#martha thompson

[nosnet]

l'belle de l'escalier

by K. D. Lalonde

Time Period: 2025

Perspective: Cerise Trivelin, Jester Extraordinaire

Rating: PG

Content Warnings: Blood, Death, Tremere.

Word Count: 24,568

Comments: From Paris to New York City, and back home again. A French Malkavian is interested in seeing the world, retracing her Sire's footsteps. Along the way, she is led by visions and dreams and her own sense of curiosity.

I started this, excited to make my first Malkavian, and now I am happy with how Cerise turned out. She is a little childish, due to endured trauma, a little snarky, due to her recent upbringing as a Kindred with powerful "parents", and she is filled with an innate sense of wanderlust.

l'belle de l'escalier Another morning with the pink lemonade sky and sugar crystal starscape. Not a real morning of course, not since my kindred mother blessed me with eternal life, not since my diet shifted to lifeblood, and I drew my last mortal breath as Cerise the Human. I get out of my cot and begin the process like I am going to work as a living entertainer, except I am going to work, and it is, in a way, to entertain. My outfit is determined by texture. The Blues feel cold, not today. The Greens feel sharp, eh, that’s not it either. Red - that’s the standard. Today feels - standard. That’s fine. The feets go through the nets, the nets go past the knees, up to the hips. The fluffy pants give me a hidden range of movement. The mismatched patterned top is my shell - a hypnotic protection to those without the eyes. The star neck ruff weighs it down. The makeup is rote, the colors are chosen by the mad queen herself, who smote the ancient evil some time ago, piloting my aunt like a mecha with laser eyes.

The cockscomb is not a flower, but a Silly Jester Hat, and its bells are messengers from beyond. Vampire Mom does not believe me, but the bells whisper words of spirits. The other Vampire Mom simply says that’s not how that works. There are spirits of good and bad alike, this city is full of them on the surface - due to its many wars and revolutions, but most exist beneath. I’ve yet to visit The Catacombs. Vampire Mom says she doesn’t like it there, that it’s dangerous. Other Vampire Mom says she is overreacting, that it’s fine down there, but currently less interesting. Perhaps one day I will go it alone into the tunnels. I’ve always been curious about their importance to the ending of all things that was just barely sidestepped. I get up, step out onto my balcony, and have a cigarette. It tastes weird today. Has this pack gone bad? I check for an expiration date. There is only a warning about Kine Health. Texturally it’s too grassy. Too dry. Once again the tobacco is stuck in my teeth. I return inside after painfully swallowing the rest of the paper-rolled leaf-tube, and brush my teeth. I’m missing something, they’re supposed to reduce stress. Am I not stressed? Or are they not cooked properly? I don’t have any matches on me. The teeth now sparkle, pearlescent and sharp. Hungry.

I check the refrigerator. How old is this juice? What kind of juice is it? Or was it? I slosh it around in its container. Best not to open that, it’s either pulp, or… Could I even eat this? Do I have to go out again? To Supersonic or L’Arc? I do not feel hungry, but this body has desires. They didn’t let me into those clubs last time, I had to wait out back where people were cooking their tobacco, and sucking on the heads like they were crawfish. Those people did not mind sharing their blood with me. I at least made sure they didn’t remember. That was not but two nights ago, I should not need to consume again. I’ve listened to the mothers’ advice, and I haven’t exerted myself. Perhaps I should report in instead. I go to leave and lock up behind myself. Did I close the fridge? My juice will go bad. I unlock the door and head in. I head back to the kitchen. My cabinets are open. I close one cabinet but it opens the next. I need to move to a better apartment. I finally finish closing the cabinets, and I head out. I lock up behind me. Is the oven on? I unlock the door and head back in. The oven is off, and the fridge is open. I close the fridge, and the oven turns on. I turn the oven off and the fridge opens back up. This happens all too often. I pull the fridge out and unplug it. I do the same with the oven. The electrical hum has ceased. The comfort is immeasurable. Why do I even leave those on? What am I cooking? What am I storing? I head out. I get to the elevator. I turn back around and lock the door. Almost got me there, spirits. The bells tell me to take the stairs. Who am I to argue with the whims of those with no control for themselves? I descend to the world of the living. I get to the ground floor and hail a taxi.

Bonsoir Madame.

Bonsoir.

Où Aller?

Tour Hekla.

Très Bien.

I flash the Euros for the ride and he thinks it’s best to not question me. Even considering my jester uniform, and the high status of Other Vampire Mom’s building, money spends. Always has. We arrive at the Skyscraper. I lean towards him with cash in hand. He looks surprised but lets me in close. He thinks I want affection. Instead I take some of his blood. I hand him his money. I am no thief. He provided two services afterall. He sits there in the post-drink calm.

The door guards expect me by now. I wave at the lady behind the front desk and the wisp that keeps her company. She raises an eyebrow unimpressed. I don’t care - the wisp waved. What a cute ball of light. It glowed green. Sharp like blades of grass in a springtime countryside. I enter the elevator, but wait for my bells to tell me to take the stairs. They remain silent. I press the button. A Muzak version of Édith Piaf plays on my ascent. I sigh. My Vampire Moms are cool, but their taste in music is dated. Or at least the music they play for their guests. What vibe are they attempting to establish here with that? Surely a power dynamic. I have no interest in Kindred Politics. I did not inherit that trait. Admittedly it is not Cappadocius’ Vitae flowing through my veins, but rather Malkav’s. The elevator dings. I pass The Strong Man in the waiting area, he goes to say something to me, but decides it’s best to let me see them. The Strong Man isn’t a bad guy, his brain just isn’t valued in the same way as Vampire Mom’s is. He’s like Martha’s Bat Man friend in the states. I’ve only heard tales of him. Based Ball. My mind wanders though I go through the motions of entering their office. It feels both cold and warming at the same time. A facade meant to impose fear to those who don’t know, but welcome those who do.

Mama! Good evening!

I run over to Martha Thompson, she hugs me tight. I look to the right. Jess smiles at me and waves. She’s not the hugging type. I am not her exception.

I woke up and didn’t know what to do, so I am here now. Do you need me today?

You know you can speak to me in French.

I know. But it’s good practice for me to English more. I am to travel stateside, non?

Do you still want to?

Well I do not want to sit in an Aeroplane if that is what you’re asking. I do not care how much you vouch for Auntie Amélie. It is too high up.

Amelia, not- nevermind dear. Would you rather travel by boat?

The ocean is scary too. It is too deep. Too vast.

You’re not traveling through the veil.

Oh come on. Please? I’ll be good.

Vampire Mom looks at Other Vampire Mom, who puts the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger. Why is it that the older Vampires in my life make this motion when I ask for anything? Or when I do anything. Or when I exist? Do I simply evoke thoughts like this?

Vous voyagerez en avion, Cerise. Voyagez comme bagage, si vous le devez.

Fine. Can I travel through the spirit world next time?

Seems like that’ll be up to Aunt Molly, dear.

Is she actually scary like they say? Or is she like Jess?

My Vampire Moms laugh at each other. That is neither reassuring, nor does it remotely answer my question. I frown.

When can I go?

As-tu fait tes valises?

Yes…

Est-ce que tu mens?

Yes… But I don’t know what I’ll need.

Bring what you want to bring. Wardrobe of course. New York is somewhere we can exist pretty safely, so while you don’t need to be armed to the teeth, it’s probably best that you bring something to defend yourself.

O-kay…

I can go ahead and get you booked up for today if you can be ready before sunrise.

I think I can make it work.

Okay then, I’ll get you a weekend trip, my little Marionette. Send Aunt Molly our regards. We’ll have a ride to pick you up at your place around five.

Thank youuu, Mama!

Vampire Mom Martha takes out her cellphone and organizes a plane ride for me where I am to travel safely, both ways, in a crate. I hug her goodbye and bow politely to Vampire Mom Jess, before descending back down the skyscraper. The bells jingle as I step through the threshold of the elevator. I turn around and look at the stairs. I sigh again. I begin my long trek down.

Pourquoi ne puis-je pas descendre par l'ascenseur?

There’s no answer. Maybe there never will be. I don’t remember the last time I was allowed to take the down elevator. I guess this is better than the alternative. Having to go up the stairs and down the elevator. Still though. On my way down, I decide that it’s now or never - before I go home and pack, I’m going to The Catacombs. What if I never return from the states? I simply refuse to let this opportunity pass me by. I need a guide. I extend my arms and think of ants in a cold, dank tunnel. Before me a Blue wisp appears. I don’t need to say anything, I know it knows the way. It leads, and I follow.

Eventually I climb down ladders, I squeeze between disrupted concrete structures, I scale mounds of brick, and I end up past any Kine that otherwise would have stopped me. I’ve done all of this before. I look ahead into the abyss. I take a single step and the small hairs all over my body stand on edge. This is the closest I’ve ever been to the Shadowlands, the closest I’ve ever been to such a weak Veil. I am nervous as much as I am excited. I take a second step, nearly losing my Blue wisp guide.

Attendez-moi! S’il vous plaît!

It does not slow. I follow all the same. Each step brings me closer and closer to the clearing I was told about when I first asked my Vampire Moms about this spot. I quickly peep the non illuminated walls, as it was after business hours. Skulls and bones of ancient Perisians. I am briefly overwhelmed by the rich history and stories and lives all of these millions must have led. But I know better than to actively look with my eyes. I know the Millions of skulls and bones are only the surface level of the sheer amount of spirits that roam these passageways. I wonder if they can see my wisp guide. Surely. There is a smell, not like rotting, but of time, of memories. I briefly see an outline of a group moving through in tactical gear. They are traversing the same halls as I am. These are not ghosts. When was this? Is that… mom? Her friends look so normal, except for perhaps the woman in the Japanese robe. This echo is fading, but not before we all turn the corner and find the circular room. In the vision, they come across a closing portal, but it does not appear before me. There is a bright light and an intense warmth, and the vision fades. That was, fire. But the halls were filled with gas. How did Mama survive that? I press on, as the wisp reaches this room, and spins in circles. I join it and begin to spin in circles as well. Who am I to argue with one who wants to dance but has no body to dance with?

I am dizzy and fall over on my back. For a brief moment, my curiosity gets the better of me, I look through the veil. The sheer number of spirits who are staring at me on the ground ~ it is as though I am an alien, and after landing on earth, I decided to take a nap at a concert venue. They do not seem malicious, though, I know better than to make any snap judgement calls. I see them, they see me. I nod my head at them, a few nod their heads back at me - either similar acknowledgement or mimicry, it remains to be seen. Suddenly I am standing up. I didn’t intend on doing that, but my body goes all the same. Is it a spirit? Is it Malkav? Is it that damnable wisp I summoned, getting clever? No, I see the gate. It is not open, but it is there. Damn it, if only I was as good as Mother Jess. I could open it, and walk through, and perhaps I could make it take me to wherever they need me to go. I place my hand on the wall of bones. The altar of skulls embedded into the wall all stare at me. I think about the wooden creak of doors opening in horror films. I think about the sound that Star Trek doors make when they slide open on the Enterprise. I think about the satisfaction of kicking open a door, or breaking one off of its hinges. The Skull Wall remains, the portal flickering with the spirits from my view. All that remained was a blue glow.

Vous n'arriveriez pas à destination, fille bouffonne.

Fine. Whatever. I stare longingly at the room. I just want to try. The wisp passes by me, and goes through the Skull Wall - through the weak gate leading into the Shadowlands. Teasing little bastard. One day, I will return here, one day, I will know all the secrets of the Ash Path, and perhaps for self defense I should practice the Path of Woe. Until then it’s just - summon a wisp, ruin people’s sleep, oh, and I can still sing. I decide now that it is time to sing. 

Je revois la ville en fête et en délire

Suffoquant sous le soleil et sous la joie

Et j'entends dans la musique les cris, les rires

Qui éclatent et rebondissent autour de moi

Et perdue parmi ces gens qui me bousculent

Étourdie, désemparée, je reste là

Quand soudain, je me retourne, il se recule

Et la foule vient me jeter entre ses bras

Emportés par la foule qui nous traîne

Nous entraîne, écrasés l'un contre l'autre

Nous ne formons qu'un seul corps

Et le flot sans effort nous pousse, enchaînés l'un et l'autre

Et nous laisse tous deux épanouis, enivrés et heureux

Entraînés par la foule qui s'élance

Et qui danse une folle farandole

Nos deux mains restent soudées

Et parfois soulevés, nos deux corps enlacés s'envolent

Et retombent tous deux épanouis, enivrés et heureux

Et la joie éclaboussée par son sourire

Me transperce et rejaillit au fond de moi

Mais soudain je pousse un cri parmi les rires

Quand la foule vient l'arracher d'entre mes bras

Emportés par la foule qui nous traîne

Nous entraîne, nous éloigne l'un de l'autre

Je lutte et je me débats

Mais le son de ma voix s'étouffe dans les rires des autres

Et je crie de douleur, de fureur et de rage et je pleure

Et traînée par la foule qui s'élance

Et qui danse une folle farandole

Je suis emportée au loin

Et je crispe mes poings, maudissant la foule qui me vole

L'homme qu'elle m'avait donné et que je n'ai jamais retrouvé

There, the elevator music is out of my head finally. My mind is clear. I check my cell phone. Two Four Five. I should get back home and actually pack. I bid the catacombs farewell. I will return. I go back through my exact steps, maneuvering through paths backwards. Without summoning a second Wisp, I know no other way out. When I get back to the streets, I find the taxi guy from earlier napping in his car. I knock on the window. It startles him, and I force a giggle. He blushes, and opens the door back up.

Je dois rentrer à la maison maintenant.

Ah. bien sûr.

Mais, je n'ai plus d'argent.

C'est bon, Madame.

I lie. I do have the money. He doesn’t seem to mind. Admittedly, I overpaid earlier, and he’s under the impression we did more than what we did. Who am I to ruin his fun? Onward. The ride is short and awkwardly silent. When we arrive, I go to leave.

Puis-je avoir votre numéro?

Pas de téléphone.

Alors, voici mon numéro.

Que dois-je faire avec ça?

I lie. I do own a cell phone. He frowns and drives off, but I keep the phone number. You never know when that could prove useful. I add it to my contacts in my cell phone. I get into my building and consult the bells about the elevator. Elevator passes the vibe check yet again. It really is just going down in an elevator. I press the button for my floor, and ascend. I unlock the door. The cabinets are all open. I sigh. I walk over and plug the refrigerator and oven back into their respective outlets, and the drawers all close.

Que feras-tu quand je serai parti?

They don’t respond. They’ve never responded. Maybe they never will. I go to my cot, and retrieve a large camping bag from underneath. Back from when I was in showbusiness proper. They were good times. Until they weren’t. How young and stupid I was. I’m just happy that Mama Martha helped me go back and get my stuff after we were out of that mess. I would have been so sad to have to make all these outfits again. There are eight colors and themes. As for right now however, they’re already packed. I kind of live out of a suitcase anyways. I take the opportunity to change into the Blue Jester Outfit, it's been a Blue Evening so far, from the wisp to the wall. Who am I to deny the evening its colour? The makeup will suffice for now. Probably touch it back up once I get out of the crate.

I suppose I should throw some chargers in there. Get the iPad, the Boom speaker, tooth brush, tooth paste, makeup kit, bandages, sewing supplies, spare fabric, do I need anything else? How am I supposed to travel with my Rapiers? I have two, and it’s not like they’ll let me- oh, right, I’m traveling in a crate probably. I’ll just keep them on my person. Cigarettes? These hold no intrinsic value, and can probably stay in the apartment. The pulpy juice stays too. Is that even pulp? Can I even consume that anyways? I check the freezer. A thick, iron cleaver rests on its side, even though the refrigerator has been off, the freezer door had not been opened, and it is still cold to the touch. Just in case. I leave it there too. America has a bigger gun problem than a Fae problem, I think I’ll be alright. Besides, what if someone else gets chased into my apartment by a Changeling while I’m gone? Are they supposed to not be able to defend themselves? I change my mind about the cigarettes. In the movies, in American prisons, people exchange cigarettes for goods and services. These are currency in a way that Euros will not be.

