With the recent developments in Rot Under Paris, this story aims to shed some light on the political mess that is currently occurring behind the scenes.
There were six of them in the chic business office. The tall woman stood by the window, overseeing the city. She had arrived early in a fashionable suit, after all she owned this building and wanted to make sure they would not be disturbed. The white-haired man sat at the table, idly playing with the ring on his right hand, watching the subtle play of light. The small man in the grey suit stood by the small potted plant, smoking his old worn pipe with a bemused expression. The muscular man in street clothing paced up and down the room, his face one of annoyance. He had arrived late of course, but that was normal. Sitting on top of the table, playing with the small black cat, was the fifth. It was hard to look at the fifth for any long period of time.
Suddenly the woman by the window spoke up, her voice was stern, and there was a hint of Russian heritage carried with it.
“Primogen of Paris, I’m sure it is obvious why I have called you?”
There was a chuckle from the man on the table.
“Of course Nakova, you wanted to share your latest crochet patterns. I understand, there is no reason to hide it.” came his voice, full of mocking.
“Jean-Luc please, take this seriously, in 40 days the Prince is gone, leaving this volatile powderkeg of a snake without its head. We need to find a way to consolidate our position.”
This time it was the white haired man at the table who spoke up, his voice like smooth velvet.
“Miss Volkonskaya please, we already have a consolidated position. What you’re really trying to say is that you want more power within Paris, it’s obvious. No, instead we should focus on looking outwards, I don’t suppose you lot have heard the rumours? Sabbat in the outskirts, the Anarchs taking complete control of Versailles, these are our real enemies, not the internal power structures we already have full control over.”
The man in casual clothing stopped pacing before speaking up. His voice tinged with subtle hints of Cote d’Ivoire.
“I have already put people on Versailles, we hold several havens there, they will not fall. My kin will push the Anarchs out of there soon enough. But Sabbat? This I have not heard of.”
“Yes Emanuelle, Sabbat.” Came the reply from the white haired man. “You haven’t heard what’s been going on recently? Rumours are going around that the Scourge fought off a Lasombra who claimed to be the Ductus of a pack. I’ve also heard whispers that the recent coverup in the outskirts was a spat between a Sabbat pack and a young band of Neonates, Caine knows how they survived.”
At this point the small man by the plant spoke up.
“Please please, enough of this. We all have business we are attending to, the city is improving, there is no need for anything else. I say we draw this meeting to a close si?”
There was a small pause as everyone in the room seemed to consider this, after all, what could they really do as a group that they could not handle themselves. Then the sixth spoke up, their voice carrying thousands of years of age and dust.
“Agreed, perhaps it would be wisest that you five all go deal with what you have already agreed to deal with. In the meantime I will find out what I can and deal with other small issues that come up. Are we agreed?”
The room again responded with silence before as one the figures began departing the room, leaving Nakova Volkonskaya to stare over the city, wondering at what was to come….
Cover art by Robert Frank