Click.
As she heard the latch unlock, Anita heaved a sigh of
relief, running a hand through her thoroughly mussed up hair, picking pieces of
gravel and tree out as she did so; her already disdainful features made all the
more harsh by the severe frown etched across her face. Her other hand held her
torn jacket and shirt tightly around her, to minimise the risk of anyone
catching sight of the word that had previously been seen carved into her flesh.
She turned the doorknob, and waited for her eyes to adjust to the deep darkness
within the room.
Closing the door behind her, she began to
relax...slightly. Releasing the torn jacket and shirt from her grip, the pieces
of fabric hung loosely, their edges frayed and ripped, Anita looked at her
reflection. Her face and hair were dirty and covered in leaves and gravel and
dirt, as were her clothes. She grimaced as she realised that there wasn’t a
patch on her clothing that hadn’t been somehow covered in the grime of the
forest.
Sitting on her bed, she began to unbutton her
now-destroyed jacket, and she replayed the scene she had found herself in
through her mind.
Ms. Waite, Mr. O’Malley/O’Heath (she lost track of what
he officially went by now...), Rocky and Anita had all realised they were in a
potentially deadly situation...but a catalogue of disasters began unfolding
around their ears before they could react to any of them – first Kine had
appeared, prompting everyone who could disappear to do so, and those who
couldn’t to try and either contain the situation or make themselves scarce.
Anita had found herself trying to keep out of the situation. Isaac had tried to
cajole her into aiding the others, but there had been such a cluster around the
Kine that it had seemed pointless to throw her voice into the mess. After all,
as her clanmate had put it “too many cooks spoil the broth.”
Then they had had a police officer join the Kine, and
then the cars had been destroyed – so there was no way to return from the nice
werewolf caern they had unwittingly stumbled upon. Anita thought, that was the
moment that everyone seemed to realise that things had gone from bad to worse.
And when a wolf had entered...well...everything went to hell.
As she shrugged the jacket off, and began to pull the
debris from her hair, she couldn’t help but shake her head at the thought of
O’Malleath becoming the negotiator. Had she been more confident in her own
abilities to converse with the wolves, she would have taken over...but she
had...
She couldn’t bring herself to admit it.
She had decided against that course of action as it was
not her place to interfere in the Gangrel’s handling of the situation within
their Elysium. That was it. Yes...that was why. She distinctly remembered that
being why.
Still...it had left O’Malleath in “control” of the
situation...and it was inevitable that something would go wrong...though she
never thought she’d loathe someone so much for saying one wrong word.
When everything spiralled into fighting, it was amazing
how many people simply disappeared. Anita should have run, she knew that. She
understood that by staying she had been simply another target, and one who
couldn’t exactly help much...but she didn’t have much of a choice. The forest
had become confusing to all those who had tried to run previously, and she
didn’t hold any powers of the blood that could have helped her. Her only choice
was to try not to be seen by mundane means (a coward’s way out...) or to
inflict whatever limited pain she could to any wolf that tried to attack her.
Her cards had been marked, and she had known from the very beginning that she
would have to count herself lucky if she survived.
If she was brutally honest, had Maximilian not lost his
arms, and therefore his gun...she probably would have begun to try to run –
especially given the fact most of the kindred fighting seemed to be seriously
wounded...and being showered in (presumably) Isaac’s ash made her shiver even
now she was out of the forest.
But the sight of that gun...the fact it was there...
It was as if she had known it was time to “fight and win
or die trying”. She couldn’t remember picking the gun up...but she had
definitely had it in her hands. The fact she knew nothing about how to fire one
(aside from “pull the trigger and hope to hit the person you intended to”)
didn’t really ever come into play; just the fact that she had to at least try
to do SOMETHING.
That would have been all well and good had one of the
wolves not come across her at that moment.
Anita placed the detritus from her hair into the
wastebin, and looked down at the remnants of her shirt. She frowned and then
sighed, as she lay back onto her satin-covered bedspread, one hand playing
absentmindedly with the torn edges of the blouse.
The gun was destroyed in what seemed like an instant, and
she had had almost nowhere to go aside from towards the car park. Unfortunately
for her (but arguably fortunately for the Masquerade) she was caught by the
beast before she could get there. The sudden demise she had considered
inevitable was not sudden at all...indeed, considering the situation the Fief
had found themselves in, the wolf was more than willing to suddenly talk...
Her brow furrowed. Why not kill her? Why use her as a messenger
for the fief, and not O’Malleath or Stone or...anyone else? Just...why?
The lupine had given her the message and then dug a
separate message into her flesh, before throwing her into the car park, at the
feet of the rest of the Fief.
Anita physically cringed, feeling her stomach pang at the
memory of pain. She mentally berated herself for the moment of weakness, before
suddenly standing up and tearing the shirt from herself. The sheer thought of
that feral creature clawing at her clothing was repulsive. She was a Ventrue;
and most definitely above those uncultivated barbarians. She looked down at the
discarded clothing with a bitter taste in her mouth and disgusted expression on
her face. Striding over to her wardrobe, she pulled out her dressing gown. As
she wrapped herself in it, she caught sight of her reflection, and the
mysterious mark on her chest, directly above her heart.
She couldn’t remember much about what happened after she
had spoken to the wolf. She remembered someone giving her some much needed
vitae, and concerned voices. She vaguely remembered someone picking her up;
supporting her – the...Prince? And...she said something. Something to
someone...she couldn’t quite remember what, but she did remember thinking of
the word “decorum”, so no doubt it would become apparent in later days. Things
began to become clearer when they arrived at the hotel. Everything seemed
easier to discern...mainly because another wave of overriding pain had swept
across her and she had found herself healed; just like all others who had been
harmed in the battle, with her new “tattoo”, for lack of a better word, across
her heart.
Professor Hapsburg arrived, and Mr. Fortescue was barred
from entry. His own inferior; Ms. Ravnos was the one to send him away, which
Anita raised an eyebrow at. Still, it wasn’t her place to get involved in the
power struggles within clan Toreador. No-one had been particularly bothered
about what she had to say, which irritated her to no end; after all, half of
what was being discussed wasn’t pertinent to the situation and the other half
was less pressing than the warning she had been left to be the bearer of. While
she had been aware of her poor manners in the act of falling asleep, she
considered herself to hardly be at blame. Had her Primogen been there, she
would have left altogether; after all, it is hardly fitting of the Ventrue’s
place in society to be so rudely snubbed and talked over by all manner of
people, especially the Prince’s pet,
Maximilian.
It was a relief to be able to return home, she thought,
as she climbed into her bed. However, it didn’t exactly mean she could sleep
easy...as Sheriff, no doubt she would be called on to deal with the mess that
had been created, and as “prophecy bearer #1” she would no doubt be blamed the
moment no-one actually did anything regarding
it and everything went to hell again. The fact werewolves were wandering
the city outskirts and possibly already causing issues within the city also
didn’t give her much cause to be cheerful, and the wonderful new piece of body
art was only going to make her life more difficult, she could pretty much
guarantee. She ran her hands down her face and decided on just one thing,
before she rolled over and tried to sleep.
“It can be dealt with tomorrow.”
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