Kytha Downtime: Walsley & Gromit

Kytha escaped the toppling skyscraper's thunderous fall by gliding on wings of flesh--invisible to the naked eye to be sure, but not entirely unseen...

The interrogation of the Camarilla puppet, Sergie Memonivich, was singularly unenlightening as one might expect; Dominate works wonders and almost takes the fun out of culling out information one soft blade knick at a time. But then Kytha asked about Lord Walsley... and this Sergie scum shouted at her in rage, "Traitor!"

After this Cammie was placed below the chalice and blade, you retire to your haven for well-earned rest. A message was waiting for you: "Lord Walsley requests an audience" a penetrating voice spoke into your mind, along with the image of an old stationary and duplication store in the south of Moscow.

You arrive and the owner, a thoroughly disagreeable (and poorly groomed) man unlocked the door to the video conference room...

...And you find yourself staring into the eyes of Lord Walsley, projected onto the screen in front of you, scrutinizing your every move without batting an eyelash!

"You have many questions. I may have as many answers, should you ask about that which I am ready to reveal."

((OOC moment: Oh my God. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. IT'S HIM. OH MY GOD. ... I think this calls for a SQUEEeeeE! ))

Kytha pauses in the doorway, looking at the screen. She draws herself up to her full height, then squares her shoulders and releases them. Her eyes do not waver from the screen. She remains standing, hands folded in front of her, feet spread shoulder-width apart, to all appearances the unflappable observer.

"Good evening, Lord Walsly. Please accept my sincere thanks for meeting with me." She pauses for just a sliver of a moment, gathering her thoughts without breaking eye contact, before continuing.

"I don't know how much you might know about me, but I imagine that one such as yourself surely has taken some care to observe me before inviting me to speak with you. I have not had this opportunity, and I hope that you do not take offense when I ask if you have any way to prove your identity to me. After all, I've found myself in rather... interesting company lately, and with rumors of a Camarilla Prince flying--among other threats in Moscow-- I would prefer to take a small liberty with my courtesy in favor of caution. I'm sure you can appreciate that."

Still watching the stranger, Kytha waits for a response, ever the patient hunter... although now, she senses that she may well be staring at something several rungs higher on the food chain than herself.

Lord Walsley looks like a lord--a darker, more suave Donald Trump--complete with an immaculate, infinitely intricate black suit that sports a sheen like it's made out of hundreds of thousands of tiny black scales. The man himself is unobtrusive, a chiseled chin, with deep-sunken eyes that make him look like he was born wearing eye shadow. His lips are a deep crimson red and his 5 o'clock shadow perfectly lines his definition like so much chiaroscuro shading.

He eyes you with a pointed, emotionless expression. "I suppose you have no way of knowing either way whether I am Lord Walsley or whether I am not. Suffice it to say that if I wanted you dead of course I could arrange it from halfway around the world with but the touch of a button. And if I wanted to manipulate you in any gross matter I could have done so from equal distance. I know your sire, he knows me, and... let's just say we have a contract which names you as third-party beneficiary, in a manner of speaking."

Straightening himself up, "Now, down to business. The tower that came down like it was Babel itself, was that you perchance? Or one of your packmates? I must say you're quite a team, joined at the lip with a Vaulderie nonetheless I see. Interesting. Complicating, but interesting."

Sitting back in his chair as if awaiting a striking blow, "Do you have questions for me? Or have you deciphered the Endgame already and resigned yourself to your fate?"

(( Thank you!! ))


He knows Father? Kytha takes a moment to digest that piece of information. She’s certain now that there are few who would dare to pretend to be Lord Walsley--and even on the unlikely chance that this was a pretender, it would certainly be someone to be equally wary of. More importantly, Walsley is undoubtedly a player in the deep games. Finding out about that is probably most important for now-- an Endgame?-- and about this agreement between Walsley and Preston- and about why that one called me a traitor-- and what does our pack complicate--I hardly know where to begin.

“The tower was the work of one of my packmates,” Kytha replies. She smiles a little. “I’m afraid I missed most of the fun looking for you, Lord. And I’m also afraid that you’re holding all the cards right now. I don’t believe that I have any answers. My questions have been piling up exponentially since arriving in Moscow.

As for your Endgame, I know that the specter of the Hag has appeared in my dreams, in those of my pack mates, and in the sleeping minds of the other vampires in Moscow... possibly in the rest of the world as well, although it would be impossible for me to say for sure. Communication outside the city has been inoperable for as long as we have been unable to leave. Furthermore, there is talk that the Hag favors the Camarilla. I cannot pretend to understand the machinations and deep games of my elders, but I will also not bend to their whims easily.” Her eyes narrow a little. “If you think that I am the sort who would go to the trouble of understanding all this mess and then resigning myself to its inevitable conclusion, you have not watched me or my pack long enough, Lord.

