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Well Known Character Facts (at Game Start)

• When newly embraced, Violet didn't seem to know how to keep her mouth shut. She'd constantly speak before thinking, it was for this reason that her sire kept her unreleased for an entire five years. By the end of it, Violet had seemed to gain some maturity.
  • Now Violet is known for avoiding any and all public outbursts.
• It's considered a general well known oddity that Violet absolutely refuses to go to Sunrise Manor. If people set a meeting up there, she always either pushes to have it moved or flatly refuses to attend. While in general most people take this bizarre behavior as par-for-the-course for Ventrue, more than once her refusal to attend any thing in that area has insulted someone.
• Invictus Only: Around the mid-1960s Violet started making it known among the Invictus that she was able and willing to procure Crassus retainers for them.
• Around the 1970s Violet started making noises about wanting to be Master of Elysium; to most people who listened it seemed that her argument for deserving the position was mostly based around "well I'm here a lot already... and I'm not a Carthian."
  • Maybe it was due to the lack of general contest, but in 1978 she was granted the title. Immediately she established an Elysium on The Strip at the Artisan Hotel.
  • It was the same argument she'd make a few years later when she started showing interested in taking control of The Strip, and to every one's surprise, it seemed to work them as well! In 2001, Violet was granted uncontested domain over The Strip.
    • Invictus Only: It was only within the Invictus that the truth of the domain grant was known; the fact of the matter is Violet paid heavily for it - with ten years of her life.
• There were rumors after Violet's first childe's embrace (Deangelo Bell's sire) that she was just doing it out of loneliness. She fiercely denied these rumors. In general Violet refuses to even acknowledge she has emotions, much less exhibits them.
• In the early 2000s when blood supply started becoming an issue, Violet made a point to go out of her way to offer new embraces and young Kindred vitae if they were looking particularly starved.

Lineage

• Alder Conrad Monroe, Senator
  • Mister David Greenburg, Notary
    • The Good Madam Violet Townsend, Viscountess of The Strip, Advisor and Speaker
      • Mister Damien Reese (Deceased)
        • Deangelo Bell (Los Angeles)
      • Lord Mister Addison Whitfield, Interpreter (Deceased)
      • Lady Madam Coquette Granger

Background

Prologue

The baby looked much like all babies do, with chubby cheeks, blue eyes, a shock of brown hair, and of course stubby baby fingers. Used to being cooed over before she could even speak, the baby was quickly on her way to being spoiled. Maybe it could have been changed, if it had been caught early on - but it wasn’t. When the baby reached up with sticky chubby fingers and curled them around a bright red ruby the size of a robin’s egg and uttered her first words, “Mine!”, the die was set. It was struck when her mother took off the priceless necklace and draped it around the baby’s neck, showing every one how utterly adorable the avaricious tiny creature was.

The ballerina was gorgeous. She stood with her hands arched above her head, her chin tilted up slightly giving an aloof impression to the gathered audience. When she moved, it was like watching a fairy spin around dew drops - at least that’s what it was to the mind of the young girl watching the private performance from a hidden staircase. Deciding on the spot that she was destined to be that beautiful gliding and gilded creature, the girl begged for lessons from parents only too happy to comply.

Years would pass, counted off by the accumulation of objects - any thing a girl’s heart could desire. There were horses, dresses, jewelry, antique furniture and porcelain dolls. For a child so indulged, hearing the word “No” for literally the first time would come as quite a shock - and it did.

“No?” Violet repeated the word as if it were a foreign language, in a way it was. Academically Violet understood the raw meaning of the word, but applied to her? It was illogical. It was a mistake. “No?” She repeated a second time. “It isn’t the place for a young lady, Violet.” Her mother’s voice was always so soothing, understanding. Violet thought absently that she must practice that tone. “It’s just for the summer,” Violet started to explain, it was possible after all they just didn’t understand, after all, her father’s hair was turning grey. “No.” There was that hard implacable tone of her father’s voice. “You’re not going Violet, not for the summer, not for a week, not for a day. Do you know what sort of people live in Los Angeles?” Violet’s eyes started to fill with tears, it was a female tactic she secretly despised but it seemed to work well enough for Maggie, “But all my friends are going!” The uniquely adolescent plea fell on deaf ears. “The discussion is over. You’re not going.” Only her father could perfect that coolly dismissive tone, did he practice too? The door slammed behind Violet as she stormed out.

