Every existing thing is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness...

The Hunt, Part I

2009-11-27T19:23:12Z

The most important part of the hunt was to pick exactly the right spot.

This was true from the discotheques that predated the Ayatollah in Tehran, where Persian teenager danced to the Beach Boys and surfer music ten years too late, or one of the bars in Soho when the concept of an aggressively offensive hairstyle was still novel. Sometimes Beckett wondered if it would changes, slowly, and the world would change and there wouldn’t be men and women in bars in search of the short-term mate. In the quieter moments, after he found his spot and he waited and watched, he wondered how people met people to fuck when they were living under thatched roofs in Scotland. Or igloos in the Arctic, for that matter.

But those thoughts were academic. For now, as it had been for a century, it was the same. The doors opened, and as you crossed the threshold and passed its guardian, the music greeted you. Years ago, there were horns, always horns playing… and often the piano, but these days, it’s the base. The music has to vibrate these days, at least if you play to the stereotype and go where the crowds are. Regardless, you take a few steps, and the space opens up, and there are bodies. Dozens, if not hundreds of them. Beckett believed the proper word for them would be a throng… a throng of bodies. They danced and they swayed and the propositioned and they kissed and they groped and drank and the grinded and they got high on so many different chemicals (you had to watch for that)… and occasionally they punched and they bit and they fucked. If you watch it long enough, the crowd, the throng, you start to see it. The sexual predators, the date rapists, the drink spikers, the stranger feelers, the cock exposers, the frat boy fighters, the thugs, the whores, the pimps, the dealers. They’re all there. They’re labeled. In the throng.

But there are also holes.

No crowd likes a corner. He had told this to Jackie when he first taught her to hunt. The mass of bodies, they were all individuals, but together, they were a crowd, and crowds are dangerous. But they’re also round; the throng oozes about the dance floor and under the lights, and it despises sharp angles. In a corner, you can’t be surrounded by people… it’s simple geometry. And every space has those corners… the wall near the bar, the space by the speaker, the alcove by the bathroom… and they’re mostly empty. Mostly.

* * * * *

Her name didn’t matter but will call her Diana. Take that for what you will. Diana had come here with friends. It had been Friday, and it had been a rough week. The last four weeks had been rough, since it ended. She was 28 and these things never seemed to work out for her. She had said she would go out, and she had put on that shirt, the red one, which fit so well when she was 26, but now that thin strip of flesh bulged just a bit… just enough so that no one else would notice but so that she couldn’t ignore it was there. She was wearing her jacket. She wasn’t cold; she didn’t want to be exposed. In her real life she wore glasses but tonight she wore contacts and they weren’t comfortable.

She would have been sexy if she danced. She had some curves, and she was still toned in the shoulders and the back. Her brown hair was up and it showed her neck, the entire long curve, which was her best feature, and her hips were skinny but not grotesquely so. If she could have found the beat, she would have been fine. And she could have, a different day.

But today, Diana stood in a corner, not far from the bar.

* * * * *

People don’t rut in the dead spaces, they rut on the dance floor.

In the dead spaces, in the corners, in the quiet spots, you’re exposed. Naked. Most of Beckett’s kind despised those spots. The Haunts, they liked their quiet, but they wanted the quiet surrounded by more quiet. Most Shadows wanted isolation, which isn’t the same thing. A lot of them were okay with the noise, but they wanted to be on the floor. They wanted to prowl. The pursuit can be consuming and intense. But that's where you get noticed. The guy who doesn’t blink enough. The girl who is the one not sweating. The herd knows when the wolf is standing next to them.

In the corners, they don’t even see you. At least as long as it looks like you don’t see them.

Beckett had walked in, willing his skin warm and his eyes bright, and he went straight back, not stopping to look about or inspect anyone or anything. He simply took it all in, through the peripheral … where the cameras were, where the mirrors were. The bouncers. The Throng. He would head to the bathroom, look over his shoulder as if he wasn’t paying attention, and take a step into the ladies’ bathroom. He’d then apologize profusely, sheepishly step back, and go into the men’s. He always looked in the ladies’ room first, just for a moment, so he could see where the mirrors were. He didn’t want to walk into the men’s room without knowing that first

He hadn’t been here before, so he walked to the bar in the back and ordered beer, always in a glass, paid in cash, and he turned around in time for some six-foot-five college kid to bump into him. “It’s alright,” he said as the kid walked away without stopping. Beckett had seventeen different excuses to spill a bit of alcohol on himself. It emptied the glass a bit and masked his smell. Beer worked better than cologne for that. Women would remember cologne.

He was wearing a shirt like everyone else. These days, it was a collared and untucked. It came to almost the middle of his thigh. If you wore it longer, you showed more of a taper. This time of year, he layered, and these nights he shaved… every night, and when he did he cursed that day 80 years ago and wished he had given a damn what his corpse would have looked like. His shoes were remarkable. They were black and polished. Such things never went out of style. If it was a slow night, and he had to go to the floor and into the throng, he figured he had an edge over every sloppy man child who was wearing a pair of Nikes

So, well-dressed and a little wet, he found his corner, and he waited. The trick was to not watch the throng. Know they’re there, of course, but you don’t watch them. Too many people, and they spook if they’re being watched. Instead, Beckett watched the people in the other quiet corners.

* * * * *

Diana lifted up her glass in response to her friends’ gestures. Her friend wanted her on the floor. Diana held up her beer… the unspoken words were “when I’m finished,” but everyone who was really paying attention (and there was only one individual who was) would realize that she would nurse that beer for another twenty minutes and then disappear to the bathroom.

People have a way of doing things. For example, Diana’s friend didn’t want to go to the club alone, and she didn’t want to go with her boyfriend, because they had been dating too long to really enjoy sex anymore, at least not with props or some sort gimmick. Instead, she brought Diana, and Diana was supposed to dance with her so that she didn’t end up grinding some 20 year old kid in a white hat, or some guy of an undeterminable ethnicity. Of course, at the moment, a muscular and attractive man (who was really Costa Rican, but whom she would call the Mexican later on) had his pelvis against her ass, and she could feel him swelling underneath his jeans. So when she had turned to Diana, it was really only a moment to relieve guilt… she wanted to stay on the floor with her new friend. And it was obvious to both Diana and the man watching her that her friend was going to make out with the Costa Rican for the next hour or so.

