Random Musings

Jasons' Journal

On Ghouling

So it's not like there's really a crisis here, but this is a long-term commit here. Seriously, we're talking about people, not pokemon cards. This might be odd, but I think what's happening is that I'm becoming potentiually protective - possibly even a little thoughtful. I mean really, what am I letting loose on the world? I've already got one ghoul who's been a 30-year companion, a childe who's only a little younger. The Addams Family dynamic might be upset if I bring someone else into the fold - and let's not kid ourselves, she'll be part of the fold - if not immediately, then (relatively) shortly. Perhaps it's a few centuries of biting off more than I could chew, but it seems in this life I'm more...cautious. Maybe it's because I've seen enough failed experiments. Maybe it's because I'm not sure how this fits into the master plan.

Really, that's the main thing here - I'm a painter who has no idea what's going to happen at the end of it - could be the Sistine Chapel, could be a Jackson Pollock, might even be a Andy Warhol. Now I'm starting to get an inkling of what the elders are like and why they're so damn paranoid - every splash they make resonates, and every connection they create is a potential weak point. Of course the flip side of that is if you wait too long, the moment of right action is lost. The cure for that is to think faster.

Back to the point, I believe ghouling Rebecca may be the right action here, if she's willing. I may revisit this section if I'm wrong.

On Independence

So with a few hours to navelgaze, I'm considering why I chose to be an Assamite. Given that so much of what has happened appears to have been thought out, I don't think we'd leave clan as a function of chance. So for now let's assume after an insane cram-session with a sports almanac, the choice was given. And it all comes to one thing. Independence. Not freedom, because let's not kid ourselves - freedom is the illusion presented to us by the masters of the Jyhad, moving their pieces (us) to do exactly what they want us to do. Is it really a choice if our morality only allows us to do one thing in a given situation? I think not.

And so, independence is the word I choose to describe the reason for the choice. As a clan, we have traditionally stood apart from the sects. Even with the Sabbat, the assamites stood apart. This independence was necessary in the early days for some reason as I recall. Whether self-aggrandizing history, or pragmatic choice that became tradition, we stand with our backs only to our brothers. Lacking that to a degree, I am aligning with vampires of similar lineage, allowing us to collectively do a few things necessary to keep progress from starting over at 1100 CE. Part of me really want to bring Jeremy into the fold, Duarte less so - but maybe later. Perhaps this is why we're all being brought back; there's history that transcends.

It's also why I seek to create the Harbor. As someone who has seen the chains one imposes upon oneself in the name of a greater ideal, it's not something I would wish upon another. So with the recent split of the clan from within, it falls to someone to bring the clan to a new place. I haven't heard of anyone doing something like this, so someone has to take the first step. Aligning with the Camarilla places their shackles and their beliefs upon us. That restricts us from our goals. We're independent for a reason. We should be independent, if only to remind the comfortable black and white sects that there is gray in their worlds, and that gray should give them pause as they make their next moves. For Al-Ashrad to seek the cover of the Camarilla is disheartening. It speaks to a position of weakness, and others will exploit that weakness, and fetch the thumbscrews.

To this, I say never. It's one reason why I despise New Orleans' ilk. Every move, every play, everything I did was subject to the whims of another. Perhaps it rankled me because I knew the choices were someone elses'. Better to be independent and not feel the strings than to feel the bit in your mouth guiding you like a show pony. Certainly there are those among the Sabbat who would read this and feel a certain joy. Hah. They see the words and feel their fire, but they've grown so comfortable with their own manacles that they don't know they're even there. They parrot and shout and move, but they are just as crystalline-structured and bound as the Camarilla. Where the Camarilla trades loyalty through favors, the Sabbat trades loyalty through blood. Is the Viniculum a truly superior thing? Pah. The only loyalty worth the name is the loyalty born of shared experience. That is why when the time comes to act we need to be as far from the black and white as we can be. The darkness comes from the gray, and so there must the light be.