Part One

The car broke down in Omaha. It took nearly all of the funds the two girls had managed to pilfer to have it fixed. By Denver they were having to budget for the first time in their memories. Gas money came first. After all, they had a plan - if only they could make it to LA, then they could pawn some jewelry and have the time of their lives before wiring their parents for money to come home. It was on Interstate 15, just outside of Las Vegas, in Sunrise Manor that the car broke down again.

“What a piece of junk.” Violet looked at the smoking engine incomprehensibly, like all humans faced with a stalled car and an engine they know not the first thing about, she bent over it and poked at things. “Josh said it was good,” Maggie insisted. Josh was Maggie’s forbidden squeeze back home, he worked part-time in auto-shops around the city and got the car for next to nothing. “Josh is an idiot.” The state of the car explained to Violet’s mind why Josh was always working at a new job. “No he’s not.” The rapid defense could only escalate into a fight and Violet was tired, grungy and hungry. “Let’s just get a ride into the city. Leave this piece of junk here.” Her pointed toes kicked the tire vengefully before she turned to stalk towards the city.

The neon lights of Las Vegas glittered like the north star, guiding the two foot-weary girls to the glamor of the Strip. With money gained from pawning a pair of pearl earrings, the pair booked a room in one of the hotels to regroup and replan. It took less than a night for the glitz of Vegas to charm them into abandoning the plan to travel to Los Angeles. Piece by piece they pawned rings, necklaces and earrings. A week later, they had run out of both money and jewelry.

“Well that’s the last of it.” Maggie said as she slipped the last coin into a slot. “Maybe we’ll win and stay forever.” Violet wasn’t looking at Maggie though, she was practicing her sophisticated pose with the wine glass held in one hand and her head slightly turned.

“House always wins, Vi.”

“Oh who cares, pull the lever anyways. Life’s a gamble right?” Violet had been practicing these lines since they arrived. She thought they sounded mature. Wordly. Maggie pulled the lever and sent the drums spinning. One by one they stopped. Cherry. Diamond. Bell. The machine fell silent as the last drum stopped. “We didn’t win.” Maggie’s tone was glum. Violet took another sip of her wine and gave an elegant shrug of her shoulders. She knew it was elegant; she’d practiced in front of the mirror all week. “So you call them.” Her tone was a study in carelessness, inside she giggled in glee at how well she pulled it off.

Predictably the phone call in question involved a great amount of carefully cultured disappointment, artful tears and an admonishment to come home on the next flight out of Las Vegas. The money was wired to the hotel; enough to settle their debts and buy two first class tickets home to Boston. The two girls took a taxi to the airport two days later.

Part Two

“I’m not going back.” Violet spoke abruptly, without her new carefully cultured tone of languor. They were standing on the sidewalk, watching the driver pull suitcases from the trunk. Both Maggie and the driver turned to look at Violent blankly. “What?” Maggie’s tone was confused. Violet thought it sounded like her own tone, a month ago when her parents said No to her. “I’m staying here. I’m staying in Vegas.” She leaned in to give Maggie artful air-kisses on her cheeks. “Better hurry up Mags, you’re going to miss your flight.” Despite the nervous fluttering of her stomach Violet laughed in a light, airy way she’d practiced. “But you have to!” Maggie protested, torn anxiously between arguing with Violet and catching her own flight. “What will you do!” Experience taught her that arguing with Violet was often pointless so with an inward sense of resignation she allowed Violet to escort her towards the ticket counter.

“I’ll get a job.”

“But you’ve never had a job.”

“So?”

“Well so...”

“Your flight is leaving Maggie. Be safe.”

Just like the scene had played out in her head, Violet turned without a backward glance and walked out.

Somewhere over Colorado the plane went down. No survivors were found; the bodies were identified by the tickets purchased. In Boston two funerals were held, one for Margery Lindburg and another for Violet Townsend. It was the perfect day for a funeral, overcast and drizzling. By the time the service was finished, rain was pouring down in sheets. Two days brought two more coffins as Harry and Madeline Townsend were laid to rest beside their daughter. By the time it was discovered Violet was alive, her parents were already dead.

It was probably around three in the morning when the Vivacious Viola nee Violet Townsend pushed her way out of the back door of the casino. Her feet were tired and her eyes were heavy; she should have gone home hours ago but she never could resist staying for the inevitable party that followed the opening night of new acts. “So much for being ballerina, huh?” She’d taken to speaking to herself when she was alone. Violet wasn’t one of those women comfortable with silence.

