The walk to Seavers' Haven proper was dark. Very dark. The sconces, eternally burning with cold magic flame, had died along with their master. Without access to his supernatural powers, Liam couldn't even see his hand in front of his face.

Fortunately, Mickey had a flashlight on his smartphone. The meagre light was enough for them to make their way through the tunnel.

Once they were through, Liam immediately noticed lights in a room down the hallway to his left. The library, if he recalled correctly. Mickey was able to procure a couple of battery lamps from the Tremere's expeditionary caches. With a more reliable light source at their disposal, Liam was able to take in the cold remains of the Kiasyd's former stronghold.

The parlor was down the hall to his right, in the opposite direction to the library. Seavers' vintage vitae collection lay in the cellar beyond that. The gleaming floors and intricately formed stonework hallways looked much as they did in Seavers' time, though the lighting did them absolutely no justice. One of Seavers' homunculi stood motionless in the hallway. It was beyond Liam's ability to tell if they were now inanimate, or merely dormant.

"They say he formed this place without tools," Flynn remarked, taking in the intricate carvings. "Using disciplines and force of will alone. It's a shame madness took him."

Liam paused and glanced towards the library in passing. "Someone's burning the midnight oil in the library," he observed, his thoughts immediately going to Miss. She'd mentioned she was going to petition van Fokke to catalogue Seavers holdings. Swinging his light around he stopped short immediately upon illuminating the looming figure of the homunculus, its expression vacant and inert. It was neither fearful or pitiable. Just empty.

"He was a wilful individual," Liam concurred. "I would not be surprised if the stories are true."

"I am surprised to hear of this madness towards the end of a long and illustrious death."

Liam dragged the pool of light away from Seavers' inanimate servant and resumed course towards the parlour.

"Unless of course madness is another name for rejecting Noonian's overtures, in which case I am deeply sympathetic to Seavers because I too appear to have come down with a terminal case of madness. Practically Malkavian. Hence my determination to drink until I am sane again."

"Yeah, the boss has a couple of locals from the Chantry cataloguing his books," Flynn said, producing a pack of cigarettes and taking one out. He tossed the pack to Liam, and paused a moment as he lit his. The smoke danced over the lantern light in ghostly rays. "The man had an impressive collection, but an utterly alien sorting system. That, or someone from the Alhambra snuck in and mixed them up to make their job harder. Word to the wise: if you do end up working with us, don't get on van Fokke's shit list. He's not above petty shit like that. Let's leave 'em be."

Flynn headed down the hallway with Liam towards the parlour at a leisurely pace. "This is the room where it happened. I can walk you through how it went down, but... Let's get a couple drinks in us first, eh?" He produced a hip flask, took a sip, and tossed it over to Liam. It smelled like Jack's Own, but the flask's mouth was too narrow and the lighting too poor to see inside.

He seemed genuinely offended by Liam's allegations. "Hey man, you'd be stupid to believe everything he tells you, but I can personally attest to that fact. I was the one who told van Fokke he was off his nut."

He threw the doors of the parlour open, and with an impressive display of accuracy and speed, he threw a whirling ball of fire clear across the immense drawing room. The fireplace sprang to life, bathing the entire room in its glow. "He wanted to let that thing out of its cage. I was keeping an eye on him, and I found out."

The struggle that had ended Seavers' life had painted its proof all over the drawing room
Seavers' ethereally comfortable chairs lay on their backs, one shredded with claws, and the other with a scorch mark in the middle of its backrest. Tables were up turned, bookshelves broken and spilled, and the stone floors scuffed and scratched. Plenty of blood, too. Any ashes, if they had indeed been present had been respectfully cleaned up.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:32, Thu 29 Oct 2020.

Liam paused and held his lamp up for Mickey to light his cigarette. He'd been resisting the urge to do the same out of respect to Seavers, but now that a pack had been placed in his hands he found it difficult to abstain. The need to light his way forward meant that he was short a hand to hold everything that had been offered to him and he could do little more than salute Michael with the flask and raise it to his lips in the half light of the corridor before handing it back off.

"Dark as a tomb in here," he muttered as Michael threw back the doors. When the hearth burst into flame his eyes went wide.

"Christ almighty," he whispered. "You two weren't kidding around."

Liam was a few moments drinking in the scene before he spoke again, without turning to look at his escort.

