"With All Due Respect"

[Alex]

May 31st, 2020

“With all due respect, Your Grace, I really think we could consider postponement.”

There was a time, in Henry’s youth, when those words alone would have been enough to move him to a terrible Frenzy. Henry Mitchell was never the strongest or fastest Kindred, but he was…oh how did his old fossil of a sire put it? Energetic, yes, that was it. He never had time for laziness, hesitation, and cowardice in life, and he had even less time for it in death. Eternity was no excuse for sloth.

Now Henry was an older monster, though. And a wiser one. The trappings of his age, wisdom, and status surrounded him. Henry sat in the parlor of his Garden District mansion, one room of dozens that made up his lavish Haven. Sitting across from him was his Sheriff, Chuck Wilcox – not The Sheriff, but His Sheriff. Henry was Prince now, and his estate was worthy of the title. It was an austere manse, to be sure, but Henry was never one for garishness. There would be no murals of naked mortal women or obscene statuary here. Just the music wafting down from the attic, the sound of Lady Luma Romano and her pet bloodslaves practicing for his Cajun Twilight Ball.

Ah, yes. Henry knew that his younger self would have torn Chuck limb-from-limb for even speaking of postponing his magnificent ball. And to suggest cancelling it? The Malkavian would have staked him and spent weeks deciding what agonizing way Chuck should die in. But he was older and wiser now. He was old and wise enough to know that Chuck would almost certainly present him a more publicly acceptable reason for his execution later. That kept Henry’s rage in check.

“Why in the name of Caine, my dear Sheriff, would you make such a preposterous proposition?” Henry asked. Henry rarely asked questions he did not already know the answer to. Still, he was quiet. He’d let Chuck walk into it, as Brujah are wont.

“Your Grace, you were right there with me,” the Brujah, aged as much in life as in death, replied.

“You mean when you left Edward Fontaine, the Martyr of New Orleans, to the Anarchs?” Henry asked. It wasn’t that he had objected to Chuck’s little stunt. On the contrary, it was quite savvy. Henry rewarded talent, but he always kept his servants’ secrets close to his chest. The better to control them with. Chuck frowned, but he kept on.

“All the worse that a skilled warrior like our Martyr could not stand against the Anarchs or Sabbat,” Chuck continued.

“What Sabbat?” Henry cut in. His face’s pleasant, smiling facade began to crack. “I saw no Sabbat there, my dear Sheriff. Just a mad Brujah and his desperate gang attacking decent Kindred in the midst of parlay, the savages.”

“I don’t need to be reminded of the official line,” Chuck objected.

“Apparently you do,” Henry snarled. Now his smile twisted into a grimace. “You know Lord Champlaigne has eyes and ears everywhere, you buffoon. If you are not in Elysium, you are not safe. Not even here, not even with me! You may have already doomed us both!”

Chuck recoiled. “My apologies, your Grace,” he said. Chuck recalibrated, and Henry’s temper calmed enough to at least continue their meeting. “I misspoke. I saw no Sabbat at the parlay. But I am concerned about the two Anarchs who escaped in the chaos after the attempt on your unlife. And I am concerned about the Sabbat left unaccounted for in our defeat of the cult. Your Grace, no Kindred ever witnessed the Butcher of Baton Rouge meet his end.”

Good. That was more like it. Henry’s face didn’t return to its smile, but the overt anger left it. “Sheriff, I live in the world of facts and reality,” Henry explained, his voice still carrying a slight tremble. “And the fact and reality is that the Butcher of Baton Rouge has not been seen in some time. You never witnessed most of the deaths among our kind. And yet they still happened. The city is ours.” He paused, letting Chuck speak. He was getting closer to doing something he would regret, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Chuck would have to be punished later.

“Through your wisdom it is,” Chuck said. At least the thuggish bastard childe was good for a grovel. “But as long as Anarchs run free in New Orleans, I do not know that it is safe to gather the Domain. Especially at a high profile event.”

“Do you plan on inviting them?” Henry cut in.

“Of course not your Grace!” Chuck said, almost sputtering. The Brujah was beginning to grow fearful, Henry could tell. Good. Maybe the beast was capable of learning. Maybe he would be worth keeping unalive before Henry found the opportunity to end his existence. “But New York was ours, too!”