It was bad luck that put her stepping out the door at exactly that moment. There in the alleyway was a sight that scored her memory. Two men were fighting. One darted at unbelievable speeds towards the end of the alleyway. The second yanked a piece of metal railing right out of the concrete staircase and heaved it like a javelin at the other. Violet hadn’t practiced for this situation. Instinct had her screaming and clattering down the stairs away from them. In seconds the man was in front of her, grasping her arms. Pearly white fangs showed between his lips. Her arms bruised where he was holding her. Her lips parted to scream again as the first man walked up behind the second. The fight continued, this time with Violet managing to escape the alley.

“They were vampires.” Violet was flipping through hangers of clothes, looking for something to cover the bruises on her arms. “Vampires don’t exist, Viola.” The man’s tone was tired, as if he were used to and weary of exaggerations. “I know a goddamn vampire when I see one, Rich.” Her voice was a hiss. “Careful there, your mask is slipping.” He said it mostly to poke at her. It amused him to see her riled. A snarl rose in her throat, but when she spoke again her voice was carefully modulated, “You’ll see. Every one else will believe me.”

The money was passed in a plain white envelope. It wasn’t counted. There wasn’t any need to count it, the thickness gave away the value. Sunnyside Sanitarium had just received a new grant, payment for taking on the beautiful but broken showgirl who’d lost her mind. Vampires, she said. Every one knows vampires don’t exist and some Kindred will pay heavily to make sure every one continues to know that vampires don’t exist.

Part Three

Violet saw faces in the grey concrete blocks of her cell. Room is what they called it but it was really a cell. Room or cell it didn’t matter, Violet could hardly remember any thing over the shifting faces and faceless voices dancing in her head. “Subject 112 shows increasing mental deterioration. I recommend cutting back her dosage and seeing if she stabilizes.” The voice echoed meaninglessly inside Violet’s head. The response was irritated; she held on to that thought. She didn’t have many thoughts of her own these nights - or maybe she had too many.

“The point of the trial isn’t to stabilize her. The point is to determine the maximum dose.”

“It’s my medical opinion that continuing her on the medication will lead to nervous collapse and possible death. She’s not any good to you dead, is she?”

“Fine. Take her off the medication. Detox her and start her on E98”.

“Just take her off? Do you--”

“I don’t care. Do it.”

The door closing caused Violet to flinch. Insider her head the sound transformed into the devil’s laughing glee.

She was curled on her side. Her fingers were taped together. Her face hurt. Isn’t that strange?, she thought to herself. Did I break them? Her thoughts were sluggish. Ideas formed and fractured then reformed in new shapes. Her awareness was gained gradually, over weeks to the outside world, but to Violet it was one endless night. Her memories were overlapped with nightmares until it was impossible to tell the two apart. She blocked it out with a force of will that would have astonished her captors. Captors? Doctors? She wondered; she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of any thing. Slowly she peeled the tape off her fingers and felt the scratch marks on her face. They matched her nails perfectly. In the dim light she saw the blood under her nails. She was still staring at them when he came in.

“I see you’re doing better today, Viola. How do you feel?” False cheer lifted his voice as he spoke to her. “Violet.” Her voice was scratchy from disuse; she didn’t remember it being like that. She cleared her throat and tried for a more throaty tone, “Violet.”

“Well Violet, you seem to be fully recovered.”

“You’re letting me go?”

“What? Oh, no. We’re starting you on your new medication. The nurse will be right in with it.”

With those dooming words he turned to walk out. This time the door didn’t laugh at her, instead it sounded to her ears like a death knell.

She didn’t have a mirror to practice her act this time, but practice she did. She carefully observed the other inmates patients through the bars windows of her cell room. She mimicked them when the nurse or doctor came to check on her. She laughed manically on cue. She bit the inside of her lips until blood ran into her mouth and tears ran down her cheeks. Daily pills were carefully slipped into a torn seam on the mattress of her bed and hidden. At first she had no thought beyond keeping her own thoughts, but gradually a plan formed. She’d get out. She’d get a life, any life, back.

