Rubbing Shoulders (With Fame and Fortune)

[Malkavian Riddler]

Rubbing Shoulders With Fame and Fortune
a roleplay with Malkavian Riddler, Existentially Odd & Satyr
 
 
 
Those in the Brotherhood that had initiated Chet into its embrace had all but disappeared. They\'d deemed the city unsatisfactory to their new haven and so had pioneered a different path, leaving him behind to clean up. There was little he\'d had to do, since his sire had made sure nothing important was left behind, except him. He half-suspected Ender had made the decision to leave, taking the others with him, because he wanted nothing to do with the fledgling he\'d made and was now responsible for.
 
Rejection was an easier medicine to swallow when he had someone who approved of him nearby. Seran had followed him to the city, finding him at Risk and partaking in a reacquainting. Not long after, Ophelus, Pansa and Ender had vanished with little communication - only the smallest instruction left for him to read and understand that when they were set up in another city they would send for him and he was to keep an eye on things there. What was he to keep an eye on, except the empty halls of Haven Crest? Most of the furniture had been removed along with the occupants, only a few items remained. He\'d been left with very little money to re-establish himself - likely because they didn\'t want him to, because they wanted him to depend on them for support.
 
Well, he didn\'t need it, he had Seran, who\'d come to this city with him in Spain, and the two of them had discussed things and reached a conclusion that sat well on Chet\'s shoulders but seemingly uncomfortably on Seran\'s.
 
He was doing his part, networking with the power players of this city - politicians were here, influential people such as doctors, lawyers and judges were here, anybody that knew anyone with a bit of human power in this city were here. A few vampires were here but this social gathering on the top floor of the Art Gallery was mostly for humans. Humankind were very good at networking, possibly the best of all species, they stuck together more than any other kind and they were predictable. If you had something they wanted, they were nice to you. If they thought you were rich and powerful, they were nice to you. If they even suspected that you might surpass them on the food chain... they were nice to you. Social niceties that meant nothing, sure, but the more people he knew, the more favours he could do and expect in return.
 
Seran, he\'d brought along, to assist his networking skills and to introduce him to the appropriate people if he wanted to establish a stronghold in this city. Humans were the first step, for if they had to be dominated mentally, they could be. Other vampires were the second step, and the ones who would listen to Seran first were the ones who came to parties like these.
 
"Stop looking so unhappy," he instructed in a light-hearted whisper, tugging on Seran\'s sleeve as they mingled through the small crowd of people. A singer was on a pseudo-stage, warbling gently into a muted microphone, to assist the atmosphere, no doubt.

[Existentially Odd]

Seran gave Rochester a scowl for his efforts and made sure his sleeve was well out of tugging distance from then on.  It was a new suit he wore, bought on advice from his... well, he supposed the aristocrat mostly represented the role of advisor now.  Either way, the suit was crisp and black, cut in a modern style with a pristine white business shirt beneath, the maroon cravat at his throat the only concession to the past.  He\'d got the feeling that the neophyte hadn\'t fully approved but he\'d won that particular style battle anyway.

He was leery of arguing here, where they were meant to make a fabulous impression, and he knew himself well enough to understand that it was the tension of the situation making him snappy; the complete opposite of the front they wished to present.  He was better off keeping his mouth shut and smiling as happily as he could manage (which meant his lips stayed in a neutral position instead of bowing downward in consternation).

These thoughts only reminded him of how topsy turvy and unsettling his existence had become altogether, lately.  The thought that he\'d summoned assassins and then sent them after his very own sire and the other two leaders that represented the ancient council... it chilled and horrified him, even though he knew it had been necessary.  They\'d lost their way, all three of them, becoming wrapped up in their own self-absorbed existences to the point that they\'d rejected this city as a prime candidate for a substantial haven.

Seran had been horrified.  The gluttony and adulation had gone to their heads, the awe-inspiring ideals of the society forgotten in place of lending money, holding favours over people\'s heads and torturing mortals who didn\'t need any more agony in their lives.  It had all become about amusement, a common instigator of sloth in human beings and the sad downfall of the Brotherhood.  As far as the Spaniard was concerned, Rochester, he and his were the only true believers in this organisation and he aimed to restore it to its former glory.

