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zg_shadows2007-07-09 01:01 am
annwfyn.livejournal.com) wrote in zg_shadows2007-07-09 01:01 am
Entry tags:
Post-Cam Court
The night air was warm, and smelled thick with petrol fumes. In the street, cars rushed past, blasting their horns at anyone who dawdled on the zebra crossings or stumbled out into the road. The moon in the sky was a tainted yellow slit in the cloud covered sky, and the stars winked intermittently between the tower blocks.
Firinne paused at the edge of the kerb. Behind her she could still hear voices. She could still feel the slight chill on her skin where the new Prince had hugged her. The faint scent of roses hung in the air still. Jade had filled the entire Elysia with flowers that night.
Behind her was the world she had given fifty years to. She had filled her every waking moment with its politics, its morals, its philosophies. She had been everything the Camarilla wanted her to be, and she had been rewarded. She had become its poster girl, its rising star. She was the first Harpy since the great Maroc to hold more than one domain in the south. People had hated her, and feared her, and yet admired her. She had turned 'Firinne Devon' into a name which meant something.
And now...
Firinne pushed her hands through her hair.
It had been a good night. Everything had worked like clockwork. The new Prince was in place, the old Prince had left with the maximum possible amount of dignity and grace, and she had become Lady of Winter, with a Harpy put in to replace her who she thought would do very well. Face was sheriff again, which would keep him happy (and hopefully distracted). Duncan was being relatively reasonble (or maybe just had another target to be unreasonable about) and even the Sabbat had had the good grace not to show up.
And now it was all over.
Firinne paused.
A part of her didn't want to walk away, she realised. A part of her wanted to go back inside, to wallow in her last few moments in the persona she had spent fifty years building up. A part of her didn't like how alone and how vulnerable she felt. She was someone strange and unknown now. She wasn't a Harpy. She wasn't attached to Anton's reputation. Not now. He had cut her loose. Now she was just Firinne and she wasn't quite sure what that meant.
Up ahead of her, just crossing the road, she saw a familiar figure. Matana bari Hadad, the Prince Emeritus of London, was walking along the road.
Firinne did not move immediately.
Who was Matana to her now?
He wasn't a Prince any more. There was nothing political to be gained from an association with him. He was just a man. But then, she wasn't much of a catch either anymore.
She glanced back.
Maybe she should go back inside. She should go back to Jade, and Tristan, and give herself a new political identity. Or maybe she could go back to Duncan, and start with something new. She could become this Valkyrie that the Gangrel had called her. That was something she could work with perhaps.
Or maybe she should just walk away, and discover who Firinne was. Right now she had no masks to wear. There were no obvious set of rules telling her who she should be. For the first time since 1900, Firinne was free.
Yet the cage was warm and bright, and the night sky was clouded and promised rain.
So she stood for a while, lingering on the pavement, beneath the yellow slit of a moon.
Firinne paused at the edge of the kerb. Behind her she could still hear voices. She could still feel the slight chill on her skin where the new Prince had hugged her. The faint scent of roses hung in the air still. Jade had filled the entire Elysia with flowers that night.
Behind her was the world she had given fifty years to. She had filled her every waking moment with its politics, its morals, its philosophies. She had been everything the Camarilla wanted her to be, and she had been rewarded. She had become its poster girl, its rising star. She was the first Harpy since the great Maroc to hold more than one domain in the south. People had hated her, and feared her, and yet admired her. She had turned 'Firinne Devon' into a name which meant something.
And now...
Firinne pushed her hands through her hair.
It had been a good night. Everything had worked like clockwork. The new Prince was in place, the old Prince had left with the maximum possible amount of dignity and grace, and she had become Lady of Winter, with a Harpy put in to replace her who she thought would do very well. Face was sheriff again, which would keep him happy (and hopefully distracted). Duncan was being relatively reasonble (or maybe just had another target to be unreasonable about) and even the Sabbat had had the good grace not to show up.
And now it was all over.
Firinne paused.
A part of her didn't want to walk away, she realised. A part of her wanted to go back inside, to wallow in her last few moments in the persona she had spent fifty years building up. A part of her didn't like how alone and how vulnerable she felt. She was someone strange and unknown now. She wasn't a Harpy. She wasn't attached to Anton's reputation. Not now. He had cut her loose. Now she was just Firinne and she wasn't quite sure what that meant.
Up ahead of her, just crossing the road, she saw a familiar figure. Matana bari Hadad, the Prince Emeritus of London, was walking along the road.
Firinne did not move immediately.
Who was Matana to her now?
He wasn't a Prince any more. There was nothing political to be gained from an association with him. He was just a man. But then, she wasn't much of a catch either anymore.
She glanced back.
Maybe she should go back inside. She should go back to Jade, and Tristan, and give herself a new political identity. Or maybe she could go back to Duncan, and start with something new. She could become this Valkyrie that the Gangrel had called her. That was something she could work with perhaps.
Or maybe she should just walk away, and discover who Firinne was. Right now she had no masks to wear. There were no obvious set of rules telling her who she should be. For the first time since 1900, Firinne was free.
Yet the cage was warm and bright, and the night sky was clouded and promised rain.
So she stood for a while, lingering on the pavement, beneath the yellow slit of a moon.
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who's that then? I didn't know you'd appointed another harpy!
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There has to be some revenge for pinning Tristan against a wall and basically flirt/cajole/bludgeoning him into this.
:P