09-27-2013, 11:57 AM
Bertram thinks that William will be forced to kill his creations. Leave it to a Brujah to think in such unsubtle terms. He's not entirely wrong, the smell of death will soon fill this underground basilica to Caine, but just as when Vee and Flood and William hunted down that second wolf, this is not about mere death, this is not about simple brutality. Like a pie, there are layers. Subtleties. Messy, bloody, delicious subtleties.
Vee watches, chin lifted, lids lowered over those glacial eyes, the figure of a fallen angel in a church to those fallen from God's grace. There is a nod, so slight it is nearly imperceptible, of approval as Ioana melds together the forms that William changed so crudely and imperfectly. Not that the Cardinal needs the approval of a mere neonate, but it is there regardless. Not for the skill, which is to be expected, but for what is so obviously about to come.
There is a moment, as Vee accepts the rod just before this Tzimisce fiend places it to the fire to warm and heat and fill it with fire, that Vee pauses. Not in the lighting of the brand, but while, so that it burns a little hotter, perhaps even begins to glow. No, Vee pauses when William snarls, when he lunges toward the throat of the male figure. The look that covers that terribly angelic visage is not one of worry, or concern.
It's disappointment. It's, Hm, I thought you were better than this. Never mind the fight, the battles of wills, the painstaking care he took in creating his little works of art so like a child's fingerpaints in skill (but looked on with no less pride than an actual parent). Vee thought that William could stand up to this, and more. Ah well, in time, he will learn. Vee will mold and craft William into something better and greater than he is currently, something better and greater than he could have ever hoped to be in his mortal life. Because, though Vee may have a moment of disappointment, there is still that confidence, that absolute faith that William will make it through this trial and come out the other side. He will stand by his sire's side.
Whadda I gotta do?
Vee answers first. A smile curling those ethereal features, the fiend says to the childe.
"Simple." Like it might actually be as simple a thing as Bertram thinks. "Find the fire in your blood. Wield it against the chains of your mortal past. And come to stand beside me."
Then Vee looks to Ioana, expectant and unafraid, but waiting. Sire and childe will complete this ritual together, under the benevolent (hah!) gaze of their Cardinal.
Vee watches, chin lifted, lids lowered over those glacial eyes, the figure of a fallen angel in a church to those fallen from God's grace. There is a nod, so slight it is nearly imperceptible, of approval as Ioana melds together the forms that William changed so crudely and imperfectly. Not that the Cardinal needs the approval of a mere neonate, but it is there regardless. Not for the skill, which is to be expected, but for what is so obviously about to come.
There is a moment, as Vee accepts the rod just before this Tzimisce fiend places it to the fire to warm and heat and fill it with fire, that Vee pauses. Not in the lighting of the brand, but while, so that it burns a little hotter, perhaps even begins to glow. No, Vee pauses when William snarls, when he lunges toward the throat of the male figure. The look that covers that terribly angelic visage is not one of worry, or concern.
It's disappointment. It's, Hm, I thought you were better than this. Never mind the fight, the battles of wills, the painstaking care he took in creating his little works of art so like a child's fingerpaints in skill (but looked on with no less pride than an actual parent). Vee thought that William could stand up to this, and more. Ah well, in time, he will learn. Vee will mold and craft William into something better and greater than he is currently, something better and greater than he could have ever hoped to be in his mortal life. Because, though Vee may have a moment of disappointment, there is still that confidence, that absolute faith that William will make it through this trial and come out the other side. He will stand by his sire's side.
Whadda I gotta do?
Vee answers first. A smile curling those ethereal features, the fiend says to the childe.
"Simple." Like it might actually be as simple a thing as Bertram thinks. "Find the fire in your blood. Wield it against the chains of your mortal past. And come to stand beside me."
Then Vee looks to Ioana, expectant and unafraid, but waiting. Sire and childe will complete this ritual together, under the benevolent (hah!) gaze of their Cardinal.