Post by Sheena N on Sept 9, 2014 9:47:12 GMT -8
War.
I know that war was coming to a close. D-Day had been largely a success last year and the allied troops had been liberating various concentration camps. How we missed that such atrocities were occurring, I’ll never know.
We had gathered together again at the invitation of Ms Stanton. People were as polite as ever, but tensions were still high. I greeted a few people, showed some of the photos that I had brought with me. Not all were my own, being taken during the day time, but some were evening shots and everyone seemed to appreciate them. Vincent showed one of the men leaving Seattle for action to Miss Winters, “Some day soon, they’ll come back and business will boom.”
Of course she agreed. He asked if I would come take photographs of some of his girls so the men could chose which they wanted without having the girls come parading in front of them. I agreed and we scheduled an evening in the future to do this.
The Senechal finally open court for petitions. I waited for either Ms Stanton or Vincent to offer my petition to take photos. At only 50 years embraced, I am still young enough that I expect to wait while more pressing matters are addressed first. While the petitions took place, I began to catch the scent of photography chemicals. There must be another photographer among us. How exciting! I make a note to find the person and talk with them about technique and find out what school they attended.
Then the German steps forward for acknowledgement by the Senechal. He begins spouting German propaganda about race and preservation. The Senechal requests that he address him when he speaks and the German gave a sharp retort. The photography chemicals sharp in my nose and I’m reminded of the bombings that occurred in New York after the last Great War. Is it starting again? Have the anarchists somehow managed to get someone embraced and into this great gathering of kindred?
I can wait no longer to confront the man to whom the smell is coming from. I follow the scent back to a man in a army green coat. I tap him and pull him away from the gathering and begin questioning him about his involvement in photography. “I’m not a photographer. Well, I do take a few photographs on occasion. I don’t develop my own film, I have people who do that…” His answers seem forced, falsified. The panic rises in my throat. “I’m a respected Ventrue, having resided in this city for many years.” I make some sounds of apology and back off.
The primogen have all stepped into the back and I can’t tell anyone what I have observed. I watch as the man grabs another and whispers to him, “She was smelling me. She could smell the chemicals.” They both leave the room. Did I just offend someone important? Or did I just prevent a bombing of our great number? Did they have another plan in place? Vincent and the other primogen return and take their seats. I weigh the consequences of telling him now and of waiting for a more appropriate time. I decide not to wait.
I kneel next to Vincent’s seat and tell him what I have seen. Ms. Stanton catches my whispers of Ventrue and inquires of what we speak. Vincent indicates that I should relay to her what I had seen. She listens politely and confirms that the man in question has indeed resided in Seattle for a couple of decades with no issue. She assures me that she will look into the issue and that I should let her know if he returns.
I then return to my spot with the others gathered. I barely catch the rest of the announcements, so focused on finding the man again. Did he clutch his coat to himself in a natural manner or was he trying to hide something under his jacket? Should I have stopped him from leaving? I watch as others in the gathered become distressed. One man steps back and begins crying of the dead. Others jump up from seats and the Senechal steps from behind the curtain. “The war is ended! The government has, in secret, developed a weapon that has just been used against the Japanese. This night, an entire city has been demolished. We have won!”
I feel almost as if my heart had stopped a second time. We killed an entire city with one bomb? Everyone know is standing and speaking loudly. One man states that the bomb used was equivalent to a sun being created in the dead of night. All I can imagine is ash everywhere. Even the mortals turned to nothing but ash.
I see the bricks of Wall Street after the bombing again. I feel the terror of the mortals discovering us again. I need to escape. I need to find a place to hide from those who have the bombs and would use them against us. I ask Miss Winters if she remembers the man to whom I had spoken and she nods. I ask her to let Vincent know if he returns and make my apologies to Vincent. I must leave. I cannot stay and celebrate the end of the war.
I flee from the building. Are we next? Would they use such a weapon against us? What of the man with the chemicals? What is happening to this world?