"Seavers had spent decades safeguarding Its prison. Longer. I wonder what caused him to reconsider at long last..." he said faintly.

"That much I couldn't tell you," Mickey said with a shrug. "Same emanations came up as when the Third Tribe was active. Same scratchings at the door. When he started putting out feelers for the Tome, well, I had to act. And I'll tell you this much, he sure didn't order just the two of us to come. Let's crack that cellar door, though. Let's have some Fae blood, in honour of the old man."

He took a large swig from his flask, then tossed it back to Liam. There was an equally generous portion in reserve. "You can kill it," he said.

Liam caught the flask and eyed the neck. "Jack knows his way around a bottle of bourbon, but even he can't compare with the wine of the Gods."

"Sláinte," Liam said, tipping the drink back. He hoped Mickey didn't spike his own drink. If he did it was up to Liza now to keep him safe.

Liam handed back the flask and wiped his mouth. "Lets open the cellar."

Mickey followed Liam to the cellar. It had been largely picked over, but there were still a few bottles left. Fortunatel, Seavers didn't keep any mediocre bottles. After a moment of searching they managed to procure two bottles of Fae blood. Pooka for Liam, and Sidhe for Mickey. He pulled the cork out with his teeth, and took a long draught.

"How 'bout you sleep this off at the Alhambra?" he said as they made their way back up to the parlour. "We can take you where you're going tomorrow night. And gives you a taste of the life you'll be passing up."

"A lot of eyes in the sky tonight," Hasan said, in his mind. "All of them on you. Mooks, too, looking out their windows. Exfil is gonna be a bitch."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:58, Thu 29 Oct 2020.

Liam laughed. "It's a good life, I'm sure," he replied. "Very tempting." He stared into the depleted liquor cabinet looking for a very particular bottle. Hopefully it had gone unnoticed amidst the pillaging. Coming away with his trove in hand, he righted the chair with the scorch-mark in the back. Seavers' chair.

Liam toasted Mickey and sunk down into the seat. "To Seavers," he said, drinking directly from the bottle for want of a glass that had not been shattered into a thousand crystal shards. Fae blood was like no other vitae Liam had ever tasted.

"I won't say no," he said at last. "We'll see where the night takes us."

"Tell me how it happened, Mickey," he said, gesturing around the room.

Saulot's blood was, unfortunately, nowhere to be found. It was either taken by the Tremere, or had been secreted away somewhere Liam wasn't familiar with.

The Fae blood tickled as it worked its way down his throat. He began to feel giddy. Playful, even. Sparking lights worked their way around the room, dancing in the shadows. He wasn't sure if he was hallucinating, or merely seeing something previously unseeable.

Mickey took a pull off his own bottle and shivered. "Oof, that's the stuff," he remarked. He walked around the room as he spoke, starting with near the door.

"So when I told van Fokke what I expected, he called us all in. Every last Magus under his command. Even flew in others from nearby posts. Nine of us in total, not counting the man himself."

"We marched up to Seavers' front door and demanded an audience. He allowed van Fokke to enter alone, while the nine of us waited above ground. I'm not privy to the conversation that took place, but it's my understanding that he Bound Seavers, and was hoping to give him the Black Chalice. This would have bent the Kiasyd to his will, and ultimately spared his life."

"However, Seavers was not so easily defeated. Though Bound, he still put up a formidable fight. And unlike it does with the Gangrel, the binding didn't take away his claws. Van Fokke was losing, and he called out to us. We stormed the haven, and found them locked in combat."

"He ordered us to kill Seavers, which I'm sure you can appreciate is not an order I can or would refuse. We unleashed hell upon him. He still managed to slay two of our numbers before we finally reduced him to ash."

He took another long pull. "I hope you know he died well. No begging, no cowardice. He fought tooth and nail 'til the end."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:13, Fri 30 Oct 2020.

Liam was silent for a few moments after Mickey concluded. He sat pensively staring into the hearth, and swirled the contents of his bottle. "I expected nothing less of Seavers," he said, breaking the still at last.

"Though until I sat down in this chair and heard you retell it, part of me still believed he'd somehow escaped. I always thought he was prepared for everything."

He took a sip of the fae blood.

"I know you can't refuse an order. I don't begrudge you that."

