So the blackfish were birthed from Usuria’s magics and her very body. The thought of a kindred being able to bear life, regardless of the fact that magical intervention was needed, was such an intriguing one that Akhenaten’s face could barely contain his grin when Scarmiglione told him of the blackfish’s origins. When the gladiator continued, however, that grin faded; the creatures weren’t life, they were pieces kept together and animated entirely with the magics. They might as well be corpses made to jerk about with an electrical shock, or marionettes who were hollow and useless without their strings and puppet masters. Yes, magic was an interesting topic, and any knowledge was precious and appreciated, but this revelation meant that Akhenaten would not be studying a brand new species brought into this world by his kind. And the knowledge of how the blackfish were made would take him decades to learn, and most likely require his devotion to The Crone; how very disappointing.

Akhenaten thanked Scarmiglione for his time and excused himself, kicking one of the automatons out of his way as he left for topside. He found a payphone, put in the tokens needed, and pressed the appropriate buttons. After short conversations, he put his earphones on and pressed play on his Walkman, the energizing and eclectic music of this generation a soundtrack for his walk.

Geophrey was dead, killed most likely by some kind of serial killer ghost or some such thing possessing one of The Circle’s past thralls. Akhenaten had the vague impression that Dorian was in some kind of trouble. Zamanthy was no where to be found, and he still hadn’t gotten her to tell him why she was upset with him. Akhenaten hadn’t seen that mulleted fellow that had arrived around the same time as most the new arrivals since last Elysium. He hadn’t seen much of Stephan, despite the fact that the two of them had seemed to get along quite well. And where was Drago!? That interesting and talented kindred seemed to just drop into the abyss after promising to teach Akhenaten the cello!

The only one left was the whelp who had insulted his queen, his religion, his entire culture, and had tried to use his magics to dominate him. Every time the two of them spoke it resulted in barbs being thrown by one or both of them, and occasionally a stare down. Akhenaten didn’t understand and didn’t care to understand the absurd faith the kindred held to. And yet Jacque appeared to be the only kindred in all of Atlantis One who considered Akhenaten something close to a friend.

Akhenaten had barely finished his first knock when the door was flung open, the girl likewise flinging herself upon him, their companion close behind. Akhenaten walked into the apartment, closing the door behind himself and wrapping his arms around them, chuckling at their enthusiasm. One girl’s hands were already under his shirt, lifting it above his head and knocking his Walkman to the ground, while the other lowered herself and peppered his now bare stomach with kisses while she unclasped his belt. Akhenaten grabbed the still standing girl, kissing her roughly, as he laughed to himself.