Part Four

“Viola? I know you can hear me.” She looked blankly at the doctor; she’d perfected the blank stare over the last two months. He sighed and looked behind him at a man in a suit. “She isn’t responsive. Are you sure you want her for this test?” The man looked impatiently at the doctor; he hated being questioned. “It doesn’t matter if she’s responsive or not. We’re breaking down her mental barriers. Put in the second subject. Once she’s paired I think we’ll see a dramatic change.” Paired? Something in Violet surged forward in hope, it took all her skill to keep her face empty. “The other subjects have shown tentative steps towards psychic communication with their pair. Subject 112 has historically reacted well to psychoactive medications, she could be our break through.” She felt her stomach clinch. They were going to try to make her crazy. Again.

She had almost a hundred pills. In her cupped hands the almost spilled over. Now she had a plan too. Carefully she ground up the pills using the bottom of her cup and the flat base of her plate. The powder was studiously mixed into her roommate’s food. The nurses had praised her for helping her nearly comatose roommate eat. They called it a psychic breakthrough. Violet grimaced to herself. She didn’t talk aloud any more; now she was a woman used to silence.

She listened through the night for her roommate’s breathing to stop. It did at some point in the darkest part of the night; she hadn’t found a way to estimate time yet. In the morning the nurses discovered the body and predictably doctors started moving in an out of the room. Violet stumbled into their path. She howled, scratched and screamed. “Get her out of here.” Yessssss. She nearly said it aloud and disguised it in a hiss. She continued to fight and struggle as she was taken down the hall. The nurse pulled out a prepared sedative shot and Violet made her move. It was more luck and desperation than ability that allowed her to force the nurse to stab the needle into his own arm. The plunger slid down and his eyes closed. Before he hit the ground, Violet was already pushing out the emergency exit. In the chaos that followed it took nearly an hour for them to organize a search for her.

“I need a new identity. I heard you were the man to come to.” He turned to face the voice and for a moment he didn’t recognize her. Her brown hair hacked short. There were deep shadows under her eyes. Her bones showed under her skin. “Did you hear me?” The voice was the same though, warm whiskey over cold ice. “You need to disappear?” God, she needed to disappear! How could this happen to him! “Yeah.” The one word response held a world of depth. It’s hard to say what spurred him to make the decision to keep her, but it’d be a life altering one - for both of them.

Part Five

1948

Her fingers touched experimentally at her sharp fangs. They were still new and endlessly fascinating to her. She felt around the tips, letting them prick and pull at the vitae of her fingertips. “Playing with yourself again Violet?” Her sire leaned indolently in the doorway. She made a note to herself to learn that perfect lean even as she experienced mild surprise at the lack of blood rushing to her cheeks at the ribald question. “Are you ready?” He leaned away from the door. “I’m ready.” She didn’t bother to adjust the drape of her clothes or the hang of her jewelry; another adjustment wouldn’t matter at this point. They were going to a party. David didn't think she was ready for Elysium yet. He was wrong, of course. To her mind, Violet was ready for any thing. It would be the first time since she walked into the hotel to speak to David Greenburg that she walked out.

He was right, of course. She wasn't ready for Elysium. How could she stand there silent and obedient when that mexican bitch was mouthing off and off about how Violet snubbed her party. Violet did no such thing. Couldn't the woman tell the difference between quiet observation and quiet condescension? Obviously not. Fine then! Since she was obviously just that stupid Violet wouldn't even try quiet condescension. She went straight for intensely verbal condescension. It turns out newly embraced baby vampires aren't supposed to "back talk" established Kindred. Oops. Or at least it would be just Oops if David didn't owe a small boon now. He wasn't that mad, which just made it worse. Violet offered at least three times to pay it back until he begrudgingly allowed her to, but only as a lesson. David was an excellent vampire.

1953

Manacles rested heavily on her wrists as she recited words from memory. Even as she spoke, her lips forming each word with careful precision, she wondered if the manacles would leave pulls in her gloves. Her thoughts were quickly pulled back to the ceremony though at the first question, “If you discovered your sire had diablerized another Kindred, what would you do?” Jesus! What type of question was that! Violet was so focused on the question she failed to notice two members of the room had gone deathly - well more so than normal - still. “I...” She hesitated; she had a sinking feeling in her stomach there was no right answer. “I’d request a private audience with you, your Grace, to discuss the topic.” It seemed for a moment there was a trace of a smirk that crossed his face, then he moved on to the next question.

The first thing she did after the official release was seek out Veles Lazarak, he had a reputation for being kind to the young and Violet figured at five years she still counted. She could no longer rely on her sire to find her blood when she had problems hunting, which to her embarrassment was far too often for her liking. It was time for her to be a grown up vampire and arrange for her own food. That's why she went to Veles, he could find her a good ghoul to feed from.

