All things considered, the trip to the Falner Estate makes Mason realize how desperately the Kindred cling to their inner mundies. There was, after all, that old saying: "When you receive the Dark Gift, you become more of what you were in life."
He was expecting an elite Netsach hit squad armed to the teeth, blowing through his Invictus guards like wet tissue paper. Instead he had been greeted by a smile and a Spaniard: the famous Golden Hand, her equally-esteemed husband and the former's Ordo Dracul escorts, who had of all things managed to engage his assembled courtiers in some witty repartee. With the violence of the past month he was expecting Detroit's Kindred to put up a fight at the first sign that he was leaving, but what transpired seemed more like he was a tired CEO being dragged off to a much-needed vacation—all smiles, goodbyes and well-wishes. He had come to expect a team of mages ready with a portal to take him straight to the fabled Haven, but the entire group simply took a flight back to Manila with him in tow.
He distinctly remembers wondering if the woman who had strutted into his audience chamber really was the Golden Hand he'd heard so much about. His eyes told him that she was eighteen; the Beast inside told him that she was roughly twice his age in 'vampire years'. The dead told tales of how she could singlehandedly kill an entire Belial's Brood coven with her eyelashes or how one snap of her fingers could force the vitae out of your veins, all at once. Some even believed that simply saying her name would bring Ordo Daywalker down on your haven like the proverbial hammer driving a stake through a heart.
The Inquisitor who had flown him across the world proved to be none of this; truth be told, she seemed more like that favorite aunt who's always ready with a peck on the forehead and a hug when you scrape your knees.
He takes in the sights of the Estate: The hover trams, the old-school architecture alongside Fourth World innovations, the people. Oh, the people!
A vampire's first impulse upon arrival is always to size up potential prey and other predators upon arrival, but nothing in his 'education' as a prince had prepared Mason for the sight of so many different mundies and supernaturals in one place. Though the Veil had been lifted decades ago and supernaturals were part of a kid's schooling these days, Detroit's prince had seen none of that during his mortal life and only other Kindred in his first month among the dead. His head would be spinning if he was still biologically capable of being dizzy.
After a month of the boot-licking and throne-sitting, here he stands thinking that in the end, he really is just a petty thief who by happenstance picked the biggest pocket of them all.
Mason Turner, Option 1, Open
He was expecting an elite Netsach hit squad armed to the teeth, blowing through his Invictus guards like wet tissue paper. Instead he had been greeted by a smile and a Spaniard: the famous Golden Hand, her equally-esteemed husband and the former's Ordo Dracul escorts, who had of all things managed to engage his assembled courtiers in some witty repartee. With the violence of the past month he was expecting Detroit's Kindred to put up a fight at the first sign that he was leaving, but what transpired seemed more like he was a tired CEO being dragged off to a much-needed vacation—all smiles, goodbyes and well-wishes. He had come to expect a team of mages ready with a portal to take him straight to the fabled Haven, but the entire group simply took a flight back to Manila with him in tow.
He distinctly remembers wondering if the woman who had strutted into his audience chamber really was the Golden Hand he'd heard so much about. His eyes told him that she was eighteen; the Beast inside told him that she was roughly twice his age in 'vampire years'. The dead told tales of how she could singlehandedly kill an entire Belial's Brood coven with her eyelashes or how one snap of her fingers could force the vitae out of your veins, all at once. Some even believed that simply saying her name would bring Ordo Daywalker down on your haven like the proverbial hammer driving a stake through a heart.
The Inquisitor who had flown him across the world proved to be none of this; truth be told, she seemed more like that favorite aunt who's always ready with a peck on the forehead and a hug when you scrape your knees.
He takes in the sights of the Estate: The hover trams, the old-school architecture alongside Fourth World innovations, the people. Oh, the people!
A vampire's first impulse upon arrival is always to size up potential prey and other predators upon arrival, but nothing in his 'education' as a prince had prepared Mason for the sight of so many different mundies and supernaturals in one place. Though the Veil had been lifted decades ago and supernaturals were part of a kid's schooling these days, Detroit's prince had seen none of that during his mortal life and only other Kindred in his first month among the dead. His head would be spinning if he was still biologically capable of being dizzy.
After a month of the boot-licking and throne-sitting, here he stands thinking that in the end, he really is just a petty thief who by happenstance picked the biggest pocket of them all.