Memory and Flame

 This is fan created fiction about a character in a Vampire: The Masquerade live action role playing game run by Modern Enigma Society. If you are a fellow player, please remember that anything you read here is considered out of character knowledge. If you are a lawyer, please don't sue me; I'm not making any money off of this and it's just for fun.

Memory and Flame

by Simon W

June 2012

"Maire thought you had such promise."

Aoife stared at the bonfire as it burned away the last physical remnants of Matheson's prophetic madness. She believed he had infused enough of his essence into the pages that she felt the grim satisfaction of killing a hated enemy. It didn't quite rouse her Beast in a way to give it greater control over her, but she could feel it in the back of her mind purring like a very large and dangerous cat. 

She pondered the words of the woman standing a little farther from the fire. She didn't know what strictures Anna followed, or what psychological gymnastics she had to contort herself into to keep her Beast at bay but if one of the things she needed to do was to cause pain, her Beast must we well pleased. Although, with the pathbound Lasombra it was difficult to tell. Maybe she thought she was being kind, after a fashion? 

Maire of the Sea! 

When Aoife first arrived in San Diego, over a century ago at this point, Maire had been Prince. And she was, to all public appearances, a Brujah of the Tower. Aoife was still uncertain where she fit into the new world of kindred and Beasts. She had two impulses driving her; one was to be in close proximity to Edmund for all she couldn't tell him this and the other was to prove that she was strong enough to be everything he thought she could be. She was hindered in this by both her own personality and the strictures of their clan. So she claimed a territory that was just outside of Camarilla held San Diego and growled and postured at him in public. 

Prince Maire accepted the fledging Unaligned Gangrel into her domain with grace. Aoife wasn't sure if Edmund had anything to do with that. She'd never asked him and he'd never told her. Over time, knowing her social position was precarious, Aoife set about seeing how she could be useful to the Court. It wasn't long before she was winging her way to and fro with messages and developed a reputation for both reliability and discreteness. 

What a strange relationship grows between a Prince and their favored messenger. What secrets get shared and what close contact they are sometimes thrown into. There were times when Aoife wondered if Maire truly needed to send as much correspondence as she did, or if she was simply looking for conversation with someone who made no demands upon her. Aoife's lack of political position made her neither threat nor advantage. 

It took less than a decade to realize that Maire had no mirrors. By that time Aoife's friendship with Deaglán had become comfortable enough so she understood the subtle signs. She never brought up Maire's true nature in conversation and, as far as she was concerned, it was a secret she would keep to her grave. 

They never declared themselves to one another. Sometimes Aoife even believed that Maire didn't know the depth of her feelings. Other times Aoife knew that was nothing more than a polite fiction. Maire knew and she didn't speak. Aoife left the area at the beginning of the 20th century to try and forget her. Two love affairs in quick succession only left her with the knowledge that as much as she did, truly, love both Gabriella and Teuta for themselves, she felt something much different and enduring for Maire. 

When Aoife returned, heartbroken over Teuta's death (or so she believed) she expected to find that the passage of nearly fifty years had changed things. It hadn't. She and Maire settled back into the same pattern of being polite and cordial in public and sharing conversations and secrets in private. All of that ended when Maire was killed as the Anarchs swept the area to take control.

There were some who were surprised that Aoife was willing to be messenger to the Anarchs like she had for the Tower for so many years. It was put out far and wide that the Anarchs had killed Maire when they seized power. But Aoife knew differently. She vividly remembered arriving as Maire started to fall to ashes. It wasn't an Anarch gang triumphantly standing over her, but a Tower Malkavian sidling out of the room as she entered. Aoife often wondered if her mistake that night wasn't that she didn't give chase right away. But at the time it was more important that she spend Maire's last seconds telling her, in Gaelic and in the hope that she didn't understand, that she loved her. 

Now, seventy five years later, Aoife was staring at a bonfire burning the last remnants of that same Tower Malkavian's essence. And Anna was standing behind her offering commentary. Her commentary revealed things Aoife hadn't known.

