|
The evening at the hotel Elysium, and specifically the lounge on the top floor, has been a quiet one. Music is playing, but Phaedra's sitting alone at a table, shuffling her tarot deck. Waiting, perhaps. Though who even knows, with her. She's dressed in a floaty white dress that has a couple dirt stains on it, and while she had the presence of mind to wear shoes to the lounge, they've been kicked off under the table.
Phaedra's maybe seen Cian around, in the past year or so, especially here in the lounge. And here he is again, wandering through the doors with an old-fashioned looking leather bag over his shoulder. In fact, there's a lot about his appearance that gives him an air of being slightly out of time - his shirt's got fuller sleeves than anything that's in style at the moment, and it's certainly a little anachronistic when paired with the tight jeans he's got on. He flicks his head to get his hair out of his eyes and unshoulders his bag on the ground near Phaedra. Of course he's not going to be so rude as to sit at her table, but he inclines his head and pulls a book from his bag before settling into a chair at the next table over. Close enough for conversation, if one should occur, but not so close as to make things uncomfortable.
She glances sidelong at him, her eyes big and blue and wide. Bug eyes, or the eyes of a creepy porcelain doll, whichever you prefer. She flips over the first card in her deck. "Hm. We haven't really met. Have we?"
The card shows a figure in a black cloak looking down at three spilled goblets, two more behind him.
Cian hasn't even got his book open yet, and he looks over at her with a shake of his head. "I don't think we have, no. Cian Doyle." He holds a hand out - rough and callused, though fairly clean. Then his gaze slides to the card, and he arches an eyebrow. "Are you telling fortunes for yourself? Or does that have something to do with me?" He's got a soft accent. Irish, maybe?
"Oh, I'm not even sure yet." She laughs, tucking the card back into her deck before taking his hand. "Phaedra Lamb. Mekhet of the Rodriguez Family, Haruspex and Maiden of the Circle of the Crone."
"A pleasure, Phaedra." Rather than shaking her hand, he holds it like he might kiss the back of it - but merely lifts it a few inches, inclining his head again before he lets her go. "I'm a Washington, myself. And a Gangrel, but that feels a little incidental to my family, to be perfectly honest."
"Hm, it's interesting. Most people backburner covenant for family. But clan..." She trails off as he lifts her hand, shoulders tensing somewhat.
He doesn't come close to kissing it, and lets it go quickly, sitting back in his chair with a shrug. "I can change my family - or my family can change their minds about me. I can't change my clan, so it doesn't always feel as important. A personal preference, definitely."
She tilts her head slowly to one side as she brings both hands in close to her body, lacing her fingers loosely. "I'm not sure I understand. What's mutable matters more?"
"It...requires upkeep. And care, if...that makes sense? Which in my mind puts it ahead of the thing I'll be whether I like it or not."
She processes this for a moment, seeming to think very hard about it with a cute little pout. "Hm. Okay."
"I'm assuming you feel differently." He offers her a smile.
"Well. Yes. My family could rise and fall over the centuries, and my covenant is, comparatively, a young one. But the clan Mekhet will be with me through my Requiem, shaping who I am and the lens through which I view the night. I...am still very new to all of this, though. So. Grain of salt." She shrugs.
"Mmmm." A nod, and he rests his elbow on the table before propping his chin up with his fist. "That does make sense - maybe it is a bit short-sighted of me. I suppose there's the idea of novelty, too. My clan is always there, to fall back on, but things that might not last as long, but take effort to acquire and keep....make life interesting."
"Hm. Maybe make you feel like you've earned them, more than being selected for the big suck by someone else?"
His teeth flash in a grin at the casual phrase. "That's definitely a part of it. At the risk of sounding like a privileged bastard, I worked hard to get where I am - and being Gangrel had very little to do with it."
She leans in slightly, curiosity burning in her gaze. "Okay. And where are you?"
"Mmm." He narrows his eyes a little, thinking. "Here, in Philly, in good standing. A member of a good family, with a covenant, and some sense of...purpose, I suppose?"
"Hmmm. You say that as though each of those things has lacked in you at some point." She taps her lower lip with a fingertip.