I fasten the bag, then return outside to wait for my ride. On the way out I make sure the Stove and Refrigerator and Drawers are behaving. They can tell I’m leaving and are on their best behavior, to ensure I return. I try another cigarette. Before it enters my mouth, I find a lighter in my pocket. I hold the lighter underneath it, but it begins to burn and smoke. I extinguish the flames by putting it entirely in my mouth. The crunch is different this time. Hmmm. Now this is something. I get why eating raw cigarettes was not the answer. This is actually something here. I swallow the ashy tobacco. I must have looked like such a freak on my balcony earlier. I check my teeth in my cell phone camera. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Eventually an unmarked car arrives. A driver, this time a woman, calls me by name.

Cerise?

Oui, madame?

Ready for your trip?

Ah, yeah I am, I have my bag, and my swords, but I lack a crate, is that included in the arrangements?

It has.

Excellent, have you been tipped yet?

Tipped?

Of course.

I slide her a ten euro slip through the cracked window.

That is quite unnecessary.

I insist.

Very well. Come on in.

I enter the unmarked car, hands on my rapiers. But it appears to be on the level. Still, can never be too careful.

First, my english-speaking driver-lady, what flavor of Dracula are you?

Of Drac- good lord. I'm a Venture.

I see. You do not wish to subject me to bureaucrazy?

I do not.

Then I find our arrangement… (I drumroll on my knees) Acceptable! Now, to the aero port!

Okay.

She seems unpleased, but refrains from doing the international symbol of talking to me. I smile a large toothy smile. She drives me to a staff only entrance for the aero port. Once we arrive there are others who are dressed in suits like she is. Four more. They measure me up, they see what kind of box I can fit in comfortably. At first, they're looking at coffins or coffin-sized crates. I tell them I don't like the creepy clown shtick - appearing in a new country as a Jester in a coffin is a bad look. They agree. They present me with the more cube-shaped options. I hop into one, and although it's a little cramped, I ask if the next size down would be acceptable. They confirm that my rapiers will fit diagonally. I start to explain my job, my life as a kine entertainer, how contortionism is part of the expectations, but they seem to have already gotten the memo.

Thanks Mom.

Puis-je vous donnes d’une étreinte?

The suited driver, who spoke English earlier, apparently understands French, and after shrugging, expands her arms.

I do not know if this will be my last time in Paris, or even my last night alive. Thank you.

I give her a hug. She barely hugs back. I am a stranger, this makes sense, it makes it no less helpful in this - the moment of my worst anxieties. I hop into the box, and look up at the five suits. I give them a thumbs up, and that same toothy smile from before. They seal me in, hammering the nails in deep. It is loud, but kind of fun. I hug my backpack full of clothes. I feel myself defy gravity. Something I’m not so unfamiliar with, but I am raised to a vehicle. The vehicle moves me to a different vehicle. That vehicle brings me to what feels like what I imagine a mobile home to feel like - both heavy and shaky. When that begins to move, I feel the sun rising outside of my box. I turn off my cell phone. My eyes get heavy, and I pass out.

I dream. A blurry face in the crowd. The crowd grows. I still see that face. Is this a zoo? Is this a crowd of animals in the wild? No. It is a city somehow, but the face is a wolf’s face. Is it wearing lipstick? Does it have a bloody mouth? The latter, but the Red is entrancing. From its own injuries or from the way it injured another? The former, it’s crying too... I still see its face as the crowd grows. It wears a panicked expression. It is looking for something not findable. The next in line to have the knowledge is also not findable. They’re both in the tempest. A dracula wolf? Yes. Why am I seeing you? In preparation? No. What is this pain? Can I help? I want to help. I wade through the crowd. I catch up to the wolf. I put my hands on its shoulders. They feel like smooth skin instead of fur. I double check the face. No, this is definitely the wolf’s face still. Its eyes are a hazeley green. What do you want with me? Can I help relieve your pain? I search it for wounds but find none. I kiss its snoot, and it headtilts at me. That wasn’t the answer.

Comment puis-je t'aider?

That’s not right either. That’s talk from a Magenta Jester Outfit. I’m in Blue. It’s a Blue Day. Somehow that actually is right. The wolf smiles at the sound of my voice, at the scent of my language. Its tears stop, its mouth stops spilling blood, it stands at attention and looks up. I solve the puzzle, and look up as well. I see a wooden box falling from the sky. It has a parachute, so I have plenty of time to move. But the wolf doesn’t move. The wolf looks happy. That makes me happy. The wooden box crushes us both to death.

I wake up, still in the wooden box.

Sundown? I remain silent. Surely I will be taken from this aero port soon. I could look for auras, but that’s no fun. What if I see nobody? Would that mean that my Auspex has gotten sloppy, or that I’m alone? I don’t like either possible outcome so I don’t scan. I wait five minutes. That’s plenty of time surely. I haven’t moved at all in this time. I knock.

The nails are out of your box, you can get out whenever you’re ready.

I know that voice. I’ve heard Mama and Mother talk to her on the phone many times before.

Madame de l'Argonne. Your entertainment… (I burst out of the box dramatically) has arrived! The one and only Cerise Trivelin! Jester extraordinaire! 

My arms are out to my side, and I do jazz hands. I tuck an arm up towards my chest and bow, deferring to her Power and Station. I turn my head up to see if my Aunt Molly is pleased. She doesn’t do the International Cerise Sign Language, so I imagine I’m in the clear. Her eyes, what is that? She has… galaxies in her eyes. Can she see space? Or, is it something more deep than that? Not my place to judge. If she can see space, I gotta know. I would want to see space. No wait, don’t ask her.

Alright so, you’re Martha’s girl. (She looks me up and down) I’ll admit, the clown getup is different but it’s not bad. I admire how committed you are to the bit.

The bit, ma’am?

How you’re married to the aesthetic. She told me you made all of this. As someone who is not so indirectly involved in fashion and clothing in general, I can appreciate an artist.

Oh, thank you ma’am.

And there’s no reason to be like that. I want you to be able to speak your mind here.

Ah, of course then, Tante de l’Argonne.

So you’re here to work for me, at least temporarily. Keep your nose out of trouble, but also, prove yourself useful, is that it?

Yes, Mrs. Auntie.

Well, I can think of one thing that would be extremely valuable. I have these girls who work for me, strong professional types, called the Erineyes - your mum trained them.

Of course, I’ve heard stories. But I’ll admit I’m not much of a fighter.

Nono, I wouldn’t have you do that anyways. Imagine you’re in my care and I send you back to Paris in pieces. That won’t do. But so, they take care of the difficult stuff, getting blood from a stone if you will, but instead of it being impossible they manage to come back with barrels.

Have they tried getting blood from people, Mrs. Molly?

I- I don’t mean that literally dear, right, Malkavian, nothing new, just, patience with her. So I mean, if people owe me, or even owe me indirectly - like the business, they scour this city and collect. Sometimes it’s ghouls acting up, sometimes it’s money not exchanging hands, sometimes it’s morally questionable shit on my turf. I’m not so unreasonable. Everyone gets a chance. That said, they are pretty harshly feared because they move with my level of authority, and if they’re around that typically means someone’s gonna have a bad time. So when they are tasked with delivering, say, good news, people are less than enthusiastic to receive it.

They scare people off?

Exactly. This is where you come in. I have a stack of news that needs to be delivered to the fine folks of this city. Things like refund checks, or notices that they’ll go without owing rent for a couple of months, things like that. I’ll send you out, with an escort of course, to deliver these. Should you find that arrangement acceptable.

I would be glad to deliver your notices, Mrs. Aunt Molly, but I am not in need of an escort. I’m, how do you say, not looking? I’ve had fun before, and I may be a bit of a flirt, but like (I shudder slightly, negatively, and shake my head “no”) action is not something I’m needing.

No, not, I get that that is one meaning of the term, but I mean it in the sense of having hired protection so that nothing should happen to you. Not that I expect anything should, but I’d never forgive myself if I let Martha’s only Childe get hurt in my city.

Oh of course! Do I get to see the Bat Man?

I think that might be a little overkill, Cerise. Plus, without knowing his ticks, I wouldn’t leave anyone in Ray’s “care”. You’re on the right track though. One of his grandchildren, Donnie, should be able to keep a close eye on you. Keep you out of trouble.

Well, I don’t necessarily want to be kept out of trouble either.

She smiles, and pats me on the shoulder. I smile widely.

Knew I’d like you, kid. Alright, well, Donnie’s out in front of the building, having a smoke, best not keep him waiting. Here is your stack of notes - All ya gotta do is knock on the door at each address, he’ll at least know where these places are, once someone answers, you hand them the letter - say it’s good news from a mutual friend, and then move onto the next. Should be easy. Then when you’re all out of letters, come back here.

Will I be staying here, Tante Molly? Can I keep my bag here? Are my rapiers okay on my person?

No, yes, and yes. Your Nonna Rita will be in later to scoop you up. But she will be here, so you can leave your things with me for now. Yes, your swords are fine, I almost didn’t notice them, but these folks will be too distracted by the getup to particularly care.

Ooh! Grand-mère Rita! Very well. Thank you for this opportunity.

Think nothing of it, thank you for actually getting out there and doin this for me.

I curtsy and make my way to the door. I turn back around before I go.

Are you the goodbye-hug type like Mama, or the goodbye-nod type, like Other Mama?

Molly slightly kneels and I return to her. She hugs me with a tight but semi-side hug. I smile a big toothy smile. It feels like she means it. Like she wishes she could understand, but feels okay that she doesn't. She has hugged a variant of me before. Mama. No, Auntie Marie. Oh right. Don’t mention her right now.

Do you think I have a second to change my clothes before I go down there? I just traveled in these and-

Say less. Bathroom’s down the hall. Good luck out there. See you when you’re done.

I take my bag into the restroom, fix up my makeup in the mirror, enter a stall and change into my green jester attire. I put the other fit back into the bag, pack my makeup kit, store it back in the office, and enter the elevator. The bells say nothing. Is it because of the outfit, or because it is a New York Elevator? I descend to the ground floor. Exiting, I see a boy smoking against the brick building. He has a crown on his head, and a cape. A crime fighting king. I am admittedly bad at this.

Hello Donnie, it is I, your mail carrier and personal entertainment for the evening! The one and only Cerise Trivelin! Jester extraordinaire!

Uh, hey? Sorry, I don’t need entertainment this evening, I- oh, the letters. You’re, yup, that makes sense. Malkavian, french accent, got it.

What is wrong, should I have gone with a different colour?

What? No, nothing’s wrong. You ready to roll?

Can we not simply walk?

This makes Donnie do the now international Cerise hand gesture. Bridge of his nose between his index and thumb.

That’s… yeah, we can walk.

Great, lead the young king boy.

King?

Yeah, ya got a crown on your head, and a cape, also, I know you got like five inches on me, height wise, but I’m the one watching after you here, you’re all young and stuff.

Young?

His tone is incredulous. Not his fault. We walk in a direction, he leads the way after I show him the first letter.

You’re a gemini too, non? You some kind of twin?

No, not a twin.

That’s no fun. What’s the point then?

What’s the point of what?

Having an early June birthday. You seem more of an April type anyways.

I, didn’t choose it?

Ah right, weird parent choice, they should have had twins. Though having twin kings is messy I suppose. Sorry to pry.

No, you’re good, just a weird way to ask someone all this.

Can’t help it, but you know this. You have met folks like me before, non, mon roi?

Mon Roy?

Roi, it’s king. I’m trying to make sense of your aesthetic.

You know I’m not actually wearing a crown, right?

Just cause you cannot see it does not mean it’s not there. Maybe you will wear one in the future, even metaphorically. Maybe it’s a future hairstyle. Maybe you’re a particularly capable checkers player. Impossible to tell. I’m not good at this shit yet. I’ve only been a Malkavian for a year.

How long have you been a clown?

Big question. I dropped out of school to join the circus.

When was that?

Back when I was in school.

Ah of course, and I know exactly when that was.

As you should, you and I were in school at the same time.

Do I know you?

I don’t believe so, you were just born the same year as me.

And you are a twin.

But of course.

So you’re a Gemini from 1998, but I’m young to you.

Five days too young, had you been five days older, We would have been twins. Six and you would be an Old. Big Bro Donnie, crime fighter and king.

That’s not how that-

You’re right, you’re like a cousin, since our parents saved the feywilds. They’re more or less siblings, the lot of them.

Oh right, that whole thing. You think any of it was literal?

Is anything ever?

Yes?

He takes out another cigarette and cooks the end slowly. Peculiar. He turns his pack to me, but I produce my own pack. He puts his pack of cigarettes away and I put mine away as well. He looks even more confused.

There, this apartment building is the first one on your list. Take your letter, and take the elevator up to the fourth floor. Room Four Oh Three. Got it?

Aye aye, my liege.

I enter the building, there is a locking mechanism on the door that has engaged while the door is not shut, propped open surely by an inhabitant. Tsk tsk, surely against the rules. But who am I to tattle. I get to the elevator, and the moment I step through the threshold, the bells on my neck ruff start ringing like crazy.

Merde! Est-ce que tu plaisantes?

They don’t reply. Perhaps they never will. I look for a staircase, but find none. There has to be a set. I see that behind the building there are stairs. I follow to the end of the hallway, open the window, and access a set of strangely wobbly stairs. It is a good thing I am light, or else this may be dangerous. I ascend, keeping tabs on the floors. Ground, One, Two, Three, Four. The window for the fourth floor is open already, and it smells of over-cooked cigarettes. I climb through with ease. Unfortunately the numbers are wrong. The fourth floor has rooms in the five hundreds. I examine the elevator. I press the down sign. It illuminates, I pay close attention to my bells, I cross the threshold, there is no sound, I enter. I press the illuminated four. I descend. Exiting, I spot the door 403. Taking a second to compose myself, I pull out a makeup mirror from my pocket. The face is good, the Silly Jester Cap is on fine, and the Green Jester Outfit is Sharp, all as intended. I take an exaggerated breath, in and then out, and then I knock. A lady answers, she looks confused for a moment, then amused. My role has already proven more useful than the Erineyes in being unintimidating, even with two rapiers sheathed at my sides.

Good evening Madame, bonne soirée, I apologize for being an interruption, but I come bearing good news in the form of a letter. (I hand over the letter.)

Oh, thank you?

Nono, thank you! Merci beaucoup! This is good news from your friend Mrs. de l'Argonne! And may you have a pleasant rest of your evening! 

I cartwheel away, and she applauds my exit. Easy, just do this a few times, how many letters? A dozen? I press the elevator button labeled down. The bells are quiet as I enter. New York is bizarro Paris, at least in terms of elevators. Up is bad luck here. I exit to King Donnie, looking somewhat worried.

Ya get lost in there, bud?

Hardly! The building was broken.

Broken?

Well, the bells wouldn’t let me ascend the elevator so I took the outside stairs, but then the fourth floor was the fifth floor, and I descended the elevator down to three, which was four, but the rest of it was a piece of cake.

You give the lady her letter? She’ll be happy, there’s a refund check in there.

I did. And what does that do?

Essentially she overpaid, or there was something that had gone wrong at some point, so she’s getting her own money back, or even Molly’s money as an apology.

We are like Oprah today, non?

Yep, we’re like Oprah. Come along.

The pattern for the rest of my shift - Donnie shows me around and I deliver more letters, at every elevator the bells say no to ascending, and yes to descending. Living in New York must be a workout for most necromancers. When I was finally out of letters, having been Oprah to the masses, Donnie led me back to the Molly Office.

Thank you for the day cousin, it was fun seeing the sights without getting lost.

No problem, good luck out there. Tell Molly I’m heading back to the gym.