Diana let her eyes wander over the crowd. They settled on one man. He was younger than her, and his shirt was unbuttoned two or three buttons too low. Such things are never accidental, he was well groomed. He was dancing with a girl, and she could see the sweat beading up on his forehead and on the hard lines of his collarbone. Diana noticed things like that, like the fact that he surely shaved his chest, for his hair was dark and he had a five-o’clock shadow, but his chest was tan and pale. Maybe he paid for that tan. She looked him over, her gaze sliding down his body. She could fill in the details in her mind. The abs that he spent way too much time on. The plain tight underwear he wore. It was probably black.

Her free hand had found its way to her chest, just above the neckline of her top, her nails lightly tracing the bare skin. She found herself remembering, and they were fresh memories, and they hurt more than a little. And in her corner, she ignored the deep bass beat of the idiotic music and the hundreds of shouted conversations, and the laughs and the moans, and for a moment, she was alone, and for her, it was quiet.

She was, in that one moment, quite beautiful.

* * * * *

Beckett had a preference, of course. All predators did.

He could hunt as other did. He was strong and fast and brutal, and he could club some reprobate in a darkened alley. Or he could walk up to a mortal and seduce them. His blood was more than capable of overwhelming a mortals senses and convincing one to expose a vein through simple force of personality. But that always seemed risky to him. Inefficient. Coarse.

Beckett firmly believed that the universe was an elegant place, defined by laws that had no founder and an order that was utterly natural. And he had a place in that order as a predator, and as such, he could either follow that order, or run against it. It wasn’t a matter of right or wrong, it was a matter of efficiency.

And Beckett was an efficient predator. The efficient predator wastes no effort, exposes no weakness. The utmost care is given to the selection of the prey. Of the hazards of the chase. Of the exposure of the kill. Beckett’s kind hunt in darkness and secrecy, and must remain unseen… the moment of feeding represents the greatest risk his kind could face, and they must do so on a regular basis. To do so sloppily, or without dedication, presents a danger to all.

But he had done this for decades, and nightly, and he had gotten good enough know what he preferred and how to get it. He didn’t indulge too often… a predator must care for the herd… and for the most part he avoided hunting in the same place or manner too often. You seduce a woman in a laundry mat, and she will return there night after night… you either have to be done with that hunting ground, or move on. And any city holds thousands of different hunting grounds, to be selected with care by one who can cross political boundaries. But, once a month, Beckett would allow himself to find her.

* * * * *

He wasn’t looking at her, and she wasn’t looking at him, but Diana caught his gaze and he realized it at just about the same time. She looked away, as did he, and they looked back at the same time. And then she looked away, and looked back, and he was still there. And across the distance, the narrow space between the dancing and the wall, they stared for a moment, and he looked uncertain as to what to do gesture or say… and so she smiled, and then they both broke away.

* * * * *

Beckett saw the smile, and he knew. He knew what she was and how she felt. He understood the availability. And so he made a point to start a conversation with the woman beside him at the bar, and ask her a question about the shoes she was wearing. The talk lasted only two minutes, but it was long enough. He stood up and walked away.

* * * * *

Diana saw him talk to her, and lightly touch her arm as he disappeared behind the crowd. Diana stopped watching, and looked back out at the crowd. She took another sip of her beer… it was getting low. She looked about, and at her friend who was still on the Costa Rican.

It was good to have been looked at, been seen, but it was over now, and she was left to lurk on the wall. Men never came over. She never met anyone here. She wasn’t about to debase herself with a strange immigrant on the floor, either. She shifted from foot to foot, and glanced around again. Her bladder bothered her. It was time to pee.

Beckett knew this. He had lost sight of her, but not of the route between her and the bathroom. He could spot her by her hair… it was a dark brown and curly… coarse and pulled back in an unruly bun, and he saw that she looked different. And as she slipped through the crowd he saw her, and stepped into the men’s room. He looked about calmly, paused as one utterly unconcerned with what was about to happen, and stepped back out.

He saw her; they were only a few paces away. He slowed for a few steps.

“Hi,” he said, as he managed a reluctant smile.

“Hi,” she said, and paused for a moment, before continuing past him to the woman’s room.

As she turned to glance at him one last time as she went through the door, Beckett knew it was now only a matter of time and a slow dance.

A Lesson to a Young Invictus...

2009-11-17T01:22:17Z

"Never ask for that which you do not need.

"All leaders, from the greatest prince to the primus of the smallest coterie, can only ask their men for so much. Think of leadership as some sort of currency... perhaps you earn it with fear, or with violence, though I find that those are high risk with quite variable reward. Instead, earn trust through honoring your bargains. Give people kind words for they cost you nothing, but will be preferred by most to any other sort of posturing. Do not be afraid to offer boons to your allies: you will help them, after all, when they ask, for they are your allies. All a boon would do is remind them of it.

"Each promise you keep, each smile you provoke, each problem you solve, earns you a tiny amount of loyalty amongst our kind. And our loyalty is a precarious thing, for it relies solely on perception of future behavior, and not in the slightest on any emotional or moral sentiment. And so you must use that wisely.

"Remember also that that if you rule through threat of violence or misfortune, you will always be treated as a threat, and the most rational response to a threat is to end it. If you rule as though you might be of use to your people, then it is in their interest to follow you. Always endeavor to help your subordinates, to be an asset to them, for you will never know what you must ask of them. Should the time come that you tell them to do what they would not normally, you will wish to have inspired as much loyalty as possible when you stand before them."

A Journal Entry, Never Written...

2009-11-16T04:05:05Z

I need to get out of this place.

Was it an act of ego? The natural tendency of a vampire in a power vacuum? Perhaps Faye was right. Perhaps I have an overblown sense of my own importance.

Regardless, Charlie, you have yourself in a fine bind here.

An infestation of owls is one thing. You've got a target painted on the back of your jacket, and it's a coat that you don't much like the fit of anyway.

The fragmentation of Northern Colorado has served no one's purposes, least of all, yours. Praxis was never you're goal, and you ought get out of it soon before these bloody suburbs send you into the wassail.

You just got to pull it together, and you better do it soon, because if the shadow doesn't get you than you just might end up the way Williams went.

