Post game Firinne tat
Jan. 5th, 2009 09:54 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
annwfyn.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
zg_shadows"A very clever man once told me that Kindred society is all a game," Firinne said, and grinned. "You keep score by how many days you stay alive."
She was still alive. Walking home alone, wrapped up in a fur coat, but alive. Some might say she was an idiot to be walking home alone, but the streets of London were heavy with people, which were as good a protection as anything else. The tube was full of cheery weekend crowds, and the bus back to Oxford would likewise keep her in public view at all times.
If anything, in fact, she felt more alive than ever before. Her heart, which normally seemed to flutter weakly in her chest, was beating like a drum tonight, and her skin was almost on fire. She was warm, and bright, and so damn alive.
She dialled her Childe's number into her phone. No answer. There hadn't been an answer from the damned boy all evening. She'd have been worried if she hadn't been fairly sure that she knew where the Sabbat's attention had been focused that evening. Face had also turned up at court, and hadn't taunted her, which meant he hadn't been killing Valdez ealier, and he wasn't really much of a target for the Baali. She was assuming, therefore, that he had just been distracted with some kind of show.
Never mind. She wasn't going to waste her time worrying. Not tonight.
Victoria Station was crowded with people, all smelling of hot and tempting blood, and Firinne debated stopping to feed.
"No," she said sternly to herself. "Don't deviate from your plan. That's how you get summoned."
It was, and had been for some time, a policy of hers to try and remove as many of her own choices as to how she got home as she could. She had ten different routes to any of six different possible sleeping places after court, and she decided how she got there with the roll of a dice. Once the die had been cast, she never deviated from that plan.
It was another way she stayed alive.
Firinne ran her hands over her hair, and grinned.
She had stayed alive since 1900. She was 108 years old, Seneschal of London, and a Valkyrie of the Camarilla. She had been touched and chosen by Odin, and ever since the night before she had felt his presence more strongly than ever before. She felt stronger, tougher, almost invulnerable.
And yet she felt alive.
She climbed on to the bus for Oxford, and settled in a seat towards the back of the bus, resting her head against the window. Tonight she would go back to Christchurch college, and sleep in the small panelled room which had been hers since 1932. Tomorrow evening she would get up in time to give her 5 pm art history lecture (bless the winter nights), and after that she'd need to call Kieran to discuss events of the evening.
And she'd add another night to her scorecard.
"It's all a game," a wise man had once said. "Never take it personally. Remember it's just a game. You keep score by how long you stay alive..."
She was still alive. Walking home alone, wrapped up in a fur coat, but alive. Some might say she was an idiot to be walking home alone, but the streets of London were heavy with people, which were as good a protection as anything else. The tube was full of cheery weekend crowds, and the bus back to Oxford would likewise keep her in public view at all times.
If anything, in fact, she felt more alive than ever before. Her heart, which normally seemed to flutter weakly in her chest, was beating like a drum tonight, and her skin was almost on fire. She was warm, and bright, and so damn alive.
She dialled her Childe's number into her phone. No answer. There hadn't been an answer from the damned boy all evening. She'd have been worried if she hadn't been fairly sure that she knew where the Sabbat's attention had been focused that evening. Face had also turned up at court, and hadn't taunted her, which meant he hadn't been killing Valdez ealier, and he wasn't really much of a target for the Baali. She was assuming, therefore, that he had just been distracted with some kind of show.
Never mind. She wasn't going to waste her time worrying. Not tonight.
Victoria Station was crowded with people, all smelling of hot and tempting blood, and Firinne debated stopping to feed.
"No," she said sternly to herself. "Don't deviate from your plan. That's how you get summoned."
It was, and had been for some time, a policy of hers to try and remove as many of her own choices as to how she got home as she could. She had ten different routes to any of six different possible sleeping places after court, and she decided how she got there with the roll of a dice. Once the die had been cast, she never deviated from that plan.
It was another way she stayed alive.
Firinne ran her hands over her hair, and grinned.
She had stayed alive since 1900. She was 108 years old, Seneschal of London, and a Valkyrie of the Camarilla. She had been touched and chosen by Odin, and ever since the night before she had felt his presence more strongly than ever before. She felt stronger, tougher, almost invulnerable.
And yet she felt alive.
She climbed on to the bus for Oxford, and settled in a seat towards the back of the bus, resting her head against the window. Tonight she would go back to Christchurch college, and sleep in the small panelled room which had been hers since 1932. Tomorrow evening she would get up in time to give her 5 pm art history lecture (bless the winter nights), and after that she'd need to call Kieran to discuss events of the evening.
And she'd add another night to her scorecard.
"It's all a game," a wise man had once said. "Never take it personally. Remember it's just a game. You keep score by how long you stay alive..."
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