“New York,” Henry hissed, narrowing his eyes. “Was an aberration. Remember, Sheriff, we only see facts and reality in this home. And the facts are that New York was a mixture of unique factors. Factors which we have, through my wisdom and your practical knowledge, curbed.” Henry leaned in. “Have we advertised the location of our Elysium to the Anarchs, as they did in New York?”

“No, Your Grace,” Chuck said, shaking his head.

“And did we spend months mollycoddling the Anarchs and giving them some pathetic notion of their rights, as they did in New York?” Henry leaned back, steepling his hands.

“Of course not, Your Grace,” Chuck said.

“And did we wait for the Anarchs to strike the first blow once news of New York reached our Court?” Henry persisted. “Or did we decapitate and scatter them before they could sink their fangs into us?”

“Edward Fontaine fought bravely to preserve our safety,” Chuck replied.

“Good, good,” Henry said. “And of course, the last unique factor. The multitude of Sabbat present in New York City after the fall of their Sect! We certainly don’t have that problem here, do we?” Before Chuck could reply, Henry raised his hand. “Because,” Henry continued, now standing. He was shorter than Chuck, but Chuck was seated. The vantage allowed the Malkavian to glare down at his subordinate. “If the Sabbat is dead and gone, as was declared at Prague, what kind of Prince would allow Sabbat to roam their city?” He stepped closer. Chuck didn’t reply, so Henry leaned down. His teeth were gritted, his fists clenched, and his fangs bared. “What kind of Prince, Sheriff?”

“A-a-an incompetent,” Chuck babbles, fear now clear in his eyes behind his sunglasses. “An incompetent Prince, Your Grace. No Kindred who deserves to be called a Prince.”

“No Kindred who deserves to be called a Prince!” Henry shouted. “An excellent way to put it, my dear Sheriff!” Henry backed up to his chair but remained standing, rising to his full posture. “If there are Sabbat in this city, then no Kindred walking these nights would recognize my claim to Praxis. If my claim to Praxis is not recognized, it is worthless. If it is worthless, I am not Prince. And if I am not the Prince, you are not the Sheriff!” Henry’s words became sharper and more focused with every syllable. “And the Lord Champlaigne would have no difficulty in finding some other Kindred who will not have Sabbat running amok in their beautiful Crescent City.” Henry paused, his voice now louder than the music upstairs. “Are there Sabbat in my city, Sheriff Wilcox?”

“No, Your Grace!” Chuck said, curling up in the chair Henry offered him. “The city is yours and yours alone! You hold Praxis!” It wasn’t like Chuck to show fear, but he knew he was in Henry’s Domain – both the city, and the manor. He had seen how quickly Henry could have the inconvenient removed. How quickly he could have them lionized in Final Death to suit his own agenda. Chuck didn’t have the self-awareness to wonder if leaving Edward behind had been his own feint in the Jyhad, or something Henry had planned all along. All he knew was fear.

Henry liked fear. In his experience, the fearful were obedient. His voice lowered. “Then why are you suggesting that we postpone the Cajun Twilight Ball over the non-existent threat of Sabbat and a rabble of broken, scattered, and leaderless Anarchs?” Henry asked.

Chuck waited a moment to respond. He knew he needed to find the right words. “A moment of fear, Your Grace,” he said. “Forgive me. I feel the weight of my new responsibilities has made me cautious.”

Henry smiled again, reaching out to help Chuck out. The Brujah took his hand, and Henry clapped his back as the jovial smile returned to his Prince’s face. “There is nothing to forgive, my Sheriff!” he said. “Nobody is perfect in any posting. What do the mortals call it? First-night jitters?” Henry led the shaken Chuck up the stairs to the second level. “You’re simply taking the long-view, an understandable position. And the truth is, we should expect occasional resurgences of the Anarchs and Sabbat both in these early nights of peace. And they can be put down accordingly.” Chuck nodded, feeling some relief as Henry’s better angels returned. He knew it was an act, but he preferred it to the truth.

