Seth Samuel; January 25, 2008
Cassie's gone, spooked about hunters or something worse. Anastasia's gone completely batshit over her childe. Delaine is just being a bitch of late. Seth has more allies than ever, but anyone he might have counted a friend is long gone.
Seth sighs and thumbs through a stack of papers on his desk in a manila folder with "Helen's" neatly written on it in black Sharpie. He glances at another, even thicker folder labeled "Republican Primaries 2008", and its partner, a three-ring binder labeled "Democratic Primaries 2008". A thin folder labeled "Agoge" peeks out from under the scattered papers. For a few fleeting moments, Seth pictures himself tossing the papers in a dumpster, calling Delaine and telling her she can find herself a new Whip to condescend, calling the BME lobby and telling them to go fuck themselves, buying himself a small house in Vermont near a ski resort, and living a lonely, relaxing unlife there, full of night skiing and brief romantic trysts with desperate housewives for the next 900 years, and, above all, never setting foot in New York or fucking Washington DC as long as he lives.
Seth shakes the idea out of his mind, a bit embarrassed. He looks at the folder labeled "Agoge" it helps him steel himself, helps him center himself. Ventrue fangs bit Seth's neck seven long years ago, and that put a mantle of leadership on Seth's capable shoulders, willing or not.
"War". The Prince herself said it, and it was exactly right. Seth, the Prince, and a few good people, are fighting not just for the Camarilla, but what it represents, the idea that someone can be Kindred without being a monster. Like the monsters who killed all those civilians on 11/9, going after a single elder. There is no room in this world for monsters like that.
You have your moment of contemplation, philosophizing and internal monologue before steeling your resolve. Your folders remain un-dumpstered. The Primogen, Prince and BME lobby receive no requests to perform the anatomically impossible. Vermont remains far away.
Some tiny part of your brain twinges as you resolve to dedicate yourself to the war effort. This is strangely unlike you. As excellent as you are at pretending to care about a cause, you pride yourself on your moral fluidity... right?
Or at least... you always have before.
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