Since, as I said, you seem to be holding all the cards, I’m glad you’re willing to entertain a pup’s curiosity. I think that the first question I have for you is appropriately the most important. In the chaos of the building’s collapse, my pack captured ((oil tycoon)) to interrogate him about his involvement with the Camarilla and their Prince. Towards the end of the work, I asked him about you. I wasn’t expecting him to know anything, of course, but one must be prepared for surprises. I was very surprised indeed. Apparently I’m a traitor to you. I simply don’t see how this can be, unless it has something to do with the contract that you made with my father that I only just now learned about. Can you explain, Lord?”

Lord Walsley shrugs at the question, his expression somewhere between satisfaction and a twinge of excitement, though one could only venture to guess what the stone gaze conceals.

"We shall talk of the End soon enough. It won't be unapparent, I can assure you. Perchance, on a cloudless night, you might train your finely honed senses skyward and tell me if there isn't a star in the sky more menacing and in greater propinquity to our earthly abode than the rest..."

"Ah, I figured. You are a precision instrument, not a brute machination." He smiles knowingly. "About the Hag... I see her as well, we are all under her gentle auspices now... I' m not hesitant to tell you, childe, that I worry less about what Babya has in store for us than from what I suspect she is trying to protect us from. Her 'curtain'... not so much intended to keep us in as to keep something else out, a paranoid suspicion no doubt but utterly mortifying, if you'll pardon the pun. For what could scare the thrice-removed from Caine..."

"Oh, but I have entirely ignored your query." He lets out an entirely immodest grin, "I see my diligent subterfuge has once again paid me treble in kind. You see, my childe, I am posed to be at the right hand of the Moscow Camarilla--I am to be its Prince! I am the one they know as Vasilisa--in different form and dress of course but such is the wonder of being able to ply my own flesh as if it were dough for the kneading. I am also myself, Lord Walsley, my own right-hand Seneschal and Primogen. Interesting double entendre don't you think? I can offer myself my own counterpoise, for I do firmly believe that man--if you'll pardon the sexism--is his own best critic, hahaha. And should you be wondering how it is that I can appear in both forms at once well, it really isn't as cumbersome of a stretch as one might imagine if one knows the right combination of ghouldom, Vicissitude, and a hint of Chimerstry plied and plucked from the lips of a dying Ravnos."

Regaining his composure after a measure of indulgent self-congratulation, "Truly, my childe, these Camarilla are so very weak. No doubt you and your pack have had no trouble dispatching them. I would worry much more about... well... let's just say the Sword of Caine is often double-edged, if you get my meaning, one side constantly struggling to revenge itself upon the other as if it were Highlander incarnate. What troubles me is--and I know I am straying beyond the boundaries of your inquiry--these Camarilla have been here for a very long time, centuries, some say a millennium or more, yet none has managed to secure Moscow as a domain. Not a single Prince has reigned longer than a handful of nights. Each one has been dispatched, screaming of strange visions and the like before meeting apparently suicidal ends. Much the same has come of Sabbat Bishops as well... Something is at work here. It would just be too easy to blame Baba Yaga for what reason would she have to peddle in the pettyest of politics?"

"Ask another question, if thou wilt. And perhaps I can tell you more of your role in all of this..."

As Walsley speaks of his climb to power through the Camarilla, Kytha grins openly in wicked admiration, but restrains her expression as he continues. She considers what he’s told her already: it seems like the best thing to do is to ask another question and keep him talking. He does not seem to regard the Hag as an enemy, but rather as an ally or even as a protector. What’s going on outside of Moscow, then? Why are we looking to the sky? And most of all, why should he reveal all this unless he’s going to ask something of me? Clearly, he has some plan for me--but is it going to get me killed? And--I know a hunter shouldn’t have such ties--but I want to know, where is Father if he is not ash?

“I think that would be for the best, Lord. I can’t imagine that you brought me here without some plan with which you are ready to proceed. After all, I can’t be terribly hard to find at all, but you make yourself quite scarce. And why should you reveal yourself as you are to me--the future Prince of the Tower in Moscow and a secret Sword--when you could easily have found me and used me for your own ends while still keeping me in the dark?” Or do you just enjoy putting on a show? Kytha adds to herself.

“You seem more than willing to give me information about what’s going on. You clearly want something from me, something that requires at least a moderately well-informed tool. I accept that, for now, it might be best for me to listen to what you want and consider assisting you. After all, if Fa-- er-- my sire is not dead, then it does seem that I may have been sent to you, as you claim. In fact, I came to Moscow because I have something that I believe belongs to you, or that my sire wanted you to have.

"So. First, Lord, please tell me about why you think Baba Yaga is defending us, and what you suspect she might be protecting us from. Then, please tell me what you want from me and why my pack... complicates things.”

"Straight to the point. Can't say I disapprove, I've certainly been inundated with enough prevarication to last me a good millennium working with these Camarilla types. Truly, if the Sabbat knew how disorganized they---... well.... let's just say their power rests on the edge of a pin dangling on a precipice with a shrill powerful wind in the air."

