White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

Thursday, June 10, 2100 – 9:10 p.m.
"The good fighters of old first put themselves beyond the possibility of defeat, and then waited for an opportunity of defeating the enemy." – Sun Tzu

Joey awoke in a daze, taking several moments to place the unusual sensation in his head and stomach. "I feel hung over," he finally muttered, as shocked by his discomfort as he was by the fact that he could actually remember the feeling from his mortal days.

Rather than recall an ill-advised combination of liquor that no sane, sober person would consider imbibing (along with an equaly ill-advised pack of Marlboros, chain-smoked in a few hours), Joey instead wracked his mind for a memory of where he'd been and who he'd spoken to the night before. And it all came back in a blur that seemed more like a half-remembered dream than actual memory. How could I have been so damned stupid? he asked himself immediately, seizing upon the reason for his muddled memories.

For much of his existence, Joey had rarely bothered to conceal his disdain for the Toreador clan, reluctantly acknowledging their place in kindred society even as he dismissed virtually every member of the clan as a relic of a long-lost era before the rise of the Sabbat. In Joey's mind, a clan that valued culture, art, beauty, and civilized society was at a marked disadvantage in a world where young, violent, and frighteningly organized vampires hunted down their Camarilla enemies, seeking to use the blood of the old and powerful to strengthen their own ranks. While Toreador elders were as formidable as the elders of any other clan, Joey had seen countless neonates – almost always selected for their artistic talents or creative minds – cut down by Sabbat hordes embraced solely to wreak chaos and destruction.

But it's been a while since the wars, Joey reminded himself. The Toreadors' social skills, of little use in wartime, had served them quite well in a world where camouflage, rather than combat, was the order of the day. The grunts were all stupid enough to march off to war against the Sabbat, and then the elders, and finally the hunters. The Toreador cut their losses and focused on blending in… and they're still alive because of it. Things change, and now the Toreador are the ones whose traditions provide the evolutionary advantage.

With several decades of relative safety during which to foster their new childer, the Toreador were a different animal than what Joey had known throughout his earlier years as kindred. Even the youngest ones are dangerous, now, he realized one night too late. I walked into a Toreador club without backup, and a few moments in their midst was all it took to become completely entranced.

He thought back on the events of the previous night, trying to recall specifically what he had and had not revealed. He knew his memories were completely intact – the Toreador could bemuse and enthrall him with their discipline of Presence, but he was certain his blood was too potent for them to erase events from his mind – so he knew that remembering would simply be a matter of time and will. I need to wake the hell up and clear my head.

"Bethany!" Joey shouted. In moments, his door was open and Salona was looking at him expectantly, waiting anxiously for his commands. "I need you to start drinking coffee. Lots of coffee. Let me know when you get the shakes."

"You got it," she said with a nervous smile.

"Now!" Joey barked when she didn't leave his room immediately.

"Oh… sorry," she apologized. A moment later she was practically sprinting down the short hall to the kitchen.

Okay, think, he told himself. He figured it would be at least an hour before Salona could drink and metabolize enough caffeine for Joey to feel the effects by drinking her blood, and he wanted to be well on his way to clearing his head before that happened.

Simone and I went to Rebecca's damned nightclub, and I stupidly waltzed right in as though they were no threat to me. He gritted his teeth at the thought, wondering briefly what his sire would have to say about that before he chased that thought away. Rebecca asked me how I ended up in Wilmington, and I could hardly wait to tell her all about it. Simone was there, and she seemed so happy to be the center of Rebecca's attention that I couldn't help but be pulled in. She used her damned charisma against me, and… And what?

His mind immediately raced to his deepest, darkest secrets, wondering if he had admitted anything that could prove catastrophic. Despite his fears, though, he was certain he hadn't revealed anything that would cause him to pack up and leave town immediately, never to return. That's not the way the power works, anyway, he assured himself. She made me willing to please her, to say or do things that would ingratiate me to her. He likened the sensation to being drunk; and like being drunk, he was always free to admit or deny anything. He was certainly open to suggestion, but there was nothing that would have forced him to admit anything about his age, origins, or history.

He remembered saying several unflattering things about the prince, and he could recall a vivid description of his flight from Erie. He admitted to having a bunch of ghouls that served him as a corp job team, and he'd completely spilled the beans about them being killed. He sighed heavily, knowing that he'd given away far more than he would have liked.

She knows way too much, he admitted. But then again, she's a powerful Toreador. She'll keep the information secret until she feels it's to her advantage to share. It was that realization that helped Joey calm down and bring his thoughts into focus.

"She's old enough to remember the way princes and primogen dance around each other, scrabbling for power and influence over each other," Joey said to the empty room, drawing confidence from the sound of his own voice. "It doesn't serve her to tell Lee about my time in Erie or the deaths of my team. So for now my secrets are safe with her… I just have to make sure I either eliminate her or gain her complete loyalty before she decides to tell anyone some of my personal information."

He stood and started pacing back and forth in the small bedroom, seizing on the idea of securing the Toreador primogen's loyalty. I have nothing to use to buy her loyalty, he admitted. Though I could never fully trust anyone who was willing to let me buy their loyalty in the first place, anyway.

"Actually, I have to stop trying to be too clever," he told himself. "I can't outmaneuver a Toreador who's in as superior a position as she's in. She has an entire clan at her disposal, with all of the attendant resources and ghouls. She doubtlessly has mortal contacts, and the prince would likely support her if she stepped badly, propping her up to help maintain his precious status quo."

Joey ran his hands back through his hair, taking a moment to look around the room, as if he would find the answer to his problems. To his surprise, he found exactly what he was looking for. He walked to the nightstand and picked his .45 up in his hand. Play to your strengths, he told himself, remembering the simple advice he had given one of his childer almost a hundred years earlier. When you're in a bad situation, you'll only end up making things worse if you try getting overly clever and creative. First decide what it is you're best at, then decide how to apply those skills to your current situation.

"I played countless political games with my kind back in the day," he muttered, releasing the magazine from his weapon, checking the rounds inside, and then snapping it back in place. "But that was a long time ago, and I'm out of practice. The Toreador will run rings around me if I try to out-influence them. And the Ventrue… no, the prince and his clan won't ever take me seriously. I'm just a novelty to them, the token Brujah whose presence makes his Conclave one seat larger and all the more impressive."

So how do you want to play this? he asked himself.

"I'll play to my strengths," he decided. "And that means I need more than a ghoul and a hacker. I need to do a little recruiting. And I should probably track down an old friend."

To be continued…