"I don't think I would have made a very good Tremere," Liam said, musing over his wine. "For a number of reasons, obviously. Not least of which is that I was never a very good student. But more to the point I think it would have made me a deeply cynical soul."

"Although I'm not sure I've been a very good Gangrel either, come to think of it. I can't seem to leave this city well enough alone."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:44, Fri 30 Oct 2020.

"Nobody told me unlife was just one big bureaucracy," Flynn said. "And the Tremere's one of the worst. Don't get me wrong, it's got its perks, but it's pretty open about it being one big pyramid scheme."

He took another sip from his bottle. "Now I can't say I disagree with you about the Gangrel. You may have been on the other side of things, but at least you stayed. I don't have much respect for a clan that pulls up its stakes, and turns its back on a conflict. You put your own convictions ahead of your clan. That, I respect."

"What about you?" Liam asked. "I realise the constraints placed upon you by the pyramid make it so you don't have any choice in the matter - you don't get to pick your side the way I do. But would you still be here if you could?"

"Is this..." Liam gestured broadly, encompassing far more than just the ruined salon the pair now occupied. "The vision?"

"You served," Mickey said. "Did you agree with all the methods your side was using? Did you think that everyone on the other end of your bayonet deserved to die? Would it have mattered? You did what you did, like a good soldier. And that was without a blood bond."

He raised the bottle to his lips, and drained it. He gestured for Liam to flow him back to the cellar for more. As he filled his arms, he continued to talk. "I spent the war in deep cover with the OSS," he said. "Working, living, and breaking bread with the cream of the SS crop. Not all of them were monsters - though many were. But when the time came to kill them, I never hesitated." he popped the cork on another bottle of Fae blood, and passed it to Liam.

"I won't lie to you and say I'm happy to be working alongside them now," he continued, setting the extra bottles down in the parlor. He opened another one for himself. "Of course, that pales in comparison to how they feel about serving under Teufel Nummer Fünf. I was a ghost story among their ranks. I must say it makes it a little easier being in their presence knowing the fear and rage my presence summons up."

"It wasn't actually the SS I was referring to," Liam replied, following obediently behind and taking the bottle from Mickey's hands. "As objectionable as I find them to be, they're still just a means to an end. A particularly brutish page in the same book that the Camarilla has been penning for a thousand years."

"Its the Fugue. You're right. I was a good soldier. I did what was asked of me. No one compelled me to do what I did. I think it would have been so much worse if someone had."

"This isn't the same book anymore, Mickey. Its not a means to an end. It is an end. Perhaps the end. Maybe not of us, but I'm not sure that really matters. This new world - it scares the hell out of me."

"I don't know if you're keeping up on current events," Mickey quipped. "But the world is ending just fine without us. If the plague doesn't wipe them out, it'll be a footrace between climate change and nuclear war."

He draped himself across the slashed armchair, and stared at his bottle thoughtfully. "But I get what you mean. The Fugue scares me too. The idea of controlling the kine is like something the Sabbat would have dreamed of. It's not far removed from their own warped philosophy. But what's the alternative? I really don't know what you're fighting to preserve, because the Masquerade is all but gone. We live in a world without secrets now, and I don't know how much you know about what's going on with social media, but the evidence that we exist is already in circulation. The only thing that's stopping the truth from getting out is a sad pack of Technocrats and the Kine's own disbelief."

"Yeah, the Boss' plan isn't perfect. But the only alternative is extinction. Because once the outside world wakes up to the fact that vampires walk among them, they're going to come after us with a fury that'll make the Spanish Inquisition look like a tea party. Can you imagine what that maniac down south and his unwashed rabble will do when they have vampires to blame all their problems on?"

"I got eyes on your two escorts outside," Hasan said. "Just waiting for Jacob and Tyr to get into position."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:01, Mon 02 Nov 2020.

"I'm not fighting to preserve anything," Liam remarked over the neck of his second bottle of the night. "The Masquerade is a lumbering corpse that has simply refused to lie down. Its days were numbered from the very beginning and the most charitable thing that could be said about it was that it bought us time to plan for what came next. But if this is the best we can come up with then I'd contend it was a mistake from its first inception. Or a squandered opportunity."

