Stone work and works of stone

Sy having fed earlier in the evening made his way once again to the library. His intent to discuss recent events was only outweighed by trying to get a better understanding of his coterie members.

Making his way inside after giving a nod of respect to Nina as he passed by, he found himself in a section of the building he’d not been to before; which granted wasn’t saying much as he’d not been here often, but the point remained-he was a bit out of his element.

Thankfully he didn’t have to wait long until his intended party made himself known. He gave a bow to the man before him. “Good evening Mr. Snout. I hoped you might be able to assist me in planning and strategizing for the future somewhat but first...-help me understand a few things.”

Tom was in the sculpture gallery. Though there were many statues set back into alcoves, Tom was fixated by a particular piece: the gargoyle was looking at a small, bronze statue that seemed to portray a scantily-clad woman with her head tilted back, face up. The small plaque next to it read ‘Sun Worshipper, Florence Wyle, 1918,’ with a tiny addendum: ‘on loan from the National Gallery of Canada.’

Tom turned as he heard the footsteps of the visitor, but said nothing as the Brujah spoke his piece. A quirk of curiosity stole across his monstrous face.

“I will help as I can, that’s what friends are for. What do you want to know?”

The brujah planted his cane gently on the ground to brace himself as he leaned forward slightly. “I must admit-she’s lovely. I don’t normally go for brunettes but she’s rather easy on the eyes. There’s an air of mystery on her.” Gesturing towards the statue.

He clears his head as he says, “I’d also like to say I’m a bit envious of your aerial ability. You seem a natural at it. I don’t fully understand how aero-planes stay aloft outside of some sort of mechanical magic but I suppose in a way that mysterious allure applies to you as well.”

Sy then says, “But what I hope to understand further tonight is your gift to the prince at the ball. Of those offered yours intrigued me the most, which...given what was offered is saying something. But it’s not necessarily by what it said but rather how you view your gift and the prince in light of our deeds afterwards. I don’t judge you for your actions, but I am curious.”

Tom waved his claw vaguely. “Oh, I don’t know about that, it’s hardly magic- lift is the same on a plane’s wing as it is with a bird, best as I can tell. The only real difference is a bird pushes itself through the air, while your average Jenny prop pulls herself… if she can’t do that, she’s headed towards the ground...” The gargoyle’s eyes were searching the grout work on the floor, and for a moment his expression was clouded by a look of deep concern.

He looked up at the visitor. “As for my gift, I have been considering it myself.” He cast a glance over Sy’s shoulder and nodded. “I think Nina is too nice to say anything. My decision made sense… at the time.”
Tom looked back at the statuette of the Sun Worshipper.

"I offered a boon. That is our currency in the society of the night, if I am not mistaken." Tom’s face broke into a grim, fanged grin and he tapped his own chest. "I am not exactly a man of means, Sy. I have my hands and my wings, and that is about it.”

“But when I saw those sad, strange people bound on their little plinths- in some ways I feel like I have more in common with those folk than with the other Kindred.” The winged creature stood motionless, save for the slow, nervous sweep of his vaguely reptilian tail.

“When the fire broke out I knew I had to act. It’s as simple as that.” The gargoyle was not tall, although his curving wings added to the illusion of height. His horned head swung back around to look at the Brujah. His voice was cool, neither friendly nor menacing.

“Do you regret helping us?”

As Tom spoke about planes Sy lit up.
“I knew you were a gear head like me!”

Sy listened attentively as Tom explained his understanding of the nightly world.
“Favors or offers of assistance do appear to be taken as something worthwhile. It evidently seems to be a thing with other supernatural oddities too.” He pauses, “Nothing wrong about becoming a self made man.”

When asked his question Sy shook his head. “Not even a little. Given the same situation I wouldn’t change a thing. I doubt our motives for answering such a call to action were identical but-to answer you, No. I decided awhile back to live my life free of regret.”

Sy looked down to his chest, “...Though I do have mixed feelings about the response given by lady after.”

He looked back up to Tom. “Do you still intend to serve the princess?”

Tom studied the other man, and when he eventually replied, his words were slow and measured. "I intend to keep my word, if that is what you are asking."

"I may have helped free the fairy folk, but my sire and I still owe a debt of gratitude to the Camarilla. The Sheriff and the Prince are the ones who broke the power of the Tremere. It is only right that I attempt to repay that debt." The gargoyle clapped a hard, cold hand on Sy's shoulder, but his eyes were smiling. "Which reminds me, thank you for springing into action back at the Ashen Ball. I would not have been successful if not for you and Nick's quick action."

