As the sun set over the rolling hills of Trawsmar, Rhiannon awoke slowly, without the benefit of any energy. Her hair, once her crowning glory, hung in limp matted tangles around her face. Connie, her faithful friend and savior, guarded from the corner, with a mournful look in his stony eyes.

Rhiannon didn't enjoy being awake anymore, the memories of her unlife would crowd her thoughts, haunting, screaming at her. "I'm becoming as loony as Mark," she thought, as she ran her grimy hands through her hair, and began her search for the night's sustenance.

She found it soon enough, a pack of rats were feasting on something decomposing. Without a sound to disturb their own feeding frenzy, she quickly snatched up one in each hand, and with a fervor that would have turned Eveshka's stomach, ripped into the first rat, to drain it of it's blood. The second rat soon followed.

It had been so very long, time blurred since that long ago night when the Garou had attacked her beloved city. Her own existence was in peril, until at the last moment, Tromador had intervened and spirited her away, so the garou had failed in their miserable task. She was sure the others had perished, and it was moments like these that she cursed herself, to blame for the possible death of all those close to her.

Hedonism, vice, debauchery, that was her court in those final days. Her lack of attention to that which encroached upon her city was the cause of the slaughter that ultimately ensued.

As faces swirled before her, she felt her imagined pain again. Yes, it would have been easier to just watch the sunrise one more time, to put aside the torment of her existence. She assumed everyone had been massacred. Eveshka, Euryon, Daisy, Batty, Traxx, Mark, Porter, Sorenti, even Tromador for all she knew. Once he had created his illusions and gotten her out of the palace safely, he too dissappeared. The thought of so much carnage at her hands, even indirectly, boiled up into the nightly guttural, unnatural wail that echoed through the moors.

No, she would not give in to the sunrise, she thought, she would live each night in torment, in this desolate place where the nightmare all began, reminding herself that she was a foolish girl.

From the darkened shadows, the immense gargoyle wept.

Connie watched in complete silence. He could see pain in his dear friends eyes that reminded him of the night she was embraced; the night he had thought he had saved her. Now, looking at her stare blankly into some abyss, he couldn't help but regret bringing Margrus to her those many years ago. He reflected back onto the days of laughing, teaching, watching her grow inside, becomeing a woman and leader, gaining strength against her curse to make something of what she was given. Strength had flowed through her veins only now to be empty with sorrow. Was there anything left in her but the desire to embrace finality? Was there anything that could save her soul from this grave spiral course?

Maybe it is time for Rhiannon to face her failure, face her fears, and return to Cascadia.

Halfway to Berlin, Eveshka looked out over the night sky to the west. She felt something stir. Her Methuselah's senses were far reaching. This was a powerful force from her past. A force of pain, a force of obsession, a force of love and hate combined. It could only be one of two women. Either it was Michelle St. Clair, the Anathema Khemintiri, or it was Rhiannon Mitchell. Neither was calling for her, but whoever it was, she was in pain. As it was coming from The British Isles, she had no doubt it was Rhiannon.

Ignore it?

Go investigate?

If it turned out to be Khemintiri she was in real trouble, she'd probably lose her soul this time. If it was Rhiannon.... well.... who knows.

Eve walked up to the cockpit and poked her radiant head in. This always gave the pilots a thrill. They SO envied the CEO of the company. This chick was unreal.

"Could you head the plane towards England?" she asked in a sweet sing songy voice.

"Towards it Ma'am?" asked the pilot. She looked down at his name plate, his name was Bruce.

"Yes, Bruce," she said, the man felt a tingle in his loins just having his name said by this angel. "I'll figure out where we are going shortly."

"Righto," he said with a cavalier smile.

She smiled to herself. There was something familiar about the pilot too, though she couldn't figure out what. Something from the recent past. Nthing important, but it made her smirk. She delighted in trying to figure out little puzzles. They made the tedium of travel go by.

Within two hours she'd had it. Well, she had BOTH riddles solved. Rhiannon, she was sure of it now, was in Ireland. Bruce, she was pretty sure, would soon become a Toreador, at least a ghoul, probably a full fledged vampire. The only male childe she'd ever had. She summoned the cabin steward, really more of a sommelier than a flight attendant. She asked him to deliver a short message to the captain up in the cockpit.

The captain looked at the piece of paper and cocked an eyebrow. "'Kin 'ell," he muttered with a smirk. Well, duty called once again.

"Scream for me Hammersmith..... SCREAM FOR ME HAMMERSMITH!!!"

Evey clapped her hands and laughed a short bark that ended up making her snort.

Twenty minutes later they were making their descent into Shannon Airport.