What's possibly the most amusing part of it all is that both sides think they're free - to be fully honest as I stare at the mirror and look at my ever-darkening face, none of us are truly free. The more enlightened think they've got the best choice of masters, realizing that they aren't truly free. Does all this make me better than my fellows? I don't think so. It means I can either be amused or weep bloody rivers at the willful ignorance of the sects themselves. These are are tied to an ideal. The Camarilla tries to play at being the Benevolent Order of Water Buffalo, doing good things and playing at the shadows to set the stage for humanity to keep being humanity, and hiding therein and whiling away eternity at some power game that locks them in as surely as a fly in amber. The Sabbat tries to play at being Hells' Angels, swearing oaths in blood and shrieking the lie of their freedom every hour on the hour to try and convince themselves. Wow. That just got cynical in a hurry. Of course, I've only been on one side of the street, officially. However, New Orleans convinced me rather thoroughly that the other side of the street suck too. So my only option is to play in traffic.

Ur-shulgi is the maul that splits this clan. Who's the hammer?

On Allies

Short version: We need them.

Long version: We need specific types of allies; the ones who will first off buy into the premise of what's happening and are willing to plan to prevent that endeavor. We're classifying them, and hopefully everyone'll play ball. First tier allies know everything. They're the ones we can trust, insofar as trust exists among vampires. Second Tier Allies know the Giovanni are up to something. They're probably going to be like...I hate to say it but pawns. Specific skillsets, and a burning desire to bitchslap Italy. Third tier allies are not going to know anything except their job. Disposable, replaceable, plug and play. This is the thing that keeps me up mornings. I'm going to be sending people to danger, potentially death. Is there in fact a greater good being served with this. Obviously yes.

This is something where the First Tier may be of greatest use - we (or at least me) will need some form of moral reassurance that this end goal is worth the end game.

Moving forward, I'm thinking of who we have to date. The Prince of New Orleans might be considered an ally insofar as it helps him. I'm pretty sure any arguments along the lines of greater good are gonna fall on deaf ears, given that the greater good is anything that helps him gain power. Gods bless the camarilla and all its' little self-interested twits.

His Highness in Rio I'm a bit more comfortable with. The clanmates in Rio, and the ones I can convince to come with, are probably much better. Plus, I can communicate with them. That said, I'm not going to exactly lean on the clan loyalty thing too hard. The thing that'll be in it for them is the new home. As a side note, it's annoying to have people speaking for the Antediluvians when they're wandering about and are, to all logical inferences, quite capable of speaking for themselves. Hopefully Haqim blesses this brilliant plan of mine. Or at least he doesn't hate it.

Potential allies, Dresden leadership. They are rather formidable, but I'll need to stay on their side.

On Emotions

I have them.

Seriously, you would think that at 280-something that I would remember this jazz. Although every time they show up, it comes as a surprise. I mean even taking out the loop part I'm pushing 60. You would think that by this point I'd have a handle on the emotional vagaries of existence.

You would be a damnfool optimist, apparently.

I suppose it's more of the fact that they refuse to line up in an orderly fashion and introduce themselves one by one. They go after me like I'm the head cheerleader at homecoming. What bothers me is that I may have spent the last 30-plus years being emotionally not-so-swift, and now the grim tidings are coming with a vengeance.

So now what to do about. Enumerating the emotional statuses one by one, because if they're not going to be orderly, they're going to get ordered.

1- Anger. I absolutely hate being controlled. Someone did it. My actions, my skills, all of these were honed by me for the exclusive use of me. Taking over and using my skills is an absolute travesty, and of course those who did probably didn't consider that. Which pisses me off to no end.

2- Shame. Really, it's embarrassing to have done something like this happen. I'm better than this. I do not cause mass slaughter. I'm better than that. I have morals that tell me right from wrong, and this is an inherent wrongness.

