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Caitiff No More! - A Twisted Cinderella

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A Cold Day in Hell
Into the City
A Different Time and Place

Given Up

Helias' Lament

Helias cursed the day he was saddled with the good for nothing orphan by the local priest. Oh, aye, he was a god fearing man when the mayor and the priest had him cornered in the town hall with that sad scrap of a youngling out in the corridor waiting to hear his fate. Twas a pity the lad's parents had met their maker in the woods - their pelts were of a good quality and always brought him a good price when he took them into the city - but there was no reason why he ought to be the one to take the lad in. The priest had said he was good with numbers but it meant nothing if he couldn't get the lad to stay put and do as he was told. Without a vocation the lad couldn't stay on at the temple and he wouldn't be able to make his way in the world, earn his supper and all that, if he didn't learn a trade. No one else in the village had a spare place for him.

The lad had finished his chores for the day but taken off before Helias could sit him down for lessons in reading and writing. "I'll whip that boy's hide for this, I will," Helias grumbled, as he headed out into the courtyard to double check the packing of the wagons with his clerk. "Figures the boy would go missing right before a trip into the city."

Aaron ruffled his hair and clumps of cobwebs dropped to the bare forest floor underneath his makeshift shelter. It was the beginning of trapping season and everything here reminded him of family; the smells, the temperature--even the brightly colored leaves mounded over the half dome behind his back. The way Old Man Helias treated him sure didn't help. He knew he thought he was worthless. That assessment wasn't far from the truth seeing as he hadn't yet been apprenticed to a trade master, despite already being twelves years of age, but he was a fast learner and could still pick something up. The primary problem was that, being so slight of frame, Aaron wasn't exactly well-suited to being a stone cutter.

Aaron sheathed his belt knife, a small but practical blade gifted to him from his father for his tenth birthday--his father said every man worth his salt needed a knife--and allowed his teary eyes to wander to the clouds. Belatedly noticing the position of the sun, he shot to his feet and, giving his bottom a cursory dusting, bolted off back towards the house. He wasn't far off, but Helias made it clear that they stuck to the schedule, no matter who had to be left behind. He wasn't sure he had been serious, but there would still definitely be a beating in it for him if he held up the departure.

Out from behind the wagon a hand reached out to grasp the back of the boy's tunic. There was a sigh of resignation heaved and Aaron went tumbling into the side of the wagon with a good thwack! upside his head - hard enough to remind him he was late but not hard enough to really smart. "We're to have left half an hour ago, boy," Helias growled menacingly, "what took you so long?" The last of the ropes had been strapped down securely and there was a basket packed with the food for the trip sitting on the driver's bench. The pair of old mares stood waiting with their heads bowed and with an air of boredom.

"Hurry up, you, and get on up into that seat so we can head out."

Aaron hit the side of the wagon hard. He had been prepared for some form of abuse, but not of this nature. He straightened his back with a grimace and placed a hand on his head, his posture withering beneath Helias' stern gaze. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." With shame on his face, and a little resentment in his heart, Aaron hauled himself onto the bench of the wagon and plopped down on the far side so Helias could get into the driver's seat.

Aaron rocked back a little in his seat as the wagon took off with a start and turned briefly to watch the house shrink into the distance among the row of other houses, it's second story towering above its neighbors.

Half a day later, the wall of the city rises high before them, its stony grey mass very forbidding. A line of several carts, carrying goods and people, were lined up in front of the guard house to be searched. "Is it always like this?"

"That it is, boy."

Helias nodded to a man in a cart beside theirs; there was a double row of carts leading into the city through the main gate and off to the side a line of pedestrians entering the city through a smaller gate. A pair of guards stood at the front of each line of carts and wagons, one with a board for taking information and the other as a witness and enforcer if need be, that each wagon would have to pass by. The pedestrians gate wasn't as heavily manned as the main gate but then again who really expected trouble from there?

The older man pointed to the guards of their line and looked down at Aaron, saying to him, "These men and women work long and unforgiving shifts to keep an eye on who enters, and leaves, the city that there might be record of each person in the city at a particular time. Have you got any ideas as to why they do this, boy?" This was a good as time as any for a lesson.