Once the Ancients were dead, he intended to run the Brotherhood and set up the grandest haven of them all, right here in the city, where the ley lines were vibrant, the supernatural population was crowded and the understanding and respect due the ancient ones was high.  This city was delicious, in all aspects of the word; his superiors had been idiots.

According to Rochester though, for true dominance they needed \'connections\', so here they were tonight, dressed in their finery and skulking their way through crowds who were as full of their own self importance as Ophelus, Pansa and Ender ever had been.  He fit in no better here than he had amongst their disillusioned company at the end, and being told to look cheerful about it was the height of rudeness, in his opinion.  "I am unhappy," he countered in just as quiet a whisper, "these mortals are insufferable."

[Malkavian Riddler]

Chet stopped moving slowly through the crowd in order to look at Seran directly after that little gem had come out of his mouth.

"You have to suffer them, if you want to get your vision rolling on the fast track," he explained yet again, for it seemed Seran was finding it difficult to understand that simple concept.  "Unless you want to depend on me a great deal more?" he asked, something which he wouldn\'t mind but know that Seran would seethe over every time he asked Rochester to get them over a hurdle.  He knew once Seran met these people individually, he would win them over with his own charm, but it was difficult to make the first contact without a reference, so this party would be their reference.  "That\'s the Mayor, he\'s a fan of our kind.  I hear he\'s easily seduced with words as long as it doesn\'t threaten his own seat.  He has a variety of connections that could help our cause, but the Brotherhood hadn\'t yet approached him."  Chet said this last in a disapproving tone.

[Existentially Odd]

The ancient made an effort to smooth his expression from testy to neutral.  Despite the difference, he was still at a loss as to what he was meant to do with the mayor.

"So... I should offer him... or tell him about the Brotherhood?  He would be interested in... connections around the world?" he guessed, not convinced that a local politician would need such things, but what else was Rochester suggesting he say?

[Malkavian Riddler]

Chet blinked at Seran for a moment.

"Firstly, I would wait until someone approaches the mayor that I know, then I\'ll go there with you and be introduced, and can introduce you. Conversation will happen naturally, I wouldn\'t bandy the Brotherhood around on the first date, so to speak." He stared at Seran for a lingering moment. "This is just to meet people, we\'ll find out who we\'ve met afterward, and plan later. Relax, damnit," he hissed.

A fellow passing them greeted Chet and made noises about finding him \'in a bit\', for he was following a woman to another area in the gallery. Chet made a quick reply and then turned back to Seran. "The Brotherhood hadn\'t even bothered to approach the Oligarchy either, and I think there\'s problems in their stables, because of the constant changing of hands at the top. We really should set something up. I was hoping to meet one of the vampire Oligarchs here - there are two - but I can\'t see either yet."

[Existentially Odd]

Now Seran found some animation, his lip curling disdainfully at the mention of the Oligarchy, despite his attempts to follow his companion\'s instructions and relax a moment prior. "Them?  What do we want with them?" he demanded arrogantly, fire flashing in his dark eyes.  It was obvious that the suggestion for collusion affronted him; Seran could see no value in collaborating with such an undisciplined rabble, quite frankly.

It wasn\'t that he was prejudiced so much as he was an elitist.  Other varieties of supernatural served their purpose (whatever that could possibly be) he supposed, but he, personally, didn\'t see a great deal of value in any of them.  Demons were pathologically untrustworthy and stupid, fae were self- congratulatory and fickle and lycans were monstrously out of control whenever they had the potential to be of any use.  As for any of the other odd creatures he\'d scented whilst walking down this city\'s streets, none of them seemed noteworthy (not even the angels he\'d met).

Vampires were the one true ascendant and the thought of an organisation that put any of them on equal enough ranking with kindred to assign them positions in some sort of democratic hierarchy simply repulsed him.  Certainly, a vampire was in charge of the council, but Seran couldn\'t comprehend what respect he could have for everything else that fluttered or slunk about him beyond mundane use.  It didn\'t garner any respect for the organisation from him and he really didn\'t care if there were fifty oligarchs present, he would be more likely to get into a hot debate about their betrayal to the purest form of immortal and how stupid they really were to entertain the notion of equality with others, than simply talk with them.

No, if those sorts of connections were to be made, they would be Rochester\'s initiative alone.