3- Caring. This isn't exactly the most surprising, but what is surprising is the depth of it. I mean I've seen Tina get bounced around a lot, and it's always bugged me - but this time it wasn't physical; I frightened her. This is new and stirs up things I haven't felt for awhile. Part of it might be my own suppression of emotions. Which is weird, given that I think of myself as having a relatively wide range of emotion.

Overall, I think I may have to work on other things as well, but this emotional well-being needs to also be considered. Why do I suddenly feel like Tony Soprano?

Further Plans

2031

I find myself considering what shape the Harbor will take, both physically and spiritually. Physically, we'll need a lot of protections. Architecturally, I both want and fear patterning it after Alamut. I want to because, well, it's Alamut. Duh. Fearful because if what I've heard is true, it may be the height of hubris to make something in its' shape. Spiritually, this may be a tougher nut to crack. Everyone wants to be on the side of right, but if we call too much attention to ourselves, we're shanked before we start. It's going to be rough - and that's even before we talk about the other clans. The King may be displeased to find out there's a few dozen Assamites camped out in his backyard, and that they're not all cute and cuddly like me. There'll be a few concessions, like who'll be off-limits. I think there's a few we could collectively make, like no contracts on the acknowledged members of the community. It gives a measure of surety, and also gives us an out just in case someone thinks it'd be fun to poke an Assamite with a stick. Other concessions would have to be negotiated, quite possibly as a group. I'll need a lawyer for that mess.

In addition, the time may have come to decide whether or not to embrace Andre. He's been a faithful trooper for decades, and really he's heavily bound. Is his mind clear enough to realize the tradeoffs? For that matter, should I sire additional childer to begin with? I mean, eventually they're going to have to know that awful icky truth. But the older they are, the more time they'll have to prepare. I may have to consider finding some more ghoul candidates among my employees.

Finding Peace

Writing a speech, hopefully for someone else to give; we'll start with an appeal to moral right: "A story is told in many cultures, of an elderly grandfather speaking to his grandson: 'Within me two wolves - one wolf is filled with hate, pride, anger, selfishness, regret, worry and fear. The other wolf is filled with joy, compassion, kindness, faith, courage, and love for the world.' The young boy is startled by this, and asks his grandfather which wolf will win. The grandfather replies 'The one that I feed.' All of us here believe ourselves to be sophisticated individuals, beyond defining ourselves in such basic lines. In truth, we are correct. The world in which we live is a diverse, complex place, and in that place we find ourselves looking at an issue that is itself simplistic and complicated all at the same time. Thus, the solution is simple and complicated at the same time. Some years ago, Turkey applied for membership within the EU. I propose that we grant that application. "

We may have to pause here while the august body collectively shits a kitten and the Greeks shout invective. Some ad-libbing may be required, with different verbage and inflection. I trust whoever's delivering this can react properly. The general tone however should speak to logic and reason. We'll make it a numbers game.

"To continue, I cannot help but list the benefits and speak well of Turkey. The governance of Turkey has within itself an eye to the future. Their allies in religion lie to the southeast. Their allies in commerce lie to the northwest. Turkey is uniquely positioned to take its' rightful place as a bridge of cultures, allowing for the free flow of goods and ideas. Trade is what I propose. Commerce. A simple word to enrich those willing to look at the billions of euros of potential that can be found. Within each sector, manufacturing, imports, exports, tourism, even art and textiles, all industries have a greater potential than has been realized."

Dig for stats to bolster this argument. Overlay economic growth projections with the actual numbers, point out the disparity in big numbers, as we return to the emotional appeal.

"For what now are we sending to Turkey but bullets, missiles, and coffins with those who once were known as Brother, Father, Son? And what does Turkey send us in return but the same? Both nations feed the same wolf, delegates. At this time, the proposal starts with a simple idea; that we as nations stop sending bullets to other nations."

Wrap it up, because this'll have a lot - build the foundation and see who attacks it.

