Post by Bertie on Sept 10, 2013 23:27:02 GMT -8
VP Contest 2: The Masquerade
Its all lies.
Lies in the schools.
Lies in the churches.
Lies in the self.
Yet the lies become our truth.
We lie so often we don't remember who we are.
The only thing we are is our lies.
In the end, that is what making masks is about.
Janus wasn’t the first liar.
From God saying it was bright outside to Nixon saying he wasn't a crook.
But the story starts with Bull.
Bull of The Toreador.
Lets laugh at Bull. He tried to run an animal show. But the act isn’t the same when the audience knows the magic is real. Look at that poor sap, trying to play ring leader with an out of clan discipline. Doesn't he just try so hard.
But the clown knew what he was doing all along. The audience just missed the joke.
Bull of the Toreador.
Bull of the Bull Fighters
The Bull of Ishtar
The Gugalana
Perpetually the prey, and perpetually the pet.
This is a man who knew his place in the world.
How rare those are.
He wasn’t doing an animal act. He was poking fun at the king.
Showing the court what they really are.
And the whole time leaving the audience feeling that they were the clever ones.
Oh look at Bull, struggling every night to prove his own relevance in a world where he is hopelessly lost and outdated. Isn’t his life void and without meaning or worth?
But the act was not complete. It needed a final part.
Enter Calf.
Childe of Bull.
He who is to be sacrificed.
He who is to be burnt upon the altar that he may please the lord.
The veal.
The son who was offered as a sacrifice to God himself.
And the son who was returned.
And even better.
He made masks. A more refined and proper sort of lying.
One that the audience might actually get.
They do not understand the Clown, maybe they will understand the Commedia.
Too bad I never forgave the sacrifice.
Too bad I changed the script.
Too bad I broke up the act.
Too bad I came to the Emerald Death.
They didn’t get the joke. Perhaps they just lacked the proper context. A new name was needed. Something obvious. Something blatant.
Janus, the two-faced god.
Forget about all that bullshit about beginnings and ends.
“Hello, nice to meet you my name is two-faced.”
And they just ate it up, thinking it about fresh starts or masks or anything but that.
Except for Kotja of course. God bless him, he tries so hard.
And so I worked, introducing myself as a liar, and selling people lies. And they just ate it up.
And I kept wearing my mask. But the name wasn’t just for them. The name is a reminder. I am a liar, and so are they. I am treacherous, and so are they. I lie because they lie, and they lie because I lie. So it is most important not to trust them at all.
The old lines worked great on the Europeans, the tried and true methods of flattery and suggestion, but outside of the high court I began to stumble. My sire would tell the true faults of the Camarilla through deception, self-depreciation, and example. But here in the Emerald Death, they just tell the truth.
And they get away with it. The worst was Akos, he told the truths that Bull and I would never dare to speak aloud. He spoke of the Camarilla, of the Antediluvians, and the death of the Masquerade. Hearing such secrets spoken aloud was intoxicating and for a moment I forgot myself. There were little gifts here and there, not too different than any of the Toreador might receive. A bit of training, a spot of influence assistance, a self-resetting, white noise storage, onion routing jailbroken tablet intended for low level intrusion. For a moment I even considered explaining the nature of divine sacrifice.
But instead the prince was hacked. The hack did not succeed, suggesting a sloppy operator, one only recently trained. Yet the Europeans and their minions had great trouble tracking down the hacker, almost as if they were using a self-resetting, white noise storage, onion routing jailbroken tablet intended for low level intrusion. I remembered my name and things became clear again. If Akos was a betrayer this whole time, than he was just the same as all the rest. It was a reassuring thought. So I turned him in. I am a betrayer because he is a betrayer.
Except he didn’t do it.
He was vindicated by the Auspex and the Assamite ways. It had to be him though! Perhaps he had some way to trick the inspectors? Perhaps the tablet had been stolen and used by the troublesome Ms. Stone? There must be some trick. There was always a trick.
The city burned and the Europeans died.
The Nosferatu Ponce was behind it all.
They killed the prince, but only after they tried to hack his system first.
Akos really was innocent.
I betrayed him for nothing, and distracted the Europeans long enough for the Nosferatu to make their move.
Masks are lies that we show the world. In time you can become the mask you wear. In time you wonder if you ever had a face underneath. I had become too reliant upon the Janus mask, and started to believe only in deceit. Perhaps I am learning the wrong lesson from the Two-Faced God. He was never a god of lies, but instead one of beginnings and ends. One face forever looking back, and one forever looking forward. Transitions are certainly afoot.
There is much to consider.
Now the city elects a childe, and all the Anarchs laugh.
The Toreador drink to their clan mates death but I am left with worry.
I may have dashed my dreams with little intrigue games.
My allies lie dead, or grow distrustful.
My sire would grin and bow.
But there remains a deeper problem.
What use is a clown if everything can be said?
If there is no need for subtlety, why have we been lying for generations?
I must have lost my pants in the river of blood.
No. They still need me. Though they celebrate, they trade one tyrant for another. They speak of Praxis as an absolute, and the popular will as an aberration. They fight for the rights of a possessed mouse, but not for me and mine. The anarchs are no better, dividing the humans up like a pie.
Akos speaks his truths, but it seems that I am the only one listening. This city needs a new set of lies to replace the old fairy tales, a set of truths that will better guide them in the modern nights. I will make them something they will not forget.
The schedule will have to be accelerated.