I shall. We shall meet again before I return to Paris. Au revoir!

Later cuz. (He found himself calling me cousin without noticing.)

The folks in the lobby don’t question me. They saw me exit earlier, they are prepared for my return now. I press the elevator button. The bells begin to vibrate at a low jingle.

Ne le faites pas…

As the sound begins to build, I back away, and it quiets.

Zut!

I get a running start, and jump into the elevator. The bells go crazy on my collar.

Tu vas devoir gérer ça! Je ne monterai pas les escaliers toute la journée!

I press the button for Molly’s office, the doors close behind me, I am in the elevator alone, the bells refuse to silence, they only get louder and louder. The enclosed space makes their shrill noise reverberate off the walls. I crouch in the corner. I try to center myself. They do not cease. The jingling increases. Just as I am at my limit, the door opens and I somersault out as fast as I can. The ringing finally ceases, and I am free. What are the spirits trying to tell me? Why do they have preferences as to how I go up and down in buildings? Should I ask Molly? No, this is a question for Mama Jess. Molly is Bones, Jess is Spirits, it is rude to expect weird answers about one’s preferred path from the other. I hear voices behind her office door, so I knock instead of just opening the door.

Come in, dear!

I know that voice too! I fling the doors open, and fly through the air into the arms of the short woman in a cute black and white dress. She catches me easily and spins me around before tossing me in the air and catching me in her arms.

Grand-mère!

I give Mrs. Rita the strongest hug my wimpy arms can produce. She pretends like I am crushing her and flails.

Baybee, how have you been? Smooth travels I imagine?

They were good, Miss Rita! I'm finally visiting you for once!

I see that! Molly, what do you think of Marie’s little one?

Well, I got a lot of happy customers today, so she’s a hard worker, charismatic, entertaining, I like the fit, like the vibe, I see a big future for this one.

See, sweetness? I told you you’d make a good impression on Auntie Molly.

I smile a wide smile. She did tell me this, and I may have not believed her at the time. My vampire moms never confirmed whether or not she was actually scary. They always laugh when I ask, and then I think they talk to each other in the mind link. Rude. She’s fine. One of the saviors of it all. Though they range. I’ve yet to meet Ray, Mae, and Marie.

Do you think I’ll get to meet Oncle Raymond this trip?

Do you want to?

Very much so. I am collecting.

Whaddya mean collectin’?

Er, maybe it’s not the right word, I am sorry. I want to meet the entire team one day.

Oh right, she’s been interested in our efforts that started in the nineteen twenties, as the anniversary is coming along soon.

Yeah that’s right huh? My little coterie was embraced a century ago. Absolutely wild.

Hard to believe?

No, it's definitely been felt.

Experiencing it twice probably didn't help, Auntie Molly?

No it did not. So, you wanna meet Ray do ya?

I shake my head yes enthusiastically. She picks up the telephone on her desk, and presses a single button.

Ray, now, I need you on your best behavior. We have a big fan of yours in my office.

(His response is too muffled for me to hear, but his voice is deep and low and I have heard it once before.)

That's right, it's Martha's only Childe. (His next response is higher pitched, but still muffled. She turns to me after hanging up the phone.)

Says he'll be right up.

Suddenly there is a loud crash, and Molly makes the Cerise Hand Sign though I hadn’t done anything. I look around with concern, but nobody else is worried. Suddenly, a man in a skin tight grey suit, black cape and hood with pointed bat ears comes in. His aura is menacing, but the leash around his neck leads to Auntie’s well manicured hand.

Hey.

Uncle Raymond!

Ray looks uncomfortable with the attention, like he's used to being applauded for his actions, but he hadn't done anything but exist just now. I extend grabby hands to him, and he picks me up in a hug. I hold onto him tightly.

You're Martha's Childe.

Correct! You're Donnie's Grand-Sire!

Okay.

What was it like? Saving the world in the sixties?

Fun. Fine. I don't know.

Hmmm. Is it true that the feywild has a sun that doesn't hurt you?

Yes.

Wow! And so, is it also true that you fought the worst creature of them all?

Yes.

Woah! What was that like?

Tough. But there were a lot of different me’s. And we were all angry.

Huh! I think I understand. Different versions, different timelines, non?

Yes.

A man of many words! Thank you Uncle. You can set me back down now.

He sets me down. I look at Aunt Molly and Grandma Rita, who are hiding laughs. It must be funny watching Ray do things he's not good at, like give attention, and be interviewed.

Well it's probably for the best you get rolling, kiddo.

Right, we have got to get you settled dear, maybe get some blood for you should you need.

Er, I think I am fine for now? But, thank you Auntie Molly, thank you Uncle Ray.

We say our goodbyes, then I take Rita's hand as she leads me out. I grab my bag with my other hand. We take the elevator down, the bells are silent. She sees me paying close attention to them, but says nothing. That's Grandma for you, more than other Malkavians she understands my proclivities, having been wed to Grandma Rosemary, having been her handler for more than a century. And it has been another century since their interplanar travels had begun. I'm sure she misses Rosemary dearly, in ways I cannot begin to fathom missing someone. I know that I can be a lot, but I kind of overdo it for Grandma, I let more of myself exist outside than I do around most others. I know she needs it. She smiles at every observation I make, at every piece of me that nobody else gets. She leads me to a hotel with an all glass looking exterior. Looking up into the windows I see chandeliers and fireplaces. The name reads Baccarat.

Do you live here Grandma Rita?

I do not, but I thought this would be more comfortable for guests ~ plus I didn't have to clean up for guests.

Oh! I get it! Thank you.

No worries dear.

The truth is she was ashamed of where she lives, so I didn't press any further. I wouldn't have minded wherever it was, I'm just happy to spend time with grandma. She leads me to the elevator, I look nervous, she presses the button after scanning her key card, the doors open. I step through the threshold, still holding her hand, and the bells remain silent. I am relieved. The buttons are wrong. It says we enter on One. Had the ground floor sunk into the earth? Maybe this was why the spirits left me alone now. We get to the massive room, blackout curtains were already strewn across the windows. There is a large bed, a large living room with multiple couches, one could easily live here. I ask to be excused to the restroom, she nods, I enter with my bag. I carefully remove my makeup, and then change out of my sharp work clothes into a more casual, comfortable outfit. I rejoin grandma who is relaxing on one of the couches. I sit next to her.

Oh, you're yellow now.

I am. But the text is orange because Tumblr.

She smiles, not sure of what I mean, but happy all the same. I worry that will fade with my next question, but I cannot help but ask since I've been thinking about her.

What was she like?

It didn't fade, in fact the warmth in her face when I ask her is unmeasurable.

She had my heart from the moment I saw her. She was silly, but serious with me. She was tough, but gentle with me. She was the sort of person to take care of everyone else first before taking care of herself.

That is very difficult to do!

It is, dear, but she did this effortlessly. She was here for a purpose, and did what she could with the time she was given. Some say it was to prepare your favorite adventuring party for dealing with the terrible creatures from beyond. Others say it was to fulfill her destiny and become a Sycamore Tree, one that still remains out there beyond the hedge. But I know it was for me.

Aww.

She was so nurturing, and although by the end I was the one taking care of her, as she forgot things and grew frustrated with herself, her actions were always with me and Molly's coterie in mind. Excuse my language, but it's a damn shame you didn’t get to meet her. She'd be so proud of you. Proud of Martha too.

She is.

Did Mom take you to see the tree?

She did not. I just know.

Mrs. Rita hugs me in response. I hug her back. She's so strong. She's been without Grandma for… nearly sixty years. I know that's not a long time for Kindred, but it must be with how she is feeling.

How long do Sycamore Trees live?

I don't know dear, I don't think that matters though, can't undo dealings with the Fae.

I dunno, maybe it does matter.

Well then maybe so, but that's not anything we can affect.

That is true. Say, Grand-mère, what is it you do?

Well, I used to be a spy.

Ooooh.

I was a double agent, working for Bernardo Giovanni, Molly's sire, getting him and Prince Norman information about the Sabbat while attending Sabbat gatherings and feeding them lies about the Camarilla.

That sounds dangerous!

It was! But it was also very thrilling, and very satisfying. Before that I was the Sheriff of this City, back when Rosemary and I first arrived in New York from South Carolina. She was the Scourge of course.

I can see that. What a team! What now? (I stare in anticipation.)

I'm the current Seneschal. Though the politics are all weird now. I may be the Prince in some lights. Though Norman is still in office. But truly and honestly, Molly runs things here, and Ray is her direct answer to any threats that may befall New York City. And I'm very proud of her.

Mama Martha and Mother Jess wouldn't answer my question as to whether or not she's scary. (She chuckles at this as well. Is this an inside joke?)

No, dear, she's not scary if you don't give her a reason to be. That said, she certainly has the capacity, and many people do fear her. That's where she'd rather be in those people's minds.

Hecata Power Structures. I think I understand.

Exactly. Oh, look at the time, sun's coming up little lady, let's get you off to bed.

Ironically Rita is shorter than me, but I know what she means.

You hold onto your pillow when you sleep, non?

I do.

There is one bed?

I was gonna stay out here, sleep on the couch.

Nonsense. I can be a pillow. It is okay.

I’d rather you stay comfortable.

I'd be more comfortable with you there. I don't know this place, and the elevators here are weird. Plus, I usually only take up a small corner of my bed, stray cats take up the rest.

Hmm, I guess that tracks then. Let me send your moms a text message first, let them know you're safe and I'm taking care of you as planned, go on get ready for bed.

But I am ready for bed. I suppose she couldn't tell on account of how well crafted my Jester attire is, but this is typically my sleep fit. Mrs. Rita, from a desk in the living room, turns a loud plastic wheel on a device, over and over again. The device appears to be holding up an old telephone. I do not know why she is spinning the wheel. Perhaps to charge the phone? Like the emergency flashlights? She never ends up picking up the phone, simply says Done, and heads to the restroom herself, presumably to remove her own makeup. America is a strange place.

I lay my Rapiers next to the bed, and indicate to Mrs. Rita where they are in case she needs to use them in my stead. I take the top right corner, and curl up into a ball. She has to unseat the sheets in an attempt to cover me, but I’m just going to toss and turn and get them off of me anyways. She returns after leaving a voicemail in Paris, wearing some sort of night gown. Classic late eighteen hundreds sleep couture. She lays on the left side of the bed, but I grumble and flail until I am held. Then in an instant I am asleep.

I dream. I am on top of a snowy mountain. Perhaps it is the French Alps. I have never been but I assume this is what it looks like from television. I am not cold. In the distance, I see that wolf from my last dream.

Vous me suis?

I shout before realizing I’m in the Magenta Jester Outfit again. The wolf is too far away to hear me, the wind is making ratatouille of my words. The snow nearly obfuscates her. Her? Why do I assume this gender? As she approaches me, which, is undeniable that I am on her path, I see behind her a trail of Red pawprints. Blood. Is she hurt?

Êtes-vous blessé?

She barks a doglike sound. Ouaf. or Ouan. or Non. No, she is not hurt. Whose blood is it?

Qui as-vous tué?

Bouf. of Boufu. No, that was Beaucoup. She has killed many people. I have never killed a single person. Not to my knowledge. Am I her next target?

Vas-vous me tuer? A definitive Non. I breathe out, and see the fog from my throat. She approaches me slowly with her head down. Her hazeley green eyes scan me up and down. The dream wolf is skeptical. I do not wish to scare her. I reach my hands out. When she has finally arrived, she rests her face between my hands. I see fur but I do not feel it. It is smooth. Just like in the previous dream. She is shaking, but not from the cold. How do I know it is not from the cold? Is she a vampire? Is this regret? Red re-enters the scene as tears. I feel them streak across my fingers. Who is this? Is this someone I know? Is this Mrs. Rita? No, she feels unfamiliar.

Qui es-vous?

Viens me trouver.

Où?

She looks up. I look up. Above me is a city inverted instead of a sky. Looking back down, there is no mountain, only clouds.

Oh.

We both fall up until perspective shifts and we are descending towards skyscrapers. I wake up. Rita has already gotten up. She must be a light sleeper. I smell salty, fatty meats and sweet syrups. She calls to me from the living room.

Breakfast foods are the best foods, dear, don’t let them get cold.

Grand-mère, it is six in the evening, where on earth did you find breakfast?

Room service cares very little about the time of day. I opted for pancakes over crepes, didn’t feel right trying to serve you an American version of a food from back home, ya know? There’s also bacon, sausage, home fries with peppers and onions, two sunny side up eggs, toast, grape jelly, and orange juice.

Surely you’ll be helping me eat this, that sounds like too much food.

I got myself additional food, but I can help if you need it.

I understand your role as a grandmother is to feed me, and I appreciate this, but it is not like I am a growing girl, we are both dead Mrs. Rita.

But it is good food, and fun to try new things.

You’re right about that, okay, I’m heading out to meet you.

I head into the living room with the iPad from my bag. The spread is even more intense than she made it out to be. Not only is there the spread Grand-mère refers to, but also several cantaloupes, grapefruits, and honeydew melons. There is also a carafe of coffee, though I have a distinct feeling I would not like what passes for coffee here. She is right to have assumed juice. Mrs. Rita sits at the table with a newspaper, and a notepad, scrawling notes about the world at large. Why does she do this? I think about why anyone does anything. The television is on, it is playing a cooking show that I do not understand - they are talking too fast, and their accents are thick. Grandma is not paying attention to it anyways. I sit opposite her at the table, and take a big sip of the orange juice. It is strong, acidic, sweet but not cloying. My face puckers uncontrollably from the acidity, but it is enjoyable. Rita cracks a smile.

Thank you grandma Rita. Did you sleep okay?

I did, thank you for your service as a pillow.

It is one of my many talents.

What did you want to do today, dearest? Auntie Molly will be busy with a few meetings and doesn’t quite have time to delegate further tasks until much later. We could see a show? See Central Park? I could… show you where the ritual in 1926 took place, but that is a way out of the way, and-

Oooh, that, that, that!

Alright then, I’ll need about an hour or so to secure a transport, and to make sure everything is above board before we roll - when you’re done if you just want to free roam, I know you like to wander around Paris, and you are quick to learn your surroundings, if you’d want to say, meet me in the lobby at… let’s say eight? That will ensure time for eating, lounging, me checking my news stories, and then obtaining a ride, if that sounds good to you dear.

Sounds like a plan, I will dig in in a second. You know, you are a very good planner.

She smiles, she knows this to be a fact but she is proud all the same. I turn my iPad on, connect to the hotel wifi, and take a massive bite of a pancake with a crispy strip of bacon on top. It is indulgent. I cannot imagine not being able to enjoy food after death, but some Kindred genuinely don’t care. I finally connect and see I’ve missed some Discord notifications from one of my good friends back home - Hector Laroche, a Tremere but an overall good guy. He was some kind of sniper back in wartime, but now he tends a garden. Anyways, from what I hear about Tremere, they’re supposed to be as unflappable as the King's Guard in England unless it’s their mandated brooding hour, but this guy genuinely laughs at my stories, and overall is pleasant to be around. Anyways, I have messages from him.

“Arbre Kadarbre” 2:30pm - Salut Cerise, j'espère que votre vol a été agréable.

“Arbre Kadarbre” 2:31pm - Bonne chance là-bas.

“Arbre Kadarbre” 2:32pm - Envoie-moi un message quand tu peux.

“Arbre Kadarbre” 3:32pm - Prendre des photos, s’il-tu plait.

I have not taken any photos, but it would have been weird to take photos of letter recipients or Molly or Ray. I may take some of the hotel here. I realize I have to go see Central Park for him, maybe the Botanical Gardens. I touch base so as to not worry the old man.

“🤡🦇” 6:32pm - Hier, c'était un flou: Beaucoup de travail à faire, des gens à voir, des ascenseurs à monter. Savais-tu que les ascenseurs sont à l'envers ici? De toute façon, je regarde une montagne de nourriture. En voici une photo. [NewYorkPetitDéjeuner.jpeg] Je sors sous peu, je ferai de mon mieux.