"This isn't about Camarilla versus Sabbat any longer. Its not about Kindred versus Kine. Its the idea that we have free will - freedom of conscience and self determination - or we do not. If the kine were to get wise and nuke Verdant Falls into the ground before Noonian put his plan into effect, I wouldn't fault them. Those are stakes worth fighting for."

Liam took a swig from his bottle.

"And besides, when the curtain comes down we wont be the only ones standing in the spotlight. The fera will be there alongside of us. The wizards. The wraiths. God knows humanity can't fight all of the dead. I've been to the Shadowlands. It would only feed upon their misery."

"There will be a reckoning to be sure, but we have endured for millennia. I wouldn't be so quick to count us out, Mickey. You're forgetting in the age of the Inquisition, humans clung tight to a burning and inflexible Faith. They worship a new god now. Capitalism. And flexibility is inherent to its domination of the globe."

"I tell you, I'd rather be facing down a pack of frothing religious zealots than a cabal of greedy plutocrats," Flynn mused. "I must say I dread the idea of 'coming out' without the Fugue because of what corporations are gonna do to us. Mandatory Vampire Testing, for a start. They'll probably develop testing for ghouls, too. But that's not what really horrifies me. Imagine what they're going to do when they figure out we're a workforce that's practically indestructible, doesn't age, and that the rest of the world by and large wouldn't miss. The only work we'll be able to get will be the jobs Kine can't or simply don't want to do. I hope you like 36 hour shifts in an airless mine. Or walking the bottom of the ocean looking for salvage."

"I'm not afraid of final death. That slow death they've created for themselves, and force everyone - be it through starvation, incarceration, or indoctrination - to sign over their lives to. I'd rather sit and watch the sun rise than dance that merry jig. The Fugue is going to end all that. Imagine how the world would be if tomorrow, all the billionaires of the world gave their wealth over to social programs. If all the governments of the world stopped quarreling and started co-operating. If everyone in the world stopped struggling to survive and started doing what they do best?"

"You're probably too busy trying to end the atrocities that you haven't taken in the successes. We've ended poverty, theft, domestic abuse, substance abuse, rape and murder. Never mind that we've had a whopping twenty real cases of COVID-19 since the outbreak began. All traceable back to one of your organization's ghouls, I might add. Every child is driven to excel, they're directed towards their aptitudes and passions, and their material needs are met for their entire lives. The price they pay for that is small compared to the gains."

"Mickey, they live in terror," Liam replied over the top of his bottle. "Constant, abject, unremitting terror. You can see it behind their glassy eyes. This world that has been crafted for them is a waking nightmare, not a utopia. They know what's going on and they're helpless to escape it. They get dragged from their homes at a whim to entertain Redwatch patrols. Family and friends disappear randomly and without explanation into the night. Every passing day they must wonder who among them will be next."

"What does it matter if the kine commit no murders if the Vozhd feasts night after night? You could just as well claim to end human misery by killing the lot of them. You won't have actually solved anything, just taken an axe to the denominator."

"And how does a child even know what their passions are? Aptitudes, fine, testing can tell you anything - but passion is the pursuit of the heart. You're an Irishman, Mickey. We’re the most passionate fucking people on this earth. The heart was never meant to be caged."

Liam stopped and took a swig from his bottle. He could feel the heat in his blood, even if he couldn't touch his essence.

"Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity."

He looked up at Mickey, pausing at the end of the first stanza. Every Irish son had been taught Yeats in grammar school. Liam had learned this particular poem later in life, it having been written two years after his death but he knew it by heart, and he was willing to bet that Michael Flynn knew the rest of it.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:21, Fri 13 Nov 2020.

Mickey smiled wide as Liam recited the stanza. When he was finished, Mickey craned his neck back, and breathed out slowly. He stared at the ceiling, limp across the ruined chair. "You've got a bit of a rep for being a convincing sonofabitch," he said. "But my files don't do you justice. I'm beginning to see why van Fokke didn't want me to talk to you. Dirty pool pulling out Yeats."

He lit another cigarette, and tossed the pack back to Liam. "He wanted you dead, you know," he said. "But I'm convinced the operation needs some new blood. The Council is completely divorced from their empathy, and I... can't voice any dissent. But if the Fugue is going to endure, the kine have to want to be a part of it. Just because we don't have the luxury of giving them a choice doesn't mean they shouldn't be happy with the arrangement."

