Once again, not a complete scene, but I wanted to get it out here. V!Giles, by the way, but new folk.
In a lonely part of France was a very ancient cave. Painted on the walls were pictures hidden away from the world's eyes for millennia, strange scenes of hunters in pursuit of their prey. Unlike the mysterious caves of Lascaux, however, it was not only the hunters in these scenes who went on two legs. In this cave, the humans fled from fearsome creatures with long, clawed fingers and hungry fangs. The ancient vampires ran down their prey, ravaged and fed and gloried in their mastery over the world.
In the deepest cave, other pictures told another part of the story. A human figure fought back, attacking with a long spear as another group of human figures stood by. The warrior was smaller than the observers, as if the human who dared defy the vampires was a youth, or even a girl.
The only lights permitted were small lanterns barely capable of breaching the primal dark. The only vampire who usually occupied the caves was one so ancient he'd forgotten what his human face had looked like. He tended the paintings, speaking to them as old friends. Every few hundred years he added new ones in his own private section of the caves.
Tonight he had more mobile company, important company. Or, at least, important to themselves. The elders of the Order of Aurelius met in council, to discuss who would become their new leader.
Male and female vampires from around the world had gathered in the largest cave, where concessions to civilization had been made in the form of comfortable chairs and couches. The elders were attended by minions, and more than one had brought a private supply of humans. Debates could be thirsty work.
The vampires mingled quietly, greeting others they hadn't seen in centuries. Most eyes followed one particular female, who made sure she greeted everyone.
She had last seen the bright sun of her African homeland over two centuries ago. Her black hair hung unbound to the floor, where a human slave crouched behind her, carefully holding the hair clear of the floor and keeping the strands untangled with a golden comb. Her champagne silk gown had been made for her in 1952 by Dior himself. Her name was Fleur de Mal, and she was widely considered to be the primary candidate for leadership of Aurelius.
When the ancient vampire caretaker entered the chamber, the others ceased their conversations and bowed. He gestured them to the seats and waited till they were silent again.
"Our Master has fallen. Prophecy was fulfilled. He rose from his prison, but his reign was brief."
"Slayer," came the hiss from several portions of the chamber.
The guardian glared at his audience. "The Slayer fell. Prophecy was fulfilled. But she rose up as well, outside of all prophecy, and battle with our Master and threw him down."
"Revenge," muttered several.
"To what end?" the guardian challenged. "There are always Slayers. If not this one, then another. And that is not why we are here. Our Master has fallen. Aurelius is without a leader. You all know this, and in the time that has passed, you have discussed this. Tonight we decide."
Fleur de Mal rose to her feet. Her slave hurried to pull her hair out of the way as she stepped forward.
"I claim the leadership of the Order of Aurelius, by right of lineage and deed."
The guardian bowed in acknowledgement. Fleur de Mal gazed around at the others, waitng for the response.
On the far side of the chamber, a male vampire in impeccable Georgian court garb, stood. "I challenge the lineage." He bowed to Fleur de Mal, then gestured to the minion behind him, who handed him an ornate snuff box.
Fleur de Mal inclined her head. "I am pleased, Magus, that the reports I heard of your grievous injuries were exaggerated."
The Magus smiled. "The stake bounced off a rib. Good assassins are so hard to find these days, aren't they, Fleur?" He inhaled a small portion of snuff.
The guardian frowned. "Challenge has been made to your candidacy, madam."
Fleur nodded. "On what grounds, Magus, do you challenge my lineage? My sire was begotten by the Master himself. How thin is the Master's blood in your veins?"
The Magus, six vampiric generations removed from the fledgling created by the Master in Renaissance Florence, twitched very faintly. "Your sire, yes. An interesting story, that. He was destined to be a meal, was he not? Except that he somehow managed to grab the Master's wrist and begin feeding himself. Quite tenacious of him. I believe the Master compared him to a rat."
"My sire served the Master for nearly two hundred years," Fleur said calmly.
"True, true. He cared for those little dogs, didn't he? The Master was still amused by human foibles then."
"Yes, my sire and the Master spent a great deal of time together. So many of his other children had to be summoned back to their place at his side."
The Magus brushed away a few remaining grains of snuff from his upper lip. "Yes, they were out in the world, tending to a vampire's business of blood and death, when they weren't forwarding the purposes of our Master. Still, someone had to stay behind and clean up after the little monsters."