Eve spent a day or so in Ireland. She ended up visiting the Guinness Brewery, popping in to see the book of Kells in Trinity College, and having a chat with Bono. She decided that Bruce would be better off doing his own thing and didn't ghoul him or embrace him. She felt nothing further from Rhiannon, she couldn't be found. So, Eve climbed aboard the Darrant jet and headed eastwards. Several hours later she landed in Berlin.

She was safe. She felt that familiar presence, and after the initial shock and delight that Eveshka was alive, came the dread in knowing that she was the cause of most of the turmoil in Eve's life while they were in Cascadia.

It was easy to mask herself. She was getting to be a master of it. Inducing an almost torpor-like trance, she was able to "disappear".

Once she was sure her beacon would have faded, or not detected at all hopefully, she arose again, to continue the solitary pursuits she had made the center of her existence.

Amazing that this once social creature was terrified of coming into contact with anyone or anything. At least she had Connie, although their evenings were more of a comfortable silence rather than lengthy discourses on various topics.

Now her mind raced. If Eveshka was alive, would it not stand to reason that others had survived as well?

She looked at Connie, who was gazing at her with an inquisitive stare. "Don't look at me like that...it worries me because I know you are thinking something Machiavellian....it's better this way, believe me."

Connie looked at her, and with a piteous shake of the head said curtly, "You've no idea how wrong you are." With that, he turned and walked out.

As he reached the delapitated door of the old stone church he stopped. Without turning to face her he asked, "What are you hiding from? I felt you hide - you slipped from my heart and I felt the void you left there even though I was looking apon you. Who was it little one? Someone knows you have survived? Someone seeks you and you hide?" Connie glanced back only to see her back to him. He shook his head and continued through the door.

Eveshka lounged in the opulent salon of the Ventrue Prince Gustav Breidenstein. Normally, the stuffy Ventrue did not care for bubble headed Toreadors, but Eveshka was an exception to his rule. There was a time when she was considered the Crown Jewel of any vampiric court. Entertaining this jewel was a point of pride and status among the more civilized courts of Europe. Actually possessing this jewel was a mark of true power. Now, she was not to be had for the possessing. It was vampirically, and amourously, impossible. Her heart was owned by one man, and one man only.

The stories had continued to be told throughout Europe and note was taken when she, the Tremere Pontifex, Darrant, with an assortment of younger Kindred in tow, had wandered out of the sands of the Holy Land, accompanied by a small army of Assamite and settled an independent realm in the quiet countryside of France. For all intents and purposes, the Jyhad did not exist in their little Kingdom. Shadowy reports of a school of magic, a real life Hogwarts as it was jokingly called, began to emerge. There was something brewing in her little province. Something new, exciting, and very scary to the old order.

Yet for all of that, the real powers of Europe, the Ventrue and their Sabbat counterparts, actually left Touraine alone. Perhaps it was because they didn't understand it yet. Perhaps it was because they wanted to see what happened. Whatever it was, provided Touraine did not expand it's hegemony, they were content to do business with it and to use it as a sort of Elysium. Thus far, the Comtesse de Touraine and the former Pontifex had stayed in their little neck of the woods. Now, however, word had leaked out that the Firebird was growing bored and had flown her nest in search of something fun. She eventually landed, much to Prince Breidenstein's pleasure and ego building delight, in Berlin.

He'd hoped to be able to enjoy a tryst or six with her as had generally been the accepted norm for her. This time, it was different. She was gracious, generous, a bit flirtatious, still very very "touchy feely," yet it was clear that the rumours were true. Eveshka's heart finally had been captured. She was not cold or indifferent in any way, but it was clear that Prince Breidenstein would not be enjoying her in the way he'd hoped.
So, he put Plan B into place. A grand gala would be hosted. There would be fireworks, Beethoven, Wagner, Bach, and the highlight of the evening the return of Dame Ekaterina Balonskaya, the reknowned Russian coloratura who had retired from the public eye several years ago after a concert in Orleans, France where she captivated the audience.
This grand gala would take place after sunset, beneath the Brandenburg Gate. Breidenstein sent out invitations all across the globe to the rich and famous, kine and kindred alike.

Rhiannon sulked through most of the evening, after Connie had left her. It wasn't in his nature to become irritated with her. When she considered it, she realized that she must have exhausted his infinite store of patience with her.

She WAS hiding though. Her fear of past deeds coming to haunt her was an overwhelming one If her intuition was correct, and she was certain it was, then Eveshka was still alive. Only Eveshka evoked the inner swirls of emotions that permeated Rhiannon's being that night. And if Eveshka was alive, then was she angry...or complacent. The two women had been through so much together...most of it enough to scar most mortals.

