The April Insurrection - A Bastard Brujah Childe

[Alex]

Chuck Wilcox never cared much for Formal Court. Above all else, it was a reminder of how little he felt he fit in with the Court of Houston. He believed in the Camarilla through and through, but Court was more than loyalty. He looked awkward in the only cheap suit he could afford these nights. His gruff, Midwestern accent didn't fit in with the plantation dandies, European nobility, and other hoi-poi the Camarilla usually drew from. He was what Henry had called him five decades ago - a bastard, Brujah childe. It was an insult that had stuck in his head for some reason. Maybe just because it was one of the last things the Malkavian had said to anyone. But it was true, and Chuck rarely got to forget it when the Kindred were clucking like hens at Court.

Tonight, though, thoughts of his low status, his cheap suit, and his low-class accent had been burned from his mind. With the Court dismissed, Chuck didn't stick around for appetizers and casual chit-chat with his betters. He marched out of the convention hall at the renowned Astorian Hotel and into the sticky night air. He threw off his tie as he approached a red familiar red Cadillac with the top down. He knew he wouldn't have to wait long before its owner showed up.

"You!" Chuck shouted and pointed as Conrad Chesterfield approached. The Tremere was dressed in a navy blue suit with a high-collared jacket over it. "You, we need to talk! What the fuck was that in there?!"

"I'm afraid, Deputy," Conrad said, in his outdated Trans-Atlantic accent. "That I can't vouch for what you're speaking of. If you would like to speak like gentlemen, though, I'm afraid I must ask you use my title." Chuck brought his palm to his forehead and shook his head. "Propriety does not end at the doorway to Court, Deputy," Conrad tut-tutted the Brujah.

"Scourge," he said. "What I'm referring to is that we just hosted a celebration at Court."

"A celebration of our new Primogen," Conrad agreed. "Rodney Colombo has long sought the position, and I think we can afford him a moment of charity for his accomplishments."

"We haven't even fucking buried the last one!" Chuck protested. "We're a week out from the Sabbat doing Christ-knows-what to one of our Primogens in broad fucking moonlight, and you and the Sheriff and everyone else is in a mood to celebrate? Have you lost your goddamn minds?"

"Deputy, I understand the limitations of your Blood but I do need to ask that you calm down," Conrad chided him. He walked over and unlocked the door to his Cadillac, beginning to load his things in. "The Final Death of Theodore Bronson was unfortunate, but this is exactly why Primogen Colombo was elevated. His elevation was contingent on a commitment to put down the Anarch revolt in the south of the Limits."

"And the Sabbat?" Chuck replied. "I didn't hear anything come up about the people who killed our Primogen!

"A symptom of the Anarchs' activity in Houston," Conrad said. He closed the Cadillac door, leaning against it to speak to Chuck. "It's clear at this point that the Anarch rot runs deep. The Sabbat can only thrive in the breakdown of good order. If we subdue the Anarchs, the Sabbat will crumble. And it's not as if they have no history of collaboration, lest you forget New Orleans."

"You needn't remind me," Chuck said with a dangerous growl.

"Then I don't understand your frustration," Conrad explained. "We already have a Serjeant-"

"Who you went behind my fucking back to get appointed," Chuck tossed in.

"Who met the approval of the Primogeniture despite my personal objections," Conrad lied. "Appointed to New Orleans. This is clearly a desperate offensive aimed at destabilizing us here to interrupt our work in the city. By fighting them on both fronts, we will wear them down. When the Anarchs are dealt with, we can turn our attention to the Blood Cult."

"And what if we can't subdue them?" Chuck asked quietly. "What if the Anarchs fight back and the Sabbat goes for our throat while we're focused on the wrong enemy. You know I want to take the people who killed my boy down, Con-Scourge. But I spent too many nights fighting these Sabbat wackos. The moment you take your eye off of them, they tear your goddamn heart out."

"His Grace and the Lady Seneschal have fought the Sabbat for longer than either of us have walked the Earth - living or dead," Conrad interjected.

"So had Henry!" Chuck retorted. Conrad moved his hands to urge the Brujah to calm down again, but Chuck pushed through it. He grabbed the Scourge by the shoulders. "I swear to fucking Christ, Conrad. I feel like I've lost my mind and I'm reliving New Orleans all over again. That this Court, just like Henry, is still so obsessed with pretending we don't have a Sabbat problem that we're about to get our asses handed to us again! None of this would be happening if Henry had just listened to me and done literally anything about the Butcher and all that lot! And this time we don't got nowhere to run home to!"

Conrad looked hard at Chuck, considering his options. He was incensed that this lowly creature was speaking to him this way - let alone touching him. But he knew he would need Wilcox's experience with the Anarchs in the coming nights. Even if his little project was ready for another test run. Conrad stepped back, patting Chuck on the shoulder. "I see, Deputy," Conrad said. He finally slipped into his car, turning it on. He did rather miss the revving of a fuel engine, but anything decent was electric these days. "I understand that this is a deeply personal issue to you, Wilcox. But for now, our focus remains on the Anarchs. Regardless of our feelings, His Grace's decree is law. That said, I will see what I can do about raising your concerns to the internal Court at the next opportunity."

Chuck watched as the Cadillac pulled out, Conrad having given him the runaround. He bit his tongue, allowing him to spit a loogie of blood to the ground. "No you fucking won't," Chuck said, once he was sure the Warlock couldn't hear him. "None of you will." Chuck grabbed his flip phone and walked towards his own vehicle. If the rest of Court wouldn't handle the Sabbat, he would. They'd thank him later.

Soundtrack - Cool, Considerate Men