The photo I take captures three quarters of the table’s worth of meats and breads and fruits. Behind the food mountain, an outline of Rita’s hands invisibly hold a newspaper.

“Arbre Kadarbre” 6:34 pm - Dis à Rita que j'ai dit bonsoir.

“Arbre Kadarbre” 6:35 pm - [UneVueSurlaVille.png] Bientôt, tu pourras aussi prendre une Petite Cerise.

The photo he sends is of a large, Hawaiian Lily styled flower with bright yellow and pink splotches on its petals. He has been working on this for a couple of years and it is very cool to see this come to fruition. I turn the iPad around to show Grandma Rita.

Look! Hector says good evening to you Grand-Mère, and the Cerise flower he’s been making is coming along really well!

She squints at the photo, and then her eyes widen.

My goodness, they really are something. And the picture is so high definition.

I turn the iPad back around to respond. Another plate of pancakes, and fruit, and now sausages vanish absentmindedly. Grandma Rita is correct, breakfast foods simply are the best foods. Once the sweets are devoured I will work on the savories.

“🤡🦇” 6:38pm - Grand-mère est impressionnée. Je le suis aussi. Ils ressemblent vraiment à des petits bouffons! Tu es très gentil. Plus de photos depuis moi plus tard. Adieu pour l'instant!

“Arbre Kadarbre” 6:40 pm - Adieu, mon ami.

He’s a complex guy, very calm and collected, someone who has blood on his hands, but chooses to use that to grow plants. The opposite of war isn’t peace after all, it’s creation.

That’s from Rent, is it not?

It is!

So, is he the one you’re writing home to?

Wha~ Nonono, I mean, literally yes, he lives back home and I just wrote to him, but not like that, Grandma. Sheesh, embarrassant. No, I don't have anyone like that.

Oh ho, my bad.

It’s okay. You met Grandma Rosemary as a Kindred, non?

I did.

Is that something you were seeking? My moms met after death too. They were on opposite sides of things for a moment, during potential apocalypse number two.

It… wasn’t. I had just escaped a bad situation, and there she was. Not necessarily a Knight in shining armor, but our eyes met, and I knew I was finally safe for the first time in my life with her. We were friends first, traveling companions, and then, well… Our meetings had to be in secret at first. My identity was a concern, as Lasombra were strictly Sabbat and I didn’t vibe with that. She seemed to know all about me, and about my future. I found her weirdness charming. She was strong and funny and very emotive. Goodness, I miss her.

Her aura is a Vermillion Red with streaks of Silver. Happy overall but still mourning, missing someone who is gone but not dead, yet dead but not gone. I don’t mention my dreams. I don’t want to remind her too much of Grandma Rosemary, the Sycamore Tree. I put a hand on her shoulder, and smile widely, and she smiles again too. She knows I don’t know how to respond, so she doesn’t expect one. I use my other hand to begin shoveling potatoes and eggs into my face. It is nearly too salty, but addictive. Mmm.

I think I’m going to go to the park, to take photos of plantlife for Hector, before we meet back up at eight.

Alrighty Granddaughter dearest, stay safe.

I’m bringing my Rapiers.

Oh, maybe that’s too- no, you know what, go ahead.

Gonna change first, last call for bathroom usage, this will take me a sec to match the makeup.

Go right ahead.

What colour today? Your choice.

Got any Magenta, by chance?

I look nervously at my bag. The dream colour. I fix my face before looking back. I smile a guilty smile and respond with slightly gritted teeth.

I do. Good choice, I can see today being a Magenta day.

I give Grand-mère a side hug, thank her for the food, and let her get back to her note taking. I put the iPad in a carrying case to be slung around my back later, then take the suitcase into the bathroom. I quick change into the Magenta jester fit. It really is comfortable, but it feels like I am in the sky, as light as a cloud. Dreamy. I go with a less pale face today, the unnatural blush on the nose and cheeks is plenty, as the outfit speaks for itself. I made this one much later in my lineup so I was a bit better at sewing than when I started. My first professional-grade suit. I have since fixed the earlier ones, reinforced them, but this came out flawless. With the outfit on and my makeup done up I feel stronger than I have the past few days. I slide my sheathed swords through my belt straps, then slide my iPad case over my back. Hair is a mess, doesn’t matter though, I just brush the coppery sides, the parts that will show, then finish it up with the Ruff and a Jester Hat. I go back out to bid Rita adieu.

Au revoir grand-mère, on se voit à huit heures!

So long as Huit still means Eight, I will see you in the lobby around then. Don’t rush, enjoy the park or wherever tonight takes you. Oh, that color does look great on you, it matches-

Yes, yes, I know, thank you, you picked well.

If I were a human I would be blushing. I am still doing okay on Vitae for the moment, but no need to waste it expressing how compliments make me feel right now. Also I know better, she didn’t pick this colour at all. The night picked it. She somehow knows this is a Magenta night. She does not however know tonight I will encounter a wolf.

I take the elevator down, but the bells remain silent. Once on the first floor, I consider getting out. I press the button going up and return to the room. All the way, the bells remain silent. I knock, she answers, she asks if I forgot anything, I re-enter and check my bag. I did not forget anything. I say goodbye again, and hop back on the elevator. The bells remain silent. I press the ground floor button, I descend again. Where are the spirits? Is this outfit maybe imperfect in a necromantic way? Is it not balanced to commune with the dead? It’s okay if so, but the concept worries me slightly. On the ground floor, a group of four are entering the elevator as I leave. No time for further elevator experiments. I go to the concierge.

Excuse me, how to get to Central Park from here?

She eyes me up and down, then pulls out a paper map and a red Sharpie.

You’re gonna turn left outta here onto West 53rd, then turn right onto 6th Avenue and it’s a straight shot from there.

She draws a line along the path.

Thank you so much.

I take the map with me, and exit the Bacarrat Hotel. Across the street is the Museum for Modern Art that I missed last night. The hard day’s work took a lot out of me it seems. I walk the path described, only looking at the map occasionally. I turn right onto 6th and notice the next street ahead is 54th. It suddenly dawns on me, the city is a grid. How the hell did that Kevin boy get lost here? Why was the movie even popular? I continue onward. In the air I smell unfamiliar smells. Different foods and traffic than I am used to. Different people too. There are people filming a music video, perhaps a TikTok, or an Instagram. The treeline in the distance feels out of place in this Mega City.

Just before getting to Central Park I see “Hector”. A cafe with the name Ready to Eat. How silly, but the reminder of home makes me happy, so I take a second to observe. There are four outside tables before the door, which sits directly before the crosswalk into Central Park. I quickly take a photo of Central Park from this side. There are many people in the photo, it is fine surely. I take a photo of Pret a Manger, to laugh at later. There are people sitting at the tables, drinking coffee or tea, eating food, smoking cigarettes. It seems that the shop was in the process of closing, so the lights are dimmed. I review my photos before moving on. That man’s sandwich looks pretty good. Those two are certainly dating. And... I am shocked. On the farthest table from the crosswalk, a Wolf sits smoking a cigarette. It is unmistakingly the wolf from my dreams.

I look up from the photo and instead of a wolf I see a woman. She is wearing a thick green sweater, tan pants, tall black boots, a black trench coat covering most of her side, and green cap matching her sweater. This has to be the wolf. What does she want popping up in my dreams like that? And she spoke French. There’s no way, right? The wolf woman looks sad, like she’s waiting on someone who will not arrive. Her wavy brown hair puffs out from the side of her hat. Her brow and expression are serious. I do not want to annoy her, but I simply cannot ignore the visions in my brain, nor the importance of dreams. The real lynchpin is her eyes. They are identical to the dream wolf. That dreamy Hazely Green. Be direct, the worst thing that could happen is she tells you to leave, or she kills you, but I am no cat, I have no fear of my own curiosity, nor has it ever gotten me into that much trouble. Okay, it hasn’t ever gotten me into irreversible trouble. OKAY FINE, it has yet to get me into trouble that can’t be partially fixed in one way or another. Either way, I take the seat opposite her. She looks up to see me, and looks confused.

Quel fruit les poissons détestent le plus?

This does not fix her confusion, only makes it worse. Why did you lead with a joke, you moron? She’s sad. Oh right, jokes are all I know. I allow for a pregnant pause before continuing.

La pêche.

I smile. You see, a peach is a fish’s least favorite fruit because it’s also the word for going fishing. She squints, trying to register if she’d seen me before, or at the very least what the hell I am doing at her table, but then her eyebrows waver and she begins laughing. Her lips barely form words.

That was so stupid.

She says this, but cannot stop laughing. She is laughing more at me than at the actual comedy, but that is okay. I find this better than any alternative at the moment.

Okay, who the hell sent you? And, wait, tu parles français? Oui, but we can stick with English if you’d rather. Are you waiting for someone?

Nobody alive, unfortunately.

I see, maybe I can help you out.

Her eyes glow for a second.

Kindred? Okay, clearly you’re working for someone here. This is too specific to not be weird if unplanned. I’m not in the mood for a singing telegram or what have you.

You want to talk about weird and unplanned? I think I’ve been seeing you in my dreams.

She blushes, though it is unbefitting of the mood she is attempting to maintain. I - I’m not trying to flirt here. I am being literal. Admittedly, I’m not not trying to flirt here. The look she is giving me is not nothing.

I’m serious. You were a wolf there. It has happened twice now since I got here. First in a City, and then in the Alps. A box fell on us in one, and we fell into the sky in the other. Who was it you were wanting to see?

Her expression seems like she believes me, and is unbothered by it. There is a weird lingering trust in the air. I’m getting more from what she looks to be pondering than what she is actually saying. She made a trip to the States for nothing. That has to suck.

I miss my sire, but he is gone, so I went looking for his closest friend, traveled to the states only to find out he’s gone too. Dust in the wind.

Damn, that sounds terrible. I am truly sorry. I can leave you alone now if you would like.

No, sit, this is… nice. It feels good to talk to someone, even if they are a clown.

Nobody to talk to otherwise?

Nobody who sounds like home.

Oh.

The way she says this shakes me to my core. I mentally stumble for a second. Sounds like… home. Like France. Paris perhaps.

So, you seemed to believe me about my dreams, do you do this often somehow? Stalk people in their sleep?

No? You just don’t seem to have any reason to lie to me. I am particularly good at determining a liar with other senses. You smell like a Malkavian.

What does that mean?

It’s a Gangrel thing. I don’t know how to explain.

I refrain from checking myself over for any errant smells. I smell fine - clean, pretty even.

Cerise Trivelin! Jester extraordinaire! 

I extend my hand for a handshake. She takes it in hers and kisses it softly. She gets up, and I rise to meet her. My mind is racing. I have questions that I want to ask but don’t feel like now is the right time. If not now then when?

Josephine Garnier. You smell like home too, it’s a shame that I have to go now.

Go now?

Yes, but don’t worry, I’ll find you back home.

Oh! Okay! Je te verrai là-bas.

She lets go of my hand and walks off, away from Central Park. I hear her giggle at my expressions. I suppose I looked shocked, and then sad, and then excited? I eventually stop myself from staring, and head for the park. Josie Garnier, Gangrel, Wolf from my Dreams. I am wearing the Magenta Jester Outfit. What just happened? The falling in my dreams… Being crushed… Falling. Crush. Zut.

I meander to the park, but my head is less in it. I’m doing this mostly for Hector. It is pretty for the record. I see a statue of a man on a horse, he is surrounded by full verdant trees. I take a photo of them. There is a large stone feature, surrounded by more verdant trees. I take a picture of it. I take some steps down. It’s just more and more greens. Admittedly, more variations of green than I’ve ever seen in one place. I’m used to the countryside, a garden, or even an arboretum, but this? It is a mess of types of trees and bushes and shrubbery. A melting pot as this country prides itself in being. I catalogue every single different one I come across. Eventually I run out of different plant life and discover an empty field. Nobody else is there. I am alone. I lay down in the center. I look at the digital clock on my ipad. Twenty one minutes before I need to head back. I decide to peer into the Shadow Lands. I close my eyes and try to think about the other side. I instead try to imagine Josephine’s sire.

Were they a wolf? No. He. He was a stag. His name was Chuchip. A native from before the colonizers arrived. Up in what is now Washington State. What is this visual? The antlers… the teeth… he was. A strange creature. Beyond the typical human realm of understanding. But then, as a man. He was caring. He was tough but kind. His eyes, though they mostly showed the glow of his inner beast, were also full of childlike wonder. He liked cartoons. He didn’t like wars, but fought in many of them, because he was good at fighting, and because people needed him to. What was his name? His chosen name, funny enough, was Buck.

Buck? Are you here?

There is no answer. There wouldn’t be. He is in the tempest.

Buck. Your lone Childe misses you. If you can hear me, please give me anything.

The wind picks up, but it is voiceless. He has been here before. I see him, an outline of him, but with my Malkavian Eyes, not with Auspex or Necromancy. He is in military fatigues, his hair long and tied back, he hadn’t fought in a war since the Americans went to Vietnam. Something happened. Something I cannot make sense of. He swore off of wars then. And then, the world was coming to an end in 2018. He was called on by an old friend to join the fight. Dodge Guilford. The cowboy. He didn’t think twice, he traveled across the country, and that is where he met his end. At a park much smaller than this, against foes I cannot imagine. He went out fighting. He knew that would be how he would go. Fighting against worse and worse enemies until he was finally outmatched. 

I open my eyes again. My cheeks are red with blood. I check the clock on my iPad. That took twenty minutes. I take a selfie at the spot I laid down. Then I get up, dust myself off, wipe away my tears, and head back to the Bacarrat Hotel. On my walk back I pass Ready to Eat again. I scroll on the iPad back to my photo, and line it up with reality, making the seats seem full again. I take another photo from the same angle. I continue my walk. This dead sire business is really bringing me down, and I never met the guy. I don’t know what I would do without Martha, or without Jess. I know it is Malkavian blood in my veins, not Hecata, but they are as one on the outside as I am them as one on the inside. I should introduce Josephine to them when I see her in Paris. She said she’d find me afterall. She was a soldier. Perhaps she knows Hector. I’ll ask him when I get home, but not before then. I have taken many photos of plant life for him, he should be pleased. I cross at the crosswalks. I make it to the lobby at exactly the right second. The elevator opens and Rita exits. Our eyes meet. She can tell something is up with me.

What’s wrong, baby?

Let’s talk on the ride over. I am okay. But I met some people. Sort of.

Okay, you’re still sure you want to go?

Very sure. This subject has interested me for a long time now.

Then let’s go, our ride awaits.

I take her hand and we head outside. Ahead is a Taxi cab. She opens the back door and I hop in. The taxi driver is a Nosferatu. He has a raspy voice.

Miss Rita, pleasure as always.

Tommy, hope you’ve been well. I’d like to introduce you to my granddaughter.

Cerise Trivelin. Jester extraordinaire!

Tommy Barban, nice to meet you Miss Cerise, Miss Rita, we’re heading to the ritual spot?

Yes, that's right.

No nonsense though? It’s just visiting, right?

No, of course, no nonsense. I don’t have Rose to bail me out.

I mean, ultimately it is just a field.

This is true, but the veil there will still be thin.

Maybe so.

Rita, you said no nonsense.

And there will be none, she just wants to look.

Okay. But if things get weird, we’re getting the hell out of there, and not stopping until the sky settles, you understand?

Of course.

I’ll be on my best behavior.

I give a big toothy grin, Tommy sees me in the rearview mirror, he doesn’t smile in return, but I can feel his tension ease. I turn to Grandma Rita.

I met a wolf.

A werewolf?

Non, a Gangrel.

Didn’t happen to be Aunt Mae by chance?

No, I’ve still yet to meet her. This one was one I’ve dreamt of.

