Aftermath, After Hours

[Alex]

“Anyway, just wanted to tell you all good effort, we had a lot of fun and we're really looking forward to your next try.”

Roger Scott sat in his office chair, bloody tears flowing from his eyes as he watched Gabriella Rosario – his lost love – mug with the corpse of his shining knight Cal Steele once again. He knew she would never do such a cruel thing. And so he scanned the video over and over. Was it manipulated with the magic of human technology? Had she been brainwashed? Were there signs of the powers of Vampiric compulsion in her eyes?

As Roger sobbed in his private quarters, three other Kindred waited outside of it. Victor the Rat leaned up against the wall, not bothering to obfuscate his hideous visage. There were no cameras on Roger’s floor, and no mortals would be about. On the other side of the door, Conrad Chesterfield tended to his affairs on a tablet PC. And Oliver Klein stood at the opposite wall, arms crossed and deep in thought.

“You know, Oliver,” Victor said, not even drawing the attention of the Malkavian. “I used to think you were the dumbest bastard in Houston. But I was clearly in the wrong.” Oliver did not bother to respond. On one hand, he didn’t even want to look at the urchin’s grotesque face. On the other, he knew how a compliment from the Sheriff might reflect on him and was not interested in giving him an opportunity to walk it back.

“How long is it going to be before he comes out?” Conrad said. “How many times must he watch that video to accept reality?”

“Eventually he’ll have to stop, but that don’t mean he’s accepting shit,” Victor snarled. “Stupid fucking pretty rich-ass mommy’s boy Toreador asshole.” Victor whipped out a cigar, lighting it in defiance of the no-smoking policy in the building. He was considering lifting it up to the smoke alarms just to set the sprinklers off. But Scott’s Blood kept his disdain at bay. There was only so much criticism of her “son” that the Lady Courtenay would accept. He would probably be screwed as it was if Roger had not himself failed so spectacularly. Victor knew that there was no way he would confess the fiasco in New Orleans to his late sire’s wife.

“It would be ideal if he could hurry,” the Warlock muttered. “So that we could get our story straight.”

“There ain’t a story to keep straight, Junior,” the Nosferatu said. “As far as anyone on the Council or elsewhere is concerned, we went for the police takeover – just like they asked for. Fuckface sent Cal Steele to seal the deal, and the whole thing blew up in our faces. The Lady Courtenay and His Grace will be pissed, but they don’t need to know nothing about boots on the ground. Wars are long. Sieges are a thousand wins and a thousand losses. It’ll be one for the L column, then we move on.”

“And you don’t think word will get out?” Conrad asked.

“You gonna tell anyone?” Victor asked. “I’m not.”

“No of course not,” Conrad said. “Failure breeds failure. And Klein?” The Tremere looked to his ostensible ally.

“Klein ain’t telling anyone shit,” Victor answered for him. “He got what he wanted. Mission accomplished as far as this fucker is concerned.” Klein let a smile cross his lips at that. The filthy urchin was not wrong. “Now’s time to look forward to Round 2. You got that thing headed to catboy?”

“It should be ready for him in a few months,” Conrad said, a sickening smile crossing his lips. “Thankfully, my source of materials shows no signs of letting up. And I believe we can replicate the attack on the Fiend given sufficient information.”

“Which you’re gonna get,” Victor said with a sickening grin. “I left a little present behind before I left. It’ll probably take some time to really bear fruit, but it’s gonna be sweet. Right under their noses. It’s just a matter of having a little patience.”

Both Kindred looked to the Keeper, who did not give them so much as a glance. His business was his own, and none of theirs. But he didn’t reject them outright. Sometimes silence was the only way to make his point.

All three reflexively turned to the door. They heard a sound coming from the other side. After a few moments, the Kindred looked away. Roger had put the video on his computer now, loud enough to be heard through the walls.

“Fucking simp,” Victor spat as he reached for another cigar.