An Accounting

Handel W. Care

Bubbles of gas appear to hide behind the glass of the mirror, having eaten away at the mercury from within. Most likely it's just age and poor quality showing themselves, but it gives me something to focus on other than my face. Briefly my gaze slides back to the reflection rather than the device, so I blink and look at shabby white paint flakes dropping away from the moisture speckled wood underneath. Nondescript grey, green and blue smears of undercoat show through. It's just timber in sore need of some care after years of misuse and lost protection, subjected daily to the results of the vanity of the inhabitants herein.
Underneath the scent of blood and faeces on the air I can make out a number of scents more typical to the bathroom. Shampoo, a number of perfumes, soaps, left over dirt and sour sweat. Probably not the most popular of places to die, but certainly better than the toilet next door.
Stepping over the body I wrinkle my nose in faint disgust. The killer certainly didn't carry out his work in a particularly professional or tidy manner. Pieces of skull and grey matter are splattered in a disorderly manner across the wall, a pair of hanging towels and a goodly portion of the floor. Interesting for the young kitten that is even now nosing among the remains of its mistress, making questioning yowls. Mama smelling like food confusing you, eh little one? I get that all the time.
It squeals with fright as I pick it up, but swiftly settles down as I give the warm speck of grey furred life a few pats. In no time the purring starts, and I yield to the urge to give it some food. Across the muck encrusted floor on to cleaner footing and out along the corridor, down to the kitchen. Here the lights have been left on, but no one will see any shadows passing across the windows, maybe a moth's flicker against the light bulb at most. Kitten's bowl must be one of the three dotted around, so I fill them all with what is apparently 'seafood platter'. Certainly no fish I've ever caught smelt like that.
The little beast, frozen by indecision, is beaten to one of the plates by a hoary old monstrosity that gives me the merest of worried glances before starting to gulp down some provender. Occasionally it pauses in its hurried eating to flick its head about and I see some sort of dental irregularity is causing it pain, though not enough to halt its headlong dive into gastronomic ecstasy. Pleasure and pain are frequently constant companions for the aged.
"That's quite enough of that," I say without turning. In the window before me the mirrored shape puts down its hooked hammer and waits as I turn to face it.
Daniel's visage, as ever, is covered in an ugly pattern of tattoos gained when he was a whaler down this way over a hundred years ago, as is the majority of his muscular body. Savagely cropped short hair continues the brutish theme, with only his startlingly blue and intelligent eyes giving any reason to think that more than a thug stands before me. As a fellow Malkavian I realise that there is indeed a fine spirit within him, one I have conversed with on many a night about personal philosophies, points of note, and, of course, the sea, as he is as much a sailor as I. Sad, that things have come to this.
"You've gone too far, man. I can't protect you any more and you haven't sat back like you said you would. I'm sorry." Truly, I am regretful. My tone and stance show this to him, I'm sure. Whether he is aware of my readiness to meet any attack is another thing entirely, but I'm sure he suspects, even as far gone as his actions show him to be.
"They had to die. Why won't you understand that?" His voice is calm and reasonable, cultured in accent as it can be at times, but the edge is there, even more so than the last time I spoke with him. The last time I warned him, told him this could well come to be.
"I know how you see it. The problem is that you have broken the Masquerade, on a multitude of occasions now. The Prince is aware of your transgressions and has managed to quieten the police and public fears. She is not aware of all the occurrences, as I have managed to cover up at least a third of them, even from her eyes, but now she is aware that you are the cause of the problem. You have been warned, and more than once." I shake my head regretfully, my eyes set on his.
Realisation strikes and I see him tense and relax in an instant. His Obfuscate attempt washes over me in a wave. It's hard to say if it's instinct or intended, but the effect is much the same. That which has kept him from the Prince's bully boys thus far isn't enough though, impressive as it is. A corner of my mouth quirks up for a moment as I maintain eye contact.
"So that's how it is, eh? Consigned to the deep by one of my own. You don't have to, you know. I can run to the wastes and take my chances with the Lupines, or catch a boat down south and see if the Sabbat will take me..." Trailing off, he tries to read me, knowing my nature will be warring within me.
"You agreed to abide by the restraints of the Camarilla. In the past few weeks you have repeatedly threatened the Masquerade due to your slaying of a number of," here I pause to consider, "Kine women in a brutal and highly visible manner." Before he interjects I raise a hand. "Aye, even if they were prostitutes." Sighing, I finish. "Prince Tessa has declared that you are to be slain, and was to call bloodhunt upon you. I have been granted this lone night to bring your end in a more dignified manner, one in which we can take care of our own and the eyes and hearts of all Kindred in Auckland are not turned against all Malkavians."
Still he stands, though upright and strong of gaze as I declare sentence upon him. We know each other well enough that he will not try any further pleas or attempts to escape no matter how his dementia may have overtaken him and removed so much of his soul. Man to man and beast to beast there is an understanding.
"Let your passing be one which will allow others to continue their unlives without further persecution added to that they already bear due to Malkav's gift and the intolerance it often produces in the unenlightened."
Around something between a grimace and a chuckle he answers me. "Enough with the pretty words, Handel. Do it."
As it has so many times before, the sabre rises in prelude to its deadly work. I make it quick.

Behind me the building begins to burn as I walk across the yard and ignore the prancing dog, too stupid to be worried about anything but someone to throw the stick for him. Ivy strikes my face and I pass through the portal, on to the footpath. Softly I pat the bulge in my coat. A pile of ash and a few ancient bone shards in amongst all the mess would have been over looked with the bodies of the three Kine to catch the attention of the coroners, but I carry the remains of Daniel with me. He deserved this much, even if his dementia turned him bad in the end.
Strolling along in the direction of the harbour I stop off and mention that the deed has been done to one of Tessa's flunkies. She'll find out before the night is out. Before I leave I have a drink for the dearly departed. Not much of a wake, but enough to tide him over for the moment, I feel. Later I can really get into my cups, presently I'm contemplating.
Others have their views on the 'reason' for we Malkavians. Breaking paradigms, making people think, seeing reality as it is... whatever. I'm simply one vampire, and I don't see the whole picture, just my own slant. To me being a Malkavian is looking after the others, taking responsibility for them even if they can't or won't. Doing what's right and protecting the interests of all rather than selfishly pranking Methuselahs and getting an entire city's quota of the Clan eradicated in payment for your own amusement. Yes, I've seen it happen. Someone has to carry the load, it may as well be someone who cares about family. I never wanted to be Primogen, but I'll damn well do it properly.
Ashes float on the wind, then the sea below. It's fitting for a sailor. I hope Daniel is happy somewhere, that his loss won't remove too much from our whole and, mostly, that I won't have to do this again. Fragile thing, hope. 

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