Prologue - Outside Help

[Alex]

His Grace, Prince Magnus Alderidge, sat scowling at the head of the table - a plain, wooden table in a plain, paneled meeting room. He had come to expect finer surroundings since his undeath. But the events of recent nights had forced him trade that opulence in for anonymity and security. Instead of a lavish penthouse or a stunning convention hall, the Court officials were huddling in some anonymous meeting room in some anonymous office belonging to some company the Prince didn't even bother with the name of. He had people to remember the names of his holdings for him.

If the table and surroundings were the only things weighing on His Grace's mind, the Ventrue would be pleased. Maybe even ecstatic. He hadn't been more pleased with the composition of the Court since he was the only one sitting at it. Since the Domain of Houston had first been founded and he was its only scion. To his left, the long table was empty. The row of officials who would normally rival him was absent. The Anarch assault on the Primogen Scott's financial holdings had distracted the youthful Toreador. Distracted him to such an extent that he had insulted the Sheriff publicly, a situation the Sheriff would not accept. And with her two closest allies now at each others' throat, the Seneschal Lady Courtenay had in turn been forced to mediate between them. Her power could crumble from their disharmony, and she could not afford to show that sort of weakness at even a private meeting of the Court like this one. Thus, Prince Alderidge's enemies were absent. Theo Bronson, the Brujah Primogen who kept the Limits in line, was also away tending to his own affairs.

And yet, the Prince was still not happy.

The reason for his displeasure was staring him in the face. To the right of the table sat Oliver Klein, his loyal Keeper. The Scourge had let him know he would be tardy - an acceptable excuse, given the circumstances. But at the other end of the table sat the Kindred riling his Beast. Tall, pale, fiery-hared Robin St. Claire - dressed in a pink business suit and skirt combo by now out of date - stared the Prince himself down. To her left was another Toreador, his perfectly coifed hair shining in the dim light cast over the room. His suit was old-fashioned, light blue with a striped tie. His face, like everything else about him was stoic and immaculate. One might have mistaken him for a Ventrue, but no Ventrue cared that much for their appearance. The Herald, Alistair Baron, leaned back with some amusement that belied the anger the Prince felt towards him. He had an opening, and these empty-headed artistes were standing in his way.

"You test my patience, Primogen," Magnus hissed, laying his hands firmly on the table. "In this moment, we require action. The full Court will want revenge for the crimes committed by the Anarchs, both crimes against the Masquerade and against a Primogen of Houston. We cannot wait until the Lady Seneschal returns to make every decision. We must face the full Court tomorrow night, and we cannot tell them we are sitting on our hands!"

"I have been very clear, your Grace," Robin replied. "That my objection to the appointment of a Serjeant is not in the position itself. Nor is it a demand for the absent Seneschal's approval." She leaned forward herself, mustering all of the assertiveness she could. "I have said this before and I will continue to say this. The Primogeniture, in the absence of Primogens Bronson and Scott, do not find Chuck Wilcox to be an acceptable candidate."

"Nor do the Herald or my Harpies," Alistair cut in, a pleasant southern drawl escaping his lips like a cool glass of iced tea on a hot day. The Herald's suave demeanor irked the Prince even further. "This is not a matter of your factional disputes with the Lady Courtenay. Mr. Wilcox lacks the Standing that Kindred expect of a war leader. He is considered crass, uncouth, impolite, and unpleasant." Alistair shook his head. "And his appointment would reflect poorly on you. I guarantee it. One might think you were doing nothing more than repaying his loyalty."

"Then what would you have me do?" Magnus asked, slamming his hands into the table. Klein flinched at the gesture, but Magnus knew better than to expect anything of him while the Herald was at the table. Klein had spent decades restoring his own shattered reputation. There was nobody he would sacrifice it for, and it wasn't as though any replacement would be more loyal to His Grace than Klein himself. "Wilcox is the only Kindred who has expressed interest in the position whom I trust. You may not care for my 'factional disputes', but I will not appoint to power an agent who will use New Orleans as a launching point to plot my demise."

"And I will not sign off on the appointment of an incompetent who will enable mine," Robin snapped back. "When the Anarchs come to Houston, they will prize my head above any of yours." Robin slammed her own fists down, taking a cutting tone that even took the Prince aback. "If I am to meet my Final Death, it will not be because you felt the need to provide the Domain's sanction to a bitter, clueless Brujah's revenge plots against his grandchilde in place of a Serjeant who will do their job."

A moment of silence followed Robin's outburst, followed by another honey-thick statement from Alistair. "Your Grace, you may appoint who you wish - it is your prerogative," he said. "But the absence of the Lady Courtenay from these proceedings does not represent the evaporation of consequence for you. And you clearly care about those consequences, or else you'd have simply done as you pleased." He looked to Robin now. "Perhaps we should stop shouting and try to find agreement before the sun rises. His Grace is correct, dear Primogen. I will have to take note of our failure to react decisively to a challenge from the Rabble. It will not look good for us." At this, Robin calmed. She straightened her suit and resumed her posture. The Prince offered a concession, doing the same.

