FIC: Inheritance, Part 2/?
Sep. 27th, 2005 01:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wiseheartThis is the direct continuation of the most recent post. I'm posting these little ficbits as quickly as I can type them up.
Note: Julian Luna's presence at this encounter contradicts a little my other story, Forgotten Roots, in which Julian meets Salvador for the first time when the Anarch visits San Francisco to meet Cameron, in the later 1990s. However, I needed the guy here for this story to work. So I simply assumed that Julian would not realize he was dealing with the same person. A weak solution, I know, but still easire than rewriting the other story... which I may do one day, but not right now.
Part Two
Reaching the Sorrel estate around sunset, Salvador was surprised to see a huge back limousine – with tinted glasses, no less – part in front of the house. That was a luxury only the very rich could afford… and a necessity only a very special kind of rich people would need. The Prince of San Francisco’s undead population, for example.
He could see the elegantly clad driver leaning against the car. It was a man in his early thirties, pale for someone living in California, and well-muscled, too. Not just a driver but also a bodyguard, then. Ventrue, most likely; a Gangrel couldn’t wear those clothes with such ease. That left no doubt about the identity of the visitor.
But what would Archon Raine possibly want from these mortals?
Quietly like a ghost, Salvador slipped into the house, unseen by all but the old manservant of Sorrel Sr. who happened to be an old acquaintance of his. Antonio gestured towards the large, Mexican-style open veranda, where Sorrel preferred to meet his guests, unconsciously choosing a location that would make vampires uncomfortable. Salvador suppressed a grin. For an Anarch warrior like him, being exposed to sunlight was a familiar – albeit unpleasant – thing. The Camarilla establishment, however, had grown so used to their comfortable havens that they avoided exposure whenever they could… and felt irritated if they couldn’t. And as every experienced fighter could tell you, irritation could be a serious disadvantage.
From his vantage point, hidden in the shadows of the adjoining dining room, Salvador studied the infamous Prince of San Francisco carefully. Archon Raine was a man in his late forties – well, in human appearance anyway – and just like Salvador himself, looked a lot larger than he actually was, due to a heavy build, big bones, a broad face and a high forehead. His thinning hair was neatly combed back from his face, revealing surprisingly large ears, and he was clad in the usual expensive suit all ranking Ventrue wore.
His companions couldn’t have been more different, even with the help of theatre make-up. The big, muscular blond with long, wavy hair down to his shoulder blades was obviously a Gangrel lapdog, probably the chief bodyguard. Merely muscle, easily disposed. But the other one…
The other one was shortish, at least compared with the Prince or the Gangrel, with a hawkish profile, oily black hair slicked back from his widow’s peak, and strangely mismatched eyes: one brown, one black. His sparse movements had the predatory grace of a trained assassin, and the man was literally oozing sexual magnetism… most unusual for the stuffy Ventrue suits. In fact, his mannerism reminded Salvador strongly of Alonzo.
A professional killer, then. Most likely the Enforcer of the Prince, probably his Childe, too, and fanatically devoted to him. If Archon Raine put up such a strong appearance, he most likely wanted to make a lasting impression. Intimidating the living hell out of the Sorrels. But what might he want of them?
Salvador listened carefully, and after a few minutes it became clear that the Prince wanted to buy the Sorrels off of the Old Mission Winery. Which the Sorrels, for their part, didn’t want to sell. At all. It had been the property of the family for generations, and José Amendola Sorrel intended to keep it that way. His young son appeared to agree with him… rather loudly.
“Do you think we don’t know where this sudden and unexpected interest for our little business comes, Seňor Raine?” Sorrel Jr. snorted. “You think we don’t know that you’re in league with the Luna family, who’ve tried to drive us out of the Valley for decades? Well, too bad for them and for you! We’ve been here long before John Luna came to fill the entire Valley with his get, and we’ll still be here when all Lunas have faded to bad memory.”
“Diego, restrain yourself,” Sorrel Sr. warned his son, seeing the cold glitter in the mismatched eyes of Archon’s killer.
Salvador saw it, too. The Enforced had to be one of the Luna family. That was the reason of the Prince’s interest, then. He wanted to grant his pet executioner a favour, eradicating the concurrence of his mortal family. That was not good. Ventrue princes were used to get what they wanted, and the Sorrels had no idea whom – or moreso what – they were dealing with. Salvador could only hope that Sorrel Sr. would remain diplomatic. He couldn’t hope to take it up with three powerful vampires. Archon himself was old and strong. The Gangrel was obviously an experienced street fighter. As for the Enforcer – that one had something unsettling in him. Something almost demonic. He was someone with a long-nurtured death wish who wasn’t afraid of being killed – and confident to be able to kill his opponent first, nevertheless.
“Forgive my son’s lack of manners, Seňor Raine,” Sorrel Sr. said with forced politeness. “He’s young and hot-headed, not yet used to business negotiations. But in one thing he’s right. We’re not willing to sell our family business to you or your… associates. It has been the life-work and the only livelihood of our family for generations. Surely you can understand that?”
“And I’m sure you can understand that you won’t be able to withstand the financial powers behind the Luna family,” Archon replied coldly.
Sorrel Sr. paled that the thinly veiled threat. It was true, he simply didn’t have the means to beat someone of Archon Raine’s wealth.
“He probably can’t,” a soft, husky female voice said, “but I most certainly can… that and more, if necessary.”
