#alterstadt

          “ MY SINCEREST apologies, my good sir, but the work at hand didn’t seem too terribly important. ” it comes with the tumble of silk against steel, smooth and firm and rough at its edges, as clean and clinical as the whiteness of the walls. the light, harsh and unforgiving, does not look well on him — the completeness of the light decimates all shadow, and the intruding man is a smear of burgundy wool in the sterile paleness.            the thing that calls itself a man does not touch anything, hands folded underneath the rough outside of a fitted peacoat that drapes on his arm as if it were a coatrack. he hovers, towering near half a meter over the doctor, back pushed into the picture of posture.            “ i would shake your hand, ” he continues, “ but i fear it’s out of respect for that work that i’ll refrain from doing so.  it is doctor blackwell, am i correct? ” yet he does not pause, does not wait for a confirmation, only tarries on with grim condemnation and the spark of unearthliness glinting in his eyes from that uncompromising light — “ alexander von brennenburg, alkahest pharmaceuticals. i’d like to have a word, if you wouldn’t mind. ”

       He's already irritated by the interruption; the presumption to priority only worms further under his skin. The other man’s presence is an intrusion in Blackwell’s space, a wrongness like debris in a wound. Already, he’s picking out words to end the conversation, carefully balancing the ratio of manners to firmness-

       But then the interruptor says pharmaceuticals, and the mental arithmetic grudgingly rebalances. Pharm reps come by the clinic occasionally, usually to try to talk sales, but there’s also the possibility that he’s scouting out places to donate. It’s on-trend for companies to look like they care; a tidy donation to a nonprofit clinic looks excellent in a corporate newsletter. And the clinic needs new equipment, and needs more staff, and needs, and needs, and needs...

        It isn’t Blackwell’s job to interface with prospective donors, but if he can contribute to forming a positive impression, he will. He doesn’t disregard his own irritation, but he does stow it away for now. No point in burning this bridge before he knows where it leads.

        The shift in tone isn’t immediate. Any sign of over-eagerness would only betray his motivations, which is hardly desirable at this point in the conversation. Still, he eases back a bit of the exterior frost on his manner. Small steps. He lowers the clipboard where he had previously been checking paperwork, slowly.

                i stared at the tall neolithic stones that mark the patch of land , like an altar to an old god that has slept for a million years , a god that no one would like to wake . it was a breezy evening , but the cold autumn wind has nothing against the cold chills behind my neck the longer i stood there . they said the hill was burial ground , but no one was brave enough to dig deep to find the bones . i remembered the last time i felt this . it was in a dark chamber buried deep beneath the ground some ten years ago . the only difference ? the sleer was a protector that only knows how to imbue fear enough to keep people away . try as i might , i cannot gauge the force at play on this hill . it was silent but it’s brimming . if it’s sinister , i can’t tell for sure .

                flashlight in one hand , i ran a finger over the withering stones , over the engraved letters and symbols of a language that may have died with the last of it’s people . and while i was racking my mind for any semblance of familiarity with the words , i heard a movement . might be a branch . might be the wind . but i know the feeling when i am not alone . i shined my light at the direction of the sound , before calling out . “ i am not afraid of you . show yourself . ”

‘ christ, it’s so dark in here -- where-- where is this? ‘

        A foul wind swept through the leafless husks that surrounded the crumbling castle, briefly stirring a false life into the otherwise barren copse that winter had laid so ruthlessly bare. Brennenburg Castle. A far cry from her domain in the heart of the Prussian Kingdom - indeed Berlin seemed a world away as she stood in the estate’s looming shadow, yet not so distant that a rash of disappearances and deaths within the area had gone completely unmarked. Of the bodies eventually recovered; misshapen, befouled and drained of vitae. As the essence that sustained and conserved the Kindred, it was unsurprisingly the latter that sparked true interest in Daeva Kindred, whose own deitry requirements had grown increasingly complex with each passing century that weighed down upon her immortal requiem. If some Vampire had discovered a new way to harness such a substance, it brokered further investigation.