| [Direct response to this letter]
"Thou wast reborn...
Wast willing to do battle as masters do,
Strike down earth's usurpers, destroy and pursue"
--Hymns of Sacrifice, Author Unknown
Worn leather creaks as Harry sits back at his desk, the evening's corrospodence scattered across the heavy silver tray. With Marton in Munich, the task of running Paris has once again fallen on Harry's shoulders. For a man who never wished to rule an empire on his own, he seems to be doing far too much of just that. At least Marton had known better than to ask that Harry and Sean work together again.
The feminine, spidery handwriting on thick vellum catches Harry's attention, and he picks up the envelope, a frown marring dark features. The writing looks strangely familiar, but that cannot be. The ruined, bloody remains of a once beautiful, foolish girl still linger in his nightmares, scent of copper and fear thick in the air. A flick of the letter opener slices the envelope and the soft scent of gardenias catches Harry's attention, as does the signature scrawled on the bottom of the missive.
The letter opener clatters dully on solid oak. Somewhere a clock chimes the hour, unnoticed. The ceiling fan swirls lazily overhead, barely stirring the air. A tumbler of Harry's favorite single malt rests beside his slightly trembling hand as he reads, then rereads, the extraordinary letter which claims the impossible.
There are many fantastical things in Harry's world, but, even such as they are, the dead stay dead. However, caution must be applied until the truth of the matter is ferreted out and known. Harry's first call after setting the letter aside is to his remaining spies within the Tremere Clan, asking only for information about this eccentric scientist and the quest for the uber-vampire. It's not a lot to go on without a name, but it's a start. His second is to Marton, leaving only a brief message to return the phone call. This isn't a matter discussed over voice mail. Sean will, unfortunately, have to be told about this, and, for a brief moment, Harry wishes with a fierce, heavy throb that this missive *is* true. If only to see the look on Sean's face when he encounters the ghost of his latest victim.
He reads the letter once again, studying between the lines, rubbing ink-stained fingers along the delicate letters. It's the same handwriting, down to the hesitant loop of the 'l', but handwriting is something easily forged. The true test will be a face to face meeting.
Such a formal request for asylum requires a prompt response.
The scratch of the quill to paper is the only sound heard for several minutes as Harry pens his reply, carefully weighing each word for meaning, weight.
Dear Ms. Otto,
Please accept my sincerest welcome to our humble city. Regrettably, our Prince has been called away on business, but I keep in daily contact with him, and have told him of your arrival. Until he returns, please allow me to invite you to share the hospitality of his home for a meal and to discuss this intriguing business proposition you've set forth in your letter. The night shall, of course, be at your choosing.
I look forward to your reply at your earliest convenience.
Sincerely,
Harry Sinclair
Seneschal, Clan Ventrue, Paris | comments: Leave a comment   |
| Where is my child whom I got in the dark night?
My one prince is not to be seen, and my heart is on fire.
--from "The Book of Dede KorKut"
Heathrow is all but deserted at this time of night; save for the airport cleaning crew and Harry's flight crew. Harry stands at the bay of windows, but he doesn't see the airstrip or the plane that's currently being refueled for his flight back to Paris. Instead his mind wanders, as it so often has of late, to Dom and Marton...and Karl. A vampire's loyalty is absolute, unquestioned. What Harry is contemplating...
The pilot comes up behind him and murmurs that it will be about another twenty minutes. Harry simply nods. He has the time. Dawn isn't for a few hours yet, and it's a short enough flight. He tugs at the sleeve of his dress shirt--crisp, white, off-setting the forest green of his suit--and shifts his overcoat to the other arm. He debates briefly with calling Marton, letting him know how the meetings went, and decides to save it until he's home. A home, of course, that no longer feels welcoming.
He closes his eyes, reverts to the language of his birth, his murmured words inaudible to the human ear. "Bağışlamak beni Marton, ama benim ruh be gayri senin...Bağışlamak beni Dom, olmak koymak sen özgür...Bağışlamak beni Karl, için benim aşk için yok etmek bizi ikisi." [forgive me, Marton, but my soul is no longer yours...forgive me Dom, I should have set you free...forgive me Karl, for my love for you will destroy us both.] | | comments: Leave a comment |
| [private thoughts/events]
Harry's desk is overrun with paperwork and files, the phone ringing incessantly, emails coming in like a flood. A typical night at the office, and while he doesn't particularly enjoy this aspect of running Marton's empire, he's realized that he does have quite a good head for business. He just doesn't have the heart for it anymore.
He doesn't have the heart for a lot of things.
He's not one much for introspection--he's a soldier, it's his job to follow orders, to get the job done as quickly and quietly as possible. He knows this and understands it. But it's as if Miranda's death has unleashed *something*, broken down some wall, and the walls of his life now start to suffocate in ways he would have never imagined. Still doesn't welcome.
His hands still on the keyboard as his thoughts drift to Karl and hesitant kisses in a darkened bedroom. He's playing with fire & he knows it, but he can't stop the thoughts, can't stop the ache. This is the first time he's kept any liaison from Marton, and it feels...odd. Liberating, but frightening. And then, there's Dom. He loves Dom so much, hates the hurt in his eyes, hates that he's kept so much from him, that he'll continue to do it. Wants nothing more than Dom's happiness. He's just not sure anymore...if, indeed, he ever was...that he's the person to provide it. His soul is too divided. And he's come to the lowering conclusion that he's never even owned a part of it. | | comments: Leave a comment |
| | Time: | 02:24 pm | | Current Mood: | ![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/classic/sad.gif) cold |
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| The glass of wine was untouched when Harry slid it back across the bar and stood. He swiftly made his way outside, lost in the shadows, snow falling in soft swirls along the cobbled pavement. No real idea how long he walked, lost in thought, in memory, in regret.