One, Maire was related to Deaglán and almost certainly had known Gaelic. Two, she had spoken of Aoife to others. So many puzzle pieces fell into place, niggling little loose ends that she just hadn't noticed before. But Aoife was much older now than the grieving woman she had been in 1945 so rather than turn and confront the Elder Lasombra she continued staring at the fire burning away the last of Matheson.

Aoife scooped up the ashes that remained of Matheson's book and then stared at the sea for a long time. Finally she said, "If you're going to stay in town and you want someone to talk to who won't make demands of you, look me up." 

Sometimes memory dies in flames; sometimes it ends up burning more brightly. 

Another New Beginning?

This is fan created fiction about a character in a Vampire: The Masquerade live action role playing game run by Modern Enigma Society. If you are a fellow player, please remember that anything you read here is considered out of character knowledge. If you are a lawyer, please don't sue me; I'm not making any money off of this and it's just for fun.

Another New Beginning?

by Simon W. 

September 26, 1879
Deadwood Mining Camp, Dakota Territories

Aoife was in the mine when she heard the shouting. Jack, one of the men who worked for her, was yelling. She made her way closer to the entrance and met him as he was running in. "Fire, fire!" His face was covered in soot and he was in a panic. He ran past her, deeper into the mine. She made her way to the entrance and looked toward the main camp, which by this point had nearly grown to a town, to be greeted by a fiery hellscape. Nearly every building; every bit of wood or canvas in the camp seemed to be ablaze. She looked worriedly at the wooden supports around the mine entrance.

"We should leave," she shouted down to Jack. But then a shift in the wind turned the flames in her direction. She had no choice but to go back down into the mine and hope the earthen walls would provide some protection. 

The mine wasn't very deep; none of them were in the Black Hills. Most of the gold was found in the rivers and was panned. She and Padraic had been lucky that the plot of land they'd claimed when they arrived happened to have a rare underground seam. But still, there wasn't a whole lot of space between her and the fire raging across the camp. The flames roared as they got closer to the entrance and started licking at the wooden beams. It was dark and smoke filled the space where she and Jack were huddled against the farthest back wall. With a crash, the wooden supports, and the mine entrance itself collapsed. All was suddenly quiet. 

Jack sat beside her, his fear moving him to stoic silence. The heat and silence and heavy air seemed to press down on them and eventually Aoife either fell asleep or she passed out. Who could tell the difference in these circumstances?

She dreamed of her life before. Of taking the ship from Ireland to Boston when she was four years old. Of losing her mother on that journey. She dreamed of her father and her brothers and herself landing on a strange shore, with no home, little money, and few prospects. The local Irish community was the only thing that saved them. She traversed through all the memories of her childhood, growing up, going into service in the great houses of the rich elite in Boston, of Padraic getting into his legal trouble and, the two of them travelling west with the wagon train to Deadwood. Padraic has succumbed to small pox shortly after they had claimed this piece of land she was now buried under. Digging out this mine, working it, and finding men to work for her had been backbreaking but rewarding labor. Aoife thought that if she were to die here, she had few regrets all told. She'd been as decent a person as she could in the circumstances she'd been given. All in all, she thought, she'd had a good run and had started over more times than anyone really ever had a right to in one lifetime. 

Death, it turned out, was not her destiny that night. She became conscious at some point later, whether it had been minutes, hours, or days, she could not tell. She reach over to where she knew Jack had been sitting and felt only coldness. He was there, but he'd died at some point when she wasn't conscious. She whispered a prayer for the dead and took stock of her situation. She had space around her, but the air was heavy and thick. She wasn't sure how long it would last. Crawling on hands and knees she made her way to where the tunnel had collapsed. She felt around to see if she could find any purchase in the rocks and dirt and then, with a shrug, she started digging.

It was slow and painful work. As she dug, she got increasingly lightheaded as the oxygen started to run out. After was seemed like an eternity with no progress that she could see, she wondered if she ought to give up. Maybe staying down here and allowing oblivion to take her was what she was supposed to do. It had seemed to work for Jack, after all. With a shuddering breath, trying to keep tears for her dead friend at bay, she shook her head and resumed working. Suicide was a sin and what was lying down to die if not suicide of a sort?  A few more handfuls of earth removed opened up a small hole that fresh air flowed through. 