As she pondered her quandary, she began to realize that if in fact Eveshka was still tuned to her vibrations, then perhaps she wasn't murderously angry with her, although she had every right to be. Maybe it wasn't coincidence that Eveshka was so close. Rhiannon remembered with a small smile all of the trips Eve took to Paris, and how much she cultivated and captured the European Kindred Aristocracy, but Eve was never inclined to travel to Ireland. Not much in the way of boutiques and grand galas here. Did she come to look for Rhiannon?

There was a subtle shift in the feeling. Almost a contentment, a contentment Rhiannon never expected to eminate from Evey. She smiled in spite of herself. Perhaps...

She ran out the door to search for Connie...

Connie lay contently on his back in the soft wet grass looking like a giant statue that had fallen off a non-existent pedestal. He was staring up at the small pinpricks of light in the dark sky paying special attention to his favorite trio of stars, the Belt of Orion. They had been there from his creation and would be there at his demise. He felt as if his whole life was recorded in those stars. What would they record next? Would it be a millennia of him guarding his daughters crypt while she lay in wait of death inside?

From behind him he could hear footsteps approaching rapidly. His immediate thought was that whatever Rhiannon was hiding from had found her. As they got within striking range, he effortlessly flung himself high in the air. To any mortal it would have been a blur. He spread his wings to gain balance and then brought them back together to become a pile driver on top of whomever was beneath him. It took less then a second for him to be on his way down gaining speed with momentum. At the last possible instant he realized who it was - [i:c0e4b389df]Rhiannon[/i:c0e4b389df]! With a panic he pulled one wing in and began to tumble to the left. With a huge thud he hit the ground like a clumsy bat just barely missing her. With his face still firmly planted in the ground, and muffled from the dirt he said, "I see you have decided to take up late night jogging. That's just great . . . a little warning next time would be nice. Glad to see you out and about though. Could you help? I seem to have fallen and I can't get up."

LMFAO!! :shock:

:: puddles ::

Rhiannon watched dumbfounded as Connie spiraled close to her. She couldn't move, but was convinced that he wouldn't hit her. As he narrowly missed knocking her head off, he tumbled to the ground with an utter lack of grace. When he asked for help, she couldn't stop laughing, even as she pulled his massive form out of the soft earth.

The laughter was like a tonic for Connie. It had been so long since he had heard the musical cadence of her laughter, and in that instant he knew that something had changed.

"Connie, I need your help. I need you to take this", and she thrust several opulent pieces of jewelry at him" and get the cash for them. I need a new frock and some bath soap, and some perfume, and some.."

Connie's hearty laughter, sounding almost like a menacing growl to anyone who didn't know him, interrupted her. She looked at him petulantly. "Why are you laughing at me?"

Connie slowly began the transformation into his human form. Rhiannon watched spellbound, as this act, done so infrequently, never ceased to take her breath away by the mere splendor of it. Not to mention that in human form, he was quite breathtakingly beautiful.

"I understand little one..." and he snickered again. "You want to be a pretty girl again." He took the jewels and walked toward the house, where his mortal clothing awaited him. Inwardly he was screaming triumphantly, his little girl was coming back.

"I'll return as swiftly as I can," he replied.

"Please do Connie...we have to get to Paris as soon as possible."

Handel's Royal Fireworks Music started the evening's festivities just as the sun set. The Berliner Philharmoniker was in high style dressed in 18th century apparel complete with white powdered whigs. The accompanying fireworks turned the Berlin night sky into a brightly colored spectacle reminiscent of a Van Gogh painting. Kindred and Kine thrilled to the event.

Next came Bach's Brandenburg Concerto No. 3, followed by Beethoven's 9th Symphony. The audience responded with increasing gusto. By the time of the breathtaking Chorale the Toreador among them were thralling left and right, the smattering of Malkavians were doing whatever it is that the more civilized Malkavians do, and the Ventrue were thumping their chests and sitting up a bit straighter in their chairs feeling as though they were the masters of the universe and this show was being put on for their sole benefit. Even the Tremere who were in charge of the pyrotechnics, as a redeemed favor to the Prince, were enjoying themselves. As there were no other clans in attendance, we are spared their impressions.

There was an intermission where the powerful and important people in attendance complimented one another on their stations and influence and the less than powerful and important tried to network so that they might gain in power and influence. It was a thoroughly Ventrue/Toreador affair at this point. The security services of the dignitaries combed the place ceaselessly as they maintained their hold on their principals. The lights around the stage flashed three times and the audience grew silent. The Berliner Philharmoniker struck up the [i:787ae8896c] Entrance of the Gods into Valhalla [/i:787ae8896c] from Wagner's Gotterdamerung. The Ventrue wondered if there was some sort of symbolism here, if Breidenstein was being cute. If so, the subtlety was lost on everyone else. The next selection was [i:787ae8896c] Siegfried's Funeral Music [/i:787ae8896c]. As the last trumpets died from that selection, the audience held its collective breath as to what would come next. There was no program to follow, they simply knew that Breidenstein had something wonderful planned.

