Updated: 21 december 1998
Morceaux Choisis:
Cath's meeting with Elle
In the night, there is a very distinct feeling that makes the difference between those living under the sun and those walking with the moonlight. At least, this is how Mortals see their own existence. In France it is said that in the night, all the cats are the same color. And it is true: With the darkness, the fauna who walk down the streets, haunt the nightclubs, dance and disappear... They are all the same, whole. In one word, the night isn't only in its shadow, but also within the souls of those living in it.
Here, in Paris, this is night...
Night is an eternity of darkness, of pretence hiddin within the shadows of the heart of every person: From the insignificant carjacker to the most exceptional being susceptible to have been met... And loved.
This was the nightly ascertainment of the veiled unknown woman. tall, and slender, perhaps even frail, with one of those long dresses only rare huntresses had the classe and style enough to wear it with such easiness. The veil still let us contemplate her delicate features. Her mouth. Her skin... Her skin which made the silk of her dress appear pale in comparison. And the silk was of a rare quality. The word that would describe her better was the word ''Fascinating''.
The hunt had attracted Elle only by sheer necessity. The first years after her Embrace have been quite... particular as she spent years experimenting the pleasures an immortal can find in the mortal society. But with time, she aquired a strange philosophy of existence, where a seemingly unlimited number of emotions were mixed up enough not to become a source of preoccupation or questionning.
If this kind of thing was unavoidable, how to appear careless with enough sincerity to be believed? After all, her whole existence wasn't built on her appearance only? The appearance of a creature, in the same time perverse and careless, like a child. Childhood and cruelty was, for Elle, two faces of the same coin. With the time, she had become, to the eyes of others, at least, the careless woman she sometimes envied.
For Elle, Childer of one of the most powerful Elder still in activity in this world, chosen by a man who was beyond her own understanding, a man she loved, carelessness would have been a benediction. It would have been another, sweet death. The death of neverending questions...
''Who is she?...''
Removed from her meditating by a vision: Her hair as black as her own could be blonde, as feline as she was herself...
''Kindred? Yes...''
Just before entering, Catherine doubted. The Hunger was still far, almost unfelt --if such thing could be told about the Hunger. Why here? The place could only be the guarded hunting territory of some ''high level hunter''. The Bâtarde realized that, while she had stopped to consider her action, her gaze running in the classically furnished room, she had become the center of interest of most of the people around her.
She felt a kind of uneasiness, a kind of predatory survival instinct when she entered.
''Was it a good idea?... I wonder''
The only thing that attracted her gaze now: A beauty, and so a rival. Too much beautiful to be only a... Woman.
''Et In Aracadia, ego(sum)'' She whispered to herself.
Effectively, Death was prowling here, too... Death with the delicate features of a modern godess.
''Toreador? Toreador...''
The woman was really, really beautiful: Everything in her was sensuality. And she attracted her...
''She saw me, and she hesitate.'' Elle thought. Surprised, the Childe of the Prince looked around her: Would she loose the attention of her audience?
She thought at the irony of the situation: Only in the rivalty does the insignificant become source of concern.
''Does she know who I am?'' The unknown woman was looking at her, with amusing naiveté. Her style lacked the reffinement that would have enabled her to observe a Toreador without being seen.
''Beautiful. Young... But not really inexperimented. She's not of the Clan of the Blue Bloods, nor Malkavian... Gangrel? Tremere...''
Then, from far away, a sentence came to her mind: Et in Arcadia... Ego. ''Does she talk about me?''.
Catherine realized that her intrusion within the possible domain of a Cainite could well lead to problems. The other was looking at her, perhaps she even read her mind. Now was the moment to go away, or go to her...
The first solution didn't suit her. She went to the table, and saw no sign in the behaviour of the beaufitul woman that could be understood as a refusal.
Near, she was magnifiscient, beyond mortal words. She must already have been beautiful while mortal... ''Worthy of a Prince'' she thought.
Elle was awed. Her beauty was almost perfect. So perfect it overwhelmed her with an ''aesthetic emotion'' that made her, if only for a minute, forget about the nature of the creature near her. She decided to act. Smiling, she said:
''Bonsoir. I am Elle. I wish you welcome in the Club Elyséum.''
Elle?! The Childe of Villon! One of the most influencial Kindred of the City of Light, if not of France...
''I thank you for your... Hospitality. My name is Catherine...''
The two were now walking to a more intimate part of the place. First Elle, and following just behind, Catherine.
''Do you know who I am?''
''You are... Worthy of a Prince.''
Elle turned to look the beauty. This girl reminded her of something... She was at the New Year Celebration... Her flirt with Arnaud... Her strange relation with Alexis... Yes, a pawn of the beloved Alexis...
''You're right. I am L'Aimée de Villon, Sixth Generation of the Clan Toreador. The Elyséum is a privilegied place for me. But I know how to appreciate the company of all the Children of the Night. Even the Gueuses...
