A Scripta

Dmitrius decided the first thing he'd do is pick up a disposable cell phone. He used the landline he found in the med bay.

It rang twice before a man picked up, "Volkov residence."

"Hello, Tommy."

"Master!" The man's voice brightened. "Where have you been? We've been worried sick."

"I told you I was in Rhode Island," he said patiently.

"But we hadn't heard from you in over a month, and we thought the worst..."

"I'm fine, and I've found what I'm looking for." He paused. "I'm going to be staying here."

"Staying..?"

Dmitrius would have sighed if he wanted to waste the motion of breathing. Tommy was a 17-year old prostitute when Dmitrius found him, and turned out to be a worthy servant for eight years. He had proven himself time and again protecting his master, though Dmitrius didn't have any love for him. Now, he knew Tommy would be upset, and for some strange reason, it bothered Dmitrius. Dismissing or leaving his servants had never bothered him before.

The ritual, he thought. Will I be like this forever?

For a fleeting second, he thought about Kalius. His Erastes would grow old and die, and Dmitrius would not. Unless...

"...take us with you."

Dmitrius returned to the present. "I'm sorry, Tommy, I can't do that."

"But, master..."

"I'll be coming back to get some things. In the meantime, it's business as usual." He would need to talk to Rowena, and maybe some of the other vampires, to see they would take on his servants - or, at the very least, leave them alone. "I'll be calling you soon."

"I understand," Tommy said sadly.

"Goodbye, Tommy."

"Goodbye, Master."

Dmitrius clicked off first. He picked up the phone and dialed a different number.

A gruff man's voice answered. "Hello, who's this?"

"Dmitri."

"This ain't your phone number."

"I know that. Let me talk to Rowena."

He heard a muffling, which meant the man put his hand over the mouthpiece. He could hear him say, "Dmitri." There was a short scuffling noise as the phone was handed over.

"Good evening, dear," said an Englishwoman's voice. "Did you find what you needed?"

"Yes, I did." He smiled. "I'm going to stay here."

"Oh, Dmitri, they're animals up there."

"They let me hunt here. I'm not involved in their politics. They know I'm sheriff down there."

"Allard won't like your leaving."

"He'll get over it. I know Winnie wants my job."

"She's a harlot."

"She's a Gangrel and a better tracker than me."

"She's messy and barely keeps her temper."

He chuckled, "She's young."

"You can say that about us all."

"Yes, but I don't broadcast it."

"I know, dear," she said, her voice softening. "What about your haven?"

"I'll take care of it. I will need to distrbute my ghouls and herd."

"I can take your herd. We have a new Toreador Primogen. Your favorite, Iris Prodeux."

He groaned. Iris was a stunningly beautiful raven-haired lady, who was a really really terrible actress. However, she did have a lot of money, and she did keep one of the oldest theaters open in Houston. She was a generous patron of the arts, provided she was the star of the show. He was forced many times to sit through her performances. He had decided long ago that he would rather have his eyes put out with hot pokers.

"What happened to Sophia?"

"She is working on a 'major project'."

"I see. Is Allard still in HUSH?"  HUSH was an Elysium, and where Prince Allard usually held his court.

"We're heading there now. Should I have him call you?"

"No, I'm calling him right now."

"Call me again soon, luv."

"I will." He clicked off, and immediately dialed the number for HUSH's private office.

"Mr. Allard's office."

"Chuckie."

There was a pause. "Oh, Sheriff. I'll put you right through." Dmitrius waited through the few clicks of a connection.

"Dmitri!"

"Hello, Prince Allard."

"How's the weather up there? Snow yet?"

"No."

"So what's going on?"

"I'm planning on staying here."

There was a moment's pause. "Oh, that's too bad."

"I understand Winona would like my position. She's an excellent tracker."

"Yes, but I will be losing my most loyal enforcer."

"I've been with the princedom for just under seventy years. Don't you have others in mind, some to curry favor with?"

Allard was nothing if not a politician. Many Ventrue were like that. Dmitrius had been around long enough to see the stereotypes at work.

Dmitrius continued: "I can send you my resignation by email tomorrow so you can get things started. I'll need a letter of introduction to the prince here."

Allard was silent on the other end. Dmitrius knew he wasn't happy. If Dmitrius had to cut all his ties to Houston, he would, like he had done over 1600 years ago running from the Huns. I'm more Gangrel than Brujah, he thought, a constant wanderer.

Allard finally spoke. "I'll be expecting your email, Dmitri. Good hunting." He hung up.

Dmitri hung up the phone. His body made a sighing motion, though no air came out. Then he looked up out the windows of the medbay and smiled. His Erates was waiting for him.