A fierce wind blew at his back as Abbadon trudged onward through the thigh-deep snow, the strength of potence powering his steps inexorably forward. A long black coat flapped against his backside--more for display than anything so as not to arouse suspicion about why a soldierly man, clad in black, was making his way through a blizzard in short sleeves. He didn't care, though. The cold, although chilling, didn't make his bones ache like it might have when he was alive.

He applied a slight pressure to the door and it slid gently open, brushing aside the thinner layer of snow that had piled against it. It was only 8 o'clock in the evening, but the library was already deserted, the students, and many of the staff, huddled in their domiciles against the predicted four feet of snow or more. He kicked his heavy boots against the doorframe to knock off the large clumps of snow and ice clinging to his legs as the snow continued to fall steadily behind him. As he entered the entry hall of the ground floor, he nodded in acknowledgement of the reference clerk manning the desk to his right. He walked past the normal elevator and turned to corner to access the service elevator. He tapped his foot impatiently as the gears for the transport ground, bringing it down, empty, from the third floor. He stepped into the cold, steel crate and inserted his key, specially ordered by his contact here so he wouldn't have to worry about cutting through certain bits of red tape the hard way. He was patient and calculating, but, in dealings with Mortals, his patience only extended so far.

The doors opened into an increasingly familiar scene: an emorous room, dimly and sporadically lit, filled with row upon row of bookshelves, ten feet high. The archives. "William?" Abbadon called out, hoping to flush his Nosferatu friend from hiding.

The clanking of the service elevator as it descended to the second basement level alerted William to the presence of someone about to join him in his dingy and dusty retreat. Although the head librarian often complained about and wrote out orders to have the repair men see to the elevator the loud and insistent clank had never been fixed. Perhaps the head librarian wondered about the incompetence of her secretary but he knew how those orders always disappeared. If the elevator did not clank how would he know when he was about to have guests?

But the clanking of the elevator didn't tell him what sort of guest he'd be having; would it be one of his so called colleagues come to pull rank on him and demand that he do their work for them or would it be a student looking for hard to find facts and dates among the old, discarded books of the past for a research paper or thesis? It had been several days since he had last left the archives and he wasn't even sure what day of the week it was. Either way he slipped his disguise on with a simple thought, a trite moment of concentration, that barely registered in his mind. Now he could greet his guest.

"William?"

He heard his name called out and by a familiar voice no less - someone he could be marginally happy to see. Back onto the shelf in it's proper place the book he had been holding went and he called out a reply into the rows of bookshelves, "Abbadon! A moment, if you don't mind, and I shall be up there to greet you." William muttered to himself distractedly, "And where did tha-.. ahah!" There, laying flat on its side where he had left it, on the shelf below where he had just previously reshelved the book he had been holding was the book that Abbadon had requested, or rather a copy of it. William had gleefully kept the original but also painstakingly copied the book by hand. A small and leather-bound journal lay atop the book; in it were the footnotes and notes of interest, personal thoughts even, that William had written out to accompany the copy.

With both of these in hand William made his way to the small sitting area near the service elevator. Well, hardly a proper sitting area but at least it had a coffee table and rug accompanied by a trio of comfortable, if worn, chairs.

Abbadon was standing idly by a particularly well-worn chair, generally his seat of choice, and glanced over to the approaching shade with its mask of a thousand faces plastered like so much expensive cosmetics to the front of its skull. "Hey there, good lookin'," Abbadon spouted reflexively, a sly grin creeping across his face. He had seen William's true face once and, although he remained strictly diplomatic regarding the appearances of Nosferatu, he didn't wish to repeat the experience.

He shook William's free hand warmly--or as warmly as their frigid paws were capable of--before sitting in his chair adjacent to the table. "I understand you have something for me?"

"I do, I do. A book that you had requested in particular."

William took the seat opposite of Abbadon and casually placed on the table in front of the Brujah a copy of the Book of Nod and his personal notes on Noddist lore. It hadn't taken him nearly as long as it must seem to others to write out a copy of those personal notes but it was knowledge he wouldn't part with willy-nilly and it had taken great persuasion and bargaining on Abbadon's part to convince him to. What Abbadon gave him in return for that pair of copied books was just short of a blood bonding and a private affair between the two Kindred; William had no qualms about swearing the man to secrecy.