Henry finally made it to his destination, throwing open a door to a studio space where his lovely childe was rehearsing with her thralls. Luma was dressed in a long, glowing gown – the finest silk, of course – and had her hair up. She was a vision of elegance, enough to put a Toreador’s childe to shame. She didn’t stop her performance upon hearing Henry enter. He had taught her better than that. She knew to finish her aria first. As he waited for that moment, Henry returned his attention to Chuck.

“But for the moment, Sheriff, facts and reality.” Henry shared his manor’s rules again, as though they meant anything. “And the reality is that we are a fledgling Domain, recently Embraced not unlike Lady Luma before you.” Getting the Domain of Houston to call Luma after a noble title had been an effort, but worth it. His Blood would only receive the best, so that it might reflect on him. “And for a Fledgling to become free, they must learn our ways. They must find camaraderie with their new people. They must know their place at Court the way a brick must be fit to its place in a mighty tower.” Henry looked back to Lady Luma, leaning into Chuck as he listened to her beautiful singing. “And how do Kindred come to know themselves and their place in the Camarilla, Sheriff?” He didn’t wait for a reply from the still-shaken Brujah. “At the Elysium. And how do we show that our place is at the top?” This time, he did look to Chuck to answer.

“At the Formal Court, Your Grace,” Chuck replied.

Luma’s aria ended, and her suit-wearing players stopped. The young Malkavian turned to bow deeply to her sire, and he motioned for her to rise. Luma did so, coming to Henry’s side and bowing more lightly to the Sheriff. Henry had not felt affection for another being in some time, but he had come close with his beloved young Lady Romano. In truth, he loved her like one might love a family heirloom or an expensive showpiece. Some valuable thing that a man or women might become attached to. But he did allow himself to feel a kernel of pride in the young Vampire. Luma had always been a model childe – quiet, obedient, and well-behaved. Henry had never known how rare those traits were. He had assumed most childer were as well-chosen as his own. But after Klein and Thaddeus both had almost been murdered by their Blood, Henry had come to appreciate just what a beautiful diamond Luma was.

It almost made him sad, then, to consider the ball’s final event. A surprise not listed on the programme. When at the conclusion of the scheduled events, before her performance in the Grand Hall, Henry would rise to announce her successful initiation. Losing the admiration that came from her would certainly tax on the Prince’s ego, but all Accountings had to come to an end. And Luma had shown promise on her own. He had allowed his childe a freer hand recently – a necessity as the work of claiming New Orleans in so short a time had taken up time and resources he spent tending to her. Independent of Henry, Lady Luma had enthralled humans to play for her and prepared a glorious display for Elysium. She was resourceful, and she had the right priorities. Not that Henry really cared in the end. Whether Luma thrived or failed was not a matter he concerned himself with. Once she was a full Kindred in her own right, she wasn’t his problem anymore.

But Henry had allowed Chuck to gawk at his progeny long enough. “A Formal Court,” he said with a nod. “A Formal Court fit for a truly grand Domain. A grand venue. Grand décor. Grand art.” He looked to Luma and smiled. “Grand music.” Luma bowed her head gratefully. “A Grand Ball. The Cajun Twilight Ball. Won’t it be fitting, Sheriff?”

“Fitting and safe, Your Grace,” Chuck said. By now his nerves had calmed. His Beast had settled. His composure had returned and he could say the things he knew His Prince wanted to hear in stride. “If only I had such lovely company for it.”

Henry chuckled. “Not this year,” he said, clapping the Sheriff’s back. “The invitations are already out, after all. But perhaps the topic of Progeny will come up at the midsummer council meeting.” Henry had decided to delay his plans to execute the Sheriff. Not to terminate them, of course. But he assumed higher priorities would come forth in the coming nights. He looked to Luma now. “Gather your things, my Lady,” he said, gesturing to the rigid mortals behind her. “We’re going to visit the Lord Champlaigne at the Museum. He wishes to hear your beautiful music while we discuss final arrangements for the Ball. The Sheriff just assured me that the event would be safe, and I would like to convey that to the Primogen.”

“Thank you for your diligence, Sheriff,” Luma said, properly complimenting her superior. “And of course, Your Grace,” Luma said, bowing. “I’ve trained the mortals to play for Carmen, the Primogen’s favorite.”

