This document will expand as I think of new moments to add. This is a sort of literary doodling pad to help me shape some aspects of Rebecca's character. Quality, it ain't, but it's a record of a developing character
"And then the bastard has the nerve to get tenure!" Rebecca shouted, looking for something to throw. As she was standing in the middle of the college library, there were many huckable objects close at hand, but she respected books too much to throw them. She settled for slamming her fists upon a battered desk. "Ow!" the table was a good deal firmer than her hands.
Stuart regarded her calmly, just barely not smiling. "So expose him." He said calmly. "You've got your notes and you're the one who built the bibliography. Go the faculty at Seattle and ruin Jacobs' career." He was surprised that she hadn't already pursued this obvious option. Certainly, her former history professor had taken advantage of her work, but it didn't mean she had to accept it.
Rebecca took a deep breath and sat down. How can he always be so calm? The thought was tainted with resentment and quickly stifled. Rebecca liked her mentor too much to be jealous of him - well, not for too long.
"Not a good idea," Rebecca said bluntly. "I ruin his career and I might as well skip straight to working at McDonald's. Jacobs can nuke any chance I have of getting my thesis accepted, or of any academic appointment in the Northwest." She sighed again. "I'd heard rumors that he sucked students dry, but I had no idea he'd fucking plagarize from his own students. Bastard."
Stuart assessed her simmering state. He had been listening to her rant for about half an hour and he guessed that the worst of the bile was out of her system by now. "Do you know what I would do in this situation?" he asked, a slight smile finally surfacing.
"Oh please no, not golf." Rebecca sighed. They both loved the sport, but Rebecca thought this was not the time to go out. It was always hell trying to explain to the club how a one-armed man could play golf. Usually, they just trespassed on a municipal course after dark. One of these days, he'll have to explain this nocturnal habit of his. Rebecca mused.
He shook his head. "No, not this time," he admitted. He stood, pulling his ever-present satchel over his shoulder. "You ever handled a gun before?"
"Um, not since my uncle showed me how to shoot his .22 when I was kid." Rebecca admitted, curious.
"Then it's time you learned." He announced. More than time, he thought. "I know a place where we can go. I don't suppose you have a picture of Jacobs on you...?"
Hearing Stuartís step behind her, Rebecca took a deep breath and decided that it was now or never. The library contained only a few students still desperately studying for finals - or catching up on their sleep away from noisy roommates. The evening of translation and discussion had gone quite well and she thought she had made some real progress on a particularly sticky part of her thesis. She was in a good mood and, she thought Stuart was too.
"Hey, I had an idea." she turned to face her mentor.
"Yes?" he asked quietly. As usual, he was clad in jeans, tee-shirt and a baggy jacket, the hanging left sleeve never quite an adequate visual substitute for his missing arm. "A new way to approach the integrity problem of Walking Bear?"
"Huh?" Rebecca was momentarily confused by this and realized that he, of course, was still thinking of her coursework. "Oh. No, not that," she shook her head. "Different topic entirely."
"Really?" he shrugged. "Whatís that?"
Okay, woman, donít make too big a fool of yourself. "I was thinking that all work and no play - and donít tell me golf counts, youíre not the one carrying the clubs, alright? Anyway," she continued quickly. "All the library time making things kind of homogenous and I was thinking that maybe we could-"
"No." Stuart interrupted, frowning slightly.
"Youíre about to ask me out. Donít." Stuart told her calmly.
"What?" Rebecca was mildly shocked. How did he know? "I mean, yeh, I was, but why not? I mean Ďwhy not the going out' part?"
Her answer was a long stare that, for once, didnít cause her to squirm. In fact, she felt rather irritated that she had been so obvious and, more to the point, that Stuart was turning her down, flat. "Thatís not an answer." she snapped, after a moment.
Stuart sighed - a rare thing, she noticed. "You mean aside from the fact that Iím your faculty tutor and we already spend too much time together?" And the fact that youíre my thrall and really donít understand the source of any of your current emotions, he didnít add.