Dreams are very important my dear. They aren’t to be taken lightly.

I know, Grand-mère, but listen. She is from France as well, what are the chances?

It is a small world it seems. What were your dreams like?

Weird. She was just a wolf both times. First it was in a city, then it was in the alps. She seemed sad in them. Then when I met her, she was in fact sad, about the loss of her sire, and then about how his friend died in the Kindred Apocalypse war.

Ah, is that what caused the tears?

How could she tell?

No, afterwards I went to central park, tried to look into the spirit world and failed. Then my Malkavian eyes showed me what her sire looked like. Sort of. He was a good man. But he is not a spirit, he’s in the tempest.

Oh my goodness. You could tell, just like that?

Yeah, it took a lot of brain power. Which is why I’m going to lean on you for the rest of the cab ride there.

Go ahead, baby.

I lean and she puts her arm around me. I inhale and exhale.

Thank you Grandma.

Anything you need, dear.

I did manage to get her to laugh for a moment. Smile even.

Now that’s the Cerise I know.

She said she’d find me back home. That I… reminded her of home, beyond my accent.

Is she pretty?

GRANDMA!

My bad. Look, I’m glad you made a friend. Keep me in the loop about this.

I will, I will.

I cannot believe she asked me that. Eh, actually I can believe she asked me that. She asked if Hector was someone I was writing home to. Can a girl not have friends? Not everyone is looking for romance. Maybe I’m simply not a romantic. Yeah, that’s probably it. But then, that hand kiss. That smile. The certainty in her voice when she said she’d find me back home. She… said that I smell like home. I keep myself from trembling. To answer your question, Grandma, she is very pretty. Josephine, you better keep your promise. Don’t keep a girl waiting.

We eventually all arrive at the spot. Grandma Rita helps me out of the cab, and Tommy exits as well. His face is covered as if he were the Invisible Man from the old Claud Rains film from the nineteen thirties, goggles and all. His outfit is dapper however, dress shirt, patterned vest, slacks, steel tip dress shoes. After a short walk, Rita and Tommy stop. I stop with them.

Well kid, this is it. I know it don’t look like much, but this is the location Horace thought was so important. This is where I blended into the ranks of his cult. This is where they stepped out twenty-six years later as if nothing had changed. 

It’s where the curtains opened.

The… curtains?

It’s how we saw it. The tearing of the universe. Like an opening between dimensions. But worse somehow.

Grand-mère, you’re shaking.

It was scary. But it’s done now. I thought we’d lost all four of the original coterie. But Rosemary knew.

Heh, she sure did. Hell of a punch she had.

Tommy puts his arm over Rita’s shoulder. She accepted this comfort from an old friend.

So, lots of death and destruction from right here then?

Yes.

I don’t answer, they can both sense my excitement.

Cerise, no.

I close my eyes, and when I open them, I take in the Shadow Lands around me, but everything is wrong. The air is still. Stagnant. There are not the usual floating wisps or wraiths or spirits at all. Instead there are dozens of obelisks, black as pitch, and reaching towards the heavens. They are arranged in what appears to be some sort of leaf or feather pattern. I do not see a curtain, but the sky is now a deep red instead of pink lemonade, and it feels like it’s… waiting for something. I shift my vision, layering an Aura Perception over my Shroudsight, and- oh, oh no, those aren’t… The tombs of angels from a rotten place. This is where it ended. The final confrontation against invaders from another layer, and it permanently pierced the planet. The remnants of what was once the Crawling Chaos and its ilk. I approach one of the black pillars. I reach my hand out and touch it. It makes the sound of a giant tuning fork being struck. The noise is deafening. I pull my hand away as fast as I can but it is covered in what looks like tar. What did they do? I crank up my chaotic eyes, which instantly gives me a headache. I fip through stills while running the viscous black ichor through my fingers. Aunt Molly, you knew better. Aunt Mae, you knew better. Aunt Marie, you knew better and then some. Uncle Ray… You licked it. He’s still around after having licked this interdimensional ooze. Then again, he had assistance, if he should have fallen from such a task, there were people with him to fix him again. Technically I am with Grandma and Tommy. I stare at my hand for a good second. Who am I to fight my impulses?

Rien de risqué, rien de gagné.

I lick the ooze. It reacts to my blood instantly, and attempts to latch onto my face. I panic as I am suffocated until I remember that I do not need to breathe. I grasp at my face in an attempt to get it off of me. It is slithering up from my mouth. It feels terrible. It moves up as a non newtonian fluid, towards my eyes. Just out of reach, I close them again.

Oh good heavens, you’re back. Do not do that again Cerise, you had us very worried.

I am in the car heading away from the spot.

We thought something had happened, you went unresponsive at first and then your body went all limp. Now, I know there are rituals and paths that require as much, but seeing as we could not detect you in any traditional way-

I’m so sorry Grandma.

I hug Rita who is otherwise cradling me in the back of the Taxi.

Don’t be sorry, baby, just think before you look, I could have told you that you wouldn’t have seen anything good.

But I had to know. I had to better understand it all.

Why are you so drawn to this?

I am the lone Childe of Martha Thompson, one of seven Kindred who saved the entire Fae Realm, one of the few people who ever got to see the likes of this other world. She told me about the black sand dunes and the sky full of eyes and the shadow creatures who met their fate at their hands. She told me of the aquatic creatures who terrorized DC, and how a giant Rita evened the playing field in a big way. She told me of the dop- of the doubles, how everyone who entered this other world was split, copied, passed off as the original. How they were enemies first, but later backups, stand-ins for the final fight. If anything should ever threaten us like this again, and I don’t know every single thing I can know about this, I can only blame myself.

Cerise, dearest, you know this doesn’t rest on your shoulders alone. And it shouldn’t happen anyways. It won’t.

Do you know that? With one hundred percent certainty?

Rosemary said it was done.

I sigh. I don’t believe Grandma Rosemary is infallible, but this is a losing argument to start. There is no way that I can convince her that this is worth studying, not now that my safety has come into question. It is for the best that we have left. I know now not to do that.

I am sorry. I’ll listen better next time.

Your moms would have been pretty mad at me if I let something happen to you.

I know. I’m sorry to have worried you. It just wanted to know. I know better now than to look so deep. I was wondering, since the night isn’t done can I make one more request before we head back?  

As long as it’s not so dangerous.

As long as I don’t mention the Yankees, it should be fine.

You wish to see Ray again?

I do.

Do you mind seeing a bunch of sweaty ghouls?

I couldn’t care less.

Then, Miss Rita, I assume you want me to take you to SB?

I don’t see any reason not to.

We head to Swinging Bimbos. The city lights as we cruise back into society blur by the windows, their brightness is welcoming. I realize my eyes are healing from what I had just seen. Luckily, as we arrive at the combination bar and gym building, they are back to normal.

I’m going to stay in the cab dear, you’re free to roam as you wish. Just keep in mind Ray’s proclivities.

Will do Grand-Mére. I’ll be quick.

Don’t rush on my behalf, Miss Cerise.

Okie dokie.

Entering, I am eyed by the check-in guy at the front of the gym, but not stopped. In a quick span I spot Donnie. He looks tired - his crown is droopy, and his cape looks more like a blankie. When I catch his attention with an emphatic wave, he smiles and approaches.

Cerise, Jester Extraordinaire, you’re pink now.

Close, I am magenta. My pink fit is a little different.

Ah, of course, so what brings you to the gym?

Looking for the big guy, I had some questions.

The Big Guy - Ray, I imagine, alright, I’ll call upstairs to let him know you’re on the way up.

What is the elevator situation in here? Haunted would you guess?

…No? I don’t think so.

Hmm, guess I’ll have to see for myself.

O-kay. Just gonna, go do that then, you should be able to just press the three button in the elevator and once you get out, his office is the only one up there.

Thanks Donnie.

He walks off, retrieving a cell phone from his pocket, and calls Ray. I don’t stay and snoop, I just head to the elevator. I press the up button and enter cautiously. The bells are once again silent.

Es-tu sûr?

There is no answer, but not even a jingle. I will continue testing this for ghosts on the way down. I press the three and ascend. Once it opens up to the office, I find Uncle Ray standing in the center.

Hello Oncle Ray.

Hi again.

Okay so, we were looking at the location from the twenties, the one with the… the curtains?

Why?

Curiosity. I am luckily not a cat. And I’ve been wanting to better understand what you all went through.

Okay. You have questions then?

Yeah.

He stretches his arms, and pops his neck. I can tell the concept stresses him a little, but not nearly as bad as it does Grandma Rita, or Tommy. He takes a seat in an armchair, and indicates an empty couch. I sit so as not to be rude.

What do you want to know?

Why did you eat the black goop?

He looks perplexed. It is a funny expression on his face, one he’s not used to wearing. It gives how could you possibly know that?

It looked like blood.

Is that the only reason? Did it call to you?

I… I don’t remember.

Do you want to?

No, I’m good. I think maybe it did call to me. But I wasn’t afraid of it. So I licked the stuff off my hands. Whatever.

And how did it feel? Did it grab ahold of you? Fill your lungs?

You’re weird, you know that right?

His expression confirmed the answer to my questions.

I’m well aware.

Did Molly tell you all of this? Marie?

No. I looked into the abyss, Uncle Ray, and the abyss looked back. I licked the ichor too. What happened next?

Then we went through a gate. Then we climbed a pyramid. Then the large thing talked to us. Then in the nineteen-sixties I fucking killed it.

But nothing happened to you? From the black goop?

He grimaces at this. I can tell there’s something there.

Can I stop asking you hard questions and just look already? I’ll leave and stop annoying you afterwards.

Fine. Just get it over with.

I extend my right hand, fingers spread, and place it on Ray’s shoulder. He stares at me. I don’t actually know what I’m doing, I don’t have access to Dominate, I’m just really hoping my Malkavian Eyes come through for me here. I stare Ray up and down, and past what information the eyes give me on a base level, I try to go beyond that. I stare until my vision begins to blur, and I induce double vision. Two Rays. One enters in nineteen-twenty-six, and exits in nineteen-forty-one. The other exits in nineteen-twenty six, and doesn’t kill the other when he exits in nineteen-forty-one. This Ray is the latter, but that’s not the first time. The first time, he was the first Ray, and he did kill his double. That is the era I’m looking at. I flip pages of the book that is this Brujah Hulk. Focus on the words. Gate. Pyramid. Thing. Killed the thing. Ignore the thing. Focus on after. He is in Washington DC. There is a Salubri. He is mentally controlled by the goop. He sees giant hands. They crush a kine to death. But it’s actually him doing the crushing. After his first kill, she stops him. Nearly kills him. And then pulls the darkness out of him. Literally. My head begins to throb with a headache. No, wait, before I lose this thread. This… this is… Azreal. I let go of the thoughts. Ray is still staring at me, unblinking, though his expression is now one of concern.

Did anything actually happen? Or did you just zone out?

I got everything I needed, uncle.

What did happen?

It controlled you, but Azreal helped you.

Oh right. The Salubri.

Right.

If that is all, I’m going to go back to what I was doing.

That is all. Thank you.

No problem. 

I extend a fist to him, hoping for a fist bump. He very delicately delivers. I can tell he is nervous to not break my hand into a million pieces. I go back to the elevator. I press the button, I enter, and the bells once again remain silent. Maybe these buildings are warded. Or if they weren’t, they are now. I press the button labeled Ground Floor. I descend, exit, pass Donnie, giving him another wave, then reunite with Tommy and Grandma Rita.

Did you get what you needed dear?

I did.

You wanna go anywhere else? Or shall we retreat back to the hotel?

Hotel is probably the right move. I have a lot to think about now.

Very good ma’am.

Tommy is extremely kind and polite. I am glad that Grandma Rita has friends up here. I decide to make small talk before he drops us back off at the Bacarrat Hotel.

So, Tommy, you were part of the nineteen-twenties group, non? Mom said you were good with guns and explosives?

Eh, not so much as good with explosives, in fact, I was having a bit of an issue with post-war explosions at the time. Too loud, too jarring. Made me have a bit of a panic, freeze up.

Ah, I’m sorry. What was it that you all did together back then?

He looks to Grandma Rita briefly, who nods.

Bit of a Giovanni Civil War, but more specifically, I helped Miss Rosemary’s plan to one-up that Horace fellow. Miss Molly’s Coterie was sent to remove wards that the Tremere Cultist had set up. They apparently were there to try and control the otherworldly creatures once summoned onto earth. We committed a lot of arson, killed off a decent number of Edison’s Ghoul Cultists in the process too.

Edison. I forgot he was even part of this. He was a-

Baali. All too happy to assist Horace, because he thought it would end the world. Meanwhile Horus just wanted to wipe the Feywild off the map. He discovered that he was fated to be killed off by the Fae. As a Malkavian Ghoul, he took it way too seriously. Once he was embraced by a Tremere, he studied the Path of Warding and the Path of Morpheus. A Dream Manipulation Path of Thaumaturgy. The overlapping world of the Changelings is often referred to as The Dreaming. Little did he expect, the woman who Ghouled him in the first place was directly working with the Fae. She was an agent of the Summer Court, a long running agreement from a young age. And then, she became a Sycamore Tree, for all her hard work... Her Childer, when his plans really started moving, were there to thwart him at every step. When they killed him, they killed him through her plans.

Vicious Cycle. Good Riddance though. A real bastard. I’d know, I infiltrated his cult. Played along. Drank the blood. Tasted sulfury - disgusting. Then, we took em all out, tore his soul apart with that artifact. What was that thing Rita?

A story for another time.

Ah, come on Grandma, little more story time?

Later, Tommy has other work to do, he’s spared more time than he expected. And we’re almost back to the Bacarrat.

Fiiiiine. But I want to know about that artifact eventually.

Honestly, you’ll want to check with Molly again tomorrow, I’d ask her about it.

Okie Dokie.

We pull up to the hotel front. We say our goodbyes to Tommy, and head in. Rita holds my hand, and we go to the elevator. I nervously press the button and enter. Grandma observes my awkward entrance, but doesn’t say anything about it, and presses the floor button for the room. The bells are once again silent. Did the neck ruff break? Or is something different now? Regardless they are calm and this is weird. Once we reach the room, I decide to change into more comfy clothes to sleep in. The Orange Jester Outfit is crisp. It reminds me of the juice from this morning. Er, this evening. When I woke up I mean.

I rejoin Grandma Rita in the living room.

For the record, Aunt Molly won’t know what it was so much as what it was like to use it. It was a opal-like gem from another world, stolen by Horus, and warped to try and get creatures from the world it was from to submit. It wouldn’t have worked on The Crawling Chaos, but Horus thought it would. All of it was for control, and to try and prevent his death, or rather extend his life. I think it’s an important lesson to take from him. Work with the words of fate, even if they are hard to bare, fighting against them oftentimes make them catch up to you harder and faster.

Yes ma’am.

I grin because I asked and was answered. The way she uses the past tense makes it abundantly clear that the artifact is gone. I connect the pieces in my mind. Horus gave the Opal to the party, to use against the Entity, so that he could control it to use against the Fae. If the party tried to control it and they died, it would be no skin off of his back. But they simply didn’t like him for one reason or another. And when the Entity offered to manipulate the Opal, the party let it, and when they exited the Curtain, they used it against Horus quite anticlimactically. Ripped his soul out of his body. Sheesh, what a way to go. What other questions do you have, Cerise? Is this all you need to know for now? Need - possibly? Want - far from it. But most of the questions you have involve a certain Sycamore Tree, which, although she’s been brought up a few times now, you don’t want to risk upsetting your Kindred Grandmother.

I’ll see what Auntie remembers about it tomorrow. Thank you for everything, I know this obsession of mine must be annoying to some degree.

No, you’re fine dear, I remember what it felt like to pine for more mystery out of life, but eventually I got my fill. Enough mystery for a lifetime.