"So," Magnus said. "Wilcox is off the table. He will be furious, you know."

"And if he turns that fury into sabotage of this Court, you will take his head," Robin said icily. Magnus nodded slowly.

"Of course, Primogen. Do not mistake my tender spot for the man as weakness of my own Constitution," Magnus replied. "But it leaves us with the question of who would be both acceptable to you and the Herald and appropriate to the mission. I do not believe any of the Kindred of the Limits are sufficiently reliable. If we could count on their loyalty, we wouldn't need Theo to keep them in line."

"Agreed," the Herald said. "The urchins have a habit of finding common cause with the Anarchs."

"And few respectable Kindred at Court wish to risk their unlives against New Orleans," the Prince continued. "So where are we to find accord by the end of the night?

As the Prince finished speaking, the door opened. The Scourge, Conrad Chesterfield, entered. He was dressed all in black leather, but he was not alone. A woman in a long, pink jacket entered with him. "By looking beyond our own Court," the Scourge said. The other members of Court stood up, eyeing the woman with suspicion. "I do apologize for the deception as to the reason for my departure," he explained. "But this ravishing lady needed an escort to this esteemed gathering."

"I do not remember granting Hospitality to any Kindred from outside of our Court recently," the Prince said, firmly but not with anger. He assumed his judicious Scourge was going somewhere with this.

"Again, my apologies," Conrad said, bowing slightly. "I considered it important that this...process be carried out away from the Lady Courtenay. With all due respect, I was very much against the idea of her politicizing this process." Conrad could see the Prince's expression soften. His ally was easily manipulated with the mere mention of his rival, Conrad knew. "But if you would have it, I would introduce you all to Lady Juliet Carlisle-Hastings - Recognized by the Prince of New York City and currently residing in Chicago. I believe she shares your blood, Primogen St. Claire." The lady silently offered her hand to each Court officer. They took it, tepidly but curiously, one after another. "The Lady comes highly recommended," Conrad continues. "I was put into contact with her by a Clanmate in Chicago who caught wind of our situation. She even comes with the recommendations of an Archon." On cue, Juilet produced a sealed letter to the Prince. His Grace opened it.

"Archon Reginald Cheshire III!" He said. "You do come highly recommended, milady. But if you are so talented, why is your Prince willing to part with you. And why are you willing to throw yourself into the breach? As you know, we are faced with capable monsters in New Orleans."

Juliet stood on the empty left of the table, allowing all eyes to fall on her. When she spoke, it was with a proper British accent. An immaculate enunciation not quite yet lost to time, but reserved for the nobility of Britannia in these nights. "Your Grace," she said. "Kindred of Houston. I do not approach you seeking power for myself. While I am sure it will come with my role, my desires are much simpler. In the nights of the 21st century, I was meant to take my place upon the ivory tower of New York. That chance, and more, was taken from me when the Anarchs stormed the city. I witnessed their brutality. And after decades of recovering what is mine, I wish to repay it in kind."

"And what role do you hope to take," Alistair chimed in. "In our city's politics, Lady Carlisle-Hastings?"

"Should all go well, I shan't take any role beyond my reports to the Prince and this Council on my progress," Juliet replied. "I should hope the politics I will care about will be in the new Court of New Orleans. But I have been briefed by Lord Chesterfield, and have assured him that I intend neutrality in Houston." Both the Prince and Robin smiled at that. His Grace passed the Archon's recommendation to Robin, letting her see it with her own eyes. Klein reached for it next, sensing a way out of his current predicament of allegiance.

Conrad finally took his own seat, pleased with the results. He and Victor had been working on the prospect of a Serjeant for some time, and he had managed to turn this sudden disruption into a opportunity. "Well, then," Magnus finally said. "Would there be any objection to the Lady Juliet leading the war in New Orleans?" He looked around, pleased to see silence. If nothing else, Magnus knew he had picked at least one ally who wasn't a buffoon. "Will you see to her briefing, Scourge?"

"Of course," Conrad said. "Myself and Victor made some...arrangements before our departure after the last, failed offensive. We believe we will be able to entrust our new Serjeant with those resources once she arrives in New Orleans."

"Very well, then," the Prince said. "Any final words before we proceed, Lady Carlisle-Hastings?"

The Toreador smiled. Decades of bitterness and resentment had finally paid off, and they had done so in short order. She had been surprised at how easily she had attained her new post. But perhaps this Warlock was every bit the exceptional young Kindred her ally in Chicago had told her. And so, she simply nodded. "Next year, in New Orleans!"

"Next year!" Magnus joined her. "In New Orleans!"