"And I'd say all of us have lacked at least some of them, since the big suck." He acknowledges the repeated words with a flash of a smile.
She thinks for a moment. "Well. Maybe. I got lucky; embraced into a good family, and given good standing by virtue of it. As for purpose...maybe that's still a work in progress. What's yours?"
"Ahh..." He huffs. "I won't lie, I think they're always a work in progress. But I've got a soft spot for...historical reenactment." He says it like he's a little embarrassed. "And here...well. It's Philly, it's up to its eyeballs in opportunity."
"Mmm. Careful, it's also full of potential paths to trouble. Have you gotten the full lowdown on our latest fishcourse and the newcomer to town?"
"I...haven't, no. Fishcourse?" He arches an eyebrow.
"There's an infestation of Nereids that's been spotted in town--though not recently. But they want the guy who's currently using the name Rihat of Nineveh, locally. They want him bad." She wrinkles her nose.
"The guy who's maybe not who he says he is...?" Cian's voice drops to a mutter, and his eyebrow arches further. "What do they want him for?"
"Either to kill or to recruit. He's at risk either way." She shakes her head slightly.
"Mmm. He know that?"
Eyrgjafa strolls in as the other two speak, laptop bag slung over one shoulder. "Evening, Phaedra. New person. Mind if I join you?"
Her face lights up as she sees Eyrgjafa. "Come on over! I've got some maybe news. I think that Madison girl from the house might have become fishfood. I dreamed about her."
Cian sits up a little straighter from where he'd been lounging in his chair, and nods at the newcomer. "Cian Doyle. Washington and Gangrel," he says with a small glance at Phaedra.
"Eyrgjafa Freyjasdóttir. Ashtifar Serpent. Pleasure to meet you, Cian." She takes a seat within easy talking distance, crossing one leg over the other. "I have news as well. Both good and bad. Which would you like first?"
"Bad. Definitely the bad first." She grabs her tarot deck as a comfort object, idly playing with it as she listens.
"Pleasure's mine, Eyrgjafa. I've missed quite a bit, it seems." Cian settles back into his chair to listen to the news.
"Bad first it is." Eyrgjafa nods, taking a moment to arrange her thoughts. "If this is the real Rihat we're dealing with, my sources indicate that he was a real shithead, even by the standards of Princes." This is one of the few times Phaedra has heard the Dragon outright curse. "Diablerised everyone who crossed him while he ruled Nineveh, apparently. Also supposedly not from one of the five clans we recognise as part of our society. The report that mentioned that was from the 15th century, though, so. Take it with a grain of salt."
"Right, but at least 20 Rihats have been executed after deciding they could take the name and go bust up any city they wanted. Two of those claimed to be the oldest vampire ever, and still met their end." Clearly they've run along similar lines of research, if not the same, as Phaedra simply nods along when Eyrgjafa calls him a shithead. "The only one who knows if he's him is himself, right now. Though. Thoooough. Him not being from one of our clans would be a reason for the wet ones to want him so bad. Especially if he were to know a Discipline no one else does, now."
Cian looks between the two of them, processing the information. "You said the Nereids haven't been seen in a while? Where are they now?"
"That...is a good question. I wish I had an answer beyond 'not round here'." Eyrgjafa sighs. "It's possible leaving the sea is a clan bane for them, but we don't have the information to answer that for sure."
"Mmm. They can leave. That's how they got to Mr. Powers, coming out to feed. But...they need to return. I'm pretty sure that's how it goes." She leans back in her chair, looking at Eyrgjafa. "Is that all the bad?"
"Ah. I wonder if it might be worth trying to find them..." Cian leans forward to rest his chin on his fist.
"So far, yes. I'll update you as and when I learn anything more, of course." She glances at Cian. "How much has Phaedra filled you in on them?"
"You don't want to be the one to find them, unless you're certain you know how you're going to get away. It's...bad."
"...Noted. Not a whole lot, other than that they've been around, and that they want Rihat. Who may not be the 'real' one."
"Unless you're a really good fighter, and you have an excellent exit strategy for if things go south, avoid them. Possibly even if both of those do apply."
She settles a little in her seat. "I mean. I can do a proper infodump, if you want it. It's just a lot, though."
