VtM:B - a story. Hello, darkness; my old friend.

There is a lot going on these nights. Bits and pieces disappear, reappear and vanish forevermore. Others surface, lingering. The worst parts are those not leaving the shadows.

I drop off Kira at the High Saturday. This would be the last time we saw one another while under these circumstances. I hold her hand the entire way over. At the door, we stop. Before knocking, we look at one another. Then we embrace, as good friends parting for a time. We kiss, as lovers long past. There is a portion of me that does not want to let her go. I crush it without mercy - not only would that breaking the deal, but also act possessive. I refuse to act possessive.

Kira brushes the side of my face, smiling sadly at me. I nod with regret. Together, we knock on the door. It opens. We go inside.

Later, only I emerge. If I could, I would be crying. However, Kindred can only weep blood, and that would danger the Masquerade while in public. From this moment, Kira is no longer my ghoul. She's come into her own. Her voice, speaking my chosen name, whispering. It makes me want to spin around, kick the door open and run to her. I don't. Slowly, very slowly, I walk home. Liana was waiting. Losses are not traded, and special people keep special places in your heart - they cannot be occupied by others.

Pälvi is not there. I have brought my Childe to another apartment. You'd be surprised how many of them I own. Liana sits up, seemingly in relief that I'm back. I hold out my hands, smiling at her, beckoning her over. She comes, loyal and with grace. I do not need to tell her how I feel, as I am certain that she can see it on my face.

A knock on my door interrupts the moment. Mildly miffed, I go to answer, motioning for my Childe to keep out of sight. It is a young man, haggard and with torn clothes. Two short and curved swords are strapped to his back. Without an invitation, he walks in, shielding his eyes. I react by instinct, drawing on my Celerity and grabs him by the scruff of his neck. His skin is cold. With a shiver, the young man looks up at me. There is something in his eyes. Those big, pretty eyes...

Without really knowing why, I close the door - as much by routine as much as not wanting to cause a scene spilling out into the hallway - still holding the young man in a tight grip. He doesn't resist, but throws his gaze to the floor. I cast a glance at Liana, and pride swells within me as I see her baring her fangs, her face a grimace of gruesomeness, hands held in feral claws. My dear Childe, your instincts serve you well. I shake my head so she can see it. Clearly far from eased, she drops the attacking position, merely withdrawing to a guarded state of observation, trusting my judgement. Good. For a brief moment, I remind myself that I must go over the Traditions again.

I lead the young man to the couch, placing him in the middle. I myself sit down in the chair opposite him, giving a few subtle hand signals to Liana, letting her take her place by my left side, but standing, watching, glaring at the young man.

- Who are you, and what are you doing here?

- I'm Kristof. I was told to come.

- Told? By whom?

- The voices said I had to.

Oh. No. No, no, no. This changes what I had assumed would be a light interrogation completely. I can but sense the puzzlement coming from my still displeased Childe, carefully holding herself back from hurling herself at him, letting her inner Beast run free. Not tonight, though. Tonight, carefulness takes president.

- You're a Malkavian.

- Yes. Yes.

The young man - Kristof - twitches, rubbing his hands together nervously. Half of me enjoys watching him squirm, the other is running all the worst case scenarios I can think of at present.

- Where are you from?

- Turkey. 

I lean forward, slightly. If he interprets it as menacing or reassuringly, I cannot tell - but I know that he knows my intent in his mind. Damned Malkavians.

- You're a far way from home, Kristof.

- Home's across the sea.

And there's that dialect placed. Proper English, proper British, proper wherever he originally was from.

- Norfolk, Attleborough. Cannot go back. Can't cross the canal. Came here. Had to. The voices told me to. Nice voices. Helps me. Helps you.

By this point, I can tell without looking that Liana is greatly disturbed. I turn and smile at her, if nothing else to give the illusion of safety.

- You're not helping, Ma...

I snap back at him and jump over with Celerity speed, once more grabbing him by his throat, lifting the young man up, fangs bared, my full Presence activated. He goes limp in my grip. I leer angrily and hiss at him.

- You don't get to mention that name, even if you now know it. I'm Ravna, and Ravna only until I tell you otherwise. One more mistake like that, and I'm tempted to leave you with the Sheriff as a trespasser on my domain. Do I make myself clear?

At the back of my mind, I regret having to do this in front of Liana. Unfortunately, my reaction seems to trigger her own savagery, as I find a secondary set of hands at the young mans neck, holding him aloof alongside me. My fear vanishes and turns to pride - a reaction caused for the second time tonight by her. Good girl.

- Do I make myself clear?

This time, I speak in a softer voice, lower, dripping violence and superiority. The young man hasty nods his head in a rapid, jerking motion. I look over to Liana, and nods, slower and with more dominance in it. We lower him back down to the ground. Kristof doesn't sit.

- Sit down.

Now he does. An idea forms in my mind.

- Yes.

Damned Malkavians.

- Yes.

Get out of my head.

- I can't. So sorry.

At least don't pick up something important by random.

- You'll see Jürgen again. I'm sure he misses you, too.

I sigh, and head over to the kitchen area, opening the fridge and bring back three bloodpacks with me.

- You must be hungry. My Childe, I'll teach you how to suck the blood without spilling it, along with this stray.

They both appear perplexed.

- Now, the first tear must be carefully done, and it's better to make it small first....

We pass the evening, talking. Liana goes through the emotions: confused, scared, terrified, shaken, infuriated and grudgingly accepting. Myself, I swing between fear and practical matters. Where will he stay? How can I keep two at the same time? Will either of them be at use in Scotland? Questions are asked and answered. Three years this Caitiff traveled across Eastern Europe, being drawn by something he could not explain. The swords - or scimitars, as he calls them - are from a dig site in Turkey, where he, alongside his scholar mother, were on an expedition to uncover something of historical importance. Something rose from that grave. Something they should not have disturbed. Something that he cannot describe or name without shaking. Pity. I don't press the matter tonight.