[The first portion is posted almost directly from log, with minimal editing.]

In fortune solio Sederam elatus, Prosperitatis vario Flore coronatus; Quicquid enim florui Felix et beatus, Nunc a summo coruit Gloria privatus.

On Fortuna's throne I used to sit, raised up, Crowned with The many-colored flowers of Prosperity; Though I may have flourished Happy and blessed, Now I fall from the summit Stripped of glory.

9:32 pm, 7 August 2009
Manchester, New Hampshire
An Isolated Family Plot in Pineview Cemetery

Sprawled out for as far as the eye can see are the granite monuments that the living give to the dead. In a sea of tombstones you find this little quiet place, concealed behind the cover of a high stand of arbor vitae and rhododenrons. It appears to be a family plot, the 10 stones within it each bearing names of the cherished dead.

The early night is still warm from the summer, but not as still and morbid as the earlier nights have been: the seasons are turning, and summer is ending. Even though only half of a moon is visible, it is particularly bright, gilding everything in silver. Even though the air is warm, a coolish breeze signals that more is to come soon, stirring the leaves and bending the grasses. Clayton is riding Meno at a slow trot, the horse seeming reticent, almost subdued. Rather than his usual dress-wear, he is in jeans and a brown bomber jacket: clearly clothing more suited to riding than appearing before a Senate committee. His face is shadowed by a brimmed leather hat he wears low over his forehead.

Quiet and dead silent, Fursa takes her place in the glade near the base of several of the stones there. Shielded from view, she has no interest in the world beyond and simply focusses on the task of lighting and placing candles. Prayers come, silent in the night, and she is content to perform her self appointed task here with nothing more than the labor of her gloved hands.

Sue's Honda purrs at an idle at the stoplight when the rider catchs her eye. She watches, curious as to who would be out on horseback in the dark. It's the work of a moment to tune her nightvision into further clarity, and she almost misses her light as she finally gets a good look. A hasty turn sends her down the opposite way along the row of stately houses until she finds a nice, shadowy bush to obscure her bike, and sets off on foot after the man and horse, speeding her pace enough to just keep them in sight as she follows.

Clayton rambles along on Meno, lost in his own thoughts, the frown grim on his face. It is the horse that slows first, seeming to want to rest. Clayton flicks the reins gently and gives a quiet "hup!", but that only provides a bit more energy. Meno pulls over to the side of the road next to the cemetery and stops, putting his head down for a quick munch. Clayton just gives him a frustrated look.

Sue strolls up the road towards the horse, keeping her steps casual now that the beast has decided to stop. She keeps close to what trees and bushes there may be planted along the roadway, a shadow herself save when the moonlight glints off golden hair.

From his higher vantage point, Clayton looks out over the graves, over the wall separating them from the road. His eyes focus in on something he sees in the distance....

Fursa bows her head at the first stone. She seems to hang there after the candle is placed. A hand lays across the face of the cold granite and she seems to stare at the name in the moonlight.

Sue keeps her quiet path towards the horse and rider, feet barely making a sound against the grass, care taken to step over twigs and trash. Finally, near the horse, there aren't any more long shadows, and she steps out into the moonlight.

Clayton is not startled. He just turns and looks. Something in the air was unsettling him.

Sue smiles, a polite expression, certainly, though absolutely nothing reflects in her eyes. They almost seem to give the illusion of absorbing the ambient light "Good night for a ride?"

Clayton nods, not quite desiring to chat yet.

Sue doesn't appear to be in any rush, looking towards Meno, but watching Clayton under her lashes.

Clayton turns away from Sue, looking instead at the distant figure.

More quiet mouthings. She seems all but oblivious as she kneels at the first of the tall stones.

Sue murmurs quietly "Beautiful horse..." and lets the words hand there. She hasn't gone away.

Clayton says quietly, perhaps dimming his voice so he won't disturb the distant figure, "Thank you."

Sue decides to make an attempt to draw Clayton's attention away from the figure in the cemetary. She keeps her voice quiet, extending her hand towards the horse in a peaceful gesture, for the animal to inspect... and hopefully not bite "Luke is dead, did you know?"

Fursa shifts herself to the next stone in the line. She remains to her task and sets the next candle. In the dark, you can't read her expression, though her demeanor is subdued substatively from normal.

Clayton eyes the hand to see what this woman intends to do to his horse. He does not warn her away, but he does not welcome it either. "Did you know him?"

Sue doesn't seem to be intending to do anything to the horse, but perhaps pet it, if it allows her. "I knew of him. I talked to him once or twice."

Meno lets Sue touch him, but, like his owner, doesn't do any loveable things to encourage more petting. Clayton, for his part, simply nods. "As did I."

