Pater Noster
Character fiction from a troupe Vampire: The Masquerade LARP...
by Simon W.
Saoirse made their way to the Armory. Ever since they had left the tome in the care of the Keeper they had found themselves coming here more often. It wasn't a book that was safe enough to keep in their haven, not with hunters around who might be able to find it. But they hated to be away from it.
Given the recent history of the domain Saoirse didn't think trying to explain to the other Kindred here that owning a book that they wanted to be constantly in the presence of would go over very well. But this wasn't because of mysticism... or at least, it wasn't because of the book's mysticism.
Once they were settled into a private room, book in hand, Saoirse sat down and took the letters out of their pocket. Aristotle's handwriting used to be so neat but in the last four decades had turned spidery as the madness took hold. Still his advice was always good, even if it did require more interpretation than it used to. This was the last letter Saoirse had received from him, nearly a decade ago.
"Should you make your way to a place covered in fog don't shine a bright light; it will blind you. Take heart in the fact that you have excellent night vision and wait for the secrets to come to you. You don't have your father's casual cruelty to lean on, although you try to pretend you do. One strength that you have, which he does not, is that you have always been more mother bear than lone wolf - do not be alone Saoirse, it's not good for you."
Saoirse's breath caught as they read the last sentence. Damn him to hell and back but he was right. They were not dealing well with being alone. The loss of Etienne was ever present and ever suffocating. His absence was a weight on their heart and their soul. They took a while to compose themselves before turning to the other letter. This one was much newer, penned after Etienne's death but Saoirse had only read it a few months ago, after they'd been so rudely awoken by Nathaniel. The handwriting on this one was strong and sure of itself, just like the writer.
"I'm sorry to hear about Etienne's passing. He was a good man and he didn't deserve to be murdered. Well done on you and the children to turn his murderers into ashes. I will not bore you with platitudes as neither of us could handle the insincerity. I will tell you that work is likely the only cure for what ails you now and the work is never ending. I will send you the next good lead I have that requires your skills and you will get through this trial because you are stronger than even you give yourself credit for..."
Saoirse still hadn't answered this letter. But the writer was due a reply. They didn't know where he was so they'd have to direct it to one of his more reliable drop boxes.
Sighing deeply they pulled out a pen and paper and started to write."Dear Beckett,
I received your sympathy correspondence only recently as I had been literally underground. Others seemed to share your sentiments however, as I am indeed working again. I seem to have found myself in a crucible of sorts. You see, in this domain we have apparently got both the very oldest and the absolute youngest of us in the same space. Apparently both the Lord of London and Ravana have been here in some immaterial capacity and now I have three born of the youngest under my surveillance. They seem to know exactly what they are too. Always a concern."
Saoirse sighed again. Such a letter would bring him here. And while they managed to get along fairly well with him, they knew that there was no faster way to make the domain, already at its boiling point, explode with ill humor. No, far better to keep things simple.
"Beckett,
Got your note. Thanks for the condolences. I was underground for a while but I'm up and working again. You were right again, you bastard.
Saoirse"
After the note was addressed and stamped Saoirse put all of the letters, the ones to them as well as the one from them into their pocket. They closed their eyes and opened the book to a random page. It fell open to the following verse:
He cursed us all, for killing the first part
of his Children, the Second Generation.
As we had hunted them down one by
one,
Zillah the Beautiful, Irad the Strong, and
Enoch First-Ruler.
And we mourned them all, as we were all
of a kind,
and all of the families of Caine's childer.
There, in that silent room, Saoirse knelt to pray silently. And in their own head no one could tell exactly who they might be praying to.