"Thank God above," she whispered. She took a break for a moment, just appreciating the fact that she felt less lightheaded. Then she set about making the opening wider. She could see sunlight through the hole and this cheered her. But digging took several hours and by the time it was big enough for her to try to crawl through, the sun had set on the Dakota prairies. 

She pulled herself out and painfully stood up. Her hands were bloodied and her arms were sore. She felt battered, bruised, and more than a little worried about the other residents of Deadwood. But she was unquestionably alive and that was the sweetest feeling. The smell of smoke and burned wood still lingered in the air. She wouldn't know the extent of the damage until dawn although what she could see by moonlight looked pretty grim, but surely, she thought, someone else aside from her had to have survived. 

"That was absolutely remarkable," said a male voice behind her. She jumped and turned around. A relatively well dressed man stood in the moonlight.

Aoife opened her mouth to speak and at first when she tried to raise her voice above a whisper she croaked.

"Here," he tossed a canteen toward her. "You'll need some water I'm guessing."

She didn't catch it, her reflexes dulled by weakness, shock, and oxygen deprivation. But she picked it up from where it landed. No water had ever tasted so good before. Once she had wet her throat sufficiently she managed to say, "thank ye" in a creaky voice. 

"You're welcome. As I said, absolutely remarkable. I heard you last night. I had to come back to see how it all went. I wasn't sure if you'd dig yourself out or not."

Aoife stared at him. "Ye heard me last night?" she asked.

"Oh yes."

"And ye... just listened? Ye didn't help? What kind of a man are ye?"

He laughed; a musical and oddly compelling sound. "My name is Edmund, and you'll find that I'm a very strange kind of man. And you, with your survival instincts and your tenacity, are a remarkable woman. Have you got a name."

"Aoife Kennedy, and don't take this the wrong way, but whatever ye'r selling, I don't want any." 

He laughed again. "I mean you no harm, Aoife Kennedy. I offer you an opportunity." He extended his arm to encompass the landscape around her. "This place may never recover from this tragedy. But you, I suspect you'll survive most any adversity that's thrown at you. I would be happy to help you in that effort."

"Did ye not hear me when I said I wasn't interested in what ye'r selling?" 

He shook his head. "You misunderstand me. But in time you won't. Come, I will show you where the other survivors are. Give you a chance to rest and heal up." And with that he turned. Aoife was skeptical but she followed him over the ridge line. He led her to a small camp where several folks from Deadwood had gathered. When they got to the outskirts of it, he stopped. "I'll leave you here then, Miss Kennedy. But I will see you again." And he turned to leave.

"Wait, Edmund!" Aoife handed him back his canteen. "Thank ye... for the water, and for leading me here."

He took the canteen back. He tipped his hat to her and said, "Until later, Miss Kennedy." And then he strode off into the moonlit night.

Aoife made her way into the small camp of survivors. She was able to find some of the other men who'd worked in her mine and tell them the news of Jack. Someone found some bandages for her hands and she got some hot food, and found a place to sleep. All the following day she worked with the other residents who were staying to start clearing debris and figure out how to rebuild. 

About a week later she was settling down for the night in a little tent she'd managed to scrounge. She'd taken a swim in the river that afternoon and felt like she'd finally gotten all of the grime, smoke, and sweat out of her hair. Her hands were healing under the bandages. Words had been said for the dead and overall folks were starting to try and figure out how best to hunker down for the winter. October was mild thus far but it was early days yet. 

There was a soft scratching at the canvas; what passed for a knock on a door in these circumstances. She pushed the flap aside and there was the man from earlier. 

"Good evening, Edmund," she said. "What brings you here?"

"May I come in?"

Aoife gave him a critical look. He seemed inoffensive enough; and there were people nearby who would hear her yell if he was otherwise. She nodded and said, "Welcome to my humble home."

Edmund came in and found a spot to sit. "I said I'd be back. I have a proposition for you, Miss Kennedy. All I ask is that you hear me out in total before you answer yes or no."

Come morning, Aoife's tent was empty and her few belongings that she'd salvaged from the fire were gone. Everyone in the camp assumed she'd decided to leave along with the vast majority of the other survivors. Little did they know that offer she'd been given or the choice she had made for yet another new beginning.