Postcards From Enoch Part Deux
Contents
En Route to Berlin
Good heavens do I have crap to do. So after a months' R&R in Enoch, we went back and had a chat-up with Inhauten again. (Note that we did not play cards this time.) Given events in the world, he's thinking it's time for him to go back. No I don't know the metaphysics of it, just that he spends a lifetime in Enoch, a lifetime in the world, and he's been doing it since roughly the 18th Egyptian Dynasty. So about 4000 years. Plus or minus a bit. That said, events are moving a bit, so he asked a favor of us again. Since we were such overachievers in Boston (Yeah, that trainwreck counted as a qualified success to the powers that be, on account of we mightily exceeded our orders and had some success with our excess) we got a few points, and we had a nice long relaxing vacation with Suhalia. By we, I mean me. As much as the rest of the coterie has my back in every situation, they're just gonna have to get their own permanent vessels.
Funny thing about Mummies, they end up in exhibits a lot. Currently, Inhautens' mortal shell is in Berlin, and if we could be so kind as to pick it up for him and bring it to Cairo, that'd be great. I mean really it's a milk run, but it'll help us in the long run as we get our ducks lined up for our own little save-the-world escapade. I know I just described stealing a mummy from it's well-appointed and well-guarded place in a museum as a milk run, but let's not kid ourselves. Even if we utterly Boston up this bitch, it's not like we can really do anything truly permanent, right?
Stop laughing out there.
So anyway, we'll do the job, and we didn't even ask for expenses. That said, we're going to have to at least get there. So this time, we made our way to an exit point via Viking longboat (the Enoch Navy is nothing if not eclectic) and came back to a place called Porto in Portugal. Cass got a call of some kind, and I kept her on call while enjoying the many and multitudinous delights of the beach. It's intriguing. But after we got the all clear from Cass, we came up and met a nice young man (young-looking, anyway) who tossed me the keys to a Lamborghini and said we should go for a drive. He had an Aston Martin. Oh, friends and neighbors, lords and ladies, it was in fact on. Brenda was in the cargo backseat thing almost crying the whole way. Sheesh. It's like she's never seen me drive before. Admittedly the race was fun, paint was traded, but I never got the Lambo out of third gear - mountain roads and tight corners made it difficult to truly wind it out and go. Still, it was fun and the sound system almost drowned out my screaming passengers. Side note; when did AC/DC become Throwback Rock. Motherfuckers have no respect.
Pulled into a little villa and because I freaking could I whipped a little donut with the Lamborghini before parking it. They are nice - it's almost a cockpit rather then a drivers' seat. That aside, damn. Our generous hosts were polite, unctuous, and unemotional. The countess was a mobile statue carved of beautiful marble, and so it was that we had several days of discussion. Really in her eyes I see a cold fear, and when she looks at Cass, almost jealousy. Like centuries have eroded her emotional reflexes to the point where even survival instincts are viewed with clinical detachment, rather than an impetus to action. The was refreshing in a way to me, affirming that I'm on the right path as far as beliefs go. That said, the countess has an academic knowledge that is surpassing many. She spoke for hours about my areas of expertise, and then had that same conversations with Brenda, Cass, and even Hugo. I mean, Hugo gets his standard "Don't steal the good silver" warning, and he's off. After the week, the countess and her childe had made an executive decision to travel with us by train to Berlin. It's a little 5 day thing, and I'm okay with it. I mean, we're still on the long-haul clock, but that doesn't mean we jet everywhere. One should see the world and say "Yes, this is why I'm flinging my mortal coil into an epic struggle against the Giovanni - so that these beautiful places remain beautiful and these ignorant people remain ignorant." The countess has her own train car. Naturally. I took a moment and checked on my own finances, and they'll be...adequate. I'm merely a multimillionaire as opposed to a billionaire. Alas for no longer being able to look at countries and go "meh. I'm worth more."
