Post by RomulusGloriosus on Aug 18, 2015 13:56:25 GMT -8
Crickets chirped in the bushes under the waxing moon as James Baron stood in the secluded driveway of an enormous modern palace. Many fine cars – all of which Jim would just love to take out for a spin – sat parked next to him. Dramatic iron gates separated the driveway from the quiet road by the Sound where the building’s neighbors, a quiet neighborhood watch guarding the mansion’s security like tenants of old guarding their vassal’s keep, lived their sleepy, wealthy lives. The mansion itself, which must have cost millions of dollars to build and to buy, was as protected from the dangers of the modern world as the most powerful castle stood against the dangers of the old. Innumerable security systems powered by green energy – the best money could buy – watched and guarded and prepared it for any invader that may assail it.
This was the home of Gwenith Redfern, whom Jim had never met. This was the sanctum of Oberon Gault, close kin to Jim’s friend Amani. This was the fortress of the Assamites.
And it was Jim’s new Haven.
He stepped inside the house into an enormous foyer. Though he couldn’t see them, he could only imagine the invisible lasers peeking into his body heat (or lack thereof) and examining various structures in his blood cells that identified him as ‘belonging’ here. Maybe he was just imagining all of this based on the science fiction movies of the 80s that he used to watch, but – just like the Assamites themselves – he doubted he would actually see the real security systems of the building. The Haven had been furnished to the standards of a normal Seattle home, but Jim had a feeling it was going to become a lot nicer within the month. The Assamites had yet to deck the halls with portraits of their ancient sires – if that was a thing, Jim wasn’t actually sure if that was a thing, and silently wondered to himself if those portraits would just be empty backgrounds – or changed the ‘TV Den’ to an indoor movie theatre or threw in a bowling alley.
To put it bluntly, these Assamites were filthy rich and, as seemed common with vampires, they were not afraid to live (or whatever) luxuriously.
But maybe, Jim thought as he entered the ‘TV Den’ and took a seat on the black leather couch, it wasn’t so much a matter of ‘luxury.’ With Primogen von Klempt, it seemed more like the appearance of power meant more than the appearance of luxury. With the Assamites, Jim thought back to something the Caitiff, Hugo, had said to him about the Masquerade at the Ball. Maybe all of this wasn’t just for comfort. Maybe none of this was for comfort. Maybe the Assamites just needed a Fortress to operate out of, and that meant they needed a big building to live in, and people who lived in big buildings tended to be rich and tended to live luxuriously.
Thus, to avoid prying eyes, they had to play the role of a big rich family ‘on the hill.’ Jim’s head spun. Did it really matter what the reason was for this Clan of Master Assassins living like the one percent? At least two of them, after all, were the one percent of Kindred society at least. And they had brought Jim and Joleen into their Haven, gave them each a bedroom, gave them full range of their money – more money than Jim had ever imagined even existed – and let them feed upon their mortals. They did all of this because Amani had asked them to do so, and what had Amani said about why she was always so helpful of them? ’Because I don’t want you to eat me.’
None of them had asked whether Joleen would hinder Jim in his ‘usefulness.’ None of them seemed to particularly care very much for Jim or Joleen’s ‘usefulness’ – to people like them, to Oberon, whose pursuits seemed far out of line with your standard Kindred, Jim wondered if he could ever even be close to ‘useful.’ Yet they kept them, fed them, sheltered them, protected them, and effectively adopted them all because Amani didn’t want them to eat her.
Sitting at home in his splendid Haven, only a week after having installed a pathetic excuse for a security system in his old apartment, at the complete and utter mercy of the Master Assassins who shared his home, Jim had never felt more weak and powerful at the exact same time.
But he knew he was going to like it here.
This was the home of Gwenith Redfern, whom Jim had never met. This was the sanctum of Oberon Gault, close kin to Jim’s friend Amani. This was the fortress of the Assamites.
And it was Jim’s new Haven.
He stepped inside the house into an enormous foyer. Though he couldn’t see them, he could only imagine the invisible lasers peeking into his body heat (or lack thereof) and examining various structures in his blood cells that identified him as ‘belonging’ here. Maybe he was just imagining all of this based on the science fiction movies of the 80s that he used to watch, but – just like the Assamites themselves – he doubted he would actually see the real security systems of the building. The Haven had been furnished to the standards of a normal Seattle home, but Jim had a feeling it was going to become a lot nicer within the month. The Assamites had yet to deck the halls with portraits of their ancient sires – if that was a thing, Jim wasn’t actually sure if that was a thing, and silently wondered to himself if those portraits would just be empty backgrounds – or changed the ‘TV Den’ to an indoor movie theatre or threw in a bowling alley.
To put it bluntly, these Assamites were filthy rich and, as seemed common with vampires, they were not afraid to live (or whatever) luxuriously.
But maybe, Jim thought as he entered the ‘TV Den’ and took a seat on the black leather couch, it wasn’t so much a matter of ‘luxury.’ With Primogen von Klempt, it seemed more like the appearance of power meant more than the appearance of luxury. With the Assamites, Jim thought back to something the Caitiff, Hugo, had said to him about the Masquerade at the Ball. Maybe all of this wasn’t just for comfort. Maybe none of this was for comfort. Maybe the Assamites just needed a Fortress to operate out of, and that meant they needed a big building to live in, and people who lived in big buildings tended to be rich and tended to live luxuriously.
Thus, to avoid prying eyes, they had to play the role of a big rich family ‘on the hill.’ Jim’s head spun. Did it really matter what the reason was for this Clan of Master Assassins living like the one percent? At least two of them, after all, were the one percent of Kindred society at least. And they had brought Jim and Joleen into their Haven, gave them each a bedroom, gave them full range of their money – more money than Jim had ever imagined even existed – and let them feed upon their mortals. They did all of this because Amani had asked them to do so, and what had Amani said about why she was always so helpful of them? ’Because I don’t want you to eat me.’
None of them had asked whether Joleen would hinder Jim in his ‘usefulness.’ None of them seemed to particularly care very much for Jim or Joleen’s ‘usefulness’ – to people like them, to Oberon, whose pursuits seemed far out of line with your standard Kindred, Jim wondered if he could ever even be close to ‘useful.’ Yet they kept them, fed them, sheltered them, protected them, and effectively adopted them all because Amani didn’t want them to eat her.
Sitting at home in his splendid Haven, only a week after having installed a pathetic excuse for a security system in his old apartment, at the complete and utter mercy of the Master Assassins who shared his home, Jim had never felt more weak and powerful at the exact same time.
But he knew he was going to like it here.