For the first time in Harry's long life, Marton's faith in him had been tarnished.
Miranda's betrayal was insignificant in the grand scheme of things--she'd served her purpose as a source of information, and, in truth, Harry had always known that she wouldn't be strong enough to stand against her Elders. Her need to belong was too great. But Marton wouldn't see that her information was far greater than the small amount of damage she'd done. All he saw--all Bean saw--was Harry consorting with the enemy. Never mind that this was Harry's job, that this was something he'd done many times in the past. Information at any price. He excelled at it.
The fact that Marton wouldn't trust him to take care of the problem *was* a source of concern, however. Without this, without his identity as Marton's second in command, he was nothing. Marton fully knew this--and had refused his request, anyway. In his heart, Harry knew it would be just a matter of time before Sean managed to succeed in his goal. The seeds were already there.
Harry knew he could leave, take Dom, go underground, and live a very long life, far away from all of this. After all, subterfuge, hiding, blending in, making things disappear--that was his art, his gift. No one would find them. But, he knew he wouldn't leave. Couldn't leave. His soul belonged to Marton. | | comments: Leave a comment |
| | Current Music: | "The Wretched"--NIN | | Subject: | The Hunt... | | Time: | 12:45 am | | Current Mood: | predatory |
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| The throbbing bass beat assaulted Harry's ears the second he stepped into Les Volier, and the heavy scent of blood and sweat called to him to feast, to take. He resisted the call, ignored his baser whims.
He would feast on blood tonight. But it would be the blood of his enemy.
He made himself as visible as possible while moving slowly through the sinuously swaying crowd--nodding to fellow Ventrue, speaking with other Toreador. He was careful to mention his new pet when asked about his current domestic situation. Dom would loathe being talked about as a prize or as fodder for blood, but it was something that the other vampires would understand. And word would reach Andrea before Harry even made it to the other side of the club.
The bar was teeming with people when Harry stepped up and ordered two shots of vodka. He waited, patient, surveyed the crowd. Bided his time until Andrea took the bait.
He didn't have to wait long.
"I hear you have something of mine," Andrea stated by way of greeting, low voice cutting through the heavy beat like a serrated knife.
"I might," Harry replied, finishing his second shot. "I have many possessions."
"Oh, I think you'd remember this one." Dark eyes smiled into Harry's with all of the warmth of winter. "I trained him myself."
"My compliments, then. He's exceptional."
"He's mine," Andrea retorted, snapping the stem of his martini glass.
"It would seem not, since you were so careless as to lose him."
"How much?"
Harry smiled and gave Andrea a seductive wink. "Depends on what you're willing to pay. I have need of his...talents."
"You truly are a Ravnos, aren't you?" Andrea spat out contemptuously. "Always thinking of your own twisted pleasures before honor. He killed my Childe--I would demand satisfaction."
"And you shall have it for the correct price." Harry stood, slid his empty glass across the bar. "We shall discuss this at a more convenient time...someplace away from curious ears. I have a reputation in this city to protect."
"Of course," Andrea replied, once again the very picture of elegance. "I understand, Seneschal."
"See that you do."
Entirely too easy...it puzzled Harry for a moment that Dom would be so frightened of such a transparent, weak creature, but then he remembered that Dom was mortal. Human. To him, even someone of Andrea's limited strength would seem godlike and powerful.
The alleyways were quiet--the bitter chill sending all but the hardiest and most desperate indoors. Perfect. A witness would only complicate matters.
Harry turned another corner, pushed back along one brick wall, sank deeper into the shadows. Waited, once again, until he heard the almost imperceptible footsteps behind him. His hand flashed out, too fast to be a blur, wrapped around Andrea's neck, nails digging into pale flesh.
"Looking for someone?"
Harry's fangs sank deep into Andrea's throat a second later, ripping at the skin, blood gushing from the open vein. The taste ripped along Harry's lips like rancid wine, the foulness of it overwhelming. Andrea struggled, hands clawing along Harry's back, and Harry slammed him into the wall, pinned him, and continued to drink the other vampire's lifeblood until he was dizzy, choking on the bitter taste, and Andrea ceased moving. Only then did he pull back, and watched as Andrea slumped to the filthy pavement, head lolling to his side.
Harry took a long look at the vampire, the man who haunted Dom's nightmares, who had used fear and brutality to keep Dom chained up like a trained dog. His only regret was that Dom couldn't be here to witness this, to see exactly how pathetic this spectre really was.
Andrea made only one weak, half-hearted moan of protest when Harry quickly removed the lighter fluid from his coat pocket and liberally coated Andrea's clothes with it. He took a step back, threw the container onto Andrea's lap, and lit a match, watched the flame dance in the chill wind. Smiled when Andrea's dazed eyes widened in disbelief and fear.
"Dom wanted you to burn," Harry stated.
He was still smiling when he dropped the match. | | comments: Leave a comment |
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salabaker and ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small}
whitecity and featuring the Harry from 
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blank![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/classic/smile.gif){kind=small}
calm![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/classic/tired.gif){kind=small}
tired![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/classic/thinking.gif){kind=small}
thoughtful![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/classic/angry.gif){kind=small}
frustrated