"What you have there is as complete as my personal records," he said as he gestured to the leather-bound journal, "and just as rare - only my Sire would have a better record than I." The Nosferatu smiled, mostly to himself and mostly out of vanity and pride. "I sincerely hope, my friend, that you guard these well."

Lessons? At a time like this? he thought. Gods be merciful, he had nearly gone dead from the neck up watching nothing but points on a long stretch of road drawing closer. He blinked hard a couple times to clear the apparent cobwebs from his mind--he hadn't had much in the way of proper lessons since his parents died on account of sympathy from his elders and he had gotten rusty.

"In case something happens, I suppose. So they can know who to look for that might be responsible?" He hoped that was good enough because it was about all he could think of. Their cart inched forward toward the dual guardhouses as another passed through the massive gate and Aaron craned his neck to get a better look at the weapons and armor of the guards.

Helias tousled Aaron's hair in a gruff but affectionate manner. "That's right. It provides proof that a person was in the city should a crime be committed and for whatever reason the person being questioned tried to tell the guard, or judge, they weren't in the city at the time." It was getting close to being time for the evening meal and he knew that there'd be no point in setting out the wares today. There was a good chance that some of his contacts in the city would be available for social visits but he'd have to send the boy to make inquiries. With it being Aaron's first time in the city he wasn't so sure about the idea. On the other hand, a boy's got to learn and this boy wasn't entirely inept.

They had finally made their way up to the guardhouse. A well built woman in standard city guard uniform took down their information - their names and relation, occupation and intended length of stay - and gave them a rope circlet with a couple of clay markers on it. With that done and over with they made their way into the trade city.

"By the strength of my arm, and caine as my witness, I shall not part with them," Abbadon vowed solemnly, his smirk morphing into something colder, far more devious, as if the prospect of defending it by force of arms was a relished fantasy. He glanced down long enough to flip through each of the books quickly before depositing them into his breast pocket, thus concluding the business portion of their interaction.

"So, William," he began. "What are you still doing around here? Haven't you seen the weather?"

While William said nothing about Abbadon's vow he did tuck away in his mind the look on the other Kindred's face as he spoke. In the past Abbadon had proved himself as honorable as a Kindred can be and even though he may not approve of his more aggressively violent tendencies it was not William's place to comment on such matters. Still it was worth keeping an eye on.

"The weather?" The confusion in his voice was evident and the Nosferatu frowned as he tried to remember which day of the week it was. "Is the weather bad aboveground?" He gave an apologetic shrug and smiled. "It's.. been a few days since I've left the archives," William explained, "the other librarian who works the archives during the day has been ill and I've been covering her shifts."

Someone else had been assigned to those shifts but as usual the paperwork had gone mysteriously missing and the Head Librarian was none the wiser that William was covering both shifts. There simply hadn't been any real reason to leave the archives - not even for him to have fed.

Abbadon found it nigh impossible to stifle the chuckle that began to rise in his throat. "There's already a foot and a half of snow on the ground and drifts up to my thighs, William," He said, the faint, familiar British accent seeping once more into Abbadon's vocal inflection. He smoothed back his hair, as much out of habit as exasperation and folded his hands in his lap. "I know how you Nosferatu can be sometimes, but you need some fresh air. There's far more to unlife than work." He leaned back in his seat, his genuine amusment fading to his default, casual bemusement. "Plus, if you don't leave here soon, you won't be able to get out for a week."

A look of startled surprise flashed across William's face only to have him settle into an unhappy glower at the prospect of not being able to leave the library for a week, at least. It's not as if staying would be the problem but what would he do about sustaining himself? As it was he had been depending on his ghoul, the secretary, to make an extra trip or two to the archives than he normally would.

"That is simply not acceptable. I can't expect my meals to trudge through such conditions for a visit to the archives." William heaved a sigh and took a glance around at the bookshelves mentally calculating what he had left on his to-do list. There shouldn't be any reason he couldn't leave now, or when Abbadon left, since he was technically ahead of his professional and personal work schedule.