“Brilliant!” Henry was delighted. The Frenchman always let his guard down when Luma began to sing. It almost made dealing with him easy enough to bore the Prince. “Be ready in a half hour, my dear.” Luna returned to the mortals, beginning to corral them. Henry watched for a moment before turning to lead Chuck to the door. “And I do hope your calls won’t always be for business in the future, Sheriff,” Henry said as he quickly led Chuck to the door. “I enjoy the occasional friendly game of pool, though I daresay I’ve not much talent for it.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Chuck said, bowing. “Your company would honor me. I’d best be off to prepare our security for the First of many Twilight Cajun Balls.”

“That’s the spirit, Sheriff,” Henry said. He shut the door, leaving Chuck to stare at the mansion for a few moments before shrugging and walking away.


Chuck had known that Henry would take offense to his old Mercury Topaz being within a mile of the Prince’s estate, so he had walked there and would walk back to his Haven. For that very mile, Chuck was silent. He didn’t know if Henry could actually hear him, but the fucker seemed to know everything. Chuck didn’t know much about the Court politics in Houston. He had been an outcast here. But he knew Champlaigne must have been something of Henry was looking for his eyes in all the portraits.

Once Chuck was far enough away that he was content Henry couldn’t audibly hear him, he stopped willed himself to sigh. “Fucking Malkavians,” he said. “Mean, crazy sons of bitches.” He shook his head and reached into his pocket, pulling out his old brick of a Nokia. He hated using the thing, but it was a necessity of his office. He held down a button for speed-dial and put the device to his ear as he began walking again. Five rings passed before he heard a voice on the other side.

“So what’d he say?” Thad asked. Chuck wasn’t like Henry in a lot of ways, but he could empathize with the praise the crazy sombitch showered on Luma. If it weren’t for Thad, Chuck wouldn’t have ever gotten out of negative Standing. The kid had turned out alright. But for every Thad, there was a Vivian. And like Henry, Chuck had never known what a good kid Thad was.

“Just what you said,” Chuck grumbled back. “No fuckin’ Sabbat in town. Nothing to be afraid of.”

“Sabbat aside, he’s right, old man,” Thad chuckled as he ribbed his sire. “What the fuck’s three Sabbat and that French fucker gonna do to us? They don’t even know where the TCB is gonna happen! They can’t do shit if they don’t know where to go.”

“Sabbat aside is a big aside, Thad,” Chuck said. “You know what they’re capable of.”

“I saw what Packs and Packs of Sabbat are capable of,” Thad shot back. “Three Sabbat are capable of giving us a good workout. Besides, if they do show up we can get some boss fuckin’ standing for taking them down. Barehanded, too. We’d be bigger heroes than that fancy Gangrel.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chuck said.

“Lighten up, grampa,” Thad insisted. “The worst thing that’s gonna happen at Elysium is I’m going to look like a lame fucker for not having a date. Maybe I should have kept that pretty bitch at the Warlock’s store. Thralled her around.” Thad paused. “Shit, there’s still time. You think a sexy Ghoul will cut it, Chuck?”

“I think you care too much about how you look, kid,” Chuck said with a chuckle. “The curse of eternal youth.”

“Oh shit, speaking of how people look,” Thad said. “Did you tell Henry about that thing? I didn’t get the chance to when he was hitting me up.”

“No,” Chuck said. “I don’t think he wanted to hear it.”

“You’d think the fucker would notice something like that,” Thad said.

“Who said he gives a shit?” Chuck asked. “Fucking Malks.”

“Fucking Malks,” Thad agreed. “Catch you later, old man.”

Chuck cut off the call, letting Thad get back to his primping. Chuck hadn’t taken Thad for the type when he brought the young man into the night. But that was his fault. No self-respecting man who doesn’t care how he looks would ever wear makeup. Chuck put the phone away again and shrugged.

He didn’t know how Henry was going to convince Lord Champlaigne that the streets were safe while he still hadn’t healed the deep, weeping gash Dick Dupuis left in his forehead.

But that was Henry’s problem. Chuck had plenty of his own to worry about.