"Oh? But what am I to ask of you? Nothing... yet. Well, almost nothing anyway. If you and your Bone Folders come up me and mine I pray you ask them to show restraint given the circumstances. Surely they can see the advantage of having a Sabbat behind the Camarilla of this city; one can never truly get rid of these 'gentile' ones, and you know what you Americans say when you can't beat 'em... Mix that with a little Machiavelli and Sun Tzu and you've got it almost right."

"I must say, your Ductus... I don't know if I entirely trust him... keep your eyes peeled. I know forces beyond your control beckon you to his service but remain vigilant."

"And as for a service... yes... I do have a request of you. But I am prepared to offer something in return. Beseech your pack to join me at a formal gathering, a few nights from now, at my palisade in the heart of the city. Yes, I am inviting you into the heart of my Camarilla enclave. Let me make this perfectly clear: You are NOT to kill anyone, nor reveal yourselves as anything but loyal (or disgruntled but docile) kindred of my court. There is a spy in my midst. I don't who or for whom, or even what this interloper is, but I want you to find her (or him, but my instincts say she's of your sex). I want you and your mates to socialize, get the lay of the land, find out who it is that threatens my dominion. I promise you aid if things should become violent but do not instigate conflict under any circumstances. These whelps are beneath your notice anyway. The reward will be handsome and so much more than a few Camarilla heads."

"Do you accept?"

Kytha chuckles. “Lord Walsley. I would be more than happy to offer my services to you. You’ve deeply impressed me. But the Bone Folders? Frankly, I’m not even sure how much of this conversation they should know. Whether or not you trust Ductus Kestrel--and at times I have shared your misgivings--I will need to give him most of the information that you’ve told me, or things may go badly for me in the future.

“Unfortunately, the Bone Folders are a large and... unruly... mass. Many of them are impatient, bloodthirsty, and ambitious, but they lack foresight, and Ductus Kestrel can be as chaotic as the rest, which leaves little room for discipline in our ranks. I believe that if I chose a small company of Bone Folders from our ranks, we could do the job you ask of us, but the group as a whole...” She sighs, frustrated to admit to her pack’s weakness. “If all of the Bone Folders came, it would quickly devolve into a massacre. It’s just how they are,” she admits with a little growl of annoyance. “There is a time and a place for these things, of course, and I’ve benefitted greatly from their influence and guidance...”

Kytha takes a moment to collect her thoughts and keep herself from further worsening the image of her pack. “In any case. Yes, I would be glad to help you, if you would accept my assistance and the assistance of a few of the members of my pack instead of all of them. A smaller group will succeed better where the large group would fail... and no doubt incur your ire instead of your favor,” she grins. “Er. Of course, if the Ductus orders everyone to go against my advice... there’s little that I can do besides try to herd them into some kind of order and try to wrap things up as quickly as possible. Hm. Well, what do you say? Is it worth the risk, or will you go elsewhere for assistance?”

Lord Walsley apparently takes a subtle pleasure in the thought of skirting the thin line which crossed would lead to exposure or destruction or both, apparently suffering no ill effect in temperament from the risk of his proposal and the blind faith offered to a young Sword with barely a dozen heads to her name.

"My dear, the minutia of the plan are entirely at the discretion of your *ahem* wise Ductus and yourself, should you play any part in the affair. Obey the groundrules I have set for you and yours and surprise me in execution as you deem fit."

"Should you come through for me, however, I will in the boon owed bestow upon you knowledge and perhaps even power, all of which may even lead you to answers. I suspect, even with the spires of the mortal world tumbling before us, we are in the calm before the storm."

"Find the spy, the interloper in my midst; or meet the burden of satisfying me that there is none--or better--that she or he is merely an opportunistic boor of my own little flock." With a distinct gravity he leans forward, "I warn you however: You must not reveal yourself as connected to me in any way. Even if violence or worse should errupt, you are to face me as you would any Camarilla swine; trust me, if the situation devolves into an exercise of base instinct, I will suffer whatever wounds you give me with a certain pride, you needn't worry about my being vanquished; rumors of my Final Death will always be greatly exaggerated, I can assure you."

"Now, is there anything else you wish to trouble me for? Or may I beg your leave?"

Kytha bows to Walsley from the waist, concealing a little smile of sheer amusement at the idea of Walsley begging anything from her. “Lord, by the Sword of Caine, it shall be as you request.”

You receive a text message on your phone, marked as from "L.W." It reads: I sense disturbance in mystical barrier. Your work? Taking down the curtain dangerous, uncertain consequences, hoped for more time to study, make plan. B careful childe...

She replies:

"I don't rip heads w/o consideration or tear down buildings w/o reason- pack prefers force to subtlety. Salvaged what I could. Myself + 2 w/ more restraint will attend tomorrow. Expect results."

Kytha also saves the phone number if it is available to her.