"I'm nothing short of fascinated, honestly. I have experience with water, but none with any of the beasties lurking in it." Another grin - it's a little sharp, as he flashes his teeth.
"Go ahead, Phaedra. If there's anything I can fill in I'll mention it after."
She begins to count the points off on her fingers:
"Background. The Nereids are more an infection than a pure compulsion--like old myths about if you get bitten or scratched like a werewolf, you'll turn into one? Not true of werewolves, definitely true of the Nereids. They're mermaid-like, and live in the sea, and worship an entity, a presence that is wholly of-the-depths.
"One: the Nereids wouldn't normally be upriver this far, they're devoted to the sea, but they're here causing a problem locally because there is an object they seek. It is made of dark glass or crystal--not entirely opaque, but translucent. I don't know what shape or size it comes in. Looking at the object through my ritual felt like pulling myself closer to the void-being they worship, so I kept a bit of a distance.
"Two: Powers was not a deliberate choice of victim. He encountered the Nereids in the course of his duties as Keeper, and was attacked and infected that way.
"Three: There's a Kindred in town they want. I'm pretty sure it's Rihat, and Sledge did a sketch for me based on a description of him. I had a dream about him before he crashed into the Elysium riding a poor mortal girl. I'm pretty sure she's fish food now. But in my dream of him, he was doing an autopsy on some huge bloated sea creature."
"Four: The banes of the Nereids include fire and sunlight still, but their drive to return to the sea is also powerful enough to be a bane. It's possible keeping them on dry land may cause them harm."
"Five: Once one is infected, there's a week before they are transformed completely. After that point, as we are with Mr. Powers, there is no cure. Also, also? Scrying on them can expose a blood sorceror to the attention of the void being itself, and that's...very bad. It tried to infect me. I heard the song of the sea."
"Hmmm." Cian nods along as Phaedra talks, looking fascinated. There's a few seconds of silence, and his eyes narrow slightly as he thinks. "Do we know if Rihat has anything to do with the object, whatever it might be? It only makes sense that they'd be connected, somehow."
"To my knowledge, we can't be certain either way, but that certainly seems a reasonable supposition, yes." Eyrgjafa glances at Phaedra. "Have you managed to find a Lance to ask about the Nineveh-sea creatures connection yet?"
She blinks a couple times at Cian, then looks at Eyrgjafa. "I like this guy. He asks good questions. One of my own theories--which is more of a guess? Is that whatever he was doing an autopsy on contained a black crystal heart or something, and they want that. But. Also, as for the Lance, I've only talked to Renault, who's not good for that. I would talk to Banan, except...yeah, no, I'm not going to go talk to Banan, that's a bad idea."
More nodding, though he pauses as Phaedra finishes talking. "...You and he don't get along?"
"I could talk to him for you, if you want? He probably... well, no, okay, Banan probably doesn't like me, honestly, but he likely dislikes me less than he does you." Eyrgjafa grins at Cian's question. "Let's just say there was an Incident. It was terribly amusing. For everyone watching, presumably not so much for Banan."
"What I said wouldn't have hurt so much if it wasn't true." She shakes her head. "I still mean it."
Cian's eyebrow arches again, and he huffs in amusement. "Well. I'm not sure whether no reputation is better than a bad one, but I'd be willing to see if he knows anything about a connection there. Is there more to the question - I assume by 'sea creatures' you mean Nereids specifically?" He looks to Eyrgjafa as he asks the question.
"Oh, I'm not saying it was untrue, or even undeserved." Eyrgjafa shrugs slightly. "Phaedra mentioned that the Bible has a story linking sea creatures to the destruction of Nineveh, but neither of us own a copy to check the details. Hence why we were talking about finding a Lance to ask about it."
"Jonah and the whale. I...remember pieces of the story, but I'm not looking it back up." She wrinkles her nose. "There are reasons I'm an Acolyte now."
"Mmm...they would be the ones to talk to about that. I've got...passing knowledge, but only from a historical perspective, really. Like I said - I am willing to try my luck, with him."