"As for whether I still serve the Prince... I find that an unexpected question- although I can't help but note the derision in your voice." Tom drew back, his face a mask of concern.

"Sy. Why do you call her Princess? I doubt you would do so to Bianca's face."

The brujah waves off Tom’s gratitude as he says, “Please don’t. My efforts there aren’t worth any admiration. I simply followed your lead. You acted on noble motives, while my own were far less pure.”

When the gargoyle asks him about how he referred to Bianca, Sy looks to the Sun Worshipper statue in front of him and sighs. “Oh but I WOULD call her this to her face: unashamedly, loudly and clearly. And my reasons for this are many. She has earned every bit of my derision and disrespect.”

He turns to face Tom. “Ever since being introduced to this nightclub of the rose, there has been one entity above all others that demanded my fealty-without proving such a demand was warranted or earned: Bianca Tournabuoni.”

He held up his left hand index finger, “Our first outing as a group she had us sent to pick up her meal. She deemed us so unworthy and beneath her that she didn’t even bother to ask us herself. Fine-we’re newbies, we get the unwanted jobs but still-rude to say the least...yet this was no mere milk errand, but an event that was a literal life threatening situation in which even more experienced kindred would have found difficult to walk away from. What else am I left to conclude but that she either wants us dead or she doesn’t care? But fine-write it off as a one time mistake.”

He holds up his second finger. His words and manner slightly reminiscent of a debate, “Next we were told to do another errand-go get drinks for the party. We did this in an unexpected manner, but I have learned now that had we not done things our own way, and grabbed the stuff as expected we would have also found ourselves in another battle and likely dead. This is twice...twice the supposed rulers and protector of this city has arranged for us to enter life threatening situations with no support. But sure-lets go ahead and chalk this up to coincidence or breakdown in communication. Benefit of the doubt-maybe the Sheriff didn’t communicate with the Prince.”

Sy then holds up his third finger. His tone was cool but his words were sharp and crisp. “We warned the Sheriff of the threat posed by Flick. There can be no doubt about that. But there was no action taken on our warning. They ignored the intelligence we provided. Another error in judgment? Okay...”

He holds up his fourth finger, concern in his voice raising steadily, “But not only did they ignore our warning-she ignored a direct challenge to her rule. Capone called her out. He challenged her. All booze shipments belong to him; failure to comply would result in death. Flick-the guy with speech issues was crystal clear on that. She gave no response.”

Sy then holds up his last digit, a little more energy in his tone and mannerisms than maybe needed. “You want to ignore or disregard everything else and the pattern beginning to emerge, so be it...but for me-the ball was the final nail in the coffin. She demanded we bring her gifts-to symbolize our obedience and respect and loyalty to her. All of which from my point of view...she still hasn’t earned. But I did as asked. I brought something-call it my olive branch...and How was that answered? She left them on the floor untouched barely looked at. A couple of the gifts were even mocked-yours included. But worse still, as soon as trouble started...(by the guy we warned her about that she didn’t do anything about), her response was to abandon not just us-but nearly every kindred in the city. She barked out an order and then fled and left others to face the flames and do her job.”

Sy grits his teeth and tapped his cane firmly to emphasize his points, “You don’t abandon your post to save your self. You don’t surrender your duty because it’s inconvenient. And you never leave a man behind...she not only left one-she left her whole city’s worth of loyal servants to fend for themselves. She is supposed to be a big time war general. She knows better.”

Sy shakes his head, “A prince is sworn to defend and protect their kingdom and its people-in return the people agree to pay fealty and give their services to their protector. This contract is essentially the backbone of the Camarilla. I held up my end of this. She violated and breached that contract. You swore allegiance to the Camarilla; not to her. Hence why I ask-do you choose to still honor your word and serve her when she violates the very essence of the Camarilla you claim to owe a debt to?”

Tom listened to the Brujah's frenetic speech. About halfway through he began pacing the gallery restlessly. Sy finished, and Tom kept pacing. The monstrous kindred’s gaze ceased to wander about the sculptures and was now fixated on his visitor.  

"I‘m not as, uh, vociferous as you, Mr. Cravenhill. But suffice to say that I don’t share your view of things. Chicago is a messy, bloody place- for everyone. Kindred and kine. What happened at the Ashen Ball was the opening shot in a war, I think. Everything that came before was posturing and cheap talk.”

Sy realized that Tom wasn’t pacing so much as circling. The garoyle’s mien grew so cold as to be menacing.  