Praxis of Boulder, Day 131

2009-11-13T03:15:09Z

The neglect of letters precedes the fall of every civilization, and of every civilized man. You would do well to remember that, Charlie.

Perhaps this travel worries me, if it is driving me to write again. I never much liked that area of the world, and yet it draws me there, time and time again, every few decades. The desert at midnight is a brutal place, and it makes me a brutal creature, and for that I am not sure if I should thank it, or merely accept that which it is.

But truth be told, I am eager to travel. There is little I can actually do in Boulder to better the state of affairs... and at least this makes me feel useful while directly contributing. In many ways, I am useless to my own Praxis, unable to strike at an enemy I cannot touch, or see, or...

And for some reason, that thought brings me to Percival.

A Series of Letters, Passionate and Desperate

2009-11-13T03:05:25Z

Charlie,

Perhaps that is a conversation we should not have.

I've no need to avoid Roland anymore, as I've pulled some strings to move him on permanently. He is no longer welcome in this City. As he is a man of strong arms, so am I a woman of powerful associations, and, while I am generally loathe to involve external agents in family business, I will do whatever I must to survive. Roland, in his temper, flung me headlong into Eclipse - which means he came within a hair's breadth of murdering me. I am sure you will understand when I state that I am not prepared to allow him a repeat opportunity. Forgive me if I am not best disposed to recognise his "noble qualities" at this time.

Now, at least, Gabbie something she can truly blame me for.

I have not been home since Court, so I would not know.

Regarding your postscript, it is obvious that you are under a great deal of stress. Perhaps you should busy yourself with settling your other interests, before you concern yourself with writing again.

Yours,
Ivy

And the simple response...
Ivy,

I will, if you want, refrain from contact. I understand you might not want to deal with your broodmate… I am, after all, difficult to bear when I am engaged in some of my passionate arguments.

However, I would like to at least return to you a item of yours, of which I am in possession… an earring, a delicate diamond affair. I believe it might have belonged to your grandmother, once upon a time.

Where would you have me send it?

Your Charlie

What follows...

After months of silence...

Ivy,

It is a mistake of both the young and old amongst our kind to think in terms of days, years, or centuries. Too often the neonates condemn their elders for their frustrating patience as they take years to respond to stimulus, and just as often the elders mock the seemingly frenetic pace of those that confuse and confound them. It doesn’t really matter how long it has been since we talked… it only matters how often we talked before, and if anything changed.

I suppose that you did not wish to contact me due to the ruse I pulled… in retrospect, I suppose it was some sort of foolish game. But it was a pastime born in pain of the forgotten; how was I to tell you who I am? Our “family,” the wretch mess of ill-remembered affection that it is, makes such expressions of honesty difficult. The nature of our blood means that we reserve the worst of our vices for each other.

But such is the way of things, I suppose.

If you do not wish contact, I cannot help but understand. What do you have left apart from your anger, after all? It is not my place to mock you or play such games. But I do wish to return what is yours, and then, if you wish, you would be rid of me. I need only to know where to send it.

Apologies and expressions of sentiment are but a cheap substitute for recompense, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry, and I miss you.

Your Charles

And in response... The reply arrives on her standard pastel notepaper that smells of lilies and salt. The letter, when he unfolds it, has only one line, in the middle of the paper.

How could you leave me?

P.

A Letter to a Sister - Secrets and Manipulation...

2009-08-04T02:39:43Z

Nailed. Yes, that's a good word for it. Our brother nailed me thoroughly and then ran away. Our argument was over a difference in perspective, nothing more, but he lost his temper with me and punished me thoroughly for my disagreement. He hates me, always has, and I can no longer stomach reaching out to someone who will only slap me away, time and again. I suspect he is a little afraid of me, although I can't for the life of me imagine why. He clearly has dominance issues, at any rate. This is it, as far as I'm concerned; he's an evil bastard, and he can just stay gone. He's certainly not coming anywhere near me, again.

I couldn't leave Gabbie, not now. She's a mess with Roland gone, and I couldn't hurt her like that. I don't expect you to understand, just know that I couldn't bear to. She needs me.

Sir Krieg and I have met; indeed, we find ourselves in service of the same mistress, and he has already pulled my arse out of the fire, once. I expect we shall find ourselves profitable neighbours - certainly, I am pleased to find myself working alongside a member of the Order. With any luck, these issues will come to nothing, but if they do then I shall have no fear of approaching Sir Krieg to resolve them. He seems an upright fellow and, as I mentioned, he's proven his willingless to assist me, already. As for the younger members of House Odovacar, I've cultivated certain ties, myself; I feel secure in believing that, should the situation become unfriendly, I will be able to call on those contacts to intercede on my behalf. For now, however, it is simply my intent to prove my loyalty with service, an aim I am certain that the acquisition of this new City for the Invictus will provide me with plenty of opportunities to fulfill.

Yours,
Ivy

And the response...

Ivy,

There was another Charlie? I would hope he were a dashing sort, nothing like the cad who holds the mortal office of Prince of Wales. However, in truth, I worry that most Charlies are boorish, old, and quite ugly… there is certainly a high correlation between large noses and men named Charles. I would be glad he left when he did… I would not worry for him, for certainly he would have forgotten about you by now, and you are better. Do you not agree?

Perhaps that was a bit brutal to read. I do hope you understand I say it with love, the love for a sister I do not know but through her words, but the love of family, none the less. This love drives us to hurt each other. Roland does not hate you, you must understand this. Roland has no way of dealing with you. Roland is quite possessive towards Gabby, and has never had to share, not even with me, despite our closeness in age. Do not blame him for his anger… it is the only reaction he has. Avoid him; this is wise and I agree, but do not think him evil. That would ignore his noble qualities, which, while well hidden, are quite exceptional.

Likewise, do not confuse Gabriele’s codependence for need. As one child draws away, she pulls another close. If you were not there, she would be fine, and if not, she would embrace another. I do not fault her for it, but at the same time I acknowledge how Gabriele is. Were the situation that you were alone, and she would have to go to you and set aside her affairs… well, we saw how that worked for her middle children, no?

I have thought about this a great deal lately… as I await an answer for our sire and find that my own estranged childe (who has refused contact with me for decades) has finally reached out to me. I find myself asking: “what would my sire do in this situation?”