"Better that I go today and check on the rats before my sewer neighbors woo my pack with vitae and scraps from the table."

Aaron eyed the female guard curously as they passed through the gate. At home women that size worked the fields. Here, he supposed, there weren't any fields to tend so they found another use for their sturfy frames. As such, he'd never seen a female guard before and this reinforced in his mind that things were no longer the way they had been.

Aaron's stomach growled abruptly. He had been eating a lot more lately and, although he had grown over an inch in the last year, the priest had theorized that he was overdue for a growth spurt. As they made their way away from the wall, Aaron was greeted by a feeling of claustrophobia. As he looked up and around, all he could see were houses practically stacked on top of each for several stories and the hard press of bodies passing dangerously close to the carts rolling by.

He gestured lightly to the bit of rope laced with clay beads. "What are those for?" he asked, his brow scrunching to accompany the inquiry.

"Indeed," Abbadon began. "We are in agreement, then." He got up and straightened his coat, making it clear he would be leaving soon. His sire would be in town soon and he wanted to be able to see her. He didn't feel that he was really reliant on her company, but her last absence had lasted for several months. "You need to get yourself out of this dingy, poorly ventilated basement and back to your dingy, poorly ventilated sewer," he added sarcastically.

He twirled his elevator key on its lanyard absent-mindedly. "On second thought, I take that back." He paused and glanced at the floor, pocketing his key. "How would you like to accompany me to my dwelling for drinks and conversation? I am certain that the contents of the most recent primogen council meeting would be of interest to both myself and my sire." His eyes flashed at the prospect of gathering information valuable to his neverending quest for greater power and a wolfish grin once again crept across his face.

William almost laughed at Abbadon and his blatant fishing for information but he smiled and casually shrugged. "Cardea is back from her travels?" He couldn't for the death of him understand why that woman would risk everything to travel the way she did. Every time she left the city she risked ambushes by mortal hunters and lupines alike and all for "idle curiosity" she would say when pressed for her reasons. Any Nosferatu worth their weight in vitae could see that she was lying through her fangs.

"Either way, I appreciate your offer of hospitality and I accept." With that said William collected what few belongings he wanted to bring with him and secured them in his shoulder bag. After he pushed the call button for the service elevator and flipped the light switch leaving he and Abbadon cloaked in darkness he turned to face Abbadon and inquired of him, "Did you drive?"

Hah, he thought to himself, as if Abbadon would walk anywhere.

Abbadon raised an unseen eyebrow and made quarter turn towards William. "What kind of host would I be if I invited you back to my place without a reasonable mode of shared transportation?" He turned to face the dim, yellowish light that now beamed at the pair from within it's steel cage and stepped inside, holding the automatic door and pressing to button for the ground floor. "But yes, I believe Cardea is back--at least she was supposed to be returning tonight, although I am uncertain of when exactly."

The elevator hit the ground floor and Abbadon could see, as they rounded the corner, that, on the other side of the immense glass entryway, the snow was still steadily falling. There were several more inches of snow that had drifted against the doors. Leading the way, Abbadon pushed the doors open and made his way to the path he had cleared on his way in. The path had filled to some extent on account of the sub-gale force winds. Abbadon wrapped his coat tightly around his body--partly to protect against that very wind and partly to keep the tail of his coat out of William's face. Abbadon deftly hopped the wall into the parking garage and made his way quickly over the remaining expanse of cement between himself and his car. Sitting down in the vehicle brusquely, Abbadon shook himself off and settled into his seat. He glanced over at William, a weary smile playing across his face. "See what I mean?" he said as he started the vehicle and sped off into the night.

William had forgotten just how far out on the edge of town Cardea and Abbadon's shared haven really was - barely within the domain of the Prince. He knew that when Cardea had staked her claim on the abandoned manor it hadn't been within the Prince's domain and he was fairly sure that was what had appealed to Cardea about the manor. Sure, it had probably been a good buy but that woman had a case of wanderlust to make a Ravnos envious and no love for the supposed authority of the Prince to tell her where and when she could go. It was no surprise Abbadon had come out of his Embrace as he had with a Sire like Cardea.