Now it was her turn to shrug. "Thatís entirely academic." she dismissed his objection easily. "Well, aside from the golf games." she admitted. "And that time we caught the revival of Raiders of the Lost Ark at the Odeon." she pondered this for a moment. "Still, that was a statistical blip. I like you." she said casually. "Donít you like me?" A glimmer of suspicion appeared in her eyes.
Stuartís mind raced, belied by his outward smile. He realized that he would have to deal with her carefully. He had been warned that ghoulís sometimes got inappropriate ideas. So much for hoping to direct her passion into her work, he thought ruefully.
"Of course I do." he said gently. Rebecca immediately brightened at that, but he continued before she could interrupt. "Youíre a wonderful student," she frowned at that emphasis "and Iíve enjoyed our association. But itís academic and I really think it should stay that way." He laughed quietly. "I already have an eccentric enough reputation on this campus." he reminded the increasingly sulky Rebecca. "It wouldnít do if I was seen intimately with a student, particularly a protege." Not to mention the fact that Iím not entirely sure what would happen if I let you get too close to me. He quickly squashed the resurgent memory of past mistakes.
Rebecca thought in silence for a moment. "Great. I must look like a complete idiot." she sighed.
Stuart could sense her sullen anger, and decided to use one of his unfair advantages. Catching her eye, he carefully told her: "Iím flattered by the idea, and Iím very fond of you. But you should realize that this is not a good time for you to be looking for a relationship, with anyone. Youíre so busy with your work..."
Rebecca nodded, assuring Stuart that the suggestion was probably settling well with her. A few more suggestions and she would be able to talk herself out of this damn silly idea, without alienating herself from him. After all, she was a very useful tool, and Stuart didnít let go of such tools easily...
"Oh shit...Quick, climb!" Rebecca fumbled left handedly for her gun as the growling lupine approached. Her right hand was busily scribing the air in a gesture that her companion, Brian, thought he recognized. Brian didn't waste any time clambering up a nearby oak tree. Rebecca stayed on the ground.
"What are you doing?" he asked, wishing he had thought to pick up their few findings from the long-buried Yakima encampment they were excavating. He'd seen lupine before - they were impossible to avoid in the Pacific Northwest, especially when a person liked to loot Indian grounds - but experience didn't make them any easier to face. Belatedly, he remembered his own gun, in his coat pocket, and aimed it at the approaching lycanthrope.
Rather than replying, Rebecca loosed a shot in the lupine's direction, not caring if it hit. "They're silver!" she yelled, hoping the bluff would be believed.
"Casting a spell, of course." Rebecca muttered tightly. Another shot, this one from Brian, boomed through the woods, ripping into his target. The man-wolf snarled something unintelligible, but no doubt unflattering, and paused in his approach for a moment. These two little leeches would be easy prey for him, and he wanted to take some time and tease them. Let them think they can get away...
"But coordination is..." Rebecca's third shot went far wide of the mark. "Tricky." It's not going to do me much good if I boil the sap out of a tree, or shoot myself in the foot...
Suddenly, a gout of blood tore itself free from the werewolf's body and streamed into Rebecca's waiting hand, where it was absorbed. The lupine howled, surprised and hurt, and fell to his knees as gouts of blood were stolen from his body.
Rebecca, dizzy from the potent vitae, laughed wildly for a moment and fired another shot. The shot was true and the werewolf's head was torn asunder, leaving a nightmarish assemblage of bone and gristle. Rebecca knew of the lupines' ability to heal and quickly used some of the stolen blood to augment her own abilities as she continued to assault her assailant, both physically and magically.
Within a few seconds, Rebecca knew she couldn't take any more of the potent vitae into her body, and was forced to kill the lupine via mundane means. Just to be sure, she hastily decapitated - not much to take, she thought irreverently - the body with a hatchet.