[Malkavian Riddler]

"Not all takeovers are hostile. They can have all the rest, we just want our kind," Chet explained with a bored tone before nodding towards a couple of people in the far corner. "Those two, I\'ve seen them before at Risk," he said, turning his head so as to speak quietly, knowing Seran would hear him well enough, "I think they know the owners, they went upstairs into the VIP room. We want to find out who the owners are, for who else would establish a club like Risk except those who care for kindred?"
 
Chet\'s eyes roamed across the crowd, searching for a bigger, better fish, though it seemed the two he\'d spotted would be the ones he\'d approach. Unless, of course, he spotted an Oligarch - identifiable by the dragon tattoo upon their neck.

[Existentially Odd]

Seran was far more comfortable - even mildly interested - in that prospect.  Although the nightclub had struck him much like a brothel would an ordinary mortal, he could see why younger vampires would be drawn to it.  As seedy and indulgent as it was, it served a purpose and certainly presented an opportunity to influence a wider vampire community; he was not going to fall into the trap of hedonism that his superiors had, and convince himself that what they had was enough.

New blood was the way of the future and new ways were never to be dismissed without quality consideration; the Brotherhood really would stagnate and die if it couldn\'t embrace the ways of an ever-renewing society.

"Buena idea," Seran breathed, giving his young companion a nod and a small smile.  Yes, finding the owners of Risk did seem an intelligent move to make.  The ancient was ready to walk alongside his ex-pupil willingly now, eager to have this conversation.

By chance - or by blood, rather - the Spaniard had drawn the attention of Chet\'s truer prey by complete happenstance.  The Oligarch for Vampires, Kerr Galvin was present at the function this evening, mixing far more willingly with the elite guests present (even though he was there at the behest of his Luminary and had, initially, rebelled against the idea of coming) than he elder was.  With him was his lover and fledgling, Ben Samson, whom he\'d balked at taking out in public just yet, only to find that the blonde was more than interested in accompanying him to this nothing, societal do.

It was a pretty spectacle, filled with tinkling laughter, avaricious conversation and quixotic groupings of people that meant things wouldn\'t be dull.  The ability to take everything at surface level (or delve into minds that seemed just that little bit too altruistic to be believable in this environment) made it a pleasant farce to endure, and they got to dress up and make eyes at one another over glasses of wine they could only pretend to drink.

Seeing Ben dressed handsomely and out of the rather stifling environment of their apartment made Kerr ache for the past, for everything between them to be alright, so that they could fully enjoy this little intrigue.  He\'d worn his Nehru suit (because it partially hid the tattoo on his neck - a mark that very few understood but which some in these circles frowned upon, thinking that it turned him into some sort of ill-placed hooligan) with a deep red satin shirt peeking out at his square collar, his hair pulled back into a pony tail at his nape (a style he was favouring more frequently) with a matching red ribbon.  He spoke animatedly and shook all the right hands of course, but his brown eyes were nearly always looking at Ben.

That was, of course, until he registered the very ancient pull of an old one, across the room.  He and Ben exchanged looks, Kerr mentally asking his fledgling if he felt the power of it even as he began to manouevure himself in the elder\'s direction.  Short of craning his neck, he actively sought line of sight with the ancient before coming to a stop a few metres away, finding him an unremarkable-looking man engaged in conversation with another, younger kindred (it took some extension of his abilities to find that information out, without alerting the other to his presence).

The pull of the old blood conjured the aroma of old, deep earth, rotting flesh and the nostaligia of history passed beyond even his comprehension.  Kerr had been burned bowing down to an ancient once before - though, at the time, Lazarus had been appreciative and it had drawn him favour - so he was hesitant to do so again; especially in such an open environment.  It would be obvious and draw questions he didn\'t need to answer or mentally erase... but still, his body screamed to pay homage.  He settled for staring and gauging the situation for the time being, instead.  It looked like the other duo were on the move, anyway.

[Malkavian Riddler]

Chet spied Kerr first but didn\'t make the connection.  It was the expression on the other\'s face and the stillness in which he stood that drew his attention initially.  On closer inspection, he saw a tiny portion of what could possibly be a dragon tattoo upon the other\'s neck; noticeable only to those who were looking for it and only because he had perceptions above and beyond even some of his peers (not that he had many).