It gives me an excellent sense of what to avoid.

Love,
Charlie

PS: Forgive the angry tone of this letter, affairs of Praxis weigh heavily upon me, and I find that in these early days, I have too many demands and too little support.

A Letter to a "Friend"

2009-08-04T02:21:49Z

“Every revolution evaporates and leaves behind the slime of bureaucracy”
- Franz Kafka

Vanessa,

The proper cliché for me to use would be, “It has been too long since I last wrote you.” I can say this, but I do not wish to convey a feeling of obligation or even remorse with this letter… I instead can feel the days slipping by without the impulses of previous decades, and I find myself struggling against such a thing, for with every night that goes by without the urge to communicate, express, or strive, I feel like I have lost something, even if it is only the use of that one night. And so I find myself writing to you, after months (or is it years?) of neglect to our relationship, in an attempt to… fulfill these current moments.

I suppose I might more simply state that I missed you, but reading over the previous paragraph I suppose I can’t state anything of such a nature simply.

As with any letter after a long period of time, I shall start with “the news.”

I am in the United States. I must admit that my previous travels throughout your country were confined to the coasts... as such I never realized how much space you have here. In truth, I thought we might have been neighbors, a few hours from each other… I now realize this isn’t true. If I had contacted you prior to my move, I would have probably learned this fact earlier, however, my brief time in Colorado has made appreciate exactly how much space most Americans require.

I have, well, if you have not heard about the situation with myself and the City of Boulder already, ask, and I shall tell you, if not, I might refrain from further discussion of it.

A friend died this week.

Apart from these items, I am much the same (as I would assume are you, and any other kindred we know since our last meeting). I do, however, feel something stirring. It might have been the recent events, it might be the move… it might, as much as I hate to admit it, the physical distance between myself and the rest of my family. Regardless, I find myself more active (some might say agitated), and less content to wait in the shadows for others to correct the problems I perceive.

The fundamental flaw of kindred philosophy assumes that as we are not creative, we are necessarily stagnant. This perceived stagnancy creates a prison of lethargy, where we assume that we can achieve nothing. Some escape this prison to a wasteland of pointless action, where the drive for change, motivated in opposition to this perception, overwhelms all other rational thought. But to accept our condition, that despite our inability to create we can still mold and direct and at the very least act, without philosophical preconditions, enables us to a sort of autonomy that I don’t think the mass of kindred, as a whole are ready to accept.

I look at that, and realize I have slipped into philosophy. Forgive the self-indulgence, Vanessa, but appreciate that this is a safe place to do so.

What of you? Should I assume that things go well for you? I would expect as such, your talents for such things have always outstripped those of this simple knight, and I would probably do well, politically as well as personally, to see you sometime. Please, tell me of your affairs, or at least what you would have me know.

Mostly, I would hear from you, for it has been too long since I have enjoyed your words.

Yours, as always,

Charlie

A exchange between Sire and Childe...

2009-08-04T02:19:36Z

A letter sealed with red wax pressed with a large 'P' pressed into it.

Sir Charles Beckett,

You know, its been a long time. A really long time. Way too long, I think, that I been holding onto this. I think that its time that I stop ignoring your letters, and I come back to you and the family.

Would it be ok if I came for a visit? We have a lot to talk about.

President Percival de la Lanza

Percival,

It has taken me some time to figure decide how best to phrase this response, and in the end, I decided upon simplicity.

Of course, not only is it permissible for you to visit me, but I would welcome you, and would thoroughly enjoy having you as my guest.

We do have much to talk about. I have only one question at this time, however:

When do you wish to visit?

Yours Truly,

Sir Charles

Sir Charles,

As soon as I can. I am available for a day or three away from the city.

Percival

Percival,

I have had time to better reflect upon your sudden success and request for contact. I am no less pleased, but a bit more ready to discuss matters fully.

First, forgive the formal tone. I know you very little now. I had… difficulties… with my sire, difficulties that continue to this very night, and I find that I have often hesitated to speak my mind about perceived slights or transgressions. I know how it is to harbor anger and remorse, and I encourage you to focus on the latter… remorse is a mark of our humanity, and distance from the beast, and in these times it is of vital importance to remember that. I know you to be displeased with the choices I made regarding you, if you cannot forgive, then at least express and share your sorrow, so that I can support you with genuine remorse.

Second, I understand that you are the “President” of Lexington. I cannot express my pride with you at this moment, for a Prince, even if you call it a President, is something worthy of the greatest amount of respect in our society. I do not admonish your allegiance to Carthian Movement: while I disagree with your choice, I still support your choices. Perhaps we could talk more of such political philosophies sometime.

Finally, I encourage you to come visit, so that we might talk. Let me show you the finest that my domain can offer, and I will welcome you as the prodigal son was welcomed by his father, for I am just as pleased.

Sir Charles

A Brief Scene

2009-07-31T12:21:17Z

The things you notice when you're dead...

The texture created by painting over unplastered brick cannot be duplicated and is immediately recognizable to all those who have been institutionalized in some form. The dead like to touch it, as it feels familiar... as if life had prepared it for this particular condition.

The light of the computer manages to make all things look ghastly. The dead find this comforting, for if all is terrible then nothing is.

The discomfort of wearing uncomfortable shoes, or having a belt that fits to tight, or a watch that fits too loose, can quickly block out all other stimulus. Unless one is dead, in which case one tries to remind oneself to feel at various intervals throughout the day.

Charles would sometimes, on an occasion where he was feeling ironic (as he rarely felt jovial), comment that the defining charactersistic of kindred psychology can be described thusly: When someone attempts to describe the uncontrollable nature of thought by challenging an individual to "not think about a purple elephant," a vampire responds with a blank look and the words, "what elephant."

As Charles sat, staring at the message he had just recieved, he could think of nothing other than how dead he must be, not know how to respond.

The Praxis of Boulder - Day 12

2009-07-22T22:55:00Z

I must devote myself to the following goals in the immediate future:

- The knowledge of who threatens my praxis
- Intelligence
- A Court, if in name only

Following this, I must see to the security of the Realm, and force my Court to function as it should.

With a secure and functional domain, I should be able to craft an exit strategy.