I know that war was coming to a close. D-Day had been largely a success last year and the allied troops had been liberating various concentration camps. How we missed that such atrocities were occurring, I’ll never know.
We had gathered together again at the invitation of Ms Stanton. People were as polite as ever, but tensions were still high. I greeted a few people, showed some of the photos that I had brought with me. Not all were my own, being taken during the day time, but some were evening shots and everyone seemed to appreciate them. Vincent showed one of the men leaving Seattle for action to Miss Winters, “Some day soon, they’ll come back and business will boom.”
Of course she agreed. He asked if I would come take photographs of some of his girls so the men could chose which they wanted without having the girls come parading in front of them. I agreed and we scheduled an evening in the future to do this.
The Senechal finally open court for petitions. I waited for either Ms Stanton or Vincent to offer my petition to take photos. At only 50 years embraced, I am still young enough that I expect to wait while more pressing matters are addressed first. While the petitions took place, I began to catch the scent of photography chemicals. There must be another photographer among us. How exciting! I make a note to find the person and talk with them about technique and find out what school they attended.
Then the German steps forward for acknowledgement by the Senechal. He begins spouting German propaganda about race and preservation. The Senechal requests that he address him when he speaks and the German gave a sharp retort. The photography chemicals sharp in my nose and I’m reminded of the bombings that occurred in New York after the last Great War. Is it starting again? Have the anarchists somehow managed to get someone embraced and into this great gathering of kindred?
I can wait no longer to confront the man to whom the smell is coming from. I follow the scent back to a man in a army green coat. I tap him and pull him away from the gathering and begin questioning him about his involvement in photography. “I’m not a photographer. Well, I do take a few photographs on occasion. I don’t develop my own film, I have people who do that…” His answers seem forced, falsified. The panic rises in my throat. “I’m a respected Ventrue, having resided in this city for many years.” I make some sounds of apology and back off.
The primogen have all stepped into the back and I can’t tell anyone what I have observed. I watch as the man grabs another and whispers to him, “She was smelling me. She could smell the chemicals.” They both leave the room. Did I just offend someone important? Or did I just prevent a bombing of our great number? Did they have another plan in place? Vincent and the other primogen return and take their seats. I weigh the consequences of telling him now and of waiting for a more appropriate time. I decide not to wait.
I kneel next to Vincent’s seat and tell him what I have seen. Ms. Stanton catches my whispers of Ventrue and inquires of what we speak. Vincent indicates that I should relay to her what I had seen. She listens politely and confirms that the man in question has indeed resided in Seattle for a couple of decades with no issue. She assures me that she will look into the issue and that I should let her know if he returns.
I then return to my spot with the others gathered. I barely catch the rest of the announcements, so focused on finding the man again. Did he clutch his coat to himself in a natural manner or was he trying to hide something under his jacket? Should I have stopped him from leaving? I watch as others in the gathered become distressed. One man steps back and begins crying of the dead. Others jump up from seats and the Senechal steps from behind the curtain. “The war is ended! The government has, in secret, developed a weapon that has just been used against the Japanese. This night, an entire city has been demolished. We have won!”
I feel almost as if my heart had stopped a second time. We killed an entire city with one bomb? Everyone know is standing and speaking loudly. One man states that the bomb used was equivalent to a sun being created in the dead of night. All I can imagine is ash everywhere. Even the mortals turned to nothing but ash.
I see the bricks of Wall Street after the bombing again. I feel the terror of the mortals discovering us again. I need to escape. I need to find a place to hide from those who have the bombs and would use them against us. I ask Miss Winters if she remembers the man to whom I had spoken and she nods. I ask her to let Vincent know if he returns and make my apologies to Vincent. I must leave. I cannot stay and celebrate the end of the war.
I flee from the building. Are we next? Would they use such a weapon against us? What of the man with the chemicals? What is happening to this world?