"He\'s not speaking with you, is he?" Chet asked, turning his head out of the Oligarch\'s sight in order to move his lips directly near Seran\'s ear.  He meant mental conversation, of course, thinking that it would be typical if one ancient would speak to another that way (though he\'d heard rumours that the Oligarchs responsible for others weren\'t superior in age, except for the one they called the Luminary, who was supposed to have reached Biblical proportion but he doubted such a thing).

[Existentially Odd]

Seran was startled by the question, though his composure held and he didn\'t make any overt gestures as his gaze wandered the path Rochester\'s had, noting a tall, dark immortal staring at him. A fairer vampire stood with him, though neither was doing anything outstanding - except stare at him, of course.

A quick mental sweep was all it took to ascertain that his companion\'s fears weren\'t founded.  "No.  He\'s just... looking this way, nothing to be concerned about," Seran reassured the younger, not having made the connection of the stranger\'s importance.  He looked pointedly at the other two Rochester had pointed out.  "Shall we go talk to them?" he hinted, nodding in the Risk VIP\'s direction before looking enquiringly at Chet.

[Malkavian Riddler]

"He\'s an Oligarch," came the blunt reply.  He hoped that Seran would wish to make an impression with the other, for surely leaders of two organisations would meld together?  It would make sense for a vampire to wish to blend with his own kind and not dirty himself with the unrelated paths of other species?  "He\'s already looking at you, we should take advantage,"  he bumped his elbow against Seran\'s side as a gesture of encouragement before taking the steps needed to lead him towards Kerr.  Not noticing if Seran was at his side and not needing him to be, Chet introduced himself.

"Chet Hallard," he declared, extending a hand for Kerr to shake.  "I don\'t believe we\'ve met, though I\'ve intended for us to."  His gaze flicked to the other kindred standing at Kerr\'s side, unable to identify him and unable to pick up any vibes from him, whatsoever.

[Trillian]

Imposters; with their fake smiles and fattened wallets, easing their guilty consciences with donations to charities they\'d never heard of because of a story or picture of a dying frail child.  They came to events like these so they could swathe themselves in colours and try to one-up each other in a contest for pride and arrogance.  As far as Anatoli was concerned, they all won, which made them all losers.

Expensive wine and cheap laughter made his head ache.  He couldn\'t tolerate another introduction, another compliment or praise from someone who couldn\'t even get his name right.  He could feel a throbbing at his temples that had nothing to do with the music that was playing lightly in the background, dare it interrupt their important conversations about golf, tennis or sailing, about who owned more than who, whose yacht was biggest, whose shares were dropping, which country they were owning.  He felt he would throw up on the next person that addressed him, and perhaps give them something more meaningful to discuss in the meantime.

It was a farce, why had he agreed to this?  It wasn\'t the money anymore, it was a favour, for he\'d stopped being favourable to those who\'d gone out of their way for him and now he was making amends, to right such wrongs.  The favour was for a newly acquired acquaintance who called himself friend, but they were far and few now, to a point where he couldn\'t be overly selective.  Why had he let that happen?  Why had he replaced loved ones with these anonymous bodyforms and wallets?  They could\'ve been mannequins for all the heart that went into their chests.  Lifeless, loveless, powermongering poseurs, vultures that shredded the last bit of humanity they had left for an extra dollar or pretense of goodwill.  It was a joke.

Stifling; he was dying for air.  He excused himself without a word and pushed through the circle of pseudo admirers circling around him.  Their eyes too shiny with the excitement of finding out the latest scoop on what he\'d been doing with his time.  It was an interest that had no correlation with his well-being, they were only after gossip.  He knew.  He knew them without knowing them.  He knew all he had to know.

Finally, out through some double doors and onto the balcony.  He shut them after himself and lay his forehead on the cool, rippled glass.  Tension immediately left his shoulders and he circled his neck and shoulders, stretching out his arms and exercising his fingers before leaning upon the stone balustrade that separated him from the fall below.  Above him was a night sky struggling for stars, only the strongest and brightest glimmered against the glare of the city lights, a half dozen at best.  He watched them twinkle and thought to himself about how much he was like them.  Lonely, seldom watched, dying while burning brightly.

