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As much as Elysium has proven. . .difficult of late, Vincent has decided to try tonight. Sitting in a chair reading Another, a personal favorite ghost novel, he tried keeping his eyes to his page while also keeping his ears open, picking up small bits of conversation as well as faces coming in and out. Among the rumors he's been picking up from the grapevine, the number seven seemed to be spooky to some, hearing it once or twice in some hushed whispers before it dies out, something to look into later maybe. The main issue on his mind was far more mundane however, thinking of Christmas gifts for both Alice and now Avery, thankfully art and puzzles narrowed down the search and he had a good idea of what he should pick up, less than a week but no pressure
There's an arrival coming, given the sound of conversation going on with the doormen. Most people that come and go from this place don't bother addressing the staff, very likely. So kind of them. When the doors do open, a not at all tall gauloise fellow with handsome features and long dark hair makes his entrance. Daeva don't enter room, they make their entrances and this is his, clearly. A straight back, a confident stride, a stiff collar. He carries himself like one of the First Estate does after a hundred or so years kicking it old school. But he's wearing the trappings of the French Republic, not the thorns.
He takes in the room, the occupants, then offers a slight bow intended to address everyone at once. "Good evening. It is I, Visigny. I trust you are all well." He rises from his bow, scans the room which is probably thoroughly indifferent, and then stalks forward in search of a seat.
He is conspicuously armed with a saber at his side and a dagger at his back, in addition to carrying a silver headed cane. One of those sorts.
Vincent. . .has no words, just a wide eye and trying not to drop the jaw. Between the cane, dignity, general announcement and the fucking sword. . .well it's not something you see everyday. Vincent wanted to go back to the book, it was the dance scene after all, but. . .god damn it this was just too weird. "Um. . ." he finds himself saying, "Greetings Visigny?" he finds himself muttering to no one, clearly confused by the whole affair, 'And I thought Titania was eccentric' he thinks to himself.
It is absolutely uncanny and possibly comic and absurd, and Vincent is perfectly justified in literally all of it. This guy is out of time and out of place. He belongs a long time ago, a long distance from here. Only then would this be normal. But since it is abnormal it is worth noting abnormal people around here tend to have uncanny hearing. And so it may come as some surprise to Vincent when, after a long enough time to allow Vincent to believe he'd escaped notice, Visigny finishes settling into a seat and artfully crossing his legs and adjusting his frilled cuffs with a tug that he continues what Vincent clearly intended to be a conversation.
"Greetings, sir. May I have the pleasure of your name and preferred address?" He speaks English with a lower class British affect but spoken with an upper crust French one. Figure that out.
"Um. . ."he finds himself saying a tad dumfounded, half sure this whole nightmare of vampires was the build up to this Monty Python bit, "Vinny-Vincent Drake," he corrects himself, somehow the man's decorum was infectious, " he/him, I'm the new kid I guess, my sire got executed and the Estate picked me up. .. are you also Invictus?" he finds himself asking, "You seem. . . fancy." he merely says, not finding a better word for it.
"Captain Jean-Louis Visigny-Winthrope," Visigny offers more formally, but then corrects it all down to, "Visigny." His hand settles on his chest as he gives the single word address he prefers. Indicative. All the other bits of his name? Not for Vincent. That's the implication, there. But now the introduction is complete.
"My condolences on the passing of your sire, Master Drake." This is handled as a discrete sentiment, prior to him also commencing to answer. "I served the First Estate for nearly a century. Save as a ghoul to a dame. As with you, my regnant was murdered. I passed into the custody of the Carthian Movement of Vienna. I was embraced by the Rebel Dame Eleanor Winthrope of New York, a Carthian of the blood of Jumel. Which is how I come to sit before you now, a man of culture and liberty."
This man. . .is the most polite person he's met in awhile, "Thank you," he accepts, "Although to be honest, I'm glad she's dead, although I'm finding myself lacking some knowledge, Mr.Wright has been nice enough to give me the basics and providing me a place in the Covenant, but it's been more boss/employee than teacher and student." he admits, "If you don't mind me asking, if you worked for the Estate than why did the Carthians take you in, I would have thought the Estate looked after it's own?"
When you've been dead a long time, pauses that seem unnaturally long and potentially painful genuinely aren't to you any longer. Visigny gets lost in a thought for a time, and he becomes so deathly still. He's not bothering to try to seem human here. Why would he? When he again attains motion, it's with a slight regretful smile.