Day 22

2009-07-22T22:50:44Z

It's too spread out here.

I seriously don't know what sort of hunters they are here: I know not whether to be impressed with their abilities to eke out a stable existence in the shallow pools of the American West, or question the sort of creature that exists in such an isolated environment. I am certain that this area is overpopulated, even with the few creatures who exist here.

I must resist snobbery, or at least the appearances of it. In truth, I don't condemn those who have chosen to exist here... I just find myself terribly exposed, and the political game too... simple is the wrong word. It lacks the layers of complexity to which I am accustomed, but the individual nuances are more detailed. It is as if the players are each a faction unto themselves, and only the loosest of alliances are maintained.

How I to succeed if I have vampires who have never even realized their social attitudes?

A Draft of a Treatise - Part I

2009-07-18T02:27:01Z

As I have already stated, the defining feature of the Invictus, that which no other covenant shares, is a complete lack of concern for any sort of scrutiny. To summarize: the Invictus do not explain themselves.

What else could define us? All covenants vie for power amongst each other, with philosophical outlooks that establish group identity. While we may not have a religious dogma as the Crone or the Sanctified do, we are, in our way, dogmatic (and in some ways, the most dogmatic of all covenants). The specific values of our covenant differ from the others, but having such values is not at all unique.

For example, examine the concept of a Carthian “Meritocracy.” Do they not have an autocratic ruler leading a neo-feudal court? Do they not establish status based on merit as determined by the autocrat and his counsel? If one were to strip away the word “Citizen” and the Carthian rhetoric behind the concept, what is the difference between this “new government” and the ancient kindred courts to which we are accustomed?

To answer that there is no difference ignores the fundamental premise of the Carthian Movement: that some sort of philosophical ideal must predate the existence of a government. It is not enough to acknowledge that the traditional court model works and suits the pre-existing physiology and psychology of vampires; the Carthians must have some sort of justification before the Prince utters his first word.

I could argue against this sort of idealism for pages, however, as I said before, this is not to be a prescriptive essay. Let it suffice to say that that the Carthians are, if not for this, our closest philosophical allies: they at least only demand some sort of justification, and then move in the familiar manner of political scientists. While their biases influence their “experiments,” constantly striving to react to the traditional and effective model of kindred politics supported by the First Estate, they remain our cousins, of sort. In the other covenants, we find philosophical concepts in far greater opposition, intellectually speaking, than in the Movement.

Consider the religious covenants, who must, to a properly trained philosopher of the First Estate, appear quite foreign. While the Carthians resemble us in that they deal with that which is real, albeit with a strong philosophical bias, the Sanctified and the Crone deal exclusively in the justification of apocryphal stories. Both use the only real manifestation of power, the rituals they prefer to call “blood magic,” to justify superstitions that are, when taken as a whole, mutually exclusive. If Theban Sorcery were proof of the Lancea Sanctum’s theology, should not the rituals of the Crone be proof of theirs? What of rumors other sorts of rituals? How do the powers of our own Oaths reflect the religious assertions of the other covenants?

It is no matter, for such questions, to a zealot, are nonsensical. To understand the religious mentality, one must essentially abandon the tenets of the First Estate, as they take root in observed behaviors of any group… we base our dogma on that which is real. The religious mentality presupposes “truth,” then obscures the presupposition with confusing rhetoric so that rational analysis and empirical observation cannot undermine the religious “truth” of the matter. The Crone and the Sanctified engage in a common conspiracy: the separation of ephemeral truth from empirical fact. As long as they can do so, they prevent any real observation or action from affecting their dogma. In other words, as long as vampires (and mortals) would accept the supernatural, the imperatives of the religious covenants are immune to criticism. While the Invictus must (and has) accepted flaws in tenets and adjusted accordingly to reflect the slowly changing political landscape, the religious covenants have no need to do so.

This sort of zealotry, however, we can still respect for the demanding strictures they present. While one might not agree with a Crone or a Sanctified, we can still recognize some sort of philosophical kinship: while the Invictus derive their tenets from analysis and observation, we still derive our tenets, as do the Carthians, and the Circle of the Crone, and the Lancea Sanctum. The basic process of doctrine (which shall be discussed later) for all four covenants can be likened to a process: the philosophically-inclined start with a basic premise (ideals, or in our case, real observations), analyze the implications of said premises, develop a model to aid in understand, and then apply that model through interaction with other kindred and the mortal world. There exists another significant element, however, in our society that does not have a process that resembles this at all… the Ordo Dracul.

The most dangerous thing about the Ordo is that they do not have any sort of basic premise, other than an ineffable goal of “perfection.” This results in an inverted doctrinal loop, one of trial and error other than careful analysis, and ultimately allows the justification of any action by the failure of their process. Whereas the processes of the other covenants might be likened to searching through a field to find a specific flower, the Ordo would sooner pick flowers at random to determine if they found the one they wanted.

This danger is the ultimate embodiment of the perils of presupposition: imaginary or ineffable ideals offer no real derivatives. To expand: that which is real cannot come from the imaginary. One cannot derive an inarguable and realist ethic from basic premises that are nothing but ideas and thought constructs. To have an undeniable derivative, one must have an undeniable premise.

This is what the Invictus are: kindred concerned only with that which is real. We accept no premises other than those we must. We are unconquered by the imaginations of lesser creatures. Our only truths are the Empirical

A Draft of a Treatise - An Introduction

2009-07-18T02:24:33Z

The Invictus make no apologies.

This, more than any tenet or assertion, any action or invocation, separates us from the other Covenants. I speak not admissions of guilt or remorse (which we may, if we choose, offer for our own purposes), but rather of justification. We have no formal explanations of why we are who we are, of our motives or our intentions. Instead, we exist and continue and thrive, and, with the clarity of mind befitting an aspect predator, dominate our environment.

However, self-reflection serves a useful purpose. It allows us to continually refine and improve the processes we use in our Requiems, to understand the nature of power, rulership, and ultimately, responsibility, and reveals the facts of our condition. In this essay, I would analyze the lack of justification within our unique doctrine, make explicit the oft-ignored philosophical premises of the First Estate, and finally, examine the logical extensions of a philosophy based only in that which is real. I will not, at any point, prescribe any sort of behavior… my intention is to describe phenomenon, and not offer some sort of metaphysical imperatives.

