writing_shadows

For

suave_steve - I'm moving to Requiem three word fics now.

I love Court; I always have. Watching all the masks, the stiffened upper lips, the coiffed and preened sycophants, falling over themselves to carve a niche in this person’s requiem or that person’s politicking, and the bristling aggression shining in the eyes of rivals as they stare one another down like lions under the iron press of Elysium.

I like the tingling sensation of power that suffuses me as I turn my head to survey my playground, the air thick with all the exaggerated or suppressed emotions of Kindred who regard me with fright, anger, suspicion, awe and admiration, feeling, fearing, thirsting, needing, wanting and all of them choking on their own ambition.

I like seeing how people display themselves, how they want to be perceived and how it contrasts with who I suspect they are behind closed doors. Princes on their self-assured prowl, or sitting stiff and tall, waiting for the inevitable snap of fangs to start the fight that will end their reign. Warriors in their war-ravaged leathers and armoured coats, aggression stamped on their skin that says ‘I fought, and I won,’ because why else would they still be here? Socialites gliding around one another, a picture of sartorial refinement, cut and corseted and coloured to the tune of a time and place; their faces as contrived as their dress, and scholars hiding behind a shield of deference and humility, their attire a camouflage to help them blend in, avoid provocation, escape notice when the claws get drawn.

It used to be that Court was rather like a dance for me; part display of etiquette, part popularity contest, part competition to outshine the rest. Very little in the way of real politics happens at Court. We make a pretence, but all the real negotiation, the conflict and resolution, the blood and the bluntness and the brutality; all that happens behind closed doors for the most part. No, Court is about establishing your place, your purpose, your importance. It is about perception, about networking, about giving the right impression. About making a point when you have to.

But that has changed, somewhat. A vampire cares for her own safety, of course she does, and part of what she does at Court is cover her back, weigh up threats and potential and so forth. These days, though, it is about more than that. It is about his safety, and the threats and assets, opportunities and potential that he faces, too. And often, thoughts drift to softer things, to hot blood stirring in my veins as I watch him work the room and wonder what I might give up to see him succeed, to calculating an opening to steal him away for a moment, to wearing my own mask and hiding the flicker of more than humanity, more than passion, more than fear that burns in my own eyes, because these things are simply not permitted.

And to this end, I smile, lift my head, and march into the midst of the clamour, knowing that by the end of the night I will have slaked my thirst for drama and deception, and engineered a way to return to a place where I can wash away the filth of those around me in the warmth and light of something greater than myself.