Nonsense, there are still mysteries ahead for you, just smaller, less intense ones.

Less intense, that’s fine by me then.

She smiles. There’s an admission of tired sadness behind her eyes. I change the topic.

So, you can’t be in any photos, non? Are there paintings of you, Grand-mère?

Not that you would want to see, dear.

Yuck.

Were they done by your old friend Sarah?

Ah, so Martha told you about Sarah. Technically a Rosemary dop- copy. But it worked wrong. The start of-

I know. That is when she learned that the process of entering the Dreamlands was imperfect, and that’s when she knew the Wizard would fail. I imagine she’s-

Yeah, gone.

Grandma, we gotta get you new friends.

I have plenty of friends, thank you.

You know what I mean.

Oh, that, I’m not - I’m not interested in that.

Yeah, I thought I felt the same, but-

The Gangrel Lady?

Yeah. What if I’m reading too much into this?

That’s what you do, dear. You’re supposed to read too much into things, your blood says so.

Right, but like, she’s from some sort of war era, I was embraced like a year ago.

Hey, Rosemary is more than five hundred years older than I am.

I knowww, she’s just met people who are more important than me, how am I to compare?

Never live your life comparing yourself to anyone. Everyone’s got their own journey, their own mysteries, who’s to say she’s not in need of you specifically?

Ugh, grandma, there’s just no way. That’s it, I’m not going home. Paris be damned.

I joke, she knows I’m not serious. I’m being dramatic to stress just how ridiculous the thought of her needing me is. I suppose she has merit in the things she’s saying, but I refuse to look into this with my eyes. If things are to happen, they will, and if they aren’t, they won’t, or they will, but it won’t matter. I sigh. That would suck.

Do you smoke, Grandma Rita?

I do not.

I don’t think I do either. Or at least, it has never done anything for me.

I understand that. I never got to as a Kine, so I had no reason to as a Kindred. That makes sense. I brought a pack with me from Paris, my understanding of how currency in the States was severely skewed by cinema.

Not that I find smoking bad, or that the smell bothers me or anything.

Yeah, same hat. 

We talk about general unlife stuff late into the night and nearly into the morning. I am still learning, I’m sure I will be learning for forever, as I imagine Rita is still learning as well. That’s fine, learning is good for you. It provides a mental fullness. I gather my stuff to lay down back in my spot at the top corner of the bed.

You want breakfast again tomorrow, dear?

Eh, maybe a real one instead of a pretend one. Though, it was very good to try local foods.

I can arrange that. Do you have any specifications?

Non, local flavor is ideal for blood too. Thank you.

Of course.

To sleep, Grandma joins me once again. She rests her head on me and I pass out, no flailing or anything this time.

I open my eyes to a scene straight out of a movie. I am sitting on the edge of a skyscraper, next to me is Josephine. Her hazeley green eyes look less sad. She is smoking a cigarette. I look down at myself. I am in a Dark Green Jester Outfit. Do I even own one like this? Is this far in the future? Or is it just my brain being weirder than usual? In my hand I’m also holding a cigarette. Together we look down at a city. It is neither Paris nor New York. Where are we?

Où sommes-nous?

Vous venez de demander ça. Je viens de te le dire.

Fais comme si je ne l'avais pas fait.

London.

Ah. But why?

C'était ton idée. Je pensais que c'était doux.

Doux? Sweet? Why did I decide to bring her here, and why did she think it was Sweet!?

Il est temps d'y aller.

Aller?

She bumps her head against mine, and then jumps off the building. I look down and without panicking, and without taking a second, I jump too. I catch up to her and she looks at me expectantly. I am confused, but I take her by the hands. Suddenly my Dark Green Jester Outfit fills with air, and we drift slowly down as I have become some sort of Parachute.

Quel est le sport le plus silencieux?

She looks at me like she’s heard this one before, but is interested all the same.

Le para-chuuuut!

I take back my left hand, and put its index vertically over my lips for emphasis. To those unfamiliar, the quietest sport is parachuting because, in French, Chuuut is our version of Shhhhh. She laughs very hard, and my grip nearly loosens. I quickly bring my left hand to meet her right again. We fall together. As we do, she starts to cry. The deep Red shoots down to the ground below us like a spray of bullets. I want to wipe the tears away. I want to make her less sad. She looks up at me, they are tears but she wears a smile all the same. What does this mean? What does this Dream Josie want? What does she need? She looks past me, and I turn to see, the skyline is shifting, that beautiful night sky is breaking and the sun is just beginning to peek up over the eastern horizon. Ah. Death again. She pulls me closer and we burn up into dust in each other's embrace.

I wake up in a sweat. Coppery sweat- Ah, damn, the sheets! Grandma Rita is in the main room. 

Grandma Rita? I uh, I sweated through the sheets.

I know dear, that’s why I bring my own. You’re fine.

You really do think of everything.

That’s what I’m told, now come out here - it’s time for breakfast again.

Breakfast, I forgot. I suppose I have gotten particularly hungry. I open the door to see mountains of bottles of wine like how Mother Jess would do for a fancy party.

That’s so much… sangVin. How?

Your aunt Molly sent it for us.

Oh of course. I sit down across from her, and pour myself a glass. 

I’ll thank her for this when I get over there.

Ah, it feels like you just got here, but you’ll be heading back soon, no?

This is true. Tonight, er, before sunrise?

I’m sure you’ve been missing your moms, your friends back home, sleeping in your own bed.

I mean, yeah for sure, but this has been really nice. Luxurious. And spending time with you is always fun. I feel like I’m sitting next to a real life superhero. The Legendary Rita.

Oh stop, I’m just a Grandma who has seen some weird stuff a century ago.

And meeting Molly and Ray and Tommy and even Donnie, though he wasn’t at the twenties curtain thing - which is good, it’s nice to meet people who I don’t have to geek out over. He seems like a good dude. He’s my cousin sort of? Considering this little dynamic we’ve been working out. What do you think a Crown and a Cape means?

Why, was he wearing a Crown and a Cape?

He was. Which was weird because he works in a gym. Surely they’d get messy. But even when we went back to SB - it was pristine. 

Did Uncle Ray have a cape?

He did! But no crown, just a weird bootleg Batman Mask - the eyebrows were drawn on in pencil - which, I get the Batman thing, he protects the city, he is a man with a bat, it’s kind of on the nose - thanks Malkav. But I could also tell Ray was kind beneath his weird external facade. That he was wishing he could be elsewhere. Didn’t get to meet uncle Ryan though.

He’s a sweetie. They really are good for each other.

That’s what I keep hearing. Maybe next time.

Say, how similar was your Molly Vision?

How similar to Mama’s? Very. She had the Galaxy Eyes. It’s kind of weird to see them in person, but comforting knowing I wasn’t alone. Her left hand held a golden chain that went through the wall. I didn’t follow it, I’m not actually all that interested in Kindred Politics. I’m sure she has friends in high places. Maybe even subservient ones.

That all tracks. You really are getting used to this thing, I’m proud of you.

I finish my wine glass of blood, and fill a second.

Thank you Grand-mère. Hey, question, what are dreams where I’m dying with that pretty Gangrel Lady supposed to mean?

Dying?

Yeah, we were crushed by a crate, we fell from the sky, and this time we were burned up by the sun.

I know the answer to this, but I need confirmation.

Aww, baby, it’s your head telling you that you’re- hey, you knew this one - why am I explaining?

I just, I’m having a hard time with this. I’ve never met someone in a dream first.

I haven’t either, that’s not really how dreams are supposed to work, unless you’ve passed them without knowing them.

Well she is from France, so it’s extremely likely that I have.

That’s true. So, maybe it isn’t so unusual.

But the wolf thing?

Well, that is pure Malkav, dear. Maybe you knew back then, you saw her in passing when your eyes were first really developing.

I finish my second wine glass, and I look at the bottle and then at Rita. She moves her hand towards it - making a gesture of go ahead. I take the bottle and finish it out. It is still weird drinking blood, though I suppose it was weird eating other things I didn’t like while growing up as a Kine. Like beets. Ugh, even if I had to eat still, I wouldn’t be eating beats. Blood at least feels good to consume. Nothing good comes from beets. Okay in a very literal sense, beets have fiber, and vitamins and minerals. But at what cost? They look gorier than people do. Yuck.

I start to feel gross, so I put unwanted vegetables out of my mind. There are other foods there too, but I focus on the orange juice again, as today it matches my attire and puts me in a good mood. After a little while, I notice I’m absently chomping on some grapes while zoning out at some sort of trash television I do not understand. I turn to see Grandma smiling at me. I take the next little bit to send yesterday’s photos to Hector.

“🤡🦇” 7:11pm - Voici les photos d'hier! (🤡🦇 envoyée 48 photos)

“Arbre Kadarbre” 7:13 pm - Merci. Je les vérifierai plus tard.

“🤡🦇” 7:15pm - Rentrer à la maison en fin de soirée. Je te verrai bientôt mon ami.

“Arbre Kadarbre” 7:17 pm - Voyager en toute sécurité.

I finish up breakfast with Mrs. Grandma Rita, she hands me an power adapter for the weird American outlets, leave my ipad to charge in the bedroom, retrieve cigarettes from my suitcase, just in case, and change into yet another Jester outfit. The dark orange fit is nice, but it goes into a plastic bag to be washed properly back home - though I get it to be blood-free with the sink water and soap. I look into the mirror, I seem well, happy even. I smile at myself, but the mirror me sticks her tongue out. I make a grumpy face, and the mirror me makes a surprised one. We both laugh.

Quelle couleur?

ɘttɘloiV

Merci.

I go for the deep purple jester fit. I’m running out in the suitcase, I seem to have packed just enough. I wash my face and re-up my makeup, with a new color scheme. This time it’s teals and blues, something to be different enough than the previous day of work. I show off to Grandma.

Today I am a Deep Purple, Grand-mére!

That you are, dearest. Was it because of the grapes or was something else Purple?

Well, I didn’t pack so many outfits, and although I could repeat some earlier ones… I helped myself in deciding it was a Purple day, and maybe the grapes had an influence retroactively.

Sort of a chicken versus egg situation? Hard to tell if grapes were there because it was a purple day or if they influenced the day by being there.

Actually, the chicken and egg thing is super easy. At one point, something that was not a chicken laid an egg that hatched a chicken, so the egg was first.

Well damn, I’ve learned something new today.

We have another pleasant morning together, relaxed, an interesting juxtaposition of calm above a busy city. I find myself peering down from the window often, watching the blur of people, Kine and Kindred alike, and cars moving with purpose. When it’s finally time to go, we both pack our clothes and things, Miss Rita has far less with her than me - it makes sense, she lives in this City. Finally the sheets are removed and discarded and the originals are placed back on the bed. When we are done, the room looks how we found it except for the trash bag full of discarded trash stuffs. I ask about the elevator, Grandma looks confused, we take it down. No bells. I’m slowly losing it. Something has changed. I need to get home soon. We check out in the lobby, and walk to Molly’s office complex. The city around us pulses with life. Even though it is late night for the mortals, they are no less energized. Was I like this? It’s difficult to imagine that long ago. A year or more of Malkavian blood has changed me quite a bit I think. I think I remember going to sleep at a reasonable time of night. Not that the circus opened all that early, but I had a morning routine. My troup would all be up around the same time. Ah, the good ol days. My troup. I haven’t thought about them in a while. I am kind of on a quest to arrange my own now, in a way. I think the caped Donnie may actually fit the role, as a descendant of uncle Ray. I am of course fitting the role of momma Martha. We’ll of course need a Gangrel, and a Giovanni. Just in case of course.

We arrive at Molly’s. It is still a formidable fortress of business and politics, but it also houses her army - the Erinyes. An all women tactical group, trained entirely by my Malkavian Mum. I see some as we enter the lobby. They are talking to a rather queer looking man. He’s muscular but not hulking like the Ray. He looks familiar, so I look at him deeply with my heterochromatic eyes. Shifting over him are waves of red. He was there that night with the curtains. But he did not enter. This is Ryan, Ray’s Husband.

Oncle Ryan!

He looks confused and concerned as he looks up from the group of Erinyes, before I zoom over to him. He’s drawn, which, I don’t imagine he knows what to make of me. I extend my fingers in bullet time to plug up the two guns. It doesn’t really work like that, he could still pull the trigger and blast my fingers away, but I know he won’t. He notices Grandma Rita behind me, and then refocuses on me with a squint.

Jester Girl. Malkavian. Acts like she’s a cartoon character. You must be Martha’s only Childe.

I take this description in stride. He is accurate, but now I feel inclined to do the same.

Business Man. Brujah. Acts like he’s above pugilism just because he’s good at guns, but he loves fisticuffs just as much as his Sire. You must be Ray’s Husband and Donnie’s Sire.

Touché. (He holsters his guns and my fingers pop out of the muzzles with a cartoonish pop)

I reach out my arms for a hug, he obliges and picks me up in a twirl.

Sorry for drawing on you.

Worry not Uncle, I knew you wouldn’t actually blast me.

Of course you did, Cerise.

I’m heading back today, so I figured I’d see Molly to bid her adieu.

I heard she had you working with Donnie the other day. How did that go?

Quite well. He knows this city like the back of his hand.

I’m sure. Say, what did he look like in your eyes?

Hmm? Interested in some Malkavian insight?

Always have been.

Very well, he wore a cape like a vigilante.

Ah, like Ray. That makes sense I guess.

And he wore a crown, like a prince or a king of old.

Now that’s interesting.

Agreed.

Cerise, dear, we shouldn’t keep her waiting.

Sorry Ma’am.

You’re fine Ryan, at ease.

Rita and Ryan chuckle. It is like a joke I don’t understand. I know we are not related, but this really is an extended family, and I’m honored to be a part of it.

Come on dear.

I follow Grandma Rita to the elevator, and wave goodbye to Ryan. He smiles back. We ascend. Upon exiting, I realize the bells don’t cross my mind at all. I miss their ringing. Even if it was deafening. Even if it meant the spirits wanted me to change my path. We exit the elevator, and see Molly’s office, already opened and ready for visitors. We enter.

Cerise darlin, and Rita, come on in.

Okie.

Did ya get ta see Ryan in the lobby?

I did!

Entering the office, I see a second golden chain wrapped around Molly’s hand to places unknown. The first one is still there. I believe that one goes to the “Prince”. There is someone else important in New York now too. Someone else she owns. I do my best to stop staring.

Didn’t you have a question for her, dear?

Oh, right! The Opal.

That wasn’t really a question, you’re gonna need to elaborate.

The uh, the stone. It’s white? Spherical? Wait, lemme backtrack. We went to the ritual spot. From the twenties. It is fine by the way, before you worry. Nothing weird about it. Nope, nuh uh. But I used all three of my weird sights, and I had a vision about the Opal. The one that the Tremere gave you. It ended up ripping his soul out of his still living body. What ended up happening to it?

Molly raised an eyebrow and looked at Rita for reassurance. Rita shrugged.

She wanted to go. Tommy and I took her. We stopped briefly. She saw something. We left. She had a question for Ray so we stopped by Swinging Bimbos. And then she asked me about the Stone Horus gave you. I told her you’d be able to explain it better.

I mean, what’s there to say? It’s a weird stone, probably made by an actual mage. Horace thought he could use it to control a big beastie. The beastie in question didn’t try to harm us then. It knew we didn’t want to work with that jackass anyways. So it sent us back with it and we used it on him. Didn’t know exactly what it would do. It was pretty brutal.

What happened to it?

Whaddya think?

Molly opens up a desk drawer and tosses it to me like it’s nothing. I catch it. It feels weird. Indescribable. 

I don’t recommend looking at it with Auspex. Spirit sight hasn’t yielded anything. And the last Malk that looked at it was yer mom, and she didn’t see nothin’ too unusual. Admittedly I’m a little curious if your insights are any different, but I don’t want Martha or Jess bein mad at me for puttin you in danger so, explicitly, don’t look at it. Alright, what you do now is against my professional and careful suggestion.