"My dear Master Drake. I had spent nearly a century in service to the First Estate. Not as a promising young neonate such as yourself. No. As property. I was chattel. I lived a very human life uncertain with each passing night if this would be the one where I'd outlived my utility. The covenant to which you owe your present circumstances, benevolent as it is, nonetheless holds the kine and thrall to be a lesser species than we are. To be owned. To be fought over. To be razed, if necessary, to deny food." Visigny gives a soft laugh and leans in to continue.
"My God, dear boy. If you are a pawn on the board, and I am a knight. What are they?" He flicks his hand, cane and kerchief, at the staff. At their beating hearts and blood. "And so, what was I?"
"Now ask your question again, please?"
Vincent didn't think on how vampires saw mortals. . .but that painted a picture, "I've been painted a picture of your group by Mr.Wright," he begins, now wanting to avoid that topic, "I imagine it's extremely bias, you don't seem to be, his words not mine, an anarchist, in fact you're the most polite person I've encountered here, I'd like to know from your own words what the Carthian Movement is." he asks, "I at first thought the Estate was just a 'rich person club' but I'm finding that's an understatement."
"It is that and more. In some cities it is moreso than others. What the First Estate is about, in the end, is power. Money brings power, you have already correctly surmised of your world. But there are other forms of power, too. Reputational. Political. Martial. Influential. The First Estate values that power regardless of its provenance, and prizes the maintenace of that power above any other ideology. Which is why you will find fascists among the First Estate, along with free market libertarians along with classical liberals. The ideology is irrelevant to the power it provides. Do you follow?"
Visigny has not answered the question, but seems to be setting up a contrast. So he pauses, seemingly intending to get to the answer if Vincent expresses he's following so far.
"That's how he hooked me," he admits, "I expressed my interest in material wealth, and looking back that's when he saw I was on the hook." he looks back, but nods expressing a desire to hear more
"You have chosen a curious description here. 'Hooked me'. If my understanding of your idiom is correct, this would imply he ... forgive me. 'Sold you a bill of goods'." He is very clearly not suggesting that Vincent is a rube that got duped, here. He's following the idiom. "Do you feel what Mister Wright said to you was disingenuous or intended to deceive? Or do you believe he correctly discerned the words to say that would get a vulnerable Neonate under their protection? To be clear, Master Drake, I describe only the system in which you exist. I do not describe the people that exist within that system. Each of them are free actors, and each free actors is always capable, moment to moment, of making positive choices. It is possible Mister Wright is acting with altruism and in your interests as a ward. So please don't let me hear it said that I speak ill of Mister Wright. I do not."
That covered he continues. "What is your understanding of the word anarchist?"
he thinks on it, "Well, I'll admit by 'hook me' he saw what I valued and realized he could provide it, plus he seemed eager to recruit me for my blood," he muses, "As per your question, I know the general stereotype is someone who hates government and wants none of it, but at the same time their needs to be some hierarchy so that can't be the whole case. . .perhaps it's just someone who does not wish to have a strict system?" he offers, not used to political theory but wants to provide a decent answer
The nice thing about the phrasing of Visigny's question is that no matter the answer, it can't be wrong. It's just a question about perception. Visigny nods his head, not devolving into semantics. "If that is your understanding of what an anarchist is, then no. I am not an anarchist. I am quite fond of governments. I write about them constantly."
"I am not a monarchist. I do not believe in the divine right of Kings to rule. I do not believe in chosen blood ordained by God to the possession of the land and its people. In Europe, this position is enough to brand me an anarchist and a rebel. I argue neither accusation there, when used in that light."
"What I believe is that every thinking being was endowed by its creator with natural liberties which may be limited in the individual only by affirmative consent and only then insofar as that affirmative consent continue. The social contract is not obligate. The social contract is negotiable. The social contract is necessary to forestall the beast. My personal ideology is just that. My own. I do not seek to indoctrinate others save through the compulsion of my reasoned debate. Nor will I submit myself to the control and authority of others based on such obligations, only reasoned compulsions. I am an ordered being. I comport myself with dignity. I rule myself."
The last three words are spoken, out of all the words, with some semblance of emotion.
"Don't take this wrong, but your reminding me of a video game character," Vinny says recalling Assassin's Creed Unity, "To be honest, that point of view seems to be the norm in the modern world, I view myself as my own king," he admits, "as for creator I stopped believing in God a long time ago, I make my own fortune." he says, 'and one day I'll own this city, a fair trade off for what she did to me' he thinks to himself, "So basically the Carthians want things to be modern, egalitarian, maybe Elders are stuck in their own times because that's a pretty normal viewpoint."