"The first part of the proposal is simple - a cease-fire in place. From there, the diplomatic corps of each nation can convene in Cyprus. Territories that were in dispute prior to the declarations of war would revert to EU authority for the collective benefit. From there, we can rebuild and make Greece and Turkey the partner nations they were meant to be, building toward a better future for all of their partners, with economic and social prosperity being the bequest to our future generations."

Orders, sir?

I needed a place for this -

FROM: JSOC, FAS TO: OP-O6D - ALL SUB: Mobilization of command and SOC-CIV recruitment CLASSIFICATION: SECRET-NOFORN

SUMMARY: It has come to our attention that force readiness may be at a lesser state than anticipated. OP-O6D will perform the following survey tasks as delineated below.

ORDERS:

OP-O6D will:

• Test readiness in all aspects at multiple random locations.
• Report readiness levels in AARs.
• Submit reports to immediate commanders.
• Make recommendations to enhance readiness levels.
• Analyze and recruit personnel for civilian intelligence operations.
• Submit progress reports to JSOC command weekly as per briefing materiels.

OP-O6D is authorized to use nonlethal force in self-defense. OP-O6D is authorized to violate UCMJ standards in order to test installation readiness as necessary. OP-O6D will comply with lawful orders of superior officers, however where those orders conflict with JSOC orders, JSOC orders shall take precedence. OP-O6D is authorized modified grooming and uniform standards for this task. OP-O6D final reports are classified SECRET-NOFORN. OP-O6D preliminary reports are eyes-only for the installation commander.

Good hunting.

JSOC-COM ORDERS END.

The Milliner Teatise

I could be working on this for a few decades, so, we start early.

To Clan Milliner. Greetings. I'm sure by now you've heard of the near-blasphemous writings of the one calling itself The Historian. The Rosselini are a going concern, and with that concern is a vacuum. Nature abhors such things, as well it should. By now, you've noticed, as eternal creatures do, the changes. The demands. The insistences. Press-ganged into services you are not meant for, don't wish to be a part of, and are simply put, placing a square peg into a round hole. Foolish, shortsighted actions by a group on the defensive.

What is an oath? What is the value of an oath? If such a thing is taken up for you on your behalf, are you beholden to it? An oath among equals is a tenuous thing, held fast only by mutual honor and consent. But what of those whos' time outstrips such concepts? What of those who play service to the words, and see you as a pawn to be used and sacrificed as times demand? What surety is there in the oath of those who rewrite the oath to their whim? Surely these questions may not be of concern to those who batten on the oaths of their faithless superiors. You are given eternity, contingent on the moods of others, to execute an ideal of which you will be needed only as long as your blood can hold.

There are options - depending on what you bring to the table. The oaths of equals, a society where a class may find some measure of mobility. To speak more glowingly would be false, and a historian must gaze unflinchingly upon the visages of the past. But ask yourselves if eternal service is truly a wise service. Let those whose dewy eyes have not seen decades service with joy, and carve your own destiny as a family.

This is a short start...I think after about five years of similar things, we'll be ready for part 2; bringing the Milliners into the League. Trouble spot one is going to be that it's going to be contentious. Trouble spot two is getting a big enough stick to get the Milliners to behave. I'm sure we can get it done initially, but then we'll have to keep them in line. As it were. I wonder if Brenda can create a neromancy nuke that'd blow the holding pen open without causing an excess of damage in Boston. Although if Boston does...eugh. I dunno if that really clips to an acceptable loss to me. I mean I dislike Boston intensely, but that's a level I'm not sure I'm prepared to accept. Thus it is that I'll have to be prepared to call their bluff and Cagliari-ize Boston. That's gonna make for some sleepless days.