"I don't share those reasons, but, well. If I suddenly decided to leave the Ordo I'd be far more likely to join the Circle, or even the..." Eyrgjafa facepalms as she trails off, turning to Phaedra. "I just realised that we probably don't need to go to Banan. Shiri is likely just as familiar with those stories, if not more so, and they're an Acolyte."
"Shiri...oh, right. They're Jewish. Older text, right? Closer to Babylonian. Right?" She smiles brightly.
"Older text, and at least one fewer level of translations. And less condescension, I suspect," he finishes in a mutter. Presumably there's no love lost between Cian and either the Lances, or Christianity in general. Maybe both.
"I can't say for certain which version of the Talmud they use, but yes, a much closer text, chronologically."
"It might be worth someone talking to them, then, yes." She nods eagerly. "Maybe probably still not me."
"If you're familiar with them already, Eyrgjafa, it sounds like it falls to you..." He stretches with a sigh. "This has been...enlightening, to say the least. I'm curious about this supposed Rihat fellow. Why might he want to masquerade, like this?"
"Assuming that this is in fact not Rihat, once the Prince of Nineveh, but merely an imposter? It could be that he, or she, or whichever term implying a specific gender or lack thereof is actually appropriate, is hoping that by invoking his name they'll scare us into giving them what they want." Eyrgjafa sighs. "I know that the historical Rihat was a man, on that all my sources agree, but the mortal they Dominated into serving as a catspaw was a woman."
"Mm. I'd bet she was convenient to him, not a deliberate choice. Also, the one I saw in my dreams--and when I was first scrying the Nereids--was a guy. Beard, dark eyes. He might have been Babylonian; Middle-Eastern features, at least. Good cheekbones. Strong nose." She pulls out her phone, displaying the sketch Sledge made of the man for her, from her description.
"It's unfortunate for him that it doesn't appear as though anyone is particularly frightened by him, mm?" He chuckles softly. "Though it sounds as though he has yet to make any demands...would you mind sending that to me?" He gestures to the sketch.
"If we're treating this as the actual historical Rihat, he's over two and a half millennia in age, Cian. Possibly three, my sources weren't clear on when he became Nineveh's Prince." Eyrgjafa points out. "As for what he wants... us to stay out of his way. Adelgrief's library. Not that I have any idea where the Sakima put it."
"I'd need your number to send it to you." She gives Cian a tiny blep, sticking her tongue out at him impishly.
"I don't mean to say that people aren't taking it seriously."
He flips open the top of his bag and pulls out a pretty damn modern phone and unlocks it before handing it over with a wink.
"But from where I'm sitting, things are being investigated in a way that suggests concern, but not outright fear."
Eyrgjafa stares at him for a moment, uncrossing her legs, then recrossing them, with the other one on top this time. "As Phaedra said, there have been many attempts to claim Rihat's name, as a method of intimidating domains into giving the impersonator what they wanted. None succeeded."
Phaedra takes his phone and her own, thumbing through screens to find his number, and send the image and make sure it's received.
"But Eyrgjafa, this one says he's always imitated, never duplicated, don't you believe him?" Amusement twinkles in her eyes, before she hands Cian his phone back--and then saves his number in hers.
"I wonder why he thinks he's different. Or if he's just another power hungry Kindred who's lost his humanity." The idea seems to make him...bored? Mildly irritated?
Eyrgjafa snorts softly, smiling at the Acolyte. "I'm a Dragon, Phaedra, dear. I take almost nothing but the existence of the gods on faith." She glances at Cian. "That is another good question. Hopefully the latter, we know how to deal with that sort here."
Phaedra grins, tucking her phone and her tarot cards away in her purse. "In any case, I should be leaving. Will you both consider thinking about trying to maybe be safe?"
"Mmmm." He sighs, and stretches before standing. "And I'm getting hungry, I should fix that. Thank you both for the riveting conversation." He grabs his bag and gives Eyrgjafa something of a lazy salute.
"I'll walk you out?" He arches an eyebrow at Phaedra.
"I promise to do my best." Eyrgjafa says. "Pleasure talking to the both of you." As the pair leave, she pulls out her laptop, setting to work on her daynight job.
She puts her shoes on before standing, and offers Cian a nod. "That'd be kind of you."
|