I don't own any part of the whitewolfy stuffses, I mean, I even named my character after a Hellsing character. I don't own it.

The Past is Never Forgotten

Dr Ceras Hemmingway had always found satisfaction in work. Whether it was her life at her practice, her grueling semester as the fry basket jockey at McDonalds, whatever she'd done, she'd always found peace in doing a job and knowing that she'd done it the best she could, and that rainy Tuesday had been no different.

Autumn in Wisconsin always had a way of catching its victims off guard, and that day had been no different. The inhabitants of Milwaukee had become adjusted to the mild fall, comfortable in the 60 degree temperature, contented by the sunny skies. So as you can imagine, the freezing rain and brisk wind that Tuesday brought were quite a surprise. Nevertheless, the good doctor braced herself and walked bravely to her worn Honda Civic.

The scent of smoked cigarettes lingering in her trusty car served only to relax her further, bringing her serenity at the thought of a calm evening at home soaking into her with the comfort from her heater. So as you can imagine, the jarring tone of her cell phone startled her.

She really wasn't sure why she had one, perhaps she was just indulging herself in human comforts and status symbols, maybe she was just trying vainly to reattach herself to a world she'd strive so hard to sever herself from so long ago, she didn't know. What she did know was that it was a rare day it rang.

She didn't bother checking the caller id. Instead, she simply flipped it open, "Ceras."

A sanguine voice on the other end responded to her, dry with humor and sarcasm, "Hello Ceras, how are the critters?" And in that instant, she knew it could only be one person, It was and could only be Damon O'Neil.

She allowed herself a smile despite her curiosity at the reason for Damon's call. The mysterious glasswalker never called for social reasons, in fact, to be completely blunt about it, she only called you if she wanted something. So Ceras ignored the growing knot of dread in her stomach and played along with the glasswalker's game... she'd get to her point eventually. "Ah, you know how it is, I only ever get to see them when they're ill."

"Such is life." She paused, allowing Damon to rev the conversation up with her twisted sense of theatrics, "I trust you're not busy this evening?"

Ceras let out an audible sigh, knowing that even if she did have plans for the night, they were officially shot to hell now, so she played the good soldier, "Of course not, did you need me for something?"

She could her Damon's smile curl through the phone, "Good girl. Yes, I need you to meet me at the Hyatt. Be there as quick as you can." And without a further word, the line went dead. It was a typical maneuver from her and Ceras wasn't surprised. Instead, with her resignation weighing on her like so many bags of sand, she pointed her car towards Kilbourn avenue to find out what the hell Damon wanted.

The trip was lengthy enough, having to go downtown from her suburban veterinary practice was a distance, but rush hour gave her plenty of time to let her tired mind wander. It had been four years since Ceras had cut her ties to the Milwaukee sept. It had been four years where she had allowed herself to forget what she'd left behind and pretend that she lead a 'normal' life.

And with one phone call, it was all brought back.

One thing was certain, Ceras thought as she pulled into the parking ramp, whatever she wanted, it better be important.


The Hyatt was a nice enough place, clean enough to feel formal, but old enough to have character that was more than paint deep. It was certainly 'nice enough' to make Ceras uncomfortable in her kitten covered medical scrubs, and uneasy of the faint smell of antiseptics wafting off her clothes. It wasn't that she was a superficial person by design, but she was female, and she did have certain obligations to her appearance... ones which were currently being woefully ignored.

Her train of thought was derailed at a flash of camouflage pants from underneath a black trench coat. It was a small thing, probably one that would have escaped her notice had it not seemed so strangely familiar. The man, who unfortunately had his back to her, stood over six feet tall, dwarfing the more petite Ceras by a full head. His straight hair was a non-nondescript brown, falling around his ears haphazardly. Flashes of long ignored memories clamored for attention, but with a practiced ease that was damn near unconscious, she batted them away. "Theylvin?"

Theylvin it was, surprise painted boldly across his face. When his eyes lit upon the much smaller Child of Gaia, it only grew, "Ceras? Did the Damon type person call you?"

She smiled at the eccentric garou, basking in the warmth of happier memories, all brought back by one crazy Silent Strider, "Yeah, she did... any idea what she wants?"

"Weaver-fool didn't say anything, just summons." He'd broken his pace to allow Ceras to catch up, matching her pace with his own easy gait. It had been a very long time since anyone had done such a simple thing for her, so long since she'd fallen into such an easy camaraderie with anyone – ever since she'd separated from the others.

Theylvin lead her into a smaller lounge, one folded away from the rest of the hotel. It was barely touched by light, with curtains drawn and the sconces on the walls turned to the lowest possible setting. The room quivered in the near darkness, and the tangible sense of dark purpose lingered in the corners, taunting Ceras, dancing closer to her understanding only to skirt away. She ignored it, hoping that whatever it was bothering her was only a trick of the light and her own overactive imagination.

A throat cleared somewhere in the room, the sound cutting through the anticipation in the room with an air of impatience. "Took you long enough, Dr Hemmingway."

Her head jerked to the sound, all thoughts of whatever goblins and demons haunting the room scattering to the wind, and she laid eyes on Damon for the first time in four years. Though well over thirty by now, the Damon still looked the part of the disillusioned art student - her powder white face seemed to glow in the low light, her red lips glistening like poison, her eyes looking inherently evil rimmed in thick lines of black kohl. The years hadn't changed Damon at all. "It's nice to see you again."

It seemed the response had either surprised or pleased the glasswalker, but then again, with her it was hard to tell... nevertheless, Damon gestured her to the chair nest to to the one she was currently crumpled into.

"We have a problem," she began, her eyes finally breaking from Ceras to address the other occupants in the room. "there's a metis."

Ceras's heart leaped in her chest with fear. It was so easy for other garou to hand down death, but she couldn't find it in herself to blame the child for the sins of their parents, litany or not, but before she could voice her objections, a cold voice from the corner responded, "Are we to end it?"

Once again her brain tripped over the familiarity. Had it really been so long since her division from the sept that she'd forgotten so many things? "Fisk?"

A lighter flashed in the darkness, casting light on the cagey Get of Fenris, illuminating his small smile, and lighting the cigarette. "Hello, Ceras."

But Damon's voice cut the reunion short with one hell of an announcement, "Surprisingly, no. No, I want you three to go and rescue him... he's raising hell near Anitgo."

Silence met her announcement. For years, Antigo had been synonymous with the spirals, and the cut went particularly deep after the destruction of their sept ten years before. No sane garou set foot near the small town for fear of calling their attention. And now they had to go. Vaguely the thought echoed that she should have told Damon she was indeed very busy that night.