On Motivation

You know, I really haven't written down something I realized might be important. Whyfor am I putting myself through all this grief. It's a tenuous thing, held together really only by my memories, which can be faulty. But even the threat of the reality I remember is a hard thing. That said, what I remember frightens me to the core, and as fragmentary as it is, it's sufficient to keep my ass in gear even after all these years that have yet to pass. Wait. Shit. Is that right? I would consult with an English teacher, but I seriously doubt one would take me seriously - and it's a hideous sidetrack that would keep me from the main thrust of this; and so we're going to go with what I remember as a past tense thing, for the most part.

Don't ask me about the metaphysics of it. I was an observer, not a participant. But what happened after the shroud fell was simply survival for...at least a month. Everyone was caught sideways, and the "lucky" ones who survived the initial shockwaves found themselves with some benefits, and some serious trouble. Humanity is wonderfully resilient, and proved itself so in the immediate aftermath. Even though the net was shot, some things in the physical world still worked the way they had, and old methods still worked. The pony express, for example.

But as we slowly pieced it all together, we slowly realized that what happened was a bad thing. Pawns turned rapidly, for their own survival. The only thing we really had going for us was that we didn't need to sleep. But months of constant moving and relocating brought us to one inevitable conclusion; the Giovanni had won, but the victory was about as Pyrrhic as you could get. The ancients didn't really wake up or do much that I saw. Probably to them it was a child crayoning the house. Certainly an annoyance, but nothing truly damaging, and a few more relative moments of their time and the world would right itself again. And then came the plan of Numerius. A few groups of survivors going back to the breach to correct a mistake we were all too slow to see coming, and were now paying the price for. And not just us. The billions. Sure they were our meal ticket, and without meals we were collectively hosed, it was logical. The down side was that we were also going to be saving the now-almost-nonexistent other groups, who would pay us back by hating us at best. At worst, they'd try to kill us. Just like always, which is a better future than the one Signore Giovanni wants. I mean it's great for him while it lasts, but eventually the other most ancients were gonna wake up and ask what the shit is up with this little Italian in short pants thinking he could be an adult. And that, as a rather entrenched Sabbat member, frightened me more than any thing. Ironic since I'm now getting what could be construed as advice from at least one of the ones I feared enough to attempt to destroy.

The next years were all kind of a blur. Dodging the International Department of Supernatural Affairs (because "Inquisition" is such an ugly word) to hit up old bookstores and memorabilia shops for anything that was still printed, and reading and memorizing like nobody's business. Interviewing people who remembered the before. Exercises in mental agility, reading people, learning to play the games that would need to be played. And the coding. Dear heavens. While I was a bit of a computer wonk when I was breathing, that apparently qualified me for a PhD level of learning in far less time than one should reasonably take. (bonus of not having to sleep.) Pop quizzes, sometimes not, and always with one thing in mind - the building of a second team to go back and gain a rapid foothold so that we could plan and assault with ease. And always, during all those years, one person by my side; Brenda. SWAT helmet collection and all, we saw through horrors that I have no desire to recall but can't escape. Even if we stop the Giovanni, the memories never really go away. The friends (or what a creature like I was would call friends) dying in fire. People imprisoned for no crime other than selling me a baseball almanac. For more severe crimes, like renting a room to us, people were burned at the stake and their souls reforged into a sword that was fueled by the wielders' hate. Times were tough, but we had a slight advantage of being inhuman in both thought and deed, and there are few things more dear to us than survival.

Through it all, even with my moral code drastically altered, I wanted what I'd lost back. Enough that I risked my existence nightly, drove myself harder than I had in a century, to get it back and have my life be a do-over. And that is what truly drives me. That through this second chance, I can proceed clearly, and make choices that are my own - without giving in to the Sabbat trope of "all the cool kids are doing it". It's a reason I'm accepting of Brendas' current morality, as much as it makes me want to ralph. It's a chosen code for a chosen purpose, and she can hold to it. I will not browbeat her or proselytize. I will however give her a metric fuckton of grief. Especially for the dick jar.

I'll expand more on my memories of future past another time, but suffice to say it's a future I will spare my coterie. Happy be the ignorant.