Jacket (2025)

Light Mode

Eil, as involved as he was in this entire charade, cared little for the actual politics that puppeteered the local Camarilla. He’d play his part as long as it kept his little Elysium out of trouble and the masquerade intact, filtering out almost all of the whinging and whining that was going on up top.

Nonetheless, he wasn't completely out of the loop, knowing enough that an Elder had recently taken control of the city’s reigns, with the previous prince stepping back to let their grand-sire back on the throne. What he didn’t know was that the very same Elder was apparently visiting their sleepy little town and hosting a get-together of sorts.

“So, an accounting party, then?” He asked, earning him an annoyed tut from his sire.

“...If you put it that way, then yes,” she says, one hand on her hip while the other pushes a garment bag in his hands. “It’s definitely one way to keep an eye on our silly little parade over here but, Christ, Eil, don’t be such a killjoy about it.”

He rolls his eyes, only to earn a sharp jab to his side, courtesy of his sire’s bony elbow. He opens his mouth to protest, but he barely gets a fraction of a second in before Mihret continues,

“ — Oh, you better show up in that tomorrow,” She says, pointing at the bag in his arms. “I don’t want to be seen with you in that ratty old jacket of yours.”

“It’s not that old —” he protests, but the other Toreador simply waves him off.

“— And,” she says, with emphasis, “It reeks. You smell like a walking asthma attack. There’s enough tar in that thing to give a poor mortal nicotine poisoning after one whiff. Putting it through the wash won’t do shit to it at this point.”

As much as he didn’t want to, his sire had already gone and rented — no, bought, receipt and all, — a suit for him, and saying no to her at this point would have been more of a hassle than it was to stay up past dawn to go sunwatching.

So, he frowns instead, apologetic. “You didn’t have to,”

“Ah, ah, ah,” she says, finger wagging as she cuts him off once more. “This is less for you and more for me,” she clarifies, before jabbing a manicured finger right into his chest.

“Consider this your apology for ignoring all the RSVP’s that I’ve sent you all these damn years.”

He winces. He, admittedly, had been ignoring her for nearly half a decade at this point, primarily because he’d grown tired of the preening and the politicking that her own parties had entailed. He assumed (hoped, really,) she’d simply grow tired of him sometime down the line, much like his fellow kindred had warned him of, but it never really came to be.

“...Fine.”

She smiles at him, eyes unchanging. “Good. Let’s meet up at the Roast tomorrow before the party, okay?”