“In response to that challenge, you would have us behead our own organization for supposed weakness? No. No, I don’t think so.” The gargoyle’s arms were long, and his loping movements were like those of a demented pastiche of ape and bat.  

“You say the warning signs were there, and that the powers that be did not act quickly or decisively in preventing our enemies from striking at us. Well, as I said: talk is cheap. If you think you can do better at taking the fight to the Outfit, so be it. Come up with a plan for humbling Flick and his goons. I’d be happy to help. But I will not oppose or undermine the Camarilla, not in the ways you describe.” Tom stopped just behind Sy, positioning himself near the gallery exit.

“And I will not lay the blame down at Lara or Bianca’s feet. Was there another matter you cared to discuss? Or should I show you to the door?”

Sy shakes his head, his tone much more calm and his movement slowed, “I don’t claim that Bianca or for that matter anyone can prevent harm-that’s a tall order. But I do hold that a leader has responsibilities to those under their care-especially in emergencies. Maybe I am too quick to jump on the gun for decrying her failing to recognize war was coming-I grant you that. She has been at peace for some time, so perhaps she was caught off guard...”

Sy reaches in to his coat pocket and withdraws a letter and holds it up-Tom recognizes the sigil of the Camarilla on it. He turns to face the gargoyle, his movement bold and intentional; his eyes cold and without pity as he opens the letter and points to the ending. “But, I too hold people to their word. The princess guaranteed and ensured the safety of all who attended the Ashen Ball.”

Sy looks at Tom cooly. “People she had promised to keep safe were trampled and BURNED to death. Are you content with the words and promises of the prince being cheap too? I sure as hell am not.”

The brujah then closed the letter and pocketed it again. His eyes never leaving Tom. “I have a plan to fight the outfit. I have a plan to hurt Flick. Whether it is more effective than Bianca’s-I guess only time will tell. I need to plan some of that with you; my second purpose in coming here tonight.”

Sy closed his eyes, “I don’t blame Lara. In fact-I believe she acted honorably and appropriately at the ball. I still intend to honor my word to craft a blade for her. But I think that if we’re going to be in a war, the leadership in charge needs to be able to be trusted-if actions and orders are suspect...let’s just say I have seen what happens. ”

He reopened his eyes and says, “As I said-I don’t judge you, but your actions were curious to me, that’s why I asked. Any difference of opinion you and I share is fine but going into a war, I need to know where we stand.”

Tom arched an eyebrow, giving the other Kindred an incredulous stare. "You seem to think that the Camarilla is some kind of benevolent society of the night that owes you compensation for bossing you around. You want safety, Sy? Then I’d suggest you get out of Chicago. Nobody can guarantee your safety in the coming nights.”  

“My own view is this: the Camarilla is, by and large, a collection of bloodthirsty snipes who happen to have already driven out an even worse cabal of sorcerers and warlocks. Warlocks who kept my kind in chains; for this, the Camarilla has earned my support.”

“The charges you lay at Bianca’s feet may get you applause from the other Brujah, but they leave me cold.” He stepped closer to Sy, the gargoyle’s voice low and forcibly even.

“Perhaps you do not realize what is at stake here. I will not engage in infighting- not now. As for why I still serve Bianca and her Ivory Tower, it is because I made a pledge of loyalty, and I keep my word...” The winged creature let the implication hang for a moment, giving the Brujah a look that may have been either disappointment or disdain.

“Even when others don't."

Tom gestured toward the gallery exit.

“Can I see you to the door, Mr. Cravenhill?”

The brujah furrowed his brow, and planted himself firmly. “I’m not running.” Sy voice raised just slightly.

His eyes narrow. “I don’t believe anyone owes me anything. I’m not afraid to die for a cause I believe in.”

Feeling his inner fury starting to bubble to the surface, he grits his teeth to restrain himself at the implication. His voice is calm and steady as he replies, “My sworn loyalty is to the idea that is the Camarilla-not any one person. People live and die-ideas are eternal...Which is partly why I seek to become a knight of Camelot-they who also fought to end the reign of the sorcerous serpents that plagued this city...and paid the price dearly. More loyalty could not be asked.”

The brujah looks to the Sun worshipper statue and gestures with a free hand, “Everyone worships the sun differently.” He looks back to Tom. “You see my action and beliefs as an assault upon the Camarilla when I am actually trying to strengthen it and defend its heart.”

“I’m a soldier Tom. I have to secure and protect priority targets first so that when I strike at key enemy vital spots I achieve maximum efficiency and lethality. And right now I feel the Camarilla is under fire from both without and within. Disagree with my methods but please don’t mistake my motives.” Sy’s composure weakens just slightly.