Catherine's feature darkened.
''Don't worry. I'm not Ivan. Nor the Don Juan-like Lazlo. I have nothing against those of your condition.''
They sat down. A man appeared.
''Two drinks, S'il vous plaît.''
The man came back minutes after, with two cocktails with attractive colors. Catherine was lost in her thoughts. It was difficult not to look at Elle's eyes. She would have liked to touch her...
I'm honored to be invited by someone as... important as you. But won't it feed the Cour with rumours?''
''Can't I meet the people I want to? Or must I submit myself to some petty rule which with its like, seem to have been created just to be boring? I will tell you something Catherine the Bâtarde Queen of Beauty, I like to be the the subject of rumours... Don't you?''
Catherine's eyes lost themselves in the blood red liquid in the glass, then answered, with a sensual smile.
''I like to choose the one who will talk about me. It's a luxury I reserve only to me.''
''It's liberty, not luxury. Do you like the Italian School?'' Catherine's reaction was almost invisible. She had to react to the masked allusion to Elle's knowledge of what she thought. She had been careless...
''I avoid it whenever I can. What I prefer to see, when I visit the Louvre, is the french paintings: Poussin and his HEllenistiques are very enlightening...''
She thinks fast, thought Elle, who started to understand the interest of Alexis for her. She continued:
''Yes, of course, he will remain an example for us all. His pictural lessons are of a rare precision...''
Isn't it a strange situdation, indeed? Thought Catherine. I'm in front of one of the most powerful Elder of Paris, and the first think we talk about is moralising painting. I don't like to be tested, but I must say I like her company...
''How much alike we are, you and I, catherine...'' The smile on her lips was almost comical.
''Aah? I would have thought some kind of impassable--''
''We have, you and I, the same suppressed desire for freedom. For one, it's the freedom of action, and for the other the freedom of speech... It's why I say we are so alike.''
Catherine's reaction was a malicious mix of incomprehension and irony. This behaviour was dangerous when in front of one of the most deadly Harpie of Paris.
''What? The beloved of Villon prisonner of her privileges? Oh please, excuse me and tell me what I can do to relieve you from their weight...''
Elle smiled at the insolence. No one had talked to her such a way since a long, very long time. She had to know what she risked with such games... Or was she simply unconscerned?
''Your Esprit is dangerous. You can't be so naive you did not understand it, can you?
Did she hurt the Childe of the Prince? Or was it another test? Cath choose to tell the truth... Or part of it.
''I don't care about something I'm not afraid anymore to loose... Tell me, what do I risk, beside offending someone?''
''I'm not offended, not the least!''
Elle's soul froze. She had been too fast. Her voice wavered: She would lose an Esprit against Catherine! But the Bâtarde didn't react. Then Elle understood: She was serious! There wasn't any desired trap in her last sentence. No trick. Elle had not be defeated by a Kindred, but by simple honesty. Elle, Elder of the Sixth Generation, Childer of Villon, Prince of Paris and France, home to the Clan Toreador, wasn't anymore in the mood to play and destroy lesser game with her sharpened Esprit. Catherine had shown another virtue. Her worth had increased tenfold. The Harpie felt a great ennui.
Catherine Saw the change in Elle: Somehow, her beauty changed of nature. Her features seemed to convey another kind of emotions. Human and true emotion... The pariah now felt the deep energy emanating from Elle. She seemed to be the Kindred the more ''alive'' she had even met. One question remained without answer: How someone with such fragile psychee could have maintained an apperance of cold cunning and superficiality?
Still, Catherine remained on the defensive. Elle had succeeded in reading her mind, and perhaps she could do it again. Such thoughts, no matter their truth, could still doom her. Perhaps, she thought, Elle would use her infamous intrigue talents to bury her under the contempt of the other Cainites. Her mental smile disappeared when she thought about becoming the center of attention of sadistic and bored Elders...
Elle understood Catherine. She had quite clear beliefs about the Kindred, and she was right. How many Neonates she had destroyed with but a word? Ten? hundreds?
The exact number wasn't important anymore. Does the need to hurt someone else would become to her as natural as the need to feed? Is that another, more stealthy, manifestation of the Beast? And if it was, would she find, somewhere in the dark corners of her mind, a thought that she could consider as a remorse? The feel remorse was to be still among the humans.
Catherine was seeing the features of Elle becomind colder, harder. As if life itself was fleeing from her. Strange, she thought, to be together, but in the same time, to be so alone... The bitterness of Elle was affecting her, too. She was thinking of her friends... Of everything, and everyone she had lost.
For just a second, she believed it was another kind of power she didin't know. But it was too diffuse, it was so... personnal...
As is Elle could hear her, she smiled.
''Yes, we're alone... It's our curse...''
(To be Continued.)
French Text: Yannick ''Guilty Warlock'' S..
Translation: Raoul ''Violence'' Borges.
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