Triple Crown: Nelli (an LA by Night fanfic)
Set in Season 2 Episode 8 Innocent Monsters
In which the coterie marches into Elysium and wields proper court etiquette like the weapon it is
“Ah,” Vannevar smiles, and though he is Ventrue, Nelli can’t help but think how very much like a Toreador’s smile it is – so pleasant on the surface without any kind of warmth or kindness to it at all. “And it seems that they’ve finally decided to join us. Here come your companions now.”
Nelli’s smile goes tighter, wider, at the news.
Moment of truth, then, it would seem. Time to see whether this entire facade of civility will melt away the moment Jasper or Victor open their mouths in front of the Prince and his Seneschal.
She isn’t sure which of them she’s more worried about, actually.
At the beginning of the night, she might have said Jasper, but he’s really made the effort, really cleaned up nicely in his sharp edged suit, the gloves, and the dark, round glasses – a strange spitting image of Strauss in all black. She hadn’t expected Victor to actually dress down for the occasion, however, and despite how much they’d talked about this before stepping out of the car, there’s the very distinct chance that he’ll take that same level of casualness a little too far.
And from what Nelli’s seen from her own little solo conversation here? There’s a real chance that could go south real fast.
She’s pretty sure that Vannevar could just squash them all like bugs right here and now if he wanted to, Elysium or no Elysium. Not like they didn’t know that before, really, but she wasn’t expecting the very lovely woman seated at his right hand to also be centuries old. At least. That is, if she’s telling the truth about living through the French Revolution. There’s no telling what a kindred like her might be capable of, or who else might be part of this court that they don’t yet know anything about.
But there’s not much she can really do, now, as Victor and Jasper finally walk to the front of the gallery. And besides, what could she do other than to give them yet another warning to be very, very careful?
All she can do is hope that it’s been enough.
Victor nods to Vannevar and Suzanne in greeting. It’s nowhere deep enough for anyone to even charitably consider it a bow, but it’s about as much as Nelli was expecting and probably more than anyone else thought they’d get from a Baron of the Anarch Free States.
Acceptable, Nelli thinks. She hopes.
But then he follows it up with, “Your Majesty.”
“Ah,” Nelli says, with an aborted wince, pulling one long pointed finger back to her mouth.
All eyes cut to her immediately.
Victor, however, is the only one to voice the question. “What is it?” he asks tentatively.
“Oh,” she sucks her teeth. “It’s just.”
Her eyes dart to Vannevar, who, strangely, hasn’t said anything about this deep breach of court etiquette. Nelli expected that he would jump on it immediately, but he simply watches her, almost as if waiting to see how she will handle the situation. She tries to get a bead on him, but his face is impassive and very hard to read.
Well. If Vannevar is expecting her to pick up the slack for her companions, school them in the ways of the Camarilla, reprimand the unlearned kindred of the Valley before the entire court, then he’s got another thing coming.
Except, she realizes suddenly, that by leaving it all in her hands, by not taking it upon himself to rectify this mistake, he’s given her free rein to frame it exactly as she pleases.
Oh. Oh this should be fun actually.
Okay then, let’s do this.
(continue reading on ao3)
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