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Well, I am the lecher bitch and I wear the X of castigation. I am the whore of the extreme. I am the heretic in a graveyard's communication. Look at my eyes – a little star struck and a little insane!
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Genitorturers - Lecher Bitch (Vampire the Masquerade: Bloodlines OST)
The music inside the bar is so loud that Shiro winces the very moment he pushes the door open to enter. The few people killing time inside immediately turn to look in his direction, and Shiro can feel the mood in the room tense up like an agitated snake ready to strike as those aware of who he is prepare themselves for a fight.
It's the kind of welcome Shiro expected. The Last Round belongs to the Anarchs after all, and in his designer suit and expensive overcoat, every inch of him looks like the Camarilla bitch they quite rightfully accuse him of being. Still, he won't let a few dirty looks intimidate him, and when he steps inside, his back is ramrod straight, his steps unflinchingly confident.
Shiro is much older than all of the other Kindred in this shitty little bar, and they all know it. While most of the Brujah who think of this dump as their territory are always itching for a fight, it's only the extremely young and dumb ones that are suicidal enough to try and take on an old Ventrue who's been fighting the good fight since long before they were even born.
The tension eventually eases up again as everyone goes back to their 'drinks' (blood served in grimy, recycled beer bottles, how strange) and Shiro begins making his way through the bar. The bartender catches his eye and twists his ugly face into a half-hearted sneer, but not before nodding to the stairs that lead up to the more private area of the place. Shiro nods his thanks, and disappears up that rickety staircase.
It's Lance who notices his presence first. The Toreador is as welcoming as he always is, with his genuinely delighted "yo, Shiro!" cutting through the unpleasantly loud music traveling up from below.
Lance looks as out of place in The Last Round as Shiro feels. His gray skinny jeans, blue high tops, and cream blazer are all a little too expensive. He doesn't exactly fit in with the other troublemakers that always seem so drawn to the Anarchs' doomed cause, Shiro thinks. But he isn't there to admire Lance's taste in fashion, or try to understand just why exactly the Toreador decided to throw his lot in with the Anarchs when he could live a life more suited to his sensibilities, and instead Shiro's eyes snap towards the man sitting all alone at a small, rickety round table.
The man's back is stiff; probably has been since the moment he sensed Shiro's presence. He's as tense as he'd been earlier that very same evening when he'd stared Lotor's executioner down as she'd gleefully prepared to separate his head from his body.
Then those rigid shoulders suddenly slump and if Shiro didn't know any better, he would swear the man had exhaled in bitter resignation. That's simply not possible anymore – no more can he breathe in deep, his lungs having completely withered away along with almost every other organ in his body.
The man turns in his seat and just like that, Shiro finds himself staring into the violently violet eyes of one Keith Kogane. Similarly to those bizarre hours before, Shiro feels the same stirring deep within him when met with the strangely enthralling sight of the Fledgling.
Shiro takes a faltering step closer, and it feels as if his body suddenly has a will of its own as it simply needs to be as close to Keith as possible. But instead of basking in the young man's intoxicating presence, Shiro can only frown when suddenly – unexpectedly even, though it really shouldn't have been with his supernatural senses - his path is blocked and he's looking at Hunk instead.
"We don't want any trouble," Hunk says, his voice firm.
Hunk is built like a brick house and almost as tall as Shiro, and while he was only Embraced sometime within the last century and therefore still a relatively undeveloped fighter, Shiro is still extremely hesitant to go toe-to-toe with the young Brujah. There's an intelligence along with a kindness in his eyes that most members of his clan simply lack. Whenever he's given the opportunity to simply look at Hunk, Shiro can understand why the Brujah of old were considered intellectuals and why it's such a tragedy that most members of the clan have decided to give in to their more violent instincts, rather than embracing their scholarly roots.
It's because of this respect for Hunk that Shiro doesn't just shove the younger vampire out of the way. He offers up his most charming smile instead.
"I'm not here to cause any trouble, Hunk." Shiro holds his hands up in the universal sign of peace. "I just need a minute to talk to the childe."
Hunk's frown doesn't go away completely despite Shiro's attempt at being conciliatory. For a moment Shiro fears things will have to get at least a little bit ugly, but then Hunk nods, messy hair bouncing over his forehead, and reluctantly steps out of the way. Shiro smiles gratefully as he walks past Hunk and towards the table where Keith is sitting.
