Chapter 21 -- An Act of Public Expiation - Houston (Spring of 2032) -- B.E.Z
>> Hand printed via the discipline technique Shadow Script in crisp Gothic lettering, but in the colloquial English of the middle 21st Century. <<
- March 1st, 2032 -- Nystor's Lair on Sicily
- Prologue: Explanations are in order. Four months have passed since the Camarilla retook London, the capital of England and vampiric Avalon, from the Sabbat. I have already discussed the details of that fateful battle and its terrifying consequences for the Undead of London and all England. I feel no need to touch upon those events again except to say that with the fall of the Sabbat in London to the Camarilla, that the next four months were frenzied ones.
- First upon the agenda for the undead of London was the restoration of the sacred Masquerade, any and all mortals who might have seen or heard the events of our supernatural struggles with the Sabbat had to be found and adjusted. Most were dominated into forgetting what they knew, a few had to be killed and a few truly unlucky bastards were handed over to the tender mercies of the Malkavians and locked away in mental institutions for safekeeping.
- Simultaneously, those Kindred of a martial character including me, were given the dubious job of uprooting and eliminating the final remnants of the Sabbat in the Great Smoke. Frankly, I much prefer the risks of potential combat to the mind-numbing tedium of Masquerade repair. However, to quote a favorite movie memory, "the sons of bitches were dug in like Alabama ticks". I will remember that November and December for the rest of my theoretically immortal life. We spent an entire month crawling, literally, through the London Underground hunting the Sword of Caine. Still, the London underground was nothing compared to the unmapped labyrinth that is the greater London sewer system. Some of those tunnels date back to Roman Londinium, and I spent my share of nights down on my belly in the medieval portion of those sewers chasing the Nosferatu antitribu and a brood of Tzimisce who felt the need to re-enact the "Alien" movie franchise on their Camarilla pursuers. As such, I may well be cured forevermore of watching alien-horror films.
- The new year began well with celebrations throughout the collective Elysium of London. I must say, Mithras' regents threw a rousing jubilee, feted in medieval fashion with blood-feasts, jousting and lavish entertainment. The highlight of the new-years' celebration was the handing out of honors, titles and most importantly to me, the assignment of domains...
- April 1st, 2032 -- The Midway of Galveston Island Historic Pleasure Pier -- 47 miles South-East of downtown Houston
- Epilogue: As I look at towards the Gulf of Mexico from where I lean against a railing at the end of the Historic Pleasure Pier of Galveston, I finally know what it is like to be one of the "Lost Boys", no - not the dirty urchins of J. M. Barrie's book "Peter Pan", but rather the vampires of the 1987 horror film by the same name. Galveston would make an excellent "Santa Carla" the fictional setting of the teen vampire film and the Pleasure Pier reminds me of that fictional city's boardwalk perfectly.
- The darkness of the sea calls to me and the salt laden breeze is refreshing as it blow into my face, driving away the ever-present smells of popcorn, cotton-candy and of course human blood. So many mortals, so many choices of potential prey to feed from and while the prince of Houston claims Galveston, he and everyone in his court knows that his authority here is a polite fiction. Which means I can feed until my cold, dark heart is utterly satisfied and while I contemplate my first course, a part of my mind is going over all that happened over the last month. I know its foolish to spend my ill-gotten time on reminiscence, and its dangerous to not be one hundred percent in the present, as even now there could be Sabbat vampires in this quaint little town. Still, as I settle on a pair of delicious and delicate teen flowers and fall into step fifty feet behind them, I reflect on how things turned out and I smile a secret smile to myself that has nothing to do with the sea or the prospect of a fine meal.
