Smoke billowed up from the streets of Paris, closely followed by the unintelligible cries of the rioting citizens. The guards that had been sent to quell the fighting were less than useless, many having even joined in on the riots as well. It was utter chaos.

And Lord Maurice loved every second of it.

Maurice wasn’t really a Lord, of course. In fact, he was lesser born than most of the rioters, not that there was anyone still alive to tell that particular tale any longer. He had outlived everyone who had known him as “Maurice the Street rat” by more than a century now. And besides, a lot could happen in a century. There were many… opportunities he had been able to take advantage of in that amount of time.

The deceptively-young looking man swirled the suspiciously red contents of his wine glass around, shivering in delight at the intoxicating scent of fresh blood that welled up from the glass, drowning out the formerly overpowering scent of smoke. With practiced grace, the immortal downed his drink and set it off to one side, continuing to stare out at the destruction being wrought in the streets below.

Suddenly, the door behind him opened, followed by the sound of breaking glass and a shill shriek of panic. Maurice turned, languidly, and studied the alarmed look on his maid’s face with a look of muted interest. Slowly, he followed her frightened gaze to the corpse he had left propped up against the wall, blood still dribbling pathetically from two small holes in its neck. Maurice frowned. Perhaps he should have disposed of that earlier.

With precise, calculated movements, the vampire began to reach for a dagger he knew was hidden in the top drawer of the desk positioned just to his left. Anticipating her oncoming doom, the woman turned to flee, but instead of her freedom, she ran straight into a rapier, running herself through like a pig for roasting.

Maurice gave pause, letting his arm fall limply to his side as he peered beyond the pained form of his soon-to-be-late maid as she drowned in her own blood. When he saw who it was that had so graciously taken care of his little mistake, he gave a brief wave.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Maurice. I do hope that you do not mind the tragic fate of your maid?” the newcomer drawled as he stepped from the shadows, pulling his rapier from the rapidly deflating lunges of Maurice’s maid, only to raise the blade to his own lips to lick away the blood that had stuck to it.

Maurice waved a hand dismissively, emitting a small chuckle. “Do not worry about such things, Raoul. She was quite the rude one. She did not even knock before entering,” he shook his head dramatically, long hair swishing about his face. “Now, since you are here I assume that things have gone well on your end? It would be… most tragic should this glorious revolution fall through the cracks, non?” he said, glancing back at the other blood-drinker, who seemed to have grown tired of the dying maids wheezing, judging by the fact that he had snapped her neck and proceeded to toss her freshly-made corpse onto the one Maurice had been drinking from earlier.

Raoul turned his attention back to Maurice and nodded, joining the elder vampire at the window to observe the chaos down below.

“Indeed they have, Monsieur. The Corsican you pointed out is perfect for our designs. His eventual reign will be a bloody one, I am sure, and with his charisma it will be easy to get him into that reign,” he said, turning to Maurice, “How about Robespierre?”

Maurice chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “Insane and quite paranoid, as usual. I have instructed Gabrielle to stay with him and make sure that he does not allow any of the other humans to realize just how unstable he is, at least until we get him into power. It should not be too much longer now, I think.” Maurice paused and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Very soon we will have more of a future than any of our kind before us. It will be magnificent,” he murmured and looked over at Raoul, who had produced two blood-filled glasses from seemingly nowhere. The man smirked and offered one of the glasses.

“To Liberty, Equality, Fraternity?” he asked smugly. Maurice barked out a laugh and accepted the glass, nodding good naturedly.

“Oui. To Liberty, Equality, Fraternity,” he murmured, clinking his glass together with Raoul’s before they both turned to watch the city tear itself apart.