The brujah clears his throat. “But in order to hit hard-I have to have good intel. Based on what I know of you and your capabilities, you have eyes in the sky and can spot Capone and Flicks troop movements. I’m hoping maybe some stronger connections with the Nosferatu than I do, and possibly some other hidden cards up your sleeve. I have a connection with them to hopefully gain some valuable information on mob operations but the more eyes and ears the better. I am in the process of trying to secure us some armored cavalry so we can rain hell.” He pauses, “Am I leaving anything out?”

Tom sighed. He was not wholly unsympathetic to Sy's motivations, even if he could not support his activities. "I understand you are passionate, and are trying to fight for what you believe in. I am simply asking you to do your potentially violent politicking after Flick and the Outfit are dealt with. In the meantime, start acting more like a soldier and talking less like a damned anarchist."

Tom seemed relieved to talk about something other than the Brujah's extremist politics.

"As for your other requests, I'll see what I can do. I need to hone my craft somewhat, as I don't feel confident going out too much in public yet until I master my gifts of the blood. I do know a few Nosferatu fairly well, I could see about introducing you to them. But I will have to ask them first." He hesitated.

"Do I want to know about your armored cavalry? Or would ignorance be bliss?"

Sy draws a breath as Tom responds, burying his head in his palm. “I have to apologize. I think my intense passions may be a side effect of my embrace. In life I did some union organizing work for a time, so to me-it feels somewhat familiar and rather natural...but the Blood’s influence can be difficult to recognize. I have asked Nina to help keep me in check, but I’d be obliged if you would as well. Keeping myself grounded in reality and focused is sometimes difficult.”

He looks back to Tom. “You are right of course, about needing to resolve internal struggles secondarily. Capone and his crew are the more pressing issue. Hitting Capone in his pocketbook may yield some results. I’m going to try reaching out to some charity organizations and maybe some old union ties to get some support for building a center to help curb the appeal of the outfit. I’m hoping our Mr. Caine may be helpful in that regard as well.”

“The armored cavalry you ask about...I don’t have anything set in stone yet. But if my plans work out as intended-I may be able to score a mechanized armored vehicle with a big gun or two.” He grins. “Let’s see how long Flicks men hold up to Howitzers...”

Sy glances around the room as he considers, “I would think Big Al is likely open to making his shop a bit more fortified to serve as a forward headquarters of sorts. Any help or input you may have to offer in that capacity would be nice too.”

He thinks for a second, “Maybe Nina could map out what she knows of the outfits’ dealings or put paint to parchment and glean something from however she does her thing- but do it someplace secure. Limiting our gatherings where all of us are at the same place at the same time makes us harder to take out at once.”

He looks nervously to Tom. “And last but definitely not least-I’m not a religious guy by any means, but Flick seems to be; I’m reaching out of my depth here. I am trying to see about maybe fighting fire with fire. There’s supposed to be a priest of some sort in town named Father Vincent. Hopefully he may have some light to shed on Flick and his powers. I was hoping Nick may be able to get us an introduction or at the very least some input.”

Sy shakes his head “That’s what I’m thinking as it stands...at least for starters. Do you have any suggestions-maybe some options or recommendations for what avenues to look into if we decide to pursue additional aerial forces?”

The gargoyle grit his fangs as Sy expressed his frustrations with their current state. “I know what you mean. This transition into unlife is certainly fraught with challenges. In some ways, I think it is a strange mercy that I can remember so little of my prior life.” Tom gave a stiff shrug. “But yes, if you get out of control, I will be happy to help you to cool your heels. I think we are all capable of terrible things.”

Tom listened as the Brujah outlined his plans for the coming war.

“Trying to curb the influence of Capone’s mob may be difficult. I am sure there are many in the unions and in public service that owe him, one way or another. But I think that you are right to try. An attempt should be made.”

"As for physical violence, I don’t know if the trust fund baby reporter will foot the bill for howitzers." Tom shook his head slowly. "But I think Al is wise to start acting defensively. If the Ashen Ball was a target for violence I imagine none of us have much expectation of safety.”

“Unfortunately I can’t offer much help, at this moment, as I said. I’m no flyboy.” He lifted one of his membranous wings. “And I can’t do much more than glide. Granted, Chicago has plenty of wind for me to make use of, but I am not adroit enough yet to act as some sort of airborne eye for the Camarilla.”

“Now, if you will excuse me, I have a secret club meeting to attend to and we will need the use of the sculpture room.” He grinned. “No doubt we will be seeing each other again very soon, Mr. Cravenhill.”