All three vampires whirled around, and Salvador grinned in the shadows broadly. Valeria surely knew how to make a grand entrée.
TBC, soon, I promise. :))
Note: Julian Luna's presence at this encounter contradicts a little my other story, Forgotten Roots, in which Julian meets Salvador for the first time when the Anarch visits San Francisco to meet Cameron, in the later 1990s. However, I needed the guy here for this story to work. So I simply assumed that Julian would not realize he was dealing with the same person. A weak solution, I know, but still easire than rewriting the other story... which I may do one day, but not right now.
Part Two
Reaching the Sorrel estate around sunset, Salvador was surprised to see a huge back limousine – with tinted glasses, no less – part in front of the house. That was a luxury only the very rich could afford… and a necessity only a very special kind of rich people would need. The Prince of San Francisco’s undead population, for example.
He could see the elegantly clad driver leaning against the car. It was a man in his early thirties, pale for someone living in California, and well-muscled, too. Not just a driver but also a bodyguard, then. Ventrue, most likely; a Gangrel couldn’t wear those clothes with such ease. That left no doubt about the identity of the visitor.
But what would Archon Raine possibly want from these mortals?
Quietly like a ghost, Salvador slipped into the house, unseen by all but the old manservant of Sorrel Sr. who happened to be an old acquaintance of his. Antonio gestured towards the large, Mexican-style open veranda, where Sorrel preferred to meet his guests, unconsciously choosing a location that would make vampires uncomfortable. Salvador suppressed a grin. For an Anarch warrior like him, being exposed to sunlight was a familiar – albeit unpleasant – thing. The Camarilla establishment, however, had grown so used to their comfortable havens that they avoided exposure whenever they could… and felt irritated if they couldn’t. And as every experienced fighter could tell you, irritation could be a serious disadvantage.
From his vantage point, hidden in the shadows of the adjoining dining room, Salvador studied the infamous Prince of San Francisco carefully. Archon Raine was a man in his late forties – well, in human appearance anyway – and just like Salvador himself, looked a lot larger than he actually was, due to a heavy build, big bones, a broad face and a high forehead. His thinning hair was neatly combed back from his face, revealing surprisingly large ears, and he was clad in the usual expensive suit all ranking Ventrue wore.
His companions couldn’t have been more different, even with the help of theatre make-up. The big, muscular blond with long, wavy hair down to his shoulder blades was obviously a Gangrel lapdog, probably the chief bodyguard. Merely muscle, easily disposed. But the other one…
The other one was shortish, at least compared with the Prince or the Gangrel, with a hawkish profile, oily black hair slicked back from his widow’s peak, and strangely mismatched eyes: one brown, one black. His sparse movements had the predatory grace of a trained assassin, and the man was literally oozing sexual magnetism… most unusual for the stuffy Ventrue suits. In fact, his mannerism reminded Salvador strongly of Alonzo.
A professional killer, then. Most likely the Enforcer of the Prince, probably his Childe, too, and fanatically devoted to him. If Archon Raine put up such a strong appearance, he most likely wanted to make a lasting impression. Intimidating the living hell out of the Sorrels. But what might he want of them?
Salvador listened carefully, and after a few minutes it became clear that the Prince wanted to buy the Sorrels off of the Old Mission Winery. Which the Sorrels, for their part, didn’t want to sell. At all. It had been the property of the family for generations, and José Amendola Sorrel intended to keep it that way. His young son appeared to agree with him… rather loudly.
“Do you think we don’t know where this sudden and unexpected interest for our little business comes, Seňor Raine?” Sorrel Jr. snorted. “You think we don’t know that you’re in league with the Luna family, who’ve tried to drive us out of the Valley for decades? Well, too bad for them and for you! We’ve been here long before John Luna came to fill the entire Valley with his get, and we’ll still be here when all Lunas have faded to bad memory.”
“Diego, restrain yourself,” Sorrel Sr. warned his son, seeing the cold glitter in the mismatched eyes of Archon’s killer.
Salvador saw it, too. The Enforced had to be one of the Luna family. That was the reason of the Prince’s interest, then. He wanted to grant his pet executioner a favour, eradicating the concurrence of his mortal family. That was not good. Ventrue princes were used to get what they wanted, and the Sorrels had no idea whom – or moreso what – they were dealing with. Salvador could only hope that Sorrel Sr. would remain diplomatic. He couldn’t hope to take it up with three powerful vampires. Archon himself was old and strong. The Gangrel was obviously an experienced street fighter. As for the Enforcer – that one had something unsettling in him. Something almost demonic. He was someone with a long-nurtured death wish who wasn’t afraid of being killed – and confident to be able to kill his opponent first, nevertheless.
“Forgive my son’s lack of manners, Seňor Raine,” Sorrel Sr. said with forced politeness. “He’s young and hot-headed, not yet used to business negotiations. But in one thing he’s right. We’re not willing to sell our family business to you or your… associates. It has been the life-work and the only livelihood of our family for generations. Surely you can understand that?”
“And I’m sure you can understand that you won’t be able to withstand the financial powers behind the Luna family,” Archon replied coldly.
Sorrel Sr. paled that the thinly veiled threat. It was true, he simply didn’t have the means to beat someone of Archon Raine’s wealth.
“He probably can’t,” a soft, husky female voice said, “but I most certainly can… that and more, if necessary.”
All three vampires whirled around, and Salvador grinned in the shadows broadly. Valeria surely knew how to make a grand entrée.
TBC, soon, I promise. :))