"Rest assured, I'm as appalled by the Redwatch's behaviour as anyone. And when the time comes that they've outlived their usefulness, I hope you're around to help me dispatch every last one of them. And as soon as the COVID incompatibility issue is solved, our experimentation losses will cease - though I fear your efforts to hobble our development may have ultimately increased the body count in that regard."

"What is currently slouching towards Bethlehem can't be stopped," he added. "What I'm offering you, among other things, is an ability to help shape its form."

"Ready to take out the two by the bookstore," Hasan said. "The go word is 'Beast.'" Hasan knew his Yeats, too.

Liam reached for the pack and drew out another cigarette. The room was hazy with smoke now. "Mickey, my son, just imagine all the trouble I could have caused if it had been a blue blood ventrue stalking the Somme in '17 instead of my bastard of a sire." He laughed and let out a plume from his lungs.

"I know you can't dissent," he voiced in understanding. "I know. Though if Noonian wanted me dead, I expect I have you to thank for talking him into this welcome reprieve. A last chance to talk some sense into me."

Liam took a sip and met Michael's gaze over the top of his bottle. "I thought it was too good to be true that I should be dropped at the edge of the city and simply cut loose. So lets have it," he said, beckoning with his fingers. "We're both old soldiers. What are your orders? And what are you offering? The good and the bad."

Mickey blanched a little, and took another swig before he answered. "I'm to recruit you," he said. "By any means necessary. I'm hoping you'll take the carrot, so I don't have to use the stick."

Liam took another long pull on his cigarette. "I suppose that ride to the edge of the city is out of the question then," he said, letting it out. "It doesn't seem like I have much choice in the matter apart from negotiating what colour band I get to wear. And yellow has never really been my colour."

He paused, drumming his fingers on the glass of his bottle.

"This, charm," he said, gesturing with his fingers. "This tertiary binding. How long must I endure being locked into one form?"

The Fae blood was now coursing readily through Liam's veins. He felt daring, careless, and brash. He was particularly tickled by the dramatic irony of his own situation - both with regards to the handkerchief and his hidden rescue team. The glimmering dancing through the air was now a dazzling light show. Shimmering vines bearing lantern fruits crept their way up the columns of Seavers' Grand Hall, and formed a mesh of broken fractals on the high vaulted ceilings. The chair beneath him breathed as it bore him, silent and stoic as an ox.

"If it's any consolation, you won't be drafted into the Redwatch," Mickey said with a smirk. "They have their own recruitment process, and you'll be working with the Tremere. You'll be directly under me, too, so you'll have some clout. Most of us ain't bad, and we're a fair sight better than taking orders from Nazis.

He drained the last of the second bottle. The fae blood was beginning to affect him, too. He stared at the ceiling, taking in the same display as Liam. "As for the binding, that depends on how things go down. If you come willingly, it'll stay on until I am convinced you're not gonna murder your way out. Take the Black Chalice and you'll probably get away with having it off sooner. We'll be taking the car to the Alhambra either way, though. I wanna pick your brain."

"Mickey, Mickey, Mickey," Liam said, lounging back in his chair with his head lolled to better view the hallucinations plaguing his vision. "There's no poetry in this new world of yours... no poetry..."

The bottle fell from Liam's grasp and clattered to the floor.

"And what rough beast, its hour come round at last..." he paused and smiled wistfully.

"I supposed we'd best slouch off towards the car then."

"Hey now,“ Mickey said. He got unsteadily to his feet and drained the last of the bottle. "There's even more room for the arts in our world than in this one. When's the last time poets were allowed to be poets under capitalism?"

He uncorked another bottle and took a swig. Then he passed it to Liam. He shoved another under his arm for the road. "You say you've looked into their eyes and seen the fear. Have you stopped to consider that what you're seeing is their fear of you? Or their fear of how the Fugue forces them to act when they're around you? You see these calm, placid sheep walking around in a trance and you think it's always like that. When we aren't around, most of 'em just... Go about their lives. And those lives are a lot less complicated now. I'm sure the racists and pedophiles and wife-beaters are all screaming inside because they can't act how they wanna act, but... Fuck' em."

He looked up at the light show one last time. "You know, if you wanted I bet I could arrange for you to live here, instead of the Alhambra," he said. "You could make it your own."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:58, Fri 27 Nov 2020.