The Prince

After an age, the door opens to Elysium. The doorman is there to greet us but he is quite ill-mannered. I am hardly surprised – a man such as that, covered in tattoos like a seafarer. He has a particular tattoo on his chest: a V with a hideous slash through it. It is ugly and old and all the ink has already bled out of it. Nanny had tattoos too but they were white like scans and could only be seen under beams of moonlight.
 
The other doorman is much kinder, but he is not the same as the time before last and I wondered what happened to that one. He informs us of the rules (mustn’t use powers, no violence, no killing, bow upon entering, stand at our seats, bow again…) and we enter.
 
Upstairs is a picture gallery that I have seen many times before although every time I do, the paint is somehow more flaked and peeling. Paintings line the wall, all turned wall-side save for one. The portrait is of a well-fed man with thinning black hair and piercing green eyes. The inscription reads ‘Leslie Taylor; President 1915-1922’.
 
Through the large wooden doors at the back is a grand hall with chandeliers above and ornate tables and chairs arranged around the room. A chair, gilded and inlaid with plush velvet is at the centre back of the room. In it sits the man – Leslie Taylor.
 
He is older than I (although I do not suspect by much), but younger than Mr. Anton, and we bow and pay our courtesies to him. When I met him previously, I did not think too highly of him and I certainly do not think too much of him now. But I was raised to mind my manners even when I do not think I should have to.
I am mid-curtsey when the doorman’s head receives a bullet that it spits onto the floor in a gruesome spatter of blood and hot viscera.
 
Mr. Anton is grinning ear to ear while Miss Larissa looks ready to faint. It appears Mr. Leslie has taken offence to our respects and does not appreciate good manners. I am sure he, like the doorman, also has many tattoos benefitting his vulgar character. Although I suppose I can’t be too displeased when the favour he bestowed upon me brought me to Angie.
 
Mr. Leslie and Mr. Anton engage in some male banter pertaining to their desire for one another, that I’m not in a mind to notice much of. But it seems that the Prince had eyes for Mr. Anton and had wanted him to be a Brujah like himself.
We are then released of our sires – or rather, Mr. Anton and Miss Larissa are now free kindred. I, myself, am not like the others so I have no need to be released as a ghost I am free to do as I please.
 
From the darkness swelling at the corners of the room, a woman steps into the light and my heart feels ready to burst. I run to Angie and hold her hands in mine. For a moment they are warm, but as soon as it is there the warmth shrinks away and Angie slips from my hold and draws towards the Prince.
The Sheriff. The Right Hand of the Prince. Angela Taylor. My Angie.
 
I’d eat those around her to keep her with me but she doesn’t want to be kept (even though she is, just not by me).
 
I feel Miss Larissa stiffen behind me. Or rather I hear her. Little sharp breaths that don’t need to be breathed. Her voice is hitched, fast, undone. I’ve missed something significant here but I’m too caught up in everything that’s being wrenched away from me that I don’t notice her clearly.
 
The Prince informs the other two that they have full feeding rights and have obtained the right of domain. However, they must still answer to him.
 
*Scribbled drawing of Australia with notes: Melbourne (Camarilla) under siege – 100 to 150 vamps, Perth – Anarchs, Brisbane – Shovel Heads, Sydney – Free vamps, Canberra – Hunters (2nd inquisition?), Adelaide – Ming Xiao*
 
*A note in a different hand*
 
Rules:
Breed – ask him
Serve – with a smile
Leave – no
Don’t contact unless important for Melb.
See council members or relevant Primogen.
 
After our meeting with the Prince, we are taken to the Chancellor’s ballroom. Although the room is grand, it is in poor shape. I suspect the kindred in the room are from lesser breeding as they are seated at tables and chairs which can be folded down and none of them seemed particularly pained about the fact.
 
They are the Primogen Council:
 
Nathan Carroll – Ventrue
Ronnie Connor – Malkavian
Victoria Cruise (brunette) – Toreador
Dr. Elizabeth Perez – Tremere (head of the Chantry)
Daniel Williams – Nosferatu
Annie Chester (distasteful blue mohawk and male jeans) – Gangrel
 
We are instructed to sit (although I would rather die than sit, but I suppose I have already passed over, just not quite entirely). I start to feel my head grow hot with fatigue and I reach out for Miss Larissa so that her pale warmth might give me strength.
 
The council deem the completion of our task as ‘suitable’, considering the three corpses washed up on the shoes of the Yarra (perhaps next time we should clean up slightly further away?). As a token reward, Mr. Anton is given $20,000 and encouraged to direct his avarice to things more kindred in nature rather than material possessions. We are collectively awarded the property at 100 Victoria Street of which we may take residence and the few blocks it occupies around it.
 
A wretched sight if I ever saw one, Mr. Daniel the Nosferatu Primogen approaches as and requests our presence at his Waterfront City Office at 11:00pm sharp. We are to knock on the maintenance door to gain entry. In return we may collect a minor boon from him.
 
Thus ends our affairs at Elysium. The car is waiting downstairs for us, and the journey home is reasonably shorter than the journey there.
 
Once we are home, we spy a man hovering around the entrance to our haven. I have not seen him before although I have encountered his ilk. He is dressed in black with red accents. The pin on his shirt – a sword piercing the sun – is the most obvious tell. He flicks his brownish, reddish eyes to us and greets us with a white toothed missionary’s smile.
 
He is Bishop Judas, from a nearby congregation. If we are so inclined we may join him in worship Wednesday evening, 2 hours after sundown at the old church (on the corner of Bourke & Exhibition St).
 
It has been a long time since I have paid my respects to the Lord, and when I finally pass on I know I will come to greet him in my eternal slumber. But I have met Sabbat like Bishop Judas, and I’ve seen their devilry and dark ministry and I’ve no inclination to pray with fiends such as them. Or so says Angie, and nanny too if she were here.
 
We are polite but vague in our acceptation of his invitation. Hopefully he won’t trouble us further.
 
Inside, I put the body of the ex-doorman in the cooler and head upstairs to bed.