In short, this is not an apology for the Invictus. This is an observation

A Scrap of Thought, Part 5

2009-07-17T04:38:34Z

The tragedy and strength of my covenant is their utter refusal to offer any sort of justification for their actions.

Some vampires, even amongst the first estate, take this to mean that our tenets are unjustified. Truly the difference between us and the Carthians is not our governing procedures, but the manner in which we explain it: it is integral to the Carthian Movement to offer some sort of reason as to why they make the choices they do.

They have forgotten their own rhetoric. Some truths are self-evident. The power of the Invictus is as true as the waves upon the rocks and the wind through the leaves. The Invictus must be respected, not in the same way a car must stop at a traffic light, or the baby must drink milk, but in the way an apple must fall towards the ground, or that the sun must set each night. The respect and power of the First Estate is an inevitablity... the definition of the Covenant. The Invictus are that which is respected, they are those who rule. Call us by any other name, we are still Unconquered.

Those who call themselves Invictus seek to proclaim the identity of the Unconquered, but unless they are respected, they are not truly amongst us. It is the subtle trick of our affiliation: saying you are does not make it so.

This must be remember by all of us, lest we coopt the respect of the Unconquered for those who are undeserving.

The Praxis of Boulder - Day 4

2009-07-15T05:22:23Z

Well, that doesn't seem like it will be a problem, at least...

A Letter to a Sister...

2009-07-15T05:21:06Z

Read the first part of the conversation here

Dear Charles,

Is it Charles, or Charlie? Due to your use of both, I am unsure which you would prefer. I used to know a Charlie, once, but, to borrow from Marlowe, "that was in another country and, besides, the wench is dead."
In all honesty, my greatest difficulties from night to night are not in reaching a reconciliation with what you refer to as "the nature of our family's blood" so much as the constriction of Gabbie's Puritanical values and the violence of Roley's dark moods. We are three people so different that it seems against all sense for us to share a home; if I didn't love them both so much, I'd be long gone. Roley himself would appear to have come to agree with me, if his recent actions are any indicator - he's left us to visit with 'Zeke, with no indication of when he might be back. It was my fault; we had a fight. It seems that we can't speak these nights without it degenerating into a quarrel. I don't remember the last time we had a conversation when I couldn't see his fangs. But we fought, and it was a bad one, and now he's gone.
Gabbie won't say so out loud, but I know she blames me.
I didn't mean for it to happen. I wouldn't be so wound up all the time if she didn't forbid me every sort of fun. Everything's a sin. Was she like this when she made you? Sometimes I think the confinement is for her protection, and not mine at all, like she's...I don't know. Jealous, maybe?
I shouldn't be talking to you about this. I probably sound like an ungrateful little cow. It's just such an adjustment, going from having complete freedom to none, you know? Everything I used to do to let off steam is wrong, now. It's just that it seems like you might understand.
I love her, I really do, and I am grateful for everything she's done for me, I swear.
It's just hard, sometimes.

I'm sorry that you feel Gabbie did you over. I can't really offer much in her defense, as I don't know what happened between you, and, besides, it's got nothing to do with me, anyway. All I can say is that she's a very complicated and difficult woman, and I get how it can be hard to understand her sometimes. Maybe it's because the passage of centuries has done something to her brain, or maybe she was always like that. I don't know, but I'm sorry.

You're Burning Wreath, hunh? I may have run a little afoul of the Order, here. I've been cautioned that the assignment of Archon Cameron Moran, a Thorned Wreath Knight, as my bodyguard may have come off as a snub to the Burning Wreath, given that my brother's a member. I don't quite understand the logic there, particularly as I didn't choose him - he was assigned to me by my Liege - but I didn't mean to offend anyone. I guess I'll just have to deal with it, if I have. Archon Moran says the Burning Wreath's more a collection of mercenaries than a real Knighthood. Roley says Archon Moran's...well, I don't care to repeat his exact phrasing, but it amounts to misguided. I'm not sure what's going on there.
I think they used to be friends.

Thanks for the advice. I'm fairly sure I've got a fix on this Invictus thing; it's mainly just a matter of being useful and making the people in charge look good, isn't it? I seem to be doing alright. It's just a matter of not outshining the boss, now, for me. She's pretty great, though; I mean, I'd really have to work at it. Still, I'm aware our Praxis Claimant down here, in Melbourne - the Alder Commisioner Elias Stanthorpe - is a bit nervous of me, and that makes where I'm standing a very dangerous place to be. He's caught my rep and he's worried, and the public hype of our House doesn't help. I'll have to prove to him I'm more of an asset than a threat, and I'll have to do it soon.
Wish me luck.

Yours,
Ivy

And a response...

Ivy,

It is, or at least I would prefer, Charlie. Charles is a bit too formal for how I would be called… it reminds me of other, more reserved individuals. I would hope that you have fond memories of your other Charlie, whoever he is, so at least I conjure pleasant memories with my letters… being as we have no memories of our own.

The troubles you have with Gabriela and Roland are, no doubt, titanic, at least they would seem to you. I say this not to be condescending, only to observe that I have gone longer than your entire existence refraining from conversation with my sire, and I am not known for possessing the most prideful nature in the family. This is something for which you must prepare yourself: to know the Family de la Lanza, well, to know Gabriela and Roland at least, is to be always in the throes of some sort of passion, crisis, or other drama. This is not entirely unintentional… when one goes through life with one hand pressed firmly to one’s brow, one’s palm does tend to hide most of the true horrors of the world from view.

Allow me two insights though:

First, Gabriela does not blame you, at least not in the sense that we would use the word.

Second, I would not worry too much about the quarrel with Roland. When the only conversational tool one possess is a hammer, then every acquaintance is something to be nailed.

If you tell me of your argument, in specifics, perhaps your older brother might be able to help? I might not be able to sympathize… I did not have to endure our sire’s overwhelming protection for very long before I began my time under the Black Shroud. I will say this: you are Invictus, and presumably acknowledge by your Prince, and she is quite the well-developed elder. You need not suffer her laws anymore… it is not our way to submit to anyone, even our own maker. And do not worry about gratitude: your existence was not of your choosing, or of mine, or of anyone other than Gabriela’s, I assure you.