"No. Carthians want to rule themselves. They want the right to experiment with ideas and governments. They want the right to come together as individuals, in a collective if they choose, and for a common purpose. And then dissolve, if they choose, to other ends without enmity. As with the Invictus, the ideology is secondary to the power. In a very real sense, the Invictus and the Carthians are two sides of the same coin. Power. One amasses power in an organization, and perpetuates that organization to perpetuate that power. Any single organ of that whole can fail and another individual will assume the mantle and role and the power perpetuates for another generation. With Carthians the power is invested in the individual, and the power diffuses through the public as a whole. Individuals may rise and fall, but taking out one individual will not result in policy changes, as it will with the invictus. New brooms do not sweep in new ways, because every broom sweeps in whatever manner seems fit to purpose. But in the end it is always, always, always about power."
At this Visigny sinks back in his seat and asks only of the video game, "Is this character a gentleman?"
"Yes." he says in regards to Arno Dorian, "So, the Invictus is power for power's sack, and the Carthian's are power for the individual." he repeats, getting a picture of the two. His brain works it and. . .damn it he can't help himself but to imagine himself up the ladder. "You said the Covenant does not shape the individual. . .the Invictus, could one gain it's fruits without selling their soul?"
"My dear Master Drake. I regret to be the first one to inform you of this, but please accept my assurance that my saying so is intended in the spirit of education and not unkindness. You have no soul to sell any longer." Visigny's head tilts to the side very, very slightly. Weighing the impact as his beast coils up behind his eyes.
Vincent sighs at that, Visigny confirming what he dreaded, but a slight ambition has been lit. Vincent's history always shaped his outlook, his parents where deadbeats to the point he took his sister and ran, years of scamming people taught him money is the ticket to happiness and it's not dying soon, if he could be the one at the top. . ., "Mr.Visigny, I thank you for this lesson and showing me the coin before I had my opinion on your movement tainted." he says, with a slight determination in his voice, "I've always lacked in my life, it's been an uphill struggle that I thought I couldn't win. . .but now I think I've been seeing this the wrong way, I've always been a nobody, the one who tries to get the scraps after the meal. . .but if the individual can use the organization. . .if I could be a somebody." his gaze stares off for a second, he see's himself but not the Vinny of the past or today, but the Mr.Drake of a hundred or so years from now.
"Correct. If you remain in your present station, in a hundred years people will be circling you and calling you Sir. You will be in charge of networks of financial and professional power, able to sway elections and bury murders. You will need to kiss the proverbial ring. You will need to eat a great deal of crow. You will have thankless errands to run for thankless people. But entropy always wins, Master Drake. Even the old die. Or fall to torpor and require conservatorship. And when you have proven yourself you will be present and trusted at a moment of another's misfortune, and the power will move forward another generation, under your stewardship."
Visigny just tells the truth. That's how the Invictus operate. And then he tacks on. "Forever envied by those beneath you."
Vincent pictures it, it will take a lifetime, two even, but one day, one sweet day. . .overlooking Philadelphia from the glass towers, suit and tie, a phone call to the Governor, Avery in nice suit or dress on his arm. . .he'll be a big shot. "Mr.Visigny. . .I don't think it may have been your intent but. . .I feel a fire has been lit inside me, I thank you for giving this young Daeva hope." he says smiling as if something clicked, "I think I'll stay in the Estate truth be told, I'll stay, climb, and work my way to be somebody who matters, for once in my life I'll matter." he says, half to himself to be honest, nodding to the Carthian, "You have my gratitude and respect."
Visigny doesn't seem particularly moved one way or the other by the man's decision, though that may be affectation. He's certainly not acting like this was a recruitment pitch. He even adopts a smile that manages to be pleasant, for all that it's clearly not human. He dips his head low and respectful, sweeping his cane and kerchief hand away from himself as though brushing away the praise.
"It requires proper guidance and stewardship, Master Drake. Ambition bites the nails of success, the poet wrote. You have ambition. As yet you lack success. Best to let it grow out before you start biting, if you follow me." Visigny then reaches into his vest for his calling card. It advertises his services as a Maistre de Salle.
"Should you have a wish to study your covenant's history or the blood of Jumel, debate philosophy or politics, or study the art of Kindred Dueling, it would be my pleasure to serve the Young Master." The card is set down on the table and gently slid forward, tapped twice, then left behind as he once more slinks back into his prince of cats bearing.
With that, he rises from his seat and offers a Viennese bow. Heels click, from the waist. And then he turns to go.
Vincent's left their, a fire lit and a dream created. . .whether or not it turns out a pipe dream is the future's guess, ambition or greed, the neonate seems to have chosen his path, hopefully it does not destroy him.
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