Poor Kotja. I had hoped you would be the one to discover my truth.
Its all lies.
Lies in the schools.
Lies in the churches.
Lies in the self.
Yet the lies become our truth.
We lie so often we don't remember who we are.
The only thing we are is our lies.
In the end, that is what making masks is about.
Janus wasn’t the first liar.
From God saying it was bright outside to Nixon saying he wasn't a crook.
But the story starts with Bull.
Bull of The Toreador.
Lets laugh at Bull. He tried to run an animal show. But the act isn’t the same when the audience knows the magic is real. Look at that poor sap, trying to play ring leader with an out of clan discipline. Doesn't he just try so hard.
But the clown knew what he was doing all along. The audience just missed the joke.
Bull of the Toreador.
Bull of the Bull Fighters
The Bull of Ishtar
The Gugalana
Perpetually the prey, and perpetually the pet.
This is a man who knew his place in the world.
How rare those are.
He wasn’t doing an animal act. He was poking fun at the king.
Showing the court what they really are.
And the whole time leaving the audience feeling that they were the clever ones.
Oh look at Bull, struggling every night to prove his own relevance in a world where he is hopelessly lost and outdated. Isn’t his life void and without meaning or worth?
But the act was not complete. It needed a final part.
Enter Calf.
Childe of Bull.
He who is to be sacrificed.
He who is to be burnt upon the altar that he may please the lord.
The veal.
The son who was offered as a sacrifice to God himself.
And the son who was returned.
And even better.
He made masks. A more refined and proper sort of lying.
One that the audience might actually get.
They do not understand the Clown, maybe they will understand the Commedia.
Too bad I never forgave the sacrifice.
Too bad I changed the script.
Too bad I broke up the act.
Too bad I came to the Emerald Death.
They didn’t get the joke. Perhaps they just lacked the proper context. A new name was needed. Something obvious. Something blatant.
Janus, the two-faced god.
Forget about all that bullshit about beginnings and ends.
“Hello, nice to meet you my name is two-faced.”
And they just ate it up, thinking it about fresh starts or masks or anything but that.
Except for Kotja of course. God bless him, he tries so hard.
And so I worked, introducing myself as a liar, and selling people lies. And they just ate it up.
And I kept wearing my mask. But the name wasn’t just for them. The name is a reminder. I am a liar, and so are they. I am treacherous, and so are they. I lie because they lie, and they lie because I lie. So it is most important not to trust them at all.
The old lines worked great on the Europeans, the tried and true methods of flattery and suggestion, but outside of the high court I began to stumble. My sire would tell the true faults of the Camarilla through deception, self-depreciation, and example. But here in the Emerald Death, they just tell the truth.
And they get away with it. The worst was Akos, he told the truths that Bull and I would never dare to speak aloud. He spoke of the Camarilla, of the Antediluvians, and the death of the Masquerade. Hearing such secrets spoken aloud was intoxicating and for a moment I forgot myself. There were little gifts here and there, not too different than any of the Toreador might receive. A bit of training, a spot of influence assistance, a self-resetting, white noise storage, onion routing jailbroken tablet intended for low level intrusion. For a moment I even considered explaining the nature of divine sacrifice.
But instead the prince was hacked. The hack did not succeed, suggesting a sloppy operator, one only recently trained. Yet the Europeans and their minions had great trouble tracking down the hacker, almost as if they were using a self-resetting, white noise storage, onion routing jailbroken tablet intended for low level intrusion. I remembered my name and things became clear again. If Akos was a betrayer this whole time, than he was just the same as all the rest. It was a reassuring thought. So I turned him in. I am a betrayer because he is a betrayer.
Except he didn’t do it.
He was vindicated by the Auspex and the Assamite ways. It had to be him though! Perhaps he had some way to trick the inspectors? Perhaps the tablet had been stolen and used by the troublesome Ms. Stone? There must be some trick. There was always a trick.
The city burned and the Europeans died.
The Nosferatu Ponce was behind it all.
They killed the prince, but only after they tried to hack his system first.
Akos really was innocent.
I betrayed him for nothing, and distracted the Europeans long enough for the Nosferatu to make their move.
Masks are lies that we show the world. In time you can become the mask you wear. In time you wonder if you ever had a face underneath. I had become too reliant upon the Janus mask, and started to believe only in deceit. Perhaps I am learning the wrong lesson from the Two-Faced God. He was never a god of lies, but instead one of beginnings and ends. One face forever looking back, and one forever looking forward. Transitions are certainly afoot.
There is much to consider.
Now the city elects a childe, and all the Anarchs laugh.
The Toreador drink to their clan mates death but I am left with worry.
I may have dashed my dreams with little intrigue games.
My allies lie dead, or grow distrustful.
My sire would grin and bow.
But there remains a deeper problem.
What use is a clown if everything can be said?
If there is no need for subtlety, why have we been lying for generations?
I must have lost my pants in the river of blood.
No. They still need me. Though they celebrate, they trade one tyrant for another. They speak of Praxis as an absolute, and the popular will as an aberration. They fight for the rights of a possessed mouse, but not for me and mine. The anarchs are no better, dividing the humans up like a pie.
Akos speaks his truths, but it seems that I am the only one listening. This city needs a new set of lies to replace the old fairy tales, a set of truths that will better guide them in the modern nights. I will make them something they will not forget.
The schedule will have to be accelerated.
Poor Kotja. I had hoped you would be the one to discover my truth.
