Another Round (McKay) - Dragon's Lair

The large Brujah sat up a bit more straight.

Dot. Dot. Dot.

His eyes narrowed.

"Come again?"

He managed to not be gritting his teeth when he said it. He wasn't angry. The fact was, his emotions had just gone into a fast-rolling turmoil.

"She knew the truth of her clan's inception and was offered the same choice you are presented now. She shared many of the virtues that were misinterpreted of her then-parent's lineage, just as you show of your parent-clan's lineage, albiet much lessened in number. She does still want to speak with you, Mister McKay, and wishes things did not have to be as abrupt as they were. Unfortunately, the option to stage her false demise had a very small window to utilize, and concluding relations would have endangered her new identity. But, such a meeting could be arranged for."

Dot. Dot. Freaking. Dot.

"That ain't funny," he said quietly. He wasn't angry -- but he was certainly both skeptical, and now, very wary. The mention of Griselda had him interested, but to say things like that -- to insinuate that she wasn't dead, and the things the Fiend before him described was impossible -- it was cruel. Just cruel.

And still, the even toned voice without being raised once in the conversation thus far.

"It is no jest or falsehood, Mister McKay."

He didn't take his eyes away from the Tzimisce. But he was clearly unhappy. "Why would ya do that? Throw her in my face like that?" He was honestly curious. It was cruel, and the thought -- and words -- cut him like a knife. He wasn't going to lose his temper, because truly, he wasn't angry. But the more the thought seemed to drift between the two Kindred, the more sad-- and hurt-- he grew.

"To emphasize two points. The first being the validity of my offers. The second being to show the faults in relying on emotions rather than goals and opinions." With each, he opened one hand atop the table, as an alternate take on numbering each with an extended finger.

He shook his head. "Havin' emotions an' feelin' things aren't really a detriment unless one actually does let them lead to impulse. For fuck's sake -- pardon my language -- I ain't Alex Rourke. I can feel things just fine an' still complete goals an' think with a level head. To tha first point, though, I don't see her 'round here, so while you're offerin' it up as proof, no offense, but it ain't provin' anythin' ta me, other than tha fact that ya seem ta want ta toy with me a little bit."

He smiled, seemingly for McKay's benefit. "And that understanding of emotions is the precise reason why you are so fitting an individual for reintegration to Brujah's lineage. As for the former Miss Mackenzie's present location, do understand Mister McKay, Tzimisce's line have been known as Shapers since the Eldest's embrace. Shapers of land, shapers of flesh, and every possibility in between. She will not appear as she did before as that would draw the attention of the very insular clan she sought to escape from."

His brow rose. "I'm well aware of that. But I'm only seein' me an' you here, which is tha point. I owe that woman a lot, an' she knows, as well as anybody else, I wouldn't do anythin' ta get her in trouble with tha Tremere. Which is why I'm so damned skeptical. Like, I'm not tryin' ta offend or anythin', but ya gotta see where I'm comin' from. What you're sayin' sounds nice an' all, but I ain't ever heard of it bein' done, and most of tha things I've learned in my time says it can't be done. I appreciate tha vote of confidence ta my ability ta keep my emotions under control, but I'm also aware that if somethin' seems too good ta be true, it usually is. Now ya tell me that she ain't appearin' right because of worryin' about tha Tremere, an' I get that, but she knew me better'n that."

He nodded, hands clasping together as he tapped stolen knowledge to create a phone in between his hands, tapping the same knowledge to connect it to a network. A series of numbers were entered before he hit the Call button, dialing the direct number to the individual who now was called Mihaela.

The phone was answered on the second ring. She always answered quickly on the family party line.

"Good evening, Father."

Fluid Romanian slipping from her tongue. Since really, an 'unknown caller' on her phone was always Father.

Unexpectedly, for her, he answered in plain english, pressing another button as he set it on the table before him, allowing the conversation to be heard by the three around the table ... one having quietly excused himself at some undetermined point through the talks. Probably when McKay started history-lessons of the Brujah.

"Good evening, Mihaela. We have a guest tonight who doubts the survival of Griselda Mackenzie."

He spoke in English. That was weird. Very weird. But since he answered her in English, she answered in English back to him.

"Who?"

Because that was important.

He didn't say a word. Not one word. This was obviously the Tzimisce's show. But his jaw steeled and his face grew a little more grim. Unamused Brujah was unamused.

"James McKay, of Troile's Lineage."

There was a pause. Brief, but distinct.

"And you wish me to... ?"

"I would like something brief said that Mister McKay knows that only he and Miss Mackenzie woud share between them, to assuage his questions of your survival."

There was another pause. Not the pause of concentration, a pause of hesitation.

"'Most people who know about our kind wouldn't guess we get most of our ideas from 'Simpson's' episodes.'"

It was a quote, probably one that even 'Anton' didn't know about. It was inconsequential and insignificant, with no bearing on anything at all.

They had his attention. Which could have been both good and bad. He ran a hand through his hair after a moment. "Dominate's a bitch, hon." Then he looked back at the Tzimisce. "No offense."

She paused and sighed.

"James, what would be the point of a Dominate command about that? It was a while ago, and extremely insignificant."

He leand back in his chair. "Hell if I know, but it seems that ya had this whole thing set up right nice. I ain't tryin' ta be a bitch or anything, but y'all had ta know I wasn't gonna bite. I ain't an idiot."

A beat.

"An' tha name's Jim."

There was a pause. Old habits really did die hard.

"Oh, stop it. I've never called you Jim, not once, in your entire life. Not even when you stuck a crossbow bolt in my forehead for calling you James. And stop being a twit, there's no point in lying to you about it, because duh, Big Daddy, if he really wanted you to do whatever he wanted, he'd just Dominate you."

A pause.

"My apologies, Father."

She didn't sound sorry at all.

They died really, really hard.

"Oh, stop it with that 'Big Daddy' shit, already. It's been two hundred years."

"Seems like yesterday."

"Bitch."