hand. And the danse draws them in ever tighter circles together.
He has come looking for her. She will go to him. And he will die.
There is no thought for anything else, no considerations. Only this, to hunt Winterbourne and to feast on his blood before the sun shows to burn her skin.
The clan moves with deadly purpose, those who were with Aspasia and Exodus. This is to seek justice for one of their own.
***
Others keep pace, flank the sides, guarding their backs as the fastest of the Gangrel move on ward. It does not take long to find his temporary shelter. And she cares not that an alarm is cried out by one of his servitors.
The battle is engaged. He has a surprising number of defenders. But no matter, she will prevail. Right is on her side. Eoin keeps pace as Aspasia slices into her first target. But, his moves are off. More precisely - their moves are off - just enough. As if they were decades out of practice and out of sinc. Not desirable, but not so poor a match as to leave the other’s flank unprotected.
The monster falls, pain on his face and she raises her hand to ash him when her prize is claimed by another. Other claws reach out first, taking the right of death from the Amazon.
The cry of her beast in anger and rage threatens to rip Aspasia apart from the inside. What has Eoin dared?
No. Not Eoin. Her battlemate sleeps still.
Not Eoin.
Raven.
There are howls from either side of the pair, as the rest of the clan engages in combat. The smell of vitae is painted in the air. The evening breeze is strong enough to stir and swirl ash, so it starts to cover faces and clothing. Wearing the dead as they add to the tally.
And the pattern is repeated. They fight in tandem. He fends off an attack from behind, she lays another one low.
And again, at the moment she was going to strike, Raven’s hand ends the monsters life. Not hers.
Anger dances in her soul. He’s stolen her kill.
Her head snaps around to fix a gaze on his profile. But quick as jumping deer, he is moving forward again, the quarry in sight, penned in.
And it is only in glancing Winterbourne, paces ahead that Aspasia’s fury deflects from Raven to this killer. And she will not permit him to steal another from her. Not this one.
He is hers.
So the Gangrel run him to ground. In a flurry of speed, he is prone, neck bared to the stars, and the Amazon kneeling at his side. Her right hand pins his left shoulder to the dirt while claws are ready to rip Winterbourne’s heart from his chest.
And she hesitates for an instant. Raven does not move.
Aspasia glances up, catching his eyes.
“No.” She grabs for a stake that one of the others in the clan offers to her in that instant. “Not this way.”
Winterbourne’s body stiffens and stills as the wood pearces his heart. And all around, Gangrel are drawn to the tableau, each still present having dispatched their opponents while a few pursue their targets as they try to flee the battlefield.
“We need to know why first.” She stands up, shaken, one part of her mind screaming for Aspasia to finish him now. To reach down and dig her claws into his chest.
“He will talk. Then, I will kill him.” Her voice is slow. Layers of meaning, pain and restraint that color the tone of her words.
Again, the Amazon looks at Raven, across the body of this foe. In that moment, she spies love and conflict, then senses a clawing, savage beast with strength to match her own. He is been channeling it all this while.
Abruptly, he shifts forms and flies up into the night air, away from her. Away from the clan. She wants to follow. To ask him why, but her duty lies here.
A duty to the dead first.
She looks about at the small group of clanmates. “Thank you.” Then, Aspasia gestures to Dominion. “We need a safe place to speak with him, and prevent interruptions.”
She pauses, “And we need to invite Julia Kinkaid to join us.”
He is taken prisoner. They are not kind.
It is all the Amazon can do to hold herself in check. Here is a direct connection to her daughter’s killer. He is a minion of Winterbourne, sent to spy and to follow in the time before the sunrise.
To mark the resting place of a select few. To ambush and to kill.
Winterbourne’s tool is easy to break and he gives over the information they demand.
***
Her soul sings of vengeance. Her enemy is close at hand. And the danse draws them in ever tighter circles together.
He has come looking for her. She will go to him. And he will die.
There is no thought for anything else, no considerations. Only this, to hunt Winterbourne and to feast on his blood before the sun shows to burn her skin.
The clan moves with deadly purpose, those who were with Aspasia and Exodus. This is to seek justice for one of their own.
***
Others keep pace, flank the sides, guarding their backs as the fastest of the Gangrel move on ward. It does not take long to find his temporary shelter. And she cares not that an alarm is cried out by one of his servitors.
The battle is engaged. He has a surprising number of defenders. But no matter, she will prevail. Right is on her side. Eoin keeps pace as Aspasia slices into her first target. But, his moves are off. More precisely - their moves are off - just enough. As if they were decades out of practice and out of sinc. Not desirable, but not so poor a match as to leave the other’s flank unprotected.
The monster falls, pain on his face and she raises her hand to ash him when her prize is claimed by another. Other claws reach out first, taking the right of death from the Amazon.
The cry of her beast in anger and rage threatens to rip Aspasia apart from the inside. What has Eoin dared?
No. Not Eoin. Her battlemate sleeps still.
Not Eoin.
Raven.
There are howls from either side of the pair, as the rest of the clan engages in combat. The smell of vitae is painted in the air. The evening breeze is strong enough to stir and swirl ash, so it starts to cover faces and clothing. Wearing the dead as they add to the tally.
And the pattern is repeated. They fight in tandem. He fends off an attack from behind, she lays another one low.
And again, at the moment she was going to strike, Raven’s hand ends the monsters life. Not hers.
Anger dances in her soul. He’s stolen her kill.
Her head snaps around to fix a gaze on his profile. But quick as jumping deer, he is moving forward again, the quarry in sight, penned in.
And it is only in glancing Winterbourne, paces ahead that Aspasia’s fury deflects from Raven to this killer. And she will not permit him to steal another from her. Not this one.
He is hers.
So the Gangrel run him to ground. In a flurry of speed, he is prone, neck bared to the stars, and the Amazon kneeling at his side. Her right hand pins his left shoulder to the dirt while claws are ready to rip Winterbourne’s heart from his chest.
And she hesitates for an instant. Raven does not move.
Aspasia glances up, catching his eyes.
“No.” She grabs for a stake that one of the others in the clan offers to her in that instant. “Not this way.”
Winterbourne’s body stiffens and stills as the wood pearces his heart. And all around, Gangrel are drawn to the tableau, each still present having dispatched their opponents while a few pursue their targets as they try to flee the battlefield.
“We need to know why first.” She stands up, shaken, one part of her mind screaming for Aspasia to finish him now. To reach down and dig her claws into his chest.
“He will talk. Then, I will kill him.” Her voice is slow. Layers of meaning, pain and restraint that color the tone of her words.
Again, the Amazon looks at Raven, across the body of this foe. In that moment, she spies love and conflict, then senses a clawing, savage beast with strength to match her own. He is been channeling it all this while.
Abruptly, he shifts forms and flies up into the night air, away from her. Away from the clan. She wants to follow. To ask him why, but her duty lies here.
A duty to the dead first.
She looks about at the small group of clanmates. “Thank you.” Then, Aspasia gestures to Dominion. “We need a safe place to speak with him, and prevent interruptions.”
She pauses, “And we need to invite Julia Kinkaid to join us.”