Regardless, dear sister, I promise I would not discuss a single word of our correspondence with our sire… please consider this a place of safety, where you can freely discuss your feelings, without judgment or risk of emotional pain.

What I can do, however, is contact my Order if you have any difficulties with them. The animosity between the two orders can run deep sometimes, but you’ll find us a practical sort, and I doubt the Order as a whole is as snubbed as you might think. However, if you wish me to contact my former Meister and Liege, Sir Krieg, it would be a simple matter. In addition, I am somewhat aligned with the childe of Alder Stanthorpe… perhaps I could ask her to intercede on your behalf? I might be able to secure her permanent position in her city, if he would offer you a bit of mentoring. You’ll find most Princes to be reasonable men.

Yours, as always,
Charlie

The Praxis of Boulder - Day 3

2009-07-14T01:48:20Z

Upon reflection, I might have been a little rash.

That which is wrong offends our moral sense, in the same manner that which is ugly offends our sense of beauty and that which is rude offends our sense of decorum. In the same way that a man of taste recoils from the grotesque or a man of civility condemns the boorish, a man of any character must confront that which is wrong.

This is not a prescription. It is not an order or a request. This is the way of things: it is as old and as true as the sky.

Eggilisson was wrong. Not incorrect, but morally failing: his court is not a plaything to be attended when it is convenient, but a responsibility to keep secure against all higher predators, and in that he failed. Whether or not his intention was to hold praxis or treat it like a steward would is irrelevant... the facts of the matter is that he allowed vampires to gather under his banner and then offered them no protection from their enemies or their own natures.

Such irresponsibility is a moral failing, a failing of character, and I shall be brought to meet the sun before I allow it to stand.

However, I did move quickly. Such things must be calculated, and I fear that I, in my righteousness, did not consider all aspects. This is not necessarily a failure: if I waited, as Ethan does, I would lose the name of action. I just fear that in abandoning Ethan's restraint, I would also abandon his wisdom.

The die is cast. I shall now see what I shall manage, and collect my thoughts to apply my training for my own purposes for the first time in my Requiem.

A Letter From a Vassal

2009-07-12T20:23:51Z

To the Honorable Mister Advisor Koenraad Thulani Pretorius, from his vassal, Sir Prince Charles David Beckett

Mister Advisor,

“O the drinkers, those that are a-dry, O poor thirsty souls! Good page, my friend, fill me here some, and crown the wine, I pray thee. Like a cardinal! Natura abhorret vacuum.” – Rabelais, Gargantua and Pantagruel, Chapter 1. V

Upon reaching Colorado and beginning my affairs there, I had intended to update you with a complete and responsible report of the domains, beginning with the city of Boulder, and describe my political activities therein. My visit to Boulder was to allow me an audience with Prince Kirsten Williams on a personal matter.

Things did not go according to plan.

I am now the Prince of Boulder. I came to this position not through ambition but through duty: while I might have possessed long term political ambitions, it would not have been at this time and in this place. I will describe the events that motivated me to seize Praxis in some detail, but I must request that, due to the personal observations I shall offer and opinions I shall express, that we exercise the privacy that is that can exist between a liege and his vassal.

I arrived in Boulder with three other members of the First Estate: Lord Speaker Ethan Hawthorne, Viscount of Manitou Springs and Harpy of Colorado Springs, Lady Commissioner Aaliyah Augustine Theodoric, and Dame Analiese Clarimonde, Lady Knight of the Thorned Wreath. Until our visit, there had been no presence of the First Estate since the disappearance of Prince Marsh several months ago. Our investigations would reveal that Prince Marsh fell to his beast, and had to be destroyed by other members of the First Estate (who specifically is not yet known).

In his absence, a vampire named Enggleson, of the Circle of the Crone, had assumed Praxis. In the months since the Prince’s disappearance, he had not investigated Prince Marsh’s demise, nor appointed a Seneschal, a Harpy, a Primogen Council, nor identified any Prisci within the domain. Further, the Prince did not show for his own court gathering… he essentially abandoned his domain. The sole source of authority for twenty kindred gathered (including roughly half of that unacknowledged) were his Hound and Sheriff, who, while martially capable, could not offer any sort of social order for the predators gathered.

As you know I am fond of saying, the first and undeniable responsibility of any social predator is his own survival, and the survival of those he calls his own. Upon realizing the full extent of the lawlessness in the domain, I felt my blood stirring and the need to act decisively. I could not allow so many gathered to suffer anarchy and risk calamity simply because a “Prince” could not be bothered to attend his own court. Further, I could not allow his inattention to the domain risk a collapse that would allow ancestral enemies a foothold in Colorado.

As such, I announced my seizure of Praxis, appointed a full court and Primogen Council, and will ensure that the domain has proper organization by the end of next month.

Before I offer myself to you for further questions on the matter, I would comment that other, less notable affairs, such as matters of my haven, are going well.

In addition, I would like to discuss the political affiliation you have mentioned to me: the House Konstantine. Would it be proper to ask you some questions about it?

I thank you for your time and consideration. I trust that you are not displeased with my actions, and pledge to uphold your oath by ensuring that I and my domain do honor to you.

I remain, Unconquered,

Sir Charles David Beckett, OBW

Prince of Boulder

Knight and Senator of the First Estate

An Exchange Between Childe and Sir

2009-07-10T22:40:00Z

Mi niño,

It has been some time, no?

Your information is correct, my journeying has brought me to Australia, and Ivy, Roland and Ezekial have also travelled here, to both Melbourne and Brisbane. I thank you for your well-wishes, and wish you Godspeed and good fortune on your own quest for enlightenment. I am sure that some day you will find what you seek. So too do I hope that your new home has not suffered the same extermination of its previous Damned residents that this strange country has.

Your missive has made its way to where I currently reside, so you may reach me at this address in the future. Should you wish to visit, do let us know. I am sure we will all be happy to see you again.

Such mention of boons is unnecessary. None of my childer owe me such - and that includes you, mi querido niño, who is the closest to my blood.

Be well, and may God watch over you and your endeavours.

In nomine Deus et Longinus,

Gabriela M Z y de la Lanza
Bishop of Melbourne

Gabriella,

How are my siblings? It would appear most of the notables accompanied you. I am eager to hear details of what your purpose is in Australia, and how you plan on avoiding whatever strange fate befell those who last dwelt on the continent. A very primal part of me wants to know why you have brought Ivy with you… can you speak for her safety in your present situation?

