Perfection

[Alex]

Luma’s beautiful voice rang through the grand hall of the New Orleans Museum of Art as she sang the famous aria from Carmen. The young Malkavian was seated in a chair at the top of the staircase to the main level, surrounded by her Opera Players. Everything about Luma was perfect tonight. Her hair was done in a French braid. Her red dress hugged her petite figure closely, but not too closely. And her voice projected perfectly through the hall and the rest of the museum.

She was perfect, Henry mused. Much as his Twilight Cajun Ball was perfect. The Elder Malkavian looked back at it as he was brought into the hallway between the grand hall and the theater. Luma’s dress was the same shade of red as the carpet that ran down the middle of the hall. Around the fringes of the room were four fountains, each lightly babbling with Blood. For those who liked their subjects to have some fight, well-dressed mortals under the thrall of Dominate stood in the corners. They were blind, deaf, and dumb from his powers, waiting to be willing participants in a lucky monster’s feast. One had already expired, but that was to be expected. Lord Devon so rarely got to slake his hunger fully.

And ah, Lord Devon. The sight of the Toreador Primogen entranced by Lady Luma was almost as beautiful as the sight of him leaving New Orleans. But he was only one of the guests enjoying themselves. Thaddeus and his childe Sid were both dressed as nicely as Henry had seen them, in full suits with red bowties. He had to admit the Scourge did clean up nicely. The Ventrue from St. Louis, too, seemed to be enjoying themselves. They had to bring their own vessels, of course, but Kelly Striker had taken a liking to one of the fountains. A surprise success! A half dozen other Camarilla who had answered his call to the city milled about – named he hadn’t bothered to remember yet. Henry even allowed himself a moment of satisfaction as he saw Dr. Klein – the presumptuous fool – doting about, delightedly taking guests through his antiquities hall.

Even the Blood Moon seemed simply perfect for the night.

So why, then, was Sheriff Wilcox taking him away from his perfect ball?

It was 11:25 – the dedication had ended a moment early, and Keeper Klein had called an intermission. Henry was a hair annoyed to go off schedule, but the chance to allow Luma to entrance the Primogen was fair compensation. But before Henry could engage Adrian Montero in conversation about a Primogeniture, he found himself pulled to the side by the Sheriff. He was quite sure he knew what Chuck was going to say, and how dangerous those words would be for him. But Henry kept his bland grin on, as he always did.

“Your Grace,” Chuck said in a low tone. “With all due respect, I must insist we end the gathering prematurely.” Henry’s smile tensed and his teeth grated. End his perfect party early…Henry’s face didn’t betray it, but he swallowed down a Frenzy at the mere words.

“Sheriff Wilcox,” he said, equally quietly. “Look at this beautiful event, Kindred having a grand evening at a grand ball. Why on Earth would we bring it to an end?”

Chuck was steadier this time than he was last time. Before, he was more afraid of Henry than the threat of violence. That balance had reversed. “I have been trying to get a squad car out here for 20 minutes, just as a test. No dice. The riot downtown-”

“What does a mortal disturbance have to do with us?” Henry asked. “Sheriff. I must say your paranoia is really…” Henry’s face darkened. “Ruining my night. And I don’t think you want to do that.”

Chuck tensed. He could feel the Beast flair. He was just about out of patience with Henry’s façade. “For God’s sakes, Your Grace!” He spat out. “The Anarchs and Sabbat are still at large.”

“There are no Sab-" Henry tried to cut in, but Chuck talked over him.

“We’ve lost two mortal contacts in the last week,” the Brujah hissed. “And now we have a riot downtown the night of the ball!”

Henry glowered openly now, rising to his full height to try to intimidate Wilcox. The Brujah made a mistake in talking to him – talking to the Prince – in that tone. He would regret it, and soon. “We have security,” Henry grunted back.

“And they have two Kindred with Dominate,” Chuck spat back.

“They don’t even know we’re here,” Henry shot back.

“Says you!” Chuck said. “When’s the last time you saw Arthur? You know that asshole’s just looking for a way to pay you back.”

Before Henry could reply to that, the door to the Elysium burst open. Arthur Beauregard arrived, dressed in his fine blue suit and tie. Light glinted from his hair, his rolex, his walking stick’s silver handle, and his shoes. Arthur was considered a bit low brow by his peers, but tonight he looked every bit the model of Clan Ventrue. His absence had been the talk of Elysium, given his billing. It was minutes before his farewell speech, and he hadn’t even been heard from. Was he snubbing Henry? Was he plotting to overthrow the Prince? Gossip about Arthur had dominated the parlor talk. And his late entry turned heads. Henry’s head, meanwhile, turned back to Chuck. Henry reached up abruptly, grabbing the Brujah by his tie and pulling him face to face.

“I’m going to say this very slowly,” Henry whispered. “So that maybe even a bastard Brujah childe can understand. The Cajun Twilight Ball will be the finest event in North America this year, Sheriff. It is a celebration of the conquest of New Orleans. And if its security is compromised in any way, I will hold you personally responsible.” He drew Chuck in even closer, the Brujah’s assessment of the situation shifting in favor of fearing Henry. “And if I hear one more breath of closing it early, I will lop your head off the moment Klein’s declaration of Elysium has expired. Have I made myself clear?” Henry didn’t wait for the answer. He shoved Wilcox to the ground and went out, his friendly smile returning to greet Arthur.

Chuck Wilcox brought himself to his feet, trembling. He was afraid. One way or another, he didn’t expect to see another night.