1959

Carefully Violet brushed blusher over her cheekbones. She wanted to look perfect tonight. It was a deal that’d make or break her plans to take the next step up in Vegas society. She was to meet a producer, not any producer though. Harvey Whit had brought Sinatra to the Strip, he’d worked with Presley himself. Not only would it be a coup on a personal level to gain his confidence but it’d also drive a nice little arrow into Cha's heart. Violet was still bitter over having her small influence over the city zoning in Fremont stamped out.

It was this bitterness that lead to Violet gleefully speaking up when Cha announced she needed a little help for a trip. Of course Violet would help her. Of course it wouldn't be a problem to provide her with a sturdy ghoul to feed on. For a medium boon. No one else spoke up. No one else offered. Who in their right mind would send their ghoul off with someone who may never come back? It was a gamble that Violet was willing to take. She'd always been fond of gambling. A couple months later the boon was repaid when a man appeared on Violet's doorstep escorted by her ghoul. "A producer? From LA." Her lips twisted into a smirk. "Always the show off." She could afford to be amused by Cha when she wasn't actively hating her.

1963

Violet reflected there wasn't much difference in parent figures between life and death. Tonight wasn't the first time that David had asked her what Function she intended to pursue. No matter how he phrased it, the outcome always meant the same thing... "When are you going to grow up and get a job Violet?" "What do you want to be when you grow up, Violet?" It's like you can't even be a "grown up" vampire in the Invictus without a function. Oh, sure, she understood their purpose. Obviously she thought it was a good idea to have one. She just didn't. A niggling voice spoke up in her subconscious, that annoying thing that people try forever to squelch and only manage in insanity. It was thoughts like that which sent Violet shying back to the topic at hand; she wasn't comfortable with the idea of insanity in the context of her. The voice tried to speak again, but this time it was squelched - she knew what it'd say anyways. It was after this moment of muddled introspection, during which Violet watched David with a vague smile, that she finally answered him. "I'll be a Speaker." The answer was abrupt to her, long waited for by David. She hadn't realized she was going to say it but internally she gave a shrug. It was good enough.

1968

“Violet, I need to talk to you.” It wasn’t often her sire spoke to her in that tone. She considered it adolescent that her immediate thought was Am I in trouble? Naturally she didn’t say it. She wasn’t that unpolished. Purposefully she waited as long as it took for her to repin her hair and freshen her lipstick before stepping out into the hall where her sire waited. “Yes?” She was proud of her cool tone. She would have been embarrassed if she’d know her sire’s thoughts where busy likening her to his sire.

He motioned her into his room where she took a seat on the end of his bed and looked at him with a school-girl’s attentive look. “I want to tell you about our line.” She frowned just a little - enough, she thought, to convey her confusion. “I know about our line, sire.” He sat down beside her and took her hand, just like he did any time he was about to start a lecture. “No, about our bloodline Violet.” It was then the entire story came out. She was faced with a choice, to join or not. There was really only one choice.

It took nearly three years of mentioning to the Invictus that she could find Crassus before one took her up on it. The rest of them didn't believe her. How could someone only twenty years dead have that sort of connections? It was only with the proof that she could do so, arranging one for James Stuart for a large boon that others started tentatively talking to her about it.

1970

Violet's fingers drifted leisurely over Cha's hair while the other woman rested her head on Violet's thigh. Every thing was sort of hazy, but it was a nice sort of hazy. The sort of hazy you get after a good dream; there hadn't been very many good dreams since embrace. She shifted, slithering down the bed to wrap her arms around Cha's shoulders. Tiny kisses carefully cleaned up her own blood from Cha's lips. Dimly, beneath the haze of drugged blood, Violet realized this was one of those things that would never be talked about again. It wouldn't be until the next evening that the rest of her realized how handy Cha's blood addiction was. As it was, for the night, it took her mind off her loss. Her grandsire had gone into eclipse earlier that night; David wouldn't come out of his room. It was nice to forget... Her thoughts slipped away again as Cha sunk her fangs into Violet's neck.

When Cha heard in Elysium, a year later, about Violet's sire entering eclipse she showed up on her doorstep with a paper bag. Violet slipped her arms around Cha's waist in silent embrace before the two walked deeper into the now empty suite of rooms. It'd be something that persisted in memory for years, tempering Violet's irritation whenever she was tempted to strike out at Cha's influence for some minor Elysium squabble. Through illicit liaisons, never spoken about but always remembered, the two fell into a sort of accord. Feuding but never truly hurting.