Through the iron wrought gate twice and even three times taller than any man the car pulled with its headlights lighting the way down the twisted lane to the manor. Lining the lane on either side were trees of great size and diversity that in the dark gave the illusion of a secluded country road complete with the yellow eyes staring back at you from the dark. Surprisingly lupine in shape those eyes are... William gave a start as he realized what he had been thinking and glanced at Abbadon sharply, wondering if the Brujah had noticed the eyes as well.

The car broke out into the clearing and William could see the outline of the manor in the dark. A light was on in the room he knew to be the library and he smiled; Cardea must have returned. They slowed to a halt in front of great double doors of the main entry and following Abbadon's lead William made his way into the manor.

In the distance a wolf howled and if there had still been hairs on the back of William's neck they would have raised. "We're definitely not in the sewers anymore.." he murmured to himself.

Abbadon closed the door behind them securely and threw across a steel deadbolt. In the World of Darkness, one could never be too careful. "That's for certain, my friend," Abbadon said in response, the look on his his face indicating thankfullness for that simple fact. He led William down the dimly lit hallways towards the comparably vast and brightly lit library and sitting room. He poked his head around the doorway to the library and spotted Cardea instantly, sitting in her favorite chair. It would have been of little circumstance had that not also been Abbadon's favorite chair.

"Big surprise to find you with your nose in a book," he said, a mischevious smirk creeping across his face. "I was wondering if you were back yet." He moved aside to allow William passage into the room as well. "You remember William, don't you? I know you Methuselahs sometimes have problems with your memory." He crossed his arms with self-satisfaction and leaned against the wall, his grin broad and wolfish, showing off some of the length of his fangs.

"Aw, isn't that cute - you brought a friend home to play with."

Cardea didn't even bother looking up at the two Kindred that entered the library; instead she finished the paragraph she had been reading and then carefully placed her bookmark in the book. The book itself was political dribble written by a mortal with no understanding of how the mortals of lower classes lived. It was a perfect example of privilege and thinly veiled contempt and she had bought the book while at the airport before she came home.

She yawned and stretched only to shift to allow herself to prop her legs up on the arm of the chair. The book lay in her lap forgotten for the moment. Cardea wiggled her toes at Abbadon and grinned just as wolfishly as he had. "Would you like me to bake some cookies for you and William? And afterwards I could read you both a story before your bedtime."

"I was actually thinking of asking Thomas to break out a bit of the red to spark some conversation," Abbadon suggested charismatically. "I believe I did make the mistake of promising our guest a drink. Far be it from me to deny him our hospitality, lest we inadvertantly cause offence to a member of the prestigious Primogen council." Abbadon raised a hand in deference and, with the gleam of good fun in his eye, stepped outside. "Thomas!" came the shout, followed by a short stream of polite instructions.

Abbadon reappeared in the room as unobtrusively as he had dismissed himself and took a seat near Cardea. He let himself sink into the exquisitely comfortable, if a little worn, leather chair and an inaudible sigh of pleasure escaped his lips. "So," he began, his gaze drifting casually to William. "I trust all is well within the city?"

With a snort of derision William dismissed Abbadon's all too direct attempt at fishing for information and made himself comfortable in a seat facing the two Brujah. While Abbadon practically radiated menace and foul intent his Sire's easy smile was disarming and William found himself wondering for a moment what it would have been like to know her before the Embrace. Perhaps in her he would have found the lover that met with approval from his family and mortal society. Or, perhaps, they would have danced together in a different sort of masquerade.

Either way the ghoul had returned from his errand and William politely accepted a glass of human blood by the smell and appearance of it from Thomas. He waited in silence as Cardea and Abbadon each accepted their own glass and then raised his glass in a toast, "To camaraderie and to our ever vigilant Prince." He set the glass aside and crossed a leg over the other as he settled back into the chair.

"I'm afraid not all is as well as it could be in our fair city." William frowned, mostly to himself, and continued on with the conversation. "The Prince was alerted to the existence of a Gehenna cult within the city boundaries and he brought the issue to the council. He has ordered the cult's destruction."