I am back in the junkyard, after another interesting (and entertaining) night. I thankfully managed to avoid Chunk upon my return (it's more than likely his "ever vigilant" route took him to Desire again). I don't feel like I want to deal with the possible awkwardness that will ensue, just yet.
When I awoke earlier this evening, I had just enough time to jot down my thoughts of the past few days in my phone before Marcus summoned me for the training. As I made my way towards my truck to retrieve the cane, I saw what looked like a little pig leading Tessa, Mandi, and Brut in some sort of Richard Simmons-esque exercise routine, with another woman who looked vaguely familiar drinking water in the kitchen. Not wanting to intrude, I very very quietly made my way to my truck.
Cane in hand and a cursory appraisal showing no new damage to the truck, I turned to head back to the mansion when I saw a light on in a garage. Curiosity got the best of me, because I headed over to take a look. Inside was what could only be considered an automotive museum, juxtaposed with padded mats and workout equipment. A single individual stood inside, a fairly tall woman, a ginger, holding a large duffel. She was looking about the room.
I turned, once again, to make my way back to the mansion. However, Marcus was already on his way. He led me inside the garage and smiled, kissing the woman on the cheek as he passed. When the woman looked at me, there was absolutely no warmth in those green eyes.
She commented on my youth. As my physical age is thirty-seven I could only assume she meant as Kindred. Apparently, Kindred a week or so old aren't usually to be alone in the room with her. I managed to enlighten her to my sire's methods - mainly, the fact that I learn how to take care of myself, regardless of my new state.
She described herself, still coldly, as having been trained at a very young age to protect a city on her own. It doesn't matter be it mage, or vampire, or "the devil himself." I have been told to behave myself, else I will be hunted. Apparently, she's hunted Marcus before. That's a story that I'll need to hear sometime.
I made a point of explaining that I consider myself far too young to be a troublemaker. I also stated that the Island helps keep me under control. Not to mention that if I decided to intentionally cause trouble, either the Island or the Camarilla. She retorted with the fact that she's met both, and she feels pity for me.
Interesting, but irrelevant at this point.
After a glance between this Ilsa and Marcus, Marcus deemed that she liked me. I really don't see that, personally.
As Ilsa prepared with her equipment, Marcus took the time to examine my blade. Apparently, my knife shop blade is of fairly good quality. Apparently, the owner didn't know what he had. We turned to face Ilsa and she had shed her thick coat, heavy slacks, and boots, trading them out for comfortable workout clothes. In her hands, she held a scabbard and hilt of a medieval longsword. I'm not certain what it was about that blade, but I know I didn't like it.
Marcus explained the two virtues of the sword cane: surprise and speed. Surprise, because the entire concept of the weapon is deception, masking lethality behind a gentlemanly facade. Speed, because the lighter, thin blade allows for quicker movements. Getting backed into a corner would be a death sentence for me.
He then, with Ilsa's aid, demonstrated three basic maneuvers for use in the fencing style with my sword cane. First, the lunge, the basic attack. Next, the parry, and finally, the riposte. He then had me attempt the maneuvers. Every first attempt was dreadful, mechanical. There was no fluidity to the movements. I felt like a brute fighting with a pencil.
He critiqued my efforts and had me repeat them until they felt and looked fluid, practiced, and unforced. Then he bade Ilsa to take a defensive stance while I attempted to attack her - which I did. She parried it easily, stepped around me, smacking my back with the flat of her blade and simply continued onward. She didn't even turn around to face me.
Lovely. I've made a new friend.
Marcus took over for the parry and riposte, moving through it quickly enough. He told me to practice on my own for the next two or so days, giving me a few more cuts and thrusts to work on alone. He then told me that he and Ilsa were going to train a little longer, and I was welcome to head into the mansion and stay for a while or leave, at my prerogative.
I decided that I would get out as quickly as possible, giving him and Ilsa some space (not to mention that I desperately wanted to get away from her sword and honestly didn't feel comfortable around her). She did apologize, saying that she'd had a rough day (I'd used the same excuse towards the Island, so...yes).
I quickly made my way out of there, then up to the mansion. I found Tessa (who was scooping an ice cream sundae for the piglet - I'm not sure I could even begin to understand) and apologized for intruding into her territory while she was sleeping, and thanked all of them (Mandi, the mystery woman, and the others) for their hospitality. Tessa seemed to be delighted that I apologized, much in a way that a lion likes to play with its prey. The mystery woman thanked me, and told me to run while I could.
As I politely fled, I had one of those lightbulb moments: I had just met Scheherazade, head of Cheiron and the Consilium. Good lord, I was meeting all kinds of important people.
On the drive back to the junkyard, I had another bit of time for introspection. I had apparently made a very strong impression on several of the important players in the supernatural spheres of Chicago. I impressed the Sheriff by not throwing him immediately under the bus. I impressed Tessa (among others) by not falling apart under Teresa's questioning. I get the feeling that I impressed Marcus by listening, rather than berating. I've no desire to be the right hand of the devil. I want to continue on with what I've been doing - hunting troublesome supernaturals. I'm just required to be a little more...circumspect in those I hunt. A narrower field of targets is still a field of targets.
Then there is Ilsa. She is very much like what I could see my pre-Embrace self as if I had joined a larger hunter organization. Very direct, very cold. Working with supernaturals out of necessity, rather than any apparent camaraderie. What I saw in her eyes, what I saw in her voice, reminded me of myself when I first encountered the Island regularly - ice, that feeling that supernaturals are tools, rather than acquaintances or friends.
Of course, I could be so far off the mark. I'm rather new at reading folks as they find out what I am.
On top of it all, Marcus. Nadya has her reasons for not liking him. Agnes seems very hostile towards him for bureaucratic reasons (though, given her antagonism towards Bishop, then what I discovered...it makes me wonder). Cyril seems to be very hands off about the affair, and Greyson treats him as very much a friend.
I know he's done terrible things, or at least things that are terrible through the lenses through which I can see. However, he's...a sort of kindred spirit. He must feed on others to survive, if he doesn't, he dies. I can understand this. I can't quite understand the lengths to which he goes, but I can understand...why, in a sense.
The past week has been very confusing. I feel as though I'm rambling without purpose. I'm going out into the yard to practice until dawn. Hopefully, soon, I'll hear something back from either Viviana or Cyril in regards to the mansion. Time will tell, I suppose.
And time is no longer in short supply for me.
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