Brian climbed down from the tree, still ready to run, and wondered if perhaps he should now fear Rebecca. He had heard that lupine blood could have a heady effect on Kindred, and she certainly seemed drunk as she brightly hummed an old rock song while she bagged the lupine's head and collected some spilled blood in a small jar. Rebecca was usually a little more humane than this.
"I'll send this to Seattle. Maybe they can have some fun with it." She explained eyes bright. "Man! This is amazing!" she felt like she was ten feet tall and queen of all the vampires. "This shit shouldn't be legal."
Brian looked around, imagining werewolves in every shadow, as he hastily picked up their findings. "Um, can we talk about that somewhere else? Like back in town, maybe?"
"What?" Rebecca looked about, as if only just noticing her surroundings and grinned ruefully. "Good point." She picked up the few tools that they had brought with 'em. "I'll buy you a cup of coffee, c'mon..."
Rebecca looked up from the musty tome that lay open before her on the library table. Frowning, she regarded her sire, who had just entered the small, stuffy room.
"Boss?" her sire, Stuart, nodded. "You know I love you, right?" she said sweetly.
Stuart nodded again. He never was much of a conversationalist, Rebecca sighed inwardly.
"In fact, so much so that I even love your flaws." She continued.
Stuart raised an eyebrow at that, as he sat down near her, moving to look at the book that Rebecca was so recently studying. He was surprised to be stopped by her throwing an arm out in front of him. He glanced at her, his expression questioning and darkened by growing irritation.
"But the books don't." Rebecca stared at the cigarette in his hand. "Books most definitely do not love cigarettes." Stuart sighed and stubbed the cigarette out on the table, ignoring Rebecca's wince. " Get the nicotine fix outside the library, okay?" she asked. "You've gotta get more smokers in your herd...." she muttered, turning back to her studies.
Rebecca glared at Christy Goldman, who stood before her scowling and arms crossed. "It belongs in a museum." Rebecca told her opponent firmly, and then stifled a wince. I can't believe I just said that.
"Your museum, of course." Christy replied sharply. She liked her private collection and she wasn't about to relinquish any of it for any altruistic cause. Especially a cause as false as Rebecca's
Rebecca shrugged. She couldn't be bothered with lying to this woman. "Yes. At least then someone will see it," her eyes flickered towards the ancient jade vase that sat in a prominent spot in Goldman's lushly decorated living room. Several centuries of dedicated plundering had gone into that room, and it showed.
"Why should I care?" Christy sat down with a surprisingly graceless movement. "Tell the Tremere that they can cry themselves to sleep."
Rebecca tried not to frown. Well, it looks like I'm going to have to use the big guns. She had hoped that it wouldn't come this, but it was necessary. Reaching into her beloved leather satchel, she withdrew a small photograph and gave it to the scowling woman.
The woman glanced at it casually - intending to dismiss it - then stared at it and back at Rebecca.
"Where did you get this?" she demanded.
Rebecca shrugged again, hoping it would annoy Christy. "Don't ask me. I don't know. Do you like it?" she asked harshly.
"This is mine!" Christy's cynical facade had collapsed. "Mine!"
Rebecca made a show of considering Christy's remarks. "Hmm... No, I don't think so." She looked around. "I don't see it here." She stated brightly, twisting the knife.
Christy jumped up, ready to beat this disrespectful neonate, when Rebecca stepped back, "Whoa, whoa. Thrash me and you definitely won't get that pretty picture back." She warned.
Christy heard the truth in that, and sat down again. "The picture for the vase, is that it?" she asked sullenly.
"You got it." Rebecca replied quickly. "See, not all the Tremere are thieving bastards. We're offering a fair trade."
"Who's 'we'?" Christy asked, a gleam of curiosity in her eye belied her sullen tone.
Rebecca shook her head. "I couldn't tell you that, even if I knew. You've got all the information you need. You agree to let me take you to a third party, you bring the vase and they'll bring the painting that you're missing so badly."
Christy thought quickly. If the situation could be manipulated just right, she could walk away with both the vase and the canvas.
"Alright." She nodded. "Can you take me tonight?"...