Sue doesn't press the issue, withdrawing her touch with a shrug "I knew Jesse far better... the man who died with him? It's a tragedy when an innocent soul gets caught in crossfire."

Another movement, another candle, another stone. Fursa works in relative silence. That same subdued demeanor clings to her as she goes about her business.

Clayton turns to watch the red-haired figure as Sue speaks, then turns back to her when he formulates his reply. "Indeed it is."

Sue lets her hands hange loosely at her sides "I was just curious as to who gave the order for the bomb that took them both."

*Now* Clayton's eyes narrow. Perhaps it was Elderly caution, perhaps it was emotional distance, but now that Sue has made the first real move, the game begins in earnest. So much for the foreplay. "I don't know." A pause. "Is there a reason you are asking me this question?"

Sue nods, just slightly "There is. You rather clearly expressed a desire for Luke's demise. A very potent desire, if I recall correctly. You obviously have motivation." She pauses for a moment, then continues "Your affairs, whether you war with each other or have peace, certainly aren't my affair... until the innocent start getting hurt by it. All I want to know from you is if you are responsible." She seems to speak in a general sense at the beginning of her second statement.

Fursa sits there in the moonlight, finally walking to the last two stones. An audible and distinct sigh parts her lips.

The tension around Clayton's eyes indicates that he is highly suspicious of this blonde woman who has apparently seen far too much. But he knows the easiest way to get a Rottweiler off one's arm is to give it what it wants. "No, I am not." Once more the pause, then he turns to look at the lone figure again. "I do not think I am the one who can answer your questions."

Sue nods once, stepping back from the horse "Thank you for your candor." Her gaze shifts to follow his own for a moment, but she doesn't move further away. A tension seems to have evaporated from her, though.

Finally, Fursa lights two candles and lays them at the base of the end two stones. Now, the audible intonations of a sort of song, sort of liturgy come from her in the moonlight. The occasional quiet howl breaks into the words. There is a sudued restraint in her words as she speaks to no one but the stones.

Clayton watches his Prince chant, his face not entirely relaxed. The eyes are tense, the fine muscles around the nose are drawn. A slight frown. The song penetrates the night air. After a period of silence, he speaks quietly, audible just above Fursa's song: "Go speak with her and tell her what you saw." With a click, he pulls Meno around in a circle to head back out onto the road, back the way they came.

Sue murmurs quietly "I intended to do so...", though she doesn't move a muscle towards the cemetery.

Clayton turns to move off at a walk, not turning back.

Fursa finally ends her chant and sits back on her heels at the base of those two stones. Her demeanor remains subdued, though some part of her burden appears to have been lifted.

I know the names on those gravestones. I know the other names all around them. I have some idea what she was doing there.

But none of it makes sense.

Why would my own Prince give a hero's burial to the Kindred who nearly destroyed me?

The question is immediately nonsensical, but I can't deny the fact that it did happen, and I have to answer it honestly. The only answer I can give, however, is one I don't want to hear.

But I must act on that answer. Finding the Kindred who set the bomb is secondary: first I must hedge bets I never thought I would have to be cautious about, and protect myself from Fursa. It would be a mistake to go tilting after windmills before taking care of the homefront.

11:19 pm, 8 August 2009
Manchester, New Hampshire

My financial holdings are now completely outside of New Hampshire, except for a bank account in another name that is well-secured. My personal dwellings are insurmountably mine, and have been for centuries now: any challenge to the zoning would be extremely difficult, and burning down the forest--it happened in Annapolis, and could happen here too--would threaten her manse too. Physically, I have Ennea, and am no pushover myself.

Even if she were to turn against me completely, I would not be easy to expunge from Manchester. I could keep the arts fairly well in hand for a while, even if I had to do so from out-of-state. The money tied up in that community and the other elite of the city could translate into a non-negligible amount of political pressure: possibly enough to tie up one or two things for a little while, but not much more than that. My personal ties at UNH would keep me well-informed of what was going on: I don't really think she can match me there, but I know I've been wrong on that score before.

And where could I go? Perhaps I would be more welcome in Massachusetts than I once was. Or back to Annapolis. I doubt I would have trouble with Tremere killing my horses, like I did last time. I doubt I would have a problem picking up and moving on, even though it would mean sacrificing what I had built here.

And there it is, the unthinkable, being thought. What Roman Pendragon, Jeremy Skelton, James Whitmore, House and Clan Tremere, and the Enemy could not do in three hundred years, Fursa Hand-Seinn managed to do in one night: run me out of New Hampshire.

[Lyrics: "Fortuna Plango Vulnera," Carmina Burana, Orff.]