She leans forward to see my expression as I peer into the opal. It is heavier than I think it should be. I’m touching a piece of history. It is warmer than it should be as well. There’s something to this. It’s like there’s a latch with a combination lock on it. I know the numbers but don’t enter them. How do I know the numbers? What is inside? Don’t let curiosity get the better of you Cerise. I can tell Spirit’s Touch would be a doozie here. I don’t bother. I let my Malkavian Eyes do their thing. I look, and it is like I’m diving through the clouds. This is not a gemstone, this is a world. A lonely world with one man inside. He looks old and defeated. Ah. It is a prison. He looks up and sees me. His eyes are full of Malice. I know his name but I do not call it. How do I know his name? What would saying it do? Don’t let curiosity get the better of you Cerise. He is in a weird position. Oh, there is no land. He’s just falling forever. I shake the Opal a little bit, but he is unaffected. Like a gyroscopic camera, or a chicken. He is centered. As far from any side as any other. I feel my arm extended. I think I am handing it back. I feel comforting hands on my back. Rita. I come back to reality.

Cerise, dear, what did you see? Horus is still very much in that world prison of an orb.

World Prison. I like that.

You very much should destroy it.

We very much have tried. Ray’s done just about everything with this opal. No luck.

Hmm, then I believe you’re doing the right thing by keeping it close. Best keep it from a Baali or a would-be usurper of a Tremere. Hashtag Not All Tremeres, obviously, but more than a few.

Oh, I don’t know if Martha told you baby girl, but Molly and her and her friend dispatched some Baali once.

Woah what!?

It’s true. They admittedly weren’t too tough. We had already fought eldritch creatures from beyond so uh, a couple of Kindred who wanted to end the world were no real threat.

I’ll have to inquire more back home.

Yeah I suppose so. Is there anything on your wishlist you didn’t get to do while in town?

Eh, I did want to go experience the Botanical Garden before going home. Mostly for a friend. But leaving things undone is a good way to ensure a return.

Damn Rita, the girl has self control. Very strong.

No kidding. She must have got it from Jess.

They both laugh. I do not understand. But I am happy to see them laughing together. I laugh too. I can’t shake this smile on my face. Molly gives me a big hug, it is genuinely comforting. Rita joins in. I am smothered with momma vibes.

Well, you better stick to that and come back. Maybe bring your friend?

Yes ma’am. Maybe so.

Ya mind terribly if Donnie brings ya to JFK?

No ma’am. Thank you for having me. And pleasure as always to see you grand-mère. You’ll probably be back in France before I’m back in the States.

Probably, ma petite fille.

Nailed it! That sounded good!

Thanks for humoring me.

Go on now kid, long goodbyes suck, Donnie aught to be here by now anyways.

Rita laughs. I get up and after a long goodbye, I get to the elevator and press the button. I enter. The bells on my Jester Cap and Neck Ruff buzz as I pass through.

Spectres? Es-tu revenu?

There’s no answer. There never has been. There probably never will be. But the bells chime louder and louder through my descent. It is almost too much, but I’ve missed them, so I find myself laughing all the way down. I exit to a more emptied ground floor. Whatever business Ryan had here concluded as I said my goodbyes. I wave to the receptionist who simply watches me leave. I think I have weirded her out. It’s okay, I’m not for everyone.

Outside, Donnie is there leaning next to a motorcycle.

Ready to go?

Yep, got my bag, did almost everything I wanted to. A good trip.

Good, glad to hear cuz.

The bells are back to working as well!

That’s… nice.

He seems like he just wants to press on. That’s fair. He wouldn’t know why I’m happy with this development. He hops on the motorcycle and ignites the engine. It growls like a fierce tiger. I’ve ridden on one before, but this is a different make and model than I am used to. There is no side car. I tilt my head to the side and he pats the seat behind him. Oh, of course. I hop on behind him. We take off extremely quickly in the direction of the JFK International Airport. We weave carefully through traffic. We take side streets that skip traffic. We zoom. I’m amazed the entire time, I know that I am safe but the speed makes me forget at times. It is like an amusement park roller coaster. And I am like a kid experiencing it for the first time, discovering a thrill for the speed. When we finally arrive at the airport, he pulls up to the front instinctually.

Oh, right, you need to be around back.

It’s fine I can get there from here.

Ya sure?

Yeah I’m good, though, the ride was quite pleasant. I may have to get a motorcycle myself.

More Malkavians on Motorcycles.

He shakes his head. I’m perplexed. He has seen a crash? Will he see a crash? Nobody dies in it. No, this is a different emotion. One I do not grasp at all.

Be safe out there Cerise.

You first.

I give him a side hug. He smiles. We wave goodbye. I’ll see him again too. I take my bag and head behind JFK International. 

Along the way a security officer asks me questions. I respond only in french and point at a plane. I take out a piece of paper that I wrote my travel plans on. He shakes his head no. I get closer to him, and tell him that I’m going to that airplane. His pupils dilate, and he shakes his head yes. I walk past him. Luckily he is alone. I make it back to the private jet with the same Ventrue group as before waiting for me. I greet them, they direct me to another wooden crate. I throw my bag inside and hop in. This one is slightly spacier than the previous. I wonder if that is good or bad. This time it isn’t so late, but it’s just when the flight is leaving. I take out airpods from my bag. They’re already synced to my ipad. I play Faire un Pont by Dick Rivers.

Faire un pont

Pour de bon

Lui donner

Ton prénom

Le traverser

Pour t'embrasser

Faire un pont

Pour de bon...

By the end I am relaxed and fade into sleep all the same. The ride is calm enough, though there is heavy weather. I can tell even though I’m fading into a dream. In the dream I am under water. I panic before realizing that not only do I not need to breathe, but also because I am dreaming.

There is no wolf, there is no café woman, there are no other living creatures here at all. In the emptiness I sink. It is cold but comforting, abandoned but cozy. I reach the ocean floor and begin to walk around. I stick my hands in my pockets as I stroll. The cigarette pack. It is empty, but I don’t smoke. Where’d they go?

I look ahead and see a single cigarette on the sandy floor. I go pick it up. Yup, it’s from the pack. I return it to its home. Further ahead another, then another. I follow the tobacco trail. These are certainly unsmokable. Too wet. Farther ahead is smoke? Is it still called smoke under the water? A seabed fissure. A hydrothermal vent.

When I finally approach that, I look to see a cigarette burning, and the earth taking a drag. The cigarette ashes, and the vent blows out a large cloud. It is hot, but not boiling and there is no fire. The cigarette cannot be returned to its box as it is now used up. I look at the earthly crevice. I know how these dreams go, I die at the end of them. Every time, without fail.

I take my time and stretch out, first my legs, then my arms, then crack my neck. I’m not in a hurry to die, but I know it's inevitable in instances like this. When I am ready, I give the vent a look and it opens up, expanding the opening of its sandy maw, exposing jagged rock-like teeths. I nod, and hop in. It doesn’t chew me, I just fall deeper, it gets warmer and warmer until - I am reduced to nothing. I wake up.

I feel disheveled, I must have slept for a long time. I knock on the inside of the crate. Knock knock, pause, knock, pause, knock knock. Someone outside knocks back in the same patter. Knock knock, pause, knock, pause, knock knock. The hand is small. A child must have wandered over to the crate. It’s best I do not escape now. I do not like a creepy clown, I do not approve of what they do. Jesters are for entertainment. For distraction. They make you smile, not run in fear. If this child sees me, a vampire, who happens to have jester makeup and clothes on, pop out of this crate, they may be scarred for life. I wait. They knock again, but different this time. Knock knock, knuh knock knock, pause, knock knock. Shave and a Haircut, two bits. I sigh. Did an American child find my crate in France?

Bonjour? Dame Bouffonne?

-Wait, I know that voice. Young voice, small hand, they know about me, ugh, who is the source?

C’est moi! La seule et unique Cerise Trivelin - Bouffonne Extraordinaire!

Ouais, je savais que c'était toi.

Qui me parle?

Rem de Lorraine, la sorcière. Et j'aimerais pratiquer mon anglais, s'il vous plaît.

Very well. Would you mind helping me out of this box?

Henri! La boîte!

Suddenly a violently fast force arrives and places its hands on top of the crate I’m in. The wood seems to wither under their touch. Once the top is brittle, it is easily torn through like paper. I look up to see two figures. First one is shorter, and more familiar. For a moment she is Sabrina the Teenage witch, from the oldest comic run in the sixties. Once the vision fades, she appears as a little girl in a witch outfit, though not a cheap one you can pick up at any old costume shop, one that has been handcrafted, and endured many combats. The other is much taller, I’ve never seen this one before. Imagine if you will, an old black house cat, greying at parts of his fur, now imagine he is adult-man sized. He holds a teacup resting on a saucer, and wears a monocle. The vision barely fades and reveals a generic looking butler. The unknown is scary. He places gloves on his hands after having used them to destroy the top of the crate.

Hello ma’am, pleased to see you again.

No need for such titles, I’m just a little witch girl as I appear.

Right, of course.

Your transporters were to pick you up and bring you home, but I wished to see you, so I’ve made arrangements with Ms. Briatta to pick you up myself.

Oh, well then, here I am. I hope to provide entertainment for you ma- uh, Miss Rem.

Thank you, Miss Cerise. Henri! La voiture!

Madame.

The cat-butler leads us to a limousine, and opens the door. Rem enters first, I follow. He closes the door behind us. I find a seat and place my bag underneath before he starts up.

So, Miss Cerise, I am curious. Why not fly commercially? The first class accommodations can be quite pleasant. Surely Ms. Briatta or Ms. Thompson could have arranged such easily.

I… was very nervous about flight. I figured as cargo, I wouldn’t have to think about it, and I was right. I slept very peacefully both ways.

Ah, so your travels were to simply see the states? Or did you have any particular task to do? Were you meeting somebody of importance?

Lemme see, yes, yes, and yes, though I’ve met more than one somebody of much importance.

You of course do not have to divulge as much, though-

It’s fine. I met with Miss Molly of clan Hecata. Worked for her briefly. Met a few others. Took pictures of plants for our mutual friend here-

Monsieur Hector! I do hope he is well.

He keeps busy. Additionally though, I met a Gangrel while I was there, a French one. She was missing her dead sire and on a mission to track down his friends.

Interesting. And you did not know her before?

No. Well, except in some weird dreams. Any chance you know of a Gangrel who traveled stateside?

I’m sorry Cerise, but that could be anybody, there are many Gangrel in France - especially on the outskirts. I’ll keep an eye on the airport, and message you if-

Eh, that would make it weird I think. If we are meant to meet again we will.

You Malkavians, the lack of planning, yet the certainty that things will go as intended. No matter how many centuries I’ve been around, I’ll never quite understand it. Though, I appreciate the faith all the same.

Thank you?

This is about your stop, assuming you wanted to be home. It’s been pleasant chatting.

Well now, I’ve not gotten to ask you anything. Do you have time to spare?

Sure.

What’s with that cat… butler… thing?

Oh, I’m surprised you hadn’t met him last time we spoke, at Ms. Briatta’s gathering. He was surely shadowing me, though he did give me the space I requested from him so that I could mingle undisturbed. That’s Henri, he’s served my family for generations. He’s also my Sire, though I'm still his superior. It’s a little complicated, but mess free.

So, two Tremere, then there’s Hector. Still no Chantry in Paris?

We have tried. For one reason or another it never pans out. The city may be cursed for all I know.

Second question. How have you been? Your aura was very bright yet messy at the party, and I haven’t seen you since.

I’ve been busy. Traveling and assisting chantries to rebuild, trying my hardest to jumpstart the Vienna 2 Project, but mostly through Henri - my existence as a powerful Tremere remains as secret to most, so occasionally I pilot him from a distance.

Messy indeed. Well, your secrets are safe with me ma’am. Perhaps we can hang out again soon if your schedule allows.

I’d like that very much. Now, I hope you have a good rest of your evening.

Same to you. Au revoir madame, vous savez comment me contacter.

Je le fais, et je le ferai bientôt.

Henri gets the signal, leaves the driver seat, and opens the door. I grab my bag and he takes me by the hand and assists me in exiting the limousine. I wave and Rem waves back before he closes the door. I tell him goodbye, and he plainly responds au revoir. 

The limo drives off and I am at my apartment building. It’s a charming building, a sort of yellow beige, most apartments look like this here, but this one is different because it is mine. I enter the building. I take off my cockscomb and stare at it, and I stare at the elevator. I walk in and it’s silent. I feel a tear well up, my eyes must be getting red. I feel so alone, the spirits must have left me. I press my floor number and ascend. When I reach the top I step out, and turn around. I place the Silly Jester Hat back atop my head. I look into the elevator and stop it from closing with my shoe. I step back in, and the bells start going wild. I grab my bag which I nearly left and step back off, but nearly jump for joy and trip over myself. Whatever happened, it has unhappened, and I’m back on my bullshit.

I get to my apartment, and there is a dead Wren on my doorstep. I look around, to see if it’s a trap, then I pick it up and pocket it. I place my key in the lock, turn and open the door. I immediately am greeted by a small army of cats.

Je ne vous ai pas tous oubliés. Je suis à la maison!

They meow, and mew, and chirp responses, but I do not speak cat. I never have, but maybe I’ll learn one day. They part down the middle so I could walk through the crowd. The cabinets are all in different states of ajar, though when I furrow my brow they all close apologetically. This makes me smile. I open the hidden lockbox in my kitchen and retrieve four cans of tuna fish. The cats all sit in unison.

Qui a retenu votre attention.

I split the four cans amongst twelve small dishes spread out on the floor. They all wait patiently. I click my tongue and they make their way to their meals. I am not the only one to feed these strays, and I don’t feed them to take care of them, they like each other’s company as well as mine. There are happy chirping noises as they munch peacefully at the shreds of dead sea life.

I decide it’s time to change out of my Jester Attire entirely. I won’t be going back out tonight, as it is now a me night. I shower as the cats chow down. It’s nice to be back in my own shower. I clean my makeup off, I take care of my hair, of my body, I am cleaned and I am happier for it. Afterwards I towel off, and find a sweater to get cozy in. I turn on the television, and lay down on my bed. After they finish their meals, they all join me. I take out my iPad and charge it in the wall outlet. Immediately I video call the Jess and Martha computer. Mama Martha answers.

Kiddo! How were your travels? Your time in the states?

Very good mama, I’ve missed my people here but I met so many new ones. Aunt Molly was not scary at all. Ray was huge. Ryan was fast. Tommy was funny. Didn’t expect to meet Mae, perhaps on my next trip if it can be arranged. I did get into a small amount of trouble, but what can you expect from a Silly Jester like myself?

As long as you came back in one piece and didn’t piss too many people off, I’m proud of you for finding something you want to do and doing it.

Hmmm. Thank you. And thank you for the trip. Is Miss Jess around?

She is busy as usual, at least for the moment, though if you wanted to stop by for dinner or something she can make herself available later on.

Nono, it’s fine. I think I need time to decompress.

Did the trip satiate your curiosity?

It did. And then some. I’ll tell you all about it soon.

That’s good to hear. I look forward to it.

Thanks mama, love you bye.

I hang up, as I remember I had to contact Hector too. I hover over the video call, but remember his preference towards just audio calls. I press the small telephone shaped button on his contact.

Cerise, mon amie. Comment allez-vous?

Bien. Je reviens tout juste. Ça fait du bien d'être de retour dans mon appartement. Mais c'était un voyage agréable. Je viens de parler à notre amie commune, la sorcière.

Ah, La Sorcière. Mademoiselle de Lorraine.

La même. Une femme étrange. Très curieuse de mes voyages. Devrais-je m'inquiéter ?

Vous devriez toujours vous inquiéter pour Tremere.