During the very brief exchange between the two older vampires, Keith had gone back to staring down at the cracks drawn into the old wooden table.
"Sheeeeesh, you guys are way too tense," Lance comments with a nonchalant roll of his narrow shoulders. "When's the last time Shiro decided to visit our little home away from home, huh? Five? Ten years?" He looks at Hunk, prompting the other vampire to offer up an answer, but the Brujah bites his lip and simply looks away.
"Fifteen," a voice pipes up from a dark corner. It's the first time that Shiro notices Pidge, and the Malkavian gives him a large grin, undoubtedly pleased with the fact that she managed to completely evade his keen senses. A flare of something – pride, maybe – alights within Shiro as he looks upon the girl he once thought of as a little sister.
Most Malkavians make Shiro uncomfortable. To be fair, Malkavians make almost everyone uncomfortable. Their intrinsic madness is too annoying, too unpredictable, and dealing with them really is a bigger pain than it's actually ever worth. The unnerving insight all Malkavians possess is usually too difficult to separate from the insane ranting, so no one ever really tries, but the girl once known as Katie Holt is different. Shiro has watched her master the cursed insanity in her blood and turn it into a truly powerful weapon. If she'd chosen to stick with the Camarilla, Shiro has no doubts that she would one day have been the next Primogen for her clan.
"Fifteen years!" Lance looks genuinely insulted. "Dude, I'm hurt. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you don't actually like us."
Shiro chuckles. "I promise I'll start visiting more often."
He's lying, and they both know it. Shiro takes care to avoid Anarch territory as much as he possibly can, but not because he hates the three vampires currently watching him like a hawk. In fact, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge were all his friends once. He still misses them when his ivory tower feels more like a prison than a home, but it's for the best that the Prince's right-hand man keeps any unsanctioned visits to a minimum. The uneasy truce the Camarilla and Anarchs have managed to uphold for the last fifty years now is always too close to going up in flames, and the last thing Los Angeles needs is the only two sects keeping the Sabbat at bay to turn on each other instead.
"Sure," Lance scoffs with a good-natured smile. "Is my princess still doing okay?"
"Allura's fine," Shiro replies quickly. "Forever busy. You know how the Tremere are, though. They're always up to something."
He can't quite keep the clipped and impatient tone out of his voice. Dawn is approaching fast, and Shiro doesn't have the time nor desire to socialize. It probably would've been a hell of a lot smarter to send a Ghoul to deliver Lotor's message, but a Ventrue Ghoul can be an arrogant creature and while the unpredictable Brujah downstairs thought twice at the sight of an elder vampire, Shiro is certain a smug Ghoul would've been ripped apart without a second thought. The Camarilla doesn't want a diplomatic visit to result in a bloodbath – there are ways to win more Kindred over to their side, and a massacre in a well-known Anarch hideout isn't exactly it.
"We should give them some privacy," Pidge says while she yanks her skinny body up from the chair she's been lounging in. Shiro wonders if the voices whispering in her mind informed her that Shiro is becoming increasingly agitated, or maybe the way his hands are clenching gave him away. Whatever the reason, Shiro is grateful that she's decided to help move things along.
Lance nods his understanding. Quick, long strides have him down the creaky staircase to the bar underneath in seconds. Hunk hesitates until Pidge pokes his side, and then she's practically dragging him downstairs with her.
"Just call if you need anything!" Hunk yells over his shoulder, but Keith says nothing. He's still staring down at the table.
Shiro wastes none of the time graciously given to him. When he lowers himself down on the one free chair by the table, Shiro takes a moment to study the quiet man. Looking at Keith now, he can't help but wonder where the guy's fire went.
"How are you doing?" He asks gently.
Keith finally looks up. "I'm doing great. Really great, actually." His lips are twisted into a mockery of a smile. "But it's taking a little while to get used to the fact that vampires are real, and that I am one of them now." Keith pauses, drags his new sharp canines over his lower lip in contemplated. "It's also a tiny bit harder to accept that my very existence is apparently a crime, and I'm only alive because a sack of old dicks decided they'd reached their murder quota for the day."