The most awkward part was when she nibbled around the questions of Auspex and discovered I could rock telepathy. She was on it like a drowning man on a life preserver. For real - it was like even secondhand emotions were something fresh and beautiful to her. I may have pandered out a bit, because seriously, to her this is a need, and even if we don't have any official agreement, she'll remember the emotions, and possibly react favorably in the future. It's a gamble.
A few stops here and there, and we found ourselves in Paris. Oh, yes. Cass doesn't speak French, which is a oh-crap-how-did-I-forget-that moment. Worse fates have occurred. Amusingly, the Assamite pretending to be a Toreador was the best received out of everyone. Cass' fake-toreador down, Brendas' caitiff was cluck-clucked, and Hugos' Ravnos ass was being watched. Constantly. Of course, we did meet Francois Villon at his Elysium of the Louvre.
Mother fuck, this is why Elysium was created. That said, the catty comments were fast and furious. I can hold my own, but overall it was discomfitting to the whole crew. I mean sure I've been in some deep snark-fights, but even 50 years of 4chan is a dip in the kiddy pool compared to the game some of these little courtiers have. As I reflect, yes, this too is worth saving. If nothing else, it's an interesting interactive play. Although as a side note, if a cities' population takes on the tenor of its' vampiric residents, I can see why Paris is reviled by everyone not from Paris. Still, I'm properly acquitted and outfitted for most events that could occur. Meanwhile, there's a bit of a sidebar as Cass and the other Brujah caught a wind only they could smell and went to check it out. I excused myself with politeness, and went to tail cass loosely. There was an interesting picture taking place, with a man handing...his younger twin a letter that burst into flames upon being discarded.
Tremere. They never tire of flash paper. Silly gits. Everyone picked a place and followed, and then we got together and discussed. The older man has a melancholy to him, like he's feeling old rather than being old. Boo-hoo. The kid, wearing a 19th century suit and having his hairstyle done so that he looked like he was being skull-fucked by an iguana, was a little more...more. Rebelling simply because it tweaked off his elders. Because that's original. That said, there's still an energy to him, and again for some reason he's the old guys' doppleganger or twin or clone, take your pick. Certainly the similarity was not unnoticed, but we had a little advantage of temporal knowledge that led up to think this could be worth checking out. We may be in Paris a few more nights and linger long enough to know that it's not a total threat. That means I get to burn through about 180 grand for outfits. Ballistic suits, ties, cufflinks, swordcane sheaths of various materials, holsters, all the standard accessories. I'm on a budget here, so I couldn't really swing by the other shops for casual wear - also, my casual wear of heavy metal rock band shirts and cargo shorts is for some reason out of style. Maybe I'll need to convince someone that metal is in for the spring fashion show.
All that done, Brenda's in the catacombs. Naturally. And...we had to find her. I am not a fan of this. We finally found her having a religious moment of some kind, and we had to get her out of it because dawn's coming. Alas, according to my Cass Chronometer, we were low on time, so it was time to find a cubby and sleep. What's 4 more dead bodies in a place that already has millions.
A bit, in fact. I had...a jacked up dream. A little girl drenched in water, rivulets coursing toward me, a group of 6 people chanting around a table and the same girl pouring ectoplasm from her mouth in an eternal scream, then back to the first girl, seeing an iodine-like substance coursing and billowing through the water, then behind me a guy who was dead-on Antonio Banderas that I'd seen at the Louvre last night leaving with a stunning asian chick, and then a bit more strangeness. Then I woke up to Hugo freaking out and screaming, with a little conjured 80-billion candlepower light above his head. That was an alarm clock I could do without forever. Apparently he had a fuck of a nightmare down here in the catacombs. Everyone else was somewhere in between - that said, we left Brenda and Cass in the catacombs while we went searching for some of the faces that we'd seen in our dreams. Never entirely fun or entirely depressing. Once we got showered and had the computer running a nice little search for the faces and things that we'd seen, it was time to hit the clubs - especially since the countess was chasing a lead and wouldn't be back until midnight.