Je ne m'inquiète pas pour vous. Je t'enverrai le reste des photos de Central Park bientôt. Je voulais vous faire savoir que j'étais de retour sain et sauf, monsieur. Pour l'instant, je vais profiter de ma soirée et apprécier de dormir dans mon propre lit.

Très bien, bonne nuit Cerise.

Bonne nuit Hector!

I hang up. My brain ceases to worry about my friends and family here. I am home, I can see them in person should I wish. The cats covering my figure are purring. The Television is playing a nature documentary. Mammifères, champions de l'adaptation - l'aventure (Mammals, Champions of Adaptation - The Adventure). Of course it’s about wolves. I put my pillow over my head for a moment. Two of the dozen cats tilt their heads at me. I return to my more comfortable state, and my eyelids become heavy. I feel like I’ve slept a lot lately, but, who am I to deny the body what it needs. I snuggle against the strays and pass out.

The next week is full of reunions, check-ins, visits with the moms, it is good. The world has returned to normal. There are no lasting effects of the curiosity I gave into in New York. The curtains, the opal, the black pillars, the black ichor. All pleasantly behind me. Though I do have time to think about them. It’s all I can do to distract myself from the Dream-Hopping Gangrel.

After seeing “une Petite Cerise” - the flower that Hector has been working on in my name, I find myself wandering around Paris aimlessly. This city is my home, I know all its ins and outs. I lose myself in the night crowd, and I am happy. At one point, children wandering with their parents see me, a multi-colored jester, and smile. I stop in my tracks and provide entertainment.

Rassemblez-vous! C’est moi! La seule et unique Cerise Trivelin - Bouffonne Extraordinaire!

I do my typical Jester act for them and I have their undivided attention. I juggle blades, I make balloon animals, I swallow a sword, I work some slapstick, and I make their one cent coins vanish into thin air. There is applause from the children, gratitude from the parents, and then I go back about my evening stroll. I like making people smile. My brain is in a good place. That is all I can think about.

Suddenly, and without warning, it’s like a bullet passes through me. I look up to the outdoor seating of Velvet, a local bar, and my eyes lock with that same wolf from my dreams. Her visage transforms before my eyes into Josie Garnier, dressed in a sleeveless black turtleneck and military green slacks. Before her sits a glass of wine, and two other Kindred. I don’t get any reading on them. Once our eyes meet, she excuses herself and abandons her half full wine glass. She leaves the bar entirely, and I feel myself approach her more or less without thoughts determining my movement.

Well I’ll be damned. Cerise Trivelin, Jester extraordinaire. You ended up finding me.

I crack a wide smile, betrayed by my already silly looking Jester Attire.

Josephine Garnier, Dream Hopping Wolf Girl, home at last. How did the rest of your trip go?

Funny thing about that, I kept trying to be sad, but a dumb joke kept me from it at every turn. Ultimately I got done what I needed to.

Oh, was it a good one?

It was your dumb joke, you clown. You say I haunted your dreams, but that was before we met, that’s hardly fair. You’re the one who-

My eyebrows raise.

We should talk. Away from people.

Lead on.

She takes my hand and leads me away from the crowds, from the sights and sounds, away from public view entirely. I do not know her destination, and I don’t pay attention to where we go. My mind is focused on how her hand feels in mine. She leads me up a stairway. The moment our hands release, the bells on my Silly Jester Hat jingle. I’m intrigued, and my heart flutters. ~ La Fin ~

[princessgracekelly1956]

Porcelain doll of Grace Kelly by Martha Thompson. Thompson worked from wedding photos, a description of the gown, and samples of materials provided by the bride’s mother. A copy of the doll was presented to Princess Grace.

(caption & photo: The Antiques Journal - July 1980)

[nosnet]

The New York/Anachronistic Coterie! (Censored) From left to right: Rita & Rosemary, Molly, Konrad, Mae, Marie, Martha, & Jess Uncensored version of the art below:

[nosnet]

A Happy Valentines Day from the eventual wedding party! I (J.D.) was briefly possessed into doing an art, so ta da, some idiots having a wedding. From left to right: Flidais (Tzimisce), Vince (Malkavian), Martha (Malkavian, above), Damon (Baalii Tremere, above), Vyx (Malkavian), Al (Kiasyd), Donnie (Brujah), Sven (Gangrel, above), April (Lasombra)

(a non-holiday specific version exists under the cut~)

[nosnet]

I'll see you in the branches that blow.

Sixty Years Later

by K. D. Lalonde

Time Period: Paris, France. 2029

Perspective: Martha Thompson, and other Malkavians.

Rating: PG-13

Content Warnings: Apocalypse mention, Fae trickery, False prophecy, Accepting your own imperfections, Trees as reference to their roles The Inferno, Existing after an assumed expiration date, and not knowing what to do with yourself after.

Word Count: 2,222

Comments: I had always intended on this being in the cards. Since we had recently been building towards this point in our collective history, and with recent developments in regards to Martha Thompson's home life, I felt now was the appropriate time.

2029 - Sixty Years Later It was a normal day in the Briatta-Thompson household. An hour prior, the sun had set, and the family went on to business as usual. Jess Briatta-Thompson was in a zoom meeting, sitting at her desk while organizing the local Hecata Leadership and micromanaging business aspects. Outfitted in a suit, and a stern, confident expression. She had her hands full, but she was good at it. It was something she enjoyed. Down the hall, in her own room, her “daughter” Cerise poured over ancient texts. Technically she was Jess’ wife’s Childe, though as a Malkavian who studied Necromancy with a passion, showing significant aptitude, she was a Childe to them both. She wore a Red and Green Jester’s Outfit that she had made from scratch, complete with the Cockscomb cap and Ruff with bells on each point. In her left hand she held a knife, in her right skull. She was peering deep into its sockets with her own bright, insatiable eyes. She was busy as well. That left Martha Briatta-Thompson, who was preparing for an evening of combat. She wore a pinstriped pair of pants, but didn’t yet have the suit jacket on yet. Simply her undershirt and shoulder holsters. She was taking apart, cleaning, and reassembling a pair of suppressed 1911’s. They were beautiful, scuffless, and almost reflective from their shine. Though she had used them since they were first made, they looked brand new. Across their surfaces she saw what she thought to be the face of a ghost. “Wrong room, love, if you want the Necromancer, you’re gonna want my wife’s office, if you want the other Necromancer, you’re gonna want my little marionette’s room, I’m afraid that out of your three possible choices, I’m no good at ghosts.” She squinted at the reflection, and noticed eyes like her daughter’s, hair like her daughter’s, and a frame not too dissimilar - looking up however, she was shocked to be so wrong. “And what if I wanted to say hello to my own daughter? Would you say I needn’t look any further?” The voice came from a woman of average height, with significant muscles, brassy red hair, and heterochromatic eyes. She wore a red button down coat and matching skirt, though after a quick Auspex check, it wasn’t too difficult to determine her entire outfit as illusionary. She stood before Martha, all of her assorted scars bared, though, recently cleaned. She had an underlying smell of mulch, oakleaf, and moss. Behind her was a closed, and still locked window. Martha immediately drew her other nearby weapon, an AR styled SMG chambered in .45 ACP, its drum magazine mimicking the Tommy Gun’s from back in her day. Her grip was unusually shaky, and her vision adjusted. This was no illusion. Rosemary, her Malkavian Sire, had somehow escaped her Cruel Fate of living as a Sycamore Tree in the Feywild, and was standing before her in her room. She set her SMG down gently, and rushed her for a hug. Bloody tears streamed down her face.

"Mum! You're back! How are you back? I don't really care, you don’t have to tell me, it's just that you're back and so much has happened and... I'm sorry this is a lot." "It is a lot. No need to be sorry though, I am sorry, I thought I wouldn't be back, and now I am. Suddenly I'm here but I didn't plan to be. It turned out my prophetic visions were wrong. And now I don’t know what will happen next.” She held on to Martha tightly, before releasing her. Martha extended her hand towards a chair in the living room, and Rosemary took the seat, crossing her legs. “As for the how, it turns out that although sycamore trees can live for over five hundred years, sometimes they naturally die off as early as sixty. Due to stress, I think. I was… definitely stressed. I was stuck in a different world, away from everyone I cared about, unable to help. Sure, some Malkavians and other Fae knew where I was, and visited me. You were one of them. I felt you there. But it hurt not being able to do anything. Not being able to respond. So more recently, I had felt myself withering, and I was very hungry for the sun, the synthetic sun of the hedge was proving insufficient. And when I had mostly shriveled up, I was approached by a familiar face. The ‘rabbit’ I saw as a child. That Pooka. I sighed as only a tree could, my few remaining leaves bustled in the wind. I was prepared for it to lecture me. Or take some of my dry bark. Instead it told me that my life as a Sycamore was coming to an end, that I needed to leave the Wyldwoods and never return. I thought it was simply mocking me, but once the final leaf fell, and the last bit of sap dried within my soul, I found myself, as I am now, but in a pantomimed tree pose. It put its giant paw on my shoulder. I moved for the first time in six decades, and tilted my head at the Pooka. ‘Now what?’ I asked. ‘Leave Sycamore, we’re even now.’ It told me. And well, I ran as fast as I could to the nearest exit. I took one last look at the realm we had all saved. For what it's worth, it really was beautiful, and it still filled me with a sense of great pride seeing it flourishing. But then I left, and through that portal, I found myself at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico. I surfaced, and got to land as soon as I could. I broke into some business and found their telephone blessedly had a dial tone. I dialed the numbers I had whispered to myself over and over and over again all that time. Rita’s telephone. I hoped she still had it. Low in behold my love answered. It took so much not to break down crying. ‘Hello?’ she answered, scared in tone. ‘I love you so much.’ I told her. ‘I love you too, where are you?’ she asked, still scared but now invigorated. I didn’t know anything about where I was, so I told her ‘Heading home.’ and hung up. I couldn’t wait any longer. I don’t imagine the travel or the reunion is as much of a fun story, just know that it took too long, and the reunion was Everything. But I haven’t even told Molly yet. I got to my wife, and then she took me here, to you. You were immediately next on the list. I suppose Marie is after, I owe her as much. Then Molly, and then whoever else would even want to see me.” She started to zone out towards the end of her own explanation, but snapped back to reality at Martha’s sad expression. “Now, there’s no need for tears. Not anymore. My wife tells me I’ve missed a lot, but refused to elaborate. Said it would rob you of being able to tell me some things you're particularly proud of." “Well um, I helped save the world a long while back, big to do with that. But it's also where I met my wife."

"I saw clips of that in the 1960's, all very confusing. Molly gets saved by a homeless Malkavian, who was then killed. Ray jumped off a building bat first, impaled a wizard, but a rare good wizard. Marie engulfed in flames before destroying Eldest as Malkav. You were in the thick of it. On the side of the Angels. I’m so sorry you had to stand up to your family. Is your wife anyone I know?" "I doubt it, but she was there at the battle. Jess Briatta, I don't think you'd know her, but I would love to introduce you!" "Nothing would make me happier. Would you mind first telling me about this particular world-ending event? It shouldn't be anything like what we stopped when we were all together that very last time, that is all done. At worst, that issue is stuck in a time loop, existing between 1926 and 1969. If it was that sort of thing you would have to tell me, because that would mean something had gone wrong with time itself." "It’s unrelated.” Martha clarified before retrieving a kettle and a stacked-mug from the table to her right. She poured Rosemary a cup of Earl Grey and slid it to her. Her vampire mum gratefully accepted and sipped the tea slowly. “An evil Nosferatu wanted to cause kindred Armageddon and kill all kindred, worked with the Baali to try and summon Lilith. The group I joined up with were traveling around the world getting help to stop it. They caught me in Ireland and unfortunately Molly was involved so I had to step in!"

"Wait a damn minute, what was his name? The Nosferatu, I mean.” "Pip I think? He wore a plague doctor outfit and had a penchant for crows." "That little- I saw him once. He went by Marcello. He was at a party that your sister was at... that you should have been at had I not gotten yet another thing wrong. He was networking with Molly, they exchanged contact information before 'zombies' ruined the evening. He was actually a hunter during the Renaissance, and got embraced as a mockery. Never let that go huh?" "Apparently not, but we stopped him.” Rosemary took in her environment. She looked at the living room she now found herself in. It was not cluttered, but quite lived in. Full of the rich history of a family, growing together. She saw Martha before her, looking slightly older, far wiser, a survivor of great pains and conflicts. All of these things filled her with immense joy. "I'm so proud of you, Martha. Turns out the world has been in good hands in my stead. So, what was your favorite place you traveled to?" “As cheesy as it may sound... Paris, I met Jess here, we helped with a real life Phantom of the Opera Situation with a Daughter of Cacophony, we dealt with some nonsense in the Catacombs, we met the Marquis de La Fayette. It was definitely my favorite place. Hell, I liked it, and her, so much I live here now, with her.” Martha topped off her own mug, and took a sip. “I'm just so happy that you're back. Where do you want to go? What do you want to do? We can at least spend some time here, you and Rita will be our guests, you have to meet Jess and Cerise, I’m sure they’re wondering if I’m on the phone with someone, or if I’m going through my own Malkavian nonsense, or what - I just, I never expected this Mum." "No, this is surely an omission in our entire line's sight. A hiccup in prophecy. And that's okay. I’m getting used to not knowing things as I once did. My eyes still work, I'm just having to guess a lot more. Where do I want to go? What do I want to do? Difficult questions. For the first time I don't have this dark cloud hanging over my head. The countdown ran out to zero, and now, I'm okay somehow. Meeting Jess and Cerise is the top of the list however. Darling, will you join us now?" She set down her mug in anticipation. A lightning fast blur of darkness slid in through the ventilation, and wrapped its way up and around Rosemary's arm, and across her neck, appearing like a shawl of shadow, before forming back into the Lasombra, Rita Clover. She was strewn out dramatically across Rosemary. Her outfit was formal, but playful. An all black Victorian dress, the only accent being white bows. "Heya Martha!" "Rita!” Martha set her mug down as well, and ran to her for a hug. She picked her up out of Rosemary’s arms. Rita was extremely light weight and only slightly taller than Cerise. Rita hugged Martha back. “She’s back, tell me this isn’t a dream, dear.” Rita cried. “No mum, other mum is back and here to stay. This is no dream. Here, let me go gather the others, you two make yourselves at home. We’ll put you up in your own space for as long as you want. After however long you want to stay here in Paris we can head back stateside, I'm due to return and visit Molly soon anyway." She set her back down on the armrest of the couch Rosemary was sitting in. "Darling, could you help me pick out a real outfit before I meet our daughter-in-law, and grandchild?" Rosemary asked Rita.

"Sure thing, dearest. And Martha, sorry for not using the door. She was always the type for dramatic entrances." “Heh, it’s okay Mum. I remember quite well.” As Martha left the room to gather her family, to introduce them to someone she had more or less told them had been dead, she glanced back and watched as Rosemary held Rita in her arms tightly, impeding her from opening her suitcase to find an actual outfit. She chuckled. It’s like nothing has changed, and yet, everything has.

[princessgracekelly1956]

Here Come the Bride Dolls by Louise Fecher, 2001

[tiny-librarian]

Doll artist Martha Thompson worked in the 1930s through the middle of the 1960s at her art. She carved her first dolls from Ivory soap for her sister's kindergarten students. She tried pottery clay for her doll heads but became disappointed when the clay crumbled before she could finish sculpting heads. She eventually learned to work with porcelain, and she perfected its use in creating faithful likenesses of historical figures such as Henry VIII of England and his six wives-Catherine of Aragon, Anne Boleyn, Jane Seymour, Anne of Cleves, Kathryn Howard, and Katherine Parr. Thompson also created a series of doll groups in which she presented 19th-century fashions based on hand-tinted steel engravings. Her completed dolls so faithfully recalled the engravings that some of her admirers observed, "These dolls seem to be the very models from which the engravings were made rather than copies of the engravings."

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