Shiro can't help but chuckle. "Not even Kindred for a full night and you're already parroting back Anarch insults."
Keith tenses up again at his amusement. Shiro coughs and quickly sobers up when he remembers he's partly to blame for Keith's current confusion and distress.
"I'm sorry... I suppose I'm the last person you want to see."
"Why would you think that?"
Shiro initially thinks the fledgling is being sarcastic, but then he notices that Keith looks genuinely confused.
"You saved my life," Keith whispers. His jaw clenches for a second before relaxing again. "Why exactly did you save my life?"
Shiro feels dreadfully unprepared for this question even though he knew it was coming.
The truth is that Shiro doesn't really know why he decided to intervene during Keith's trial. It's not like he's ever bothered to do before. Sure, Shiro doesn't particularly enjoy bearing witness to another Kindred's execution – especially when that Kindred is still just a fledgling – but he understands better than most why it has to happen.
Thin Bloods and Caitiff are on the rise, and anyone who embraces without permission from the city's Prince runs the risk of increasing that number. Those who disobey the Camarilla's laws need to be punished to stop anyone else from doing the same, so then why couldn't he let Zethrid do her duty and bring an end to this childe's illegal existence?
When Shiro thinks back to earlier that evening, all he can really seem to remember is how defiant Keith had looked as he glowered at everyone involved in his trial. He hadn't been afraid at all; his violet eyes had been beautiful and so alive despite him being decidedly not. The sight of that had something in Shiro twisting, rebelling, and fighting against the idea of someone like that being killed when they could be so damn incredible instead.
"I suppose I didn't think you should be punished for Krolia's mistakes," Shiro replies eventually. It's a fucking lie, but he doesn't think he can offer anything else that will satisfy Keith's curiosity.
Keith's eyes flash with bitter disappointment. "So I am a mistake."
"No! Yes... I mean, I..." Shiro quickly runs an agitated hand through his stark white hair. "You need to understand that there are laws for a reason. I know it seems unfair and even cruel, but everything the Camarilla does is to keep our kind safe. The risk of Kine discovering what we are increases every day. Yes, we're vampires. Yes, we're immortal, powerful, and supernatural, but we are extremely outnumbered. If we don't follow the rules, if we don't uphold the Masquerade, we go extinct."
"So why did you save me, then?" Keith asks again. "Why did you put your own neck on the line when it would've made so much sense for that freak show to end me?" Keith's eyes have come alive once more, and Shiro is stunned by the gorgeous sight before him. If he still had a heart that could beat in his chest, Shiro is convinced it would currently be pounding, quick and hard, up against the bony confines of his ribcage.
Shiro is a Ventrue. His clan are notorious for their ability to talk circles around others, and he should be able to come up with a story that will leave Keith feeling flattered and willing to do Shiro's bidding for the rest of his existence. But if Shiro's silver tongue should fail him, then Dominating Keith would be easy enough. He's just a fledgling, after all. Keith's mental defences haven't had any time to develop yet, and Shiro could get Keith to completely drop the subject with nothing more than a gentle but determined push of his mind against Keith's own.
But Shiro doesn't do anything except offer a moment of honesty.
"I don't know."
Shiro expects Keith to scoff and demand an answer that will satisfy him, but Keith doesn't.
"Alright," Keith murmurs. He leans his head to the side, and Shiro can't help but notice how some of Keith's dark hair falls from the messy bun he'd pulled it into. Wispy strands dangle against his neck, and Shiro aches with the desire to sweep it around his long fingers and pull. "Then let me ask you something else: why are you here?"
"Prince Lotor believes you owe the Camarilla for our leniency."
Keith scoffs. "You know, the big guy warned me that you'd probably come collecting on some kind of debt you think I owe you."
"I don't think you owe me anything," Shiro replies. "I didn't save you because I wanted something from you."
It's the truth. He didn't rescue Keith to turn him into a simple pawn. A decidedly uncharacteristic thing of a Ventrue, that's for sure, but before Shiro belonged to his clan, he belonged to humanity, and from the little he can still remember of his mortal life, Shiro knows he'd been a fairly decent human being. He hasn't been that person in centuries, but it seems echoes of the man he used to be still manage to occasionally slip through the cracks.