1972

It wasn’t in Violet’s nature to stalk prey. Usually it came to her, but tonight was different. Tonight she stalked Damien Reese as he moved like a too-bright butterfly around the lounge. He flirted with women with the same air that he gambled, drank and smoke. Damien was a man’s man. To Violet he was perfect. The Invictus appreciated men who acted like men. She was positive Damien would be able to be her bridge to work with, or really around, the old school sexists of the covenant.

There was some talk in Elysium, behind Violet's back of course, that Damien was a terrible candidate for the embrace. He was too full of himself. Narcissist is what they call it in textbooks now. A few took a more sympathetic note, saying that maybe she just embraced because she was lonely. After all hadn't her sire just gone into torpor the year before? Hadn't her grandsire the year before that? It was a surprise she hadn't taken to torpor herself. Only the Invictus were aware that Violet didn't take the eclipse of her sire and grandsire with sad resignation. She was furious when James Stuart tried to take over their bodies and their holdings. Her absolute and mostly unkind refusal to let James practice his function would lead to a simmering resentment that lasted years.

1975

It was the first time Violet had to actively defend her holdings. She wasn’t happy about it. Who did these people think they were? These uppity Carthians; none of them belonged here. They should go back to whatever trashy city they came from. Inwardly she ranted, screamed and simmered while on the outside her lips curved into a cool smile. “The Moulin Rouge? Yes, I go there quite often.” Not by a flicker of an eyelash did she give away her fury at Roselyn Meeks’ audacity. How dare they try to undermine her influence like this, she simply wouldn’t allow it. “You know, they may have been the first to let the blacks in but they really don’t have standards 'that' low. Maybe you should try a place down in Boulder City. I hear they even let the homosexuals in.”

1980

Violet waited until Michelle was done feeding. She knew Michelle couldn't see her, the girl was lost in the taste of the blood. Mentally Violet ticked off the seconds it took for Michelle to kill the man. Mhm... that should do it, just a little more little Carthian. Oh, yeah, he's dead now. She casually reached out and nudged a glass off a table, the shattering glass jerked Michelle's head up. "Well, well, well. What have you done Miss Costillo? Killed a man?" Inside she laughed at the appalled expression on Michelle's face. "And not just any man either. So let me sum up what you've done here." One by one she started to count offenses off on her fingers. ""You're poaching. You're feeding where any one could walk in on you. You've killed a man by exsanguination. You've killed the assistant producer of Jubilee! That's going to be a Masquerade breach there and I do believe, if I remember right, that Veles Lazarak was looking to ghoul him." Michelle's eyes were starting to glass over. Good. "So let's just clean this up and keep our mouths shut, hmm?"

1983

Well it took a while but she knew Damien would come around. Really, joining the Carthians? She shook her head. It didn’t matter now; she’d promised to forgive him. It was with a small self-satisfied smile that she stood back to survey the arrangements. The party would be excellent. It’d be just as if he’d never had that regrettable episode. “Proud of yourself?” Was that bitterness in his tone? Surely not. She’d done what was best for him. “Proud of you, Damien. Tonight will be wonderful. A new beginning.” If only she’d realized then how true that would be.

1990

"Well? Is it what you wanted?" Her tone edged towards impatient at the lack of comment and she took a few seconds to settle it back into studied indifference. "He'll work." Nathaniel's comment wasn't the gushing of pleasure that would have fed Violet's ego, but she supposed it'd do. "Good, I'm glad." She sounded bored, not glad, but what did it matter - the words were the right words. She continued with the request. "I'd like you to help me with something..." It was only one of the many times throughout the years that the words, or words similar, were bandied between the pair but never in all that time was help free.

1994

Violet closed her eyes on a sigh. It wasn’t often Violet had regrets, but she had them now. She regretted embracing him. She regretted sharing with him the secret of the line. She regretted being so damn eager. She swore to god if she ever had it to do again, she’d make sure to do the unveiling exactly like her sire did. Either way it was done. Damien had joined the line. He’d embarrassed her in Elysium. He’d cost her standing in the covenant. Her lips tightened, there in the privacy of her room. Maybe she’d pick a fight with Cha tonight. The long-standing feud never failed to lighten her heart.