I cannot say I approve or condone your present course of action, but I know that my stance on the issue could do little to change your mind, if, indeed, I had found out about it earlier. Perhaps my self-imposed exile from London did little to impress upon you how vexed I am at some of your activities in recent years.

But regardless, you are my maker, and I understand that I have no ability to compel you. Might I at least know my broodmates’ current situations, so that I rest secure in the knowledge that their requiems are safe?

I remain, Unconquered,

Charlie

Day 9

2009-07-10T04:12:51Z

I can taste her. Still.

I had a big drink tonight. I typically do so, it minimizes the complications, even if it requires more preparation. She'll be ill tomorrow. And she'll be looking at her boss, and seeing that button her bosses blouse seem like it's going to slip off at any moment, and how she mustn't look, she mustn't...

Who the fuck am I to take that from her? The desire, the shame... they are to me like salt and sugar on my tongue and I know what she wants, and I can even get it, but...

I just want her to be quiet. I want a little peace and quiet. Is that too much to ask for?

A Scrap of Thought, Part 4

2009-07-10T03:01:21Z

That so many of our great Endeavor seems preoccupied with the Carthians is of great concern. For while one of our great strengths as an organization is our investment in real power, and the newest covenant would challenge us in our own arena, it seems that neither us or our radical counterparts verbalize the threat offered by kindred mysticism.

I do not begrudge the lesser covenants their placebos, nor do I reject the real control they offer if properly exploited. However, I must note the remarkable quality shared by virtually all elders of success in our society: a fundamental turn from fanaticism towards pragmatic concerns. Some might accuse such creatures of a fundamental descent toward their beast. I would counter that the mystical assertion of morals unfounded by real observations leaves these creatures without guidance when they reject the mythology that afflicts our kind. The elders who would be our role models would be those who have realized their own power to observe and understand real phenomenon, and take their moral prescriptions from such.

To this point, the failed teachings of the Sanctified, the incoherent tenets of the Crone, and the flawed secular “vampirism” of the Ordo Dracul are the greatest threat to individual members of the Unconquered. The wise vampire (wiser than this outspoken ancilla, at the least) exploits the failings of those who need someone else to supply their dogma, but does not endure them himself.

A Scrap of Thought, Part 3

2009-07-09T01:33:54Z

I hold truth as that which is self-evident. I no more question “right” or “wrong” any more than I question “red” or “blue” or “large” or “small.” The current state of my physiology does not affect my ability to make such observations, however, the defining qualities of my psychology demand I hone my ability to do so.

I assert the major failing of kindred moral philosophy is the delayed trauma of the embrace and the tendency to guard neonates from the beast. The result is the identification of “evil” within the self: the belief that we are “unclean” or the fear of the primal instincts that we cannot escape. This causes an exaltation of our former state, which we delineate from our current state… the difference between “humanity” and “the beast.” This is as foolish as the concept of the id and the ego: constructs of meaning by individuals desperate for some sort of constructed truth.

The truth of the matter? I am. I am little more than my current existence. There is not worse about me when I am not in control: the defining quality is that I am in frenzy, not that I am suddenly more “evil.”

Instead, I must observe basic value of vampires, which, strangely, are not too terribly different from the values of any other animal, even humans (at least when separated from the institutionalizing effects of religion). What are these basic tenets? In my brief experience, I have identified these:

- My first and ultimate priority is the survival of myself and my tribe.

- Waste is the ultimate and only sin of any moral actor.

- To be self-serving is ultimately self-destructive. Empathy is the highest virtue for any social creature.

- Unnecessary injury to anyone is foolish and to be condemned.

- Charity that without cost is the accomplishment of wisdom, and to be cherished.

- Rejection of the real is the only form of inequity, and shall not be tolerated.

To exalt in our monstrosity is to not only create the concept of a monster, but wield that concept malignly.

A Letter to a Mother, of sorts...

2009-07-09T00:39:13Z

My dear Sire,

I have heard of your foray into the wilds of Australia, and at this critical juncture, I would like to take the opportunity to wish your little crusade luck. Truly, you have inspired me, as I too shall leave the country of my mortal birth, to seek my own enlightenment in another former colony.

Upon hearing the news of your departure, I was informed that my broodmates, will accompany you. Surely, by this point you have already arrived in your Southern harbor, and trust that you will enjoy the company of your more cherished childer without the distractions you suffered here in Britain.

In addition to wishing your endeavor its due course, I would like to forward my contact information to you. Should you wish to correspond with me, I can be reached at the attached address. Should you wish to visit, I could arrange quarters, but should that unexpected event occur, please give me ample notice, so that I could finally prepare for my sire’s attention.

I until that time, I will cling to the decades of service I faithfully offered as its own reward. The time spent supporting you and your efforts, as well as your religion, was most enlightening. To properly thank you for all you have done for me, please accept of me a trivial boon – you have surely earned it.

Respectfully,

Sir Charles Beckett, OBW

Knight and Senator

A Letter to a Teacher

2009-07-08T05:27:46Z

Alder Meister,

I sincerely hope that I contact you in the midst of a requiem that is peaceful and fruitful, and that you share in the safety and prosperity of which you gave me the tools to secure, that your evenings are filled with the grace due to a revered teachers, and that others recognize and offer the proper homage for you gifts. If it has been too long since my last contact with you, I offer humble apologies, and if it is too soon, I would beg your forgiveness. I remain your grateful student, and I would not seek to cause you any discomfort or unwelcome interruption.

In a short time, I shall be in Colorado, and thought that it would be proper to pay my respect to you, and extend to you an invitation of hospitality. If my meager furnishings in my transitory resident offend you, and I must admit with regret that I believe they would, please accept of me a trivial boon in reparation. I would still wish to visit in this case, if you would accept me as a guest.

As we have not talked in some time, I also submit myself for questioning, as to my affairs and my history since our last parting, at your leisure.

Always your grateful student,

Sir Charles Beckett, OBW

Knight and Senator

A Scrap of Thought, Part 2

2009-07-07T05:59:05Z

I am a moral creature, even if I exist without purpose.