The softly played horns and delicate strings of [i:787ae8896c] Brunnhilde's Immolation Scene [/i:787ae8896c] floated out from the stage. A spotlight lit up a pedestal behind the orchestra. On top of it, as if by magic, SHE appeared. Dame Balonskaya, dressed as a Valkyrie complete with sheild, spear, golden winged helmet and mail, stood upon the pedestal high above the stage.
For twenty minutes the audience was in the palm of her hand. Even those who formerly did not care at all for opera, or any sort of art
for that matter, were spell bound. Eveshka was using her Siren Song ability and nobody was left unaffected. At the end of the twenty minute piece, where she would have lept onto Siegfried's funeral pyre, there was an explosion on top of the pedestal aided by some Tremere magic. Seconds later, Eveshka stood on the ground floor, still dressed as a Valkyrie. She curtsied gracefully. To her, she was reliving her earlier years when she would perform for Kings, Emperors, and Vampiric Princes, and be decorated accordingly.

The evening concluded with an announcement that Deutscher Operakompanie would be hosting a two week run of Mozart's [i:787ae8896c]Die Zauberflöte [/i:787ae8896c], where Dame Katerina Balonskaya would be playing the roll of the Queen of the Night.

An elegantly handwritten letter is found on "Dame Balonskaya's" dressing table, a deep blood-red hued rose resting on top of it....

Nobody recalls seeing it being delivered, though a few members of the Berliner Philharmoniker's support staff were trying to place the name of a lady in the audiance that had seemed to stand out from the crowd with her raven black hair and white dress, who seemed very familiar to them, she was a singer herself but performed so rarely her name eluded them for the time being...

[i:c4f3c4bba9]"Dame Katerina Balonskaya
It is indeed a pleasure to witness your return to the stage to perform in Die Zauberflöte once more. As you may recall my late sister Miranda was honoured to have you as her mentor in preparation for that very same production in Vienna many years ago. She did so love that performance, and given that how could I resist attending its latest incarnation.

I hope it is not intruding on your doubtlessly busy schedule to broach the topic of resuming my own education, but I would not wish to intrude on your home without invitation, nor disrupt other educational activities there by arriving unannounced.

As you may recall Miranda had a estate house in York before the tragic gas explosion that killed her. My sister had told me how when visiting once you had found her art collection quite captivating, so you will be gladdened to know that in the last few years I have had the house and its collection restored to its former glory, and I reside there when not out and about on the world stage. if you care to contact me you can leave a message with my assistant Ms Willow Ducheski.

As ever with my visits I leave you a gift from my garden, be mindful of the thorns as my roses can sometimes grow a little wild if overfed

Lucilla Troy"[/i:c4f3c4bba9]

Connie stopped in mid step and turned toward Rhiannon and looked into her eyes. Everything that had just happened truly hit him all at once. He just stood in shock for what seemed to be an eternity staring at Rhiannon like he was seeing a ghost of the past. The thought that he might have fallen asleep while laying on the grass passed through his mind, but he was sure he was awake.
"Connie...when you say swiftly, does that include moving?" Rhiannon smiled.
"Uhu . . . " Was the only thing he could slip through his lips. "This is real right?"
"Would you like me to pinch you?"
"No . . no . . the last time you did that I was cracked for a week." He turned satisfied that he was not dreaming and continued on his way with a smile he hadn't thought he would ever be able to do again.

He made his old route through his contacts in record time. Each time having to quickly explain that everything was back to normal and that he didn't have time to explain it all. Plus the fact that he hadn't taken human form in a long time and was having trouble holding it. Every so often he had to dismiss himself to find a quiet private place, usually a bathroom, to allow himself to release. He mused that this is what it must feel like to have a bladder problem.

When he had returned to Rhiannon just before dawn he had more euro then he had ever seen and all travel plans for that coming night set. With him was an old friend, Chance.

Eveshka sent a package upon which was affixed a note to Ms. Ducheski, but addressed to Lucilla Troy.

[i:ea7c3c4858] Dearest Lucilla,

I am returning to Chenonceau tomorrow. Come visit me.

Always,

Eveshka

[/i:ea7c3c4858]



The small package contained a rather slinky black satin thong wrapped in scarlet silk. Eveshka's sweet fragrance rose like potpourri from the material.