"I told Lotor that I'd give you a choice – you can help us, help me, or you can walk away and I won't bother you again. You'll never have to see me again if you say no."
Shiro isn't sure if he's just imagining it, if it's just something he wants to see, but Keith's mouth twitches downward at that last bit before smoothing into a neutral line again.
"What do you want from me?" Keith asks.
Shiro leans forward, and drops his voice into a whisper that only Keith will be able to hear.
"Do you know anything about the Elizabeth Dane?" When Keith shakes his head, Shiro quickly continues: "It's a cargo ship that has been stranded off the coast of Santa Monica. The crew is missing, and from the little information the Nosferatu have been able to gather, it looks like whatever happened on board involves the supernatural." Shiro hesitates for a second, wondering how he should play this before eventually settling on bluntness. "It's also carrying something called the Ankaran Sarcophagus."
"What's that?"
"It's nothing more than a potentially valuable artefact." The lie comes easily enough, And Shiro is pleased to see a pretty face hasn't been enough to make him lose complete touch with his Ventrue nature.
"That's it?" Keith looks sceptical.
"That's it." Shiro confirms. "Lotor is a collector, so to speak," he quickly decides to add, hoping that offering a little more information will be enough to convince Keith that he's telling the truth.
"Right." Keith remains obviously unconvinced, and Shiro realizes he's a little impressed by that. Keith isn't as easily fooled as the others in his clan, then. That's good to know, Shiro decides. "Why do you need my help? I'm not some kind of history buff, and I know I look like the poster child for teenage delinquents, but I'm not a teenager anymore and I haven't actually ever stolen anything before. Besides, how do you even steal a sarcophagus from a marooned ship?"
"I don't need you to steal anything, and I don't need your help, Keith. I just want it."
Keith considers him for a good, long moment before shifting closer. With Shiro still draped across the small table, their faces are now dangerously close to one another. Shiro wonders if Keith will be brave enough to kiss him; if he feels as drawn to Shiro as Shiro is to him. Shiro's in the middle of wondering if Keith's mouth is as soft and plump as it looks when the younger vampire gives him a little smirk that shatters the fantasy currently forming in his mind.
"Why would I want to help a Cammie, hm? If the three stooges weren't just bullshitting me, then my clan left the party years ago."
"That's true." Shiro fights to keep his gaze from lingering on Keith's gorgeous mouth. The fledgling is a little too cocky already, and he doesn't need to know that he's gotten under Shiro's skin. "But you're not going to disappoint me by acting like a typical Gangrel, are you?"
Shiro knows it was the wrong thing to say the very moment the words slip off his tongue. Keith's expression darkens, and he pulls away with a throaty growl that warns Shiro a fight may be imminent if he doesn't smooth things over quickly.
"Forget it," Keith snaps. "I don't owe you a damn thing, and I'm not about to involve myself in the business of the very people that tried to murder me a few hours ago."
"Keith—" Shiro tries even though deep down he already knows he's lost this particular battle.
"I said, forget it. Whatever the deal is with that sarcophagus you're pretending not to be afraid of, well you can handle it on your own."
Shiro pauses, waits and hopes that the defensiveness in Keith's eyes will vanish. But it never does. Instead Keith's eyes harden, the violet bleeding away and morphing into an eerie kind of blue as his temper and the Beast within him become increasingly agitated by Shiro's presence.
Shiro nods. He knows a lost cause when he sees one, and he effectively nuked whatever chance he had with Keith the moment he let his ingrained prejudice towards Keith's clan show itself.
"If you change your mind—"
"I won't."
"—then meet me at the Santa Monica pier tomorrow night."
Keith goes silent, and Shiro knows there's nothing more to do than get up and accept he's lost this battle. It should be embarrassing – a damn Fledgling has managed to resist his charm, but all Shiro can feel in that moment is disappointment.
Shiro should've known better than to try and lure a Gangrel to his side, he thinks when he heads back downstairs. They're prickly and too damn stubborn, and a bigger pain to handle than even the Brujah.
So maybe, just maybe, he actually dodged a bullet.
But no matter how much Shiro tries to convince himself it's for the best, the disappointment lingers in his ice cold veins.