VtM:B – a story. Not quite what I was expecting.

I’ve always wanted to see St. Petersburg. Not because of my lineage, not because of the Winter Palace, or maybe both of those add up with my want, too. Arriving at the docks, early at night, sneaking ashore was not part of how I imagined it.

Our first order of business was meeting the Prince.

Prince Nikolai of St. Petersburg. Brujah.

We don’t go on a sightseen tour, but head directly to his office. A medium sized, anonymous looking building. Instantly, I wonder if this used to be one retrofitted by the KGB.

The room is bare, if not barren. About ten other vampires are present. Big ones, musclemen, cracking fists and casting long looks at us. I’m suddenly aware on how we must look: a group of four females, all physically small, and one of us all wrapped up in a hood, hiding her face, with only a single male at our backs – and Rhys isn’t particular tall or bulky, either. I scold myself for being intimidated: that’s exactly why they are here, to put unease in us.

I stride forward, coming to a stop before a man that looks like he’s just stepped out of a factory from the 1800 century, and with the muscle to prove it. To his left stands a small woman, the only other woman in the room (besides myself and those of my delegation), observing me. She’s wearing an old army coat, possible one from the Russian Revolution (no red or white, but my gut tells me it would be the former). She must be the Sheriff.

I present a smile before curtsying deeply, and respectfully. Kira steps up to my side, ready to translate. It is time to be the diplomat.

“Mighty Prince Nikolai. I am a stranger to this land, and therefore, I ask forgiveness if I offend you or yours with my words. My name is Ravna, of I am of the Toreador clan. I come on behalf of Prince Jean-Baptist in Copenhagen. These are my companions: Kira, Rhys, Eir, and she whom we call the Lasombra.”

(Oh, gods, please don’t say I’ve made a huge mistake!)

I pause for every sentence, letting Kira translate. When she’s done speaking, I look for a reaction. Prince Nikolai doesn’t even bat an eyelash. Not sure if this is good or bad, I continue.

“We ask permission to hunt within your domain, as we have come a long way, and would appreciate something fresh. You have my word that we will not leave behind a single dead from our slaking of the thirst.”

At this, the female uttered a single word in English, despite the Prince having shown no visible sign: “No.”

It almost surprised me.

“Of course, we will stay on our ship (here I could hear the mental groans of Eir and Rhys – I don’t think the Lasombra really cared about her quarters that much – as I spoke the words), and harm not a hair of a single mortal under your control, should that be your desire. Though, of course, I will have to give a full report back to my Prince, and lack of hospitality can swing both ways.”

At this not so hidden threat, Rhys becomes very still. I could tell he was waiting for weapons to be drawn.

“However, there is no need to be crude, or even inhospitable towards one another. We are but four vampires (and one ghoul, I silently add), seeking only the juices of your great city. I could go on about how I have longed to see St. Petersburg, but I would not – at this point, it seems hardly without a hidden agenda, or even a covered lie.”

I took a step forward. Everybody in the room tensed, except for the Sheriff and Prince Nikolai himself. Boldly I rode the rising courage.

“Prince Nikolai. You are obviously a very powerful Kindred, and by all means, older than I am. Clearly, having achieved the title of Prince within the Camarilla is impressive. Now, I am, according to my Sire, of the twelfth generation – I take the liberty of presuming that you are of one far lower than I am. However, I’ve only been part of Kindred society, and a very secluded part of Kindred society, for three years. You have a domain to run, and thus you have to trust in others. I, have a mere apartment – a single space, a room, not much larger than the one we’re standing in, as my domain. I have a single ghoul. I struggle with languages. I do not know your ways.”

Here I did a dramatic pause.

“But I was chosen for this mission.”

This second dramatic pause I looked around the room, meeting as many eyes as I could. Unsurprisingly, there were only a few pairs that stared back at me.

“Prince Nikolai. I do not hold to your rank, your obligation, and your level of dominance. Therefore, I know not what matters are on your mind. But I know, that we are both of the Camarilla, and that the world is changing – sometimes faster than we would like.”

At this time, I rise my voice, swept into the moment, not pausing for Kira to have the time to translate for me.

“St. Petersburg is of the Camarilla. I am of the Camarilla. True, we do not share clans, generation, or respect. You do not know me, and I do not know you. What reason do we have to trust one another? I tell you – for the enemies of the Camarilla would benefit of our mistrust. If you care not for my good will, or the goodwill of my Prince, then care about this: In time, I can become a powerful ally of you and your people, Prince Nikolai. I hold no clan above another, for as long as they are a member of the Camarilla, they are within the power structure.“

I know Rhys is listening intently in the back.

“A strong Camarilla is the only way to keep surviving. If we divide, our enemies will fall upon us like flames."

At long last, the Sheriff finally speaks: “You have permission to use one of our havens. Blood dolls will be provided for you, so there would be no need to hunt. Do you possess other needs?”

Quickly, I think on my feet.

“Yes. I would ask a shooting range, two coffins – fit for a person in power (I deliberately do not use the word “noble” – because Russia and Brujah) – a guide to the city, and rooms enough for each of my team. Also, the nature of the blood dolls would have to be discussed in advance. Are these additions acceptable?”

Nikolai grunts. It is the first sound I have heard him utter. It is deep, and it shocks me to my very core.

The Sheriff folds her arms across her chest.

“You may be a spoiled child, Toreador (not my name, but clan generalization – means I’m not a person, but a typical member of my bloodline), and greedy. You shall have two rooms: one for yourself, and one for your crew. What specifics does your Ventrue acquire?”

The silence goes on for a moment.

“Ah, you do not know. Pity.”

I take a wild chance and speaks up, ignoring the gleeful spite.

“I am not a Ventrue myself, and you know that to offer such information gives away the mysteries of the blood. However, bring your best and noblest of stock to me, and I shall judge them myself.”

The Sheriff snorts.

“You have our permission to depart, once your mission is over. Follow Lev Pavlov (please don’t be a Nosferatu, please don’t be a Nosferatu) to our guest haven. He will answer all your questions and inquiries. Do not consider yourselves unwelcome, child of Arikel (Ishtar! Her name is ISHTHAR!), but be grateful for the time shown to you. As for any requests, Lev will contact us if needed.”

Damn. Stuck in a single place, with little room to maneuver, and no coffins mentioned.

“How many of your team sleep in the old fashion way?”

“Two: myself and one more.”

“Then we will provide proper accommodations to the haven.”

And with that, the audience is over.

I’m left to wonder just exactly what “proper accommodations” means as we’re escorted out. It better be a coffin, or that would be Lev's first order of business.