[Existentially Odd]

Chet certainly left Seran in his wake.  More than that, though, the intended leader of the Brotherhood became incensed by the way the younger vampire insisted upon going to the Oligarch when, to Seran\'s mind, it seemed a far better idea to speak with those that would be able to put him in touch with the owners of Risk.

Risk was the way forward; the Oligarchy was merely a sideways (and rather muddy) step that wouldn\'t take them anywhere exemplary, in his opinion.  Frankly, he wasn\'t looking to touch vampires already sullied by their association with an existing organisation and places like Risk were the breeding grounds for new thought, open to the Brotherhood\'s influence.  Above all else, he respected loyalty and there didn\'t seem reason to dally with those whose loyalties were already declared.

Momentarily lost for words and left alone between two points that he could travel to - and only one that appealed - Seran did the only thing he could think to do; he retreated.  This networking business was too open and flexible for his liking (plus, he wanted to drive his point about not liking the Oligarchy home), so he walked in entirely the opposite direction, away from Chet, away from contacts he wanted to make, heading through the crowd as quickly as his celerity would allow him.

Within moments, he noticed a few curtained sections set into the outer wall and knew, by instinct, that they hid sliding glass doors to balconies (or to just the one long one).  Some time truly apart appealed above all else just then and he slid unobtrusively between the curtains, unlocked the door he\'d predicted he would find beyond and out, out into the fresh night air.  A sense of rebellion, triumph and relief washed through him as he found himself alone in a far more comfortable manner, with no eyes upon him and no people to have to talk with as if he were playing mental chess, rather than simply... talking.

Kerr, on the other hand, was quite taken by Chet\'s greeting and smiled automatically as he returned his shake, eyebrows raised in surprise.  "Kerr Galvin," he responded, registering where the younger vampire\'s gaze travelled.  "And we certainly haven\'t," he added, knowing that the well-spoken gentleman had only used the line about them meeting as a lead-in but using it to his advantage in a very similar way.

"This is Ben Samson," he then introduced, deliberately letting go of Chet\'s hand and stepping aside so that his love got some attention.  It allowed him to ask his next question while Chet was partially distracted, a strategic move on his part - Chet struck him as quite the smooth operator, something he instinctively wished to challenge.  "Why is it that you\'ve intended for us to meet?" he enquired, a multitude of possibilities occurring to him, each more intriguing than the last.

[Malkavian Riddler]

"I have much to say to a man in your position," Chet said deliberately, implying the knowledge that Kerr was a great deal more than a simple man, before his glance returned to Ben, "but now is not the time and place," he finished with a smile, letting the other known as Ben (who he correctly assumed was a partner if not the other\'s fledgling, or both) understand that he wasn\'t going to talk shop, as it were.  The best way to get into the good books with an Oligarch was to make nice with those he liked to spend his time with - and that would be Ben.  "I hope it was easier for you to acquire an invitation here than it was for me.  I almost had to pen a card myself," he said, declaring a half-truth for the invitations he\'d handed at the door had been a forgery after all.

[Trillian]

The balcony selected was already occupied and once the doors slid open, Anatoli closed his eyes momentarily with a frown, waiting to be accosted with an accusation that he really shouldn\'t isolate himself away from his fans (figuring the only person who would bother following him was his manager), but when no such accusations came - in fact, no voice at all - he opened his eyes and turned on the spot.

He was wearing a double-tailed coat tonight, of red velvet showmanship.  It was over-the-top, really, but he liked it.  Everything else was a great deal less pretentious but the coat usually won over stares from his face.  He preferred it that way - better to let those vacuous eyes drift over something immaterial than gazing shallowly upon his face.  Except these eyes weren\'t shallow, though how he could know such a thing without being able to properly see them was beyond him.  It was simply a sense.

The stranger said nothing as he spun slowly on the spot, his hands on the cold stone balustrade behind him and his elbows slightly bent, feeling as though his face was in as much shadow as the one who\'d stepped into his space but unable to shake the feeling that he\'d surprised the other as much as he\'d been surprised himself.  Another brightly burning dying star?  He didn\'t like his chances, though the forced interaction with another human being - one that opened the possibility of depth, for why else would he seek solitude unless he was like-minded? (Anatoli refused to acknowledge that his visitor may have sought an outside area to enjoy the harsh reality of a cigarette) - intrigued him.

He stared, openly, without expression, without greeting, waiting for the other to either stay or go.