1999

There's a moment between draining a mortal's blood to kill him and giving a baby vampire blood to make it live that you have a corpse on your hands. Inevitably, in Violet's experience, it's a beautiful corpse. A corpse that's taken it's time to pluck away the stray hairs, to perfect the complexion, to trim and polish the nails. This is the sort of body undertakers fall in love with. The sort that needs nothing else to be perfect. It was for that moment of cooling perfect, Violet waited. If you wait too long, death takes hold and the body is fit for nothing more than the morgue. It was tempting though, to wait too long. To see how long it takes the perfection to fade, for Addison she would give him five entire minutes before the soul was gone. He seemed the sort to cling tenaciously to hope. She blinked twice, suddenly worried that she'd been lost in reflection for too long, lost her chance. It was with hurried movements that she ripped open her wrist and placed it against Addison's mouth. She embraced her second childe.

2001

With a carefully controlled flourish she signed her name on the bottom of the document. The scent of delicious vitae wafted up from it and for no more than half a second she closed her eyes and inhaled then she set down the pen perfectly parallel to the edge of the paper and turned to face the few gathered Invictus. Signing an Oath of Fealty is a major affair, or at least it's supposed to be. The Invictus in Las Vegas was small though; things weren't as formal as maybe they would be in the august cities of New England. This signing would be followed by a party, granted one Violet threw for herself but if a girl waits around for someone to give her something, she may end up empty handed.

2002

“God curse me to swallow my tongue, but I actually agree with the Carthian, your Grace. Banning Embrace at one of the city’s most prosperous moments, even on Veles Lazarak’s undoubtedly informed advice, seems a little hasty.” Secretly she thought Lazarak’s divinations were a load of nonsense, but then, at least they seemed to keep the Crone in line. Her thoughts wandered even as she walked a practiced line with her argument. If someone could find a way to influence however those divinations were done, they could control the city. Her thoughts often wandered to things like this before being carefully redirected. It never served to let your thoughts wander far in a city full of Mekhet.

2007

The door swung open with a crash as it hit the wall. Violet never knocked, Damien should be used to it by now. He pulled on one of those smiles he knew she hated, the calm-the-little-lady smile. “Yes, sire?” Her voice was a hiss, the sort of hiss a rattler makes to warn someone stepping too close. “What did you do?” Inside he felt a moment of terror, but if nothing else he’d learned how to mask his feelings from his sire. “What do you mean?”
“I mean... What. Did. You. Do.”
“Nothing?”
“Where is it? Where did you put it?”
More doors slammed opened, slammed closed. “How could you do this to me?” Her voice was accusatory. “Of course, sire, it’s always about you.” Her hand snapped out, slapping him across the face. When he reached up and touched blood he fell silent. “Where is it?” Her voice, never raised, was cold. Without speaking he reached past her to twist the doorknob she’d been reaching for seconds before.

For a moment she stood there, back lit and staring while the beast rattled at it’s already weakened cage. “This is it?” Her tone was incredulous.
“This is my grandchilde?”
“It’s my childe.”
The indolent tone was back. Carefully he used a white handkerchief to blot the blood from his lip. The silence stretched as Violet took her time summing up the creature in front of her. Her eyes, namesake purple, were like irises under ice. “Get rid of it.” Winter had set in early in Las Vegas this year.

Goddamnit. He’d pulled the last straw. Tipped over the last scale. Whatever the fuck you wanted to call it, she’d had enough. With a city-wide ban on the embrace, he’d gone and embraced someone because he felt like it? She’d kill him. Just see if she wouldn’t. The Prince wouldn’t even have a chance because it was her blood to reclaim. Blood he should have never been given. He had done this to get back at her of course. Her thoughts darted around irrationally. He’d been plotting it since she ruined his work with the Mormon bank and blamed it on the Carthians. That little fuck. She carefully signed her name at the bottom of the letter then passed it to a ghoul to seal even as the scent of drying vitae wafted from it. Signed in blood, it was her oath to remove the blemish from her line - one way or another.

When later questioned about Damien's disappearance, Violet would shrug and say that it was just like him to run off and abandon his responsibilities. Despite this commentary, Violet showed no inclination to raise Deangelo which some vocal minorities (namely, Michelle Costillo) said was her responsibility now. Little did they know she often did take care of him. Who was it that fed him when he was half starved? Which was for some godforsaken reason all the damn time.