Hi there! You are currently browsing as a guest. Why not create an account? Then you get less ads, can thank creators, post feedback, keep a list of your favourites, and more!
Test Subject
#526 Old 31st Jul 2008 at 2:57 AM
Default Viktor + Vevila -- The Streets
Vevila noticed that the night air seemed an odd mixture of cool, refreshing air, and yet simultaneously the semi-sticky humidity that she had come to detest whenever it reared its ugly head.

"I am staying at the 'Hollywood Roosevelt', do you know exactly how far it is from here?
"

Vevila knew the hotel well; how could you not? If you were visiting L.A., it was one of the most luxurious hotels you could stay in. It had a reputation for a degree of opulence and quality that spread to those in all levels of society--even those who would have to sell their own limbs to finance a one-night stay there. Yes, she knew how far it was, and not too far at that.

"Oh! Wow, that's wonderful...I've heard only great things about the Roosevelt, even though I myself have never stayed there. And it's actually not all that far; I would say no more than a few blocks."

She began calculating distance in her head, checking her guesses and faint memory of the hotel's location in terms of where they were at the moment. That was the great thing about this town--nothing was too far out of reach.

'The directions they gave me, seemed a tad bit confusing. I did walk around in circles for a moment, and then i bumped into you."

A soft giggle slipped past her lips and Vevila gave a nod of understanding. She knew better than most how difficult it could be to navigate the city, especially if you were new. Sometimes it would feel like one immense labyrinth, with alleyways coiling into infinity and streets turning endlessly with no perceivable end in sight.

"Well, it wouldn't surprise me if their directions were a bit hard to follow; they tend to assume everyone knows their way around. I've been here for a while now and I still get lost on occasion."

It was on that note that Viktor stood suddenly, and pivoted to face her while she remained seated there a moment longer. She tilted her head sideways out of curiosity, wondering why he had jumped up so abruptly.

"Madame care too accompany to the front of my hotel, it would seem since i am new here i am at a disadvantage of knowing its proper locale. But ofcourse if you have more important things to do i totally understand, by all means do not let me be keeping you from something important. That would be uncivil of me..."

Vevila grinned and bowed her head elegantly, as if accepting the task with that smooth acknowledgment. Without much delay she stood up promptly and brushed off her skirt to make sure it was devoid of any wrinkles from the short time she had been seated.

"I would be more than happy to accompany you, and you aren't keeping me from any pressing matters. As you saw earlier, I wasn't exactly wandering with any purpose." She gave a coy wink and chuckled softly before moving forward in the direction of the hotel, pausing for a brief moment to glance over her shoulder and smile at her companion.

"You coming?"

((ooc: your post was great as always Jason! I don't really know the geography of LA, so for the sake of the RP I'm just going to say they're a walking distance away from the hotel. :] ))

"You must be the change you wish to see in the world." - Ghandi
Advertisement
Retired Moderator
retired moderator
Original Poster
#527 Old 31st Jul 2008 at 6:50 AM
(((ooc: trampled - Really sorry if this ruins anything, but... Kindred to have reflections. (See vampire characteristics at the bottom of post 2.) )))

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
Test Subject
#528 Old 31st Jul 2008 at 7:18 AM
((....aw damn. xD
stupid vampire assumptions! *edits the bejeezus out of the post*
oh, and I know you're leaving, so I'll just ask now in case you get this beforehand--if I submit Alric while you're gone, can I jump into RP'ing, or should I wait for you to confirm him?))

"You must be the change you wish to see in the world." - Ghandi
Scholar
#529 Old 31st Jul 2008 at 5:34 PM
Default Lena and Adrien - Alley
The utterly wonderful thing about this career is that you didn’t get to make any friends. None. Nien. Nada. In fact, while not gaining plus points in the social factor, the odds pointed actually the entire opposite direction and made enemies. If not careful, lots and lots of enemies. You kill the Sire, the Childe hates you. You kill the Childe, the Sire hates you. You kill both, some distant cousin hates you. Fun for all the family. Thank God they didn’t know who she was. So, instead of pouring pointless time and energy into working out who was friend and who was foe, Lena simply assumed that everyone was at the default setting of foe. Of course, this didn’t mean she was antisocial in any way, simply very, very cautious. For it was quite prudent to assume that everyone would feel… apprehensive and odious, to say the least, towards whoever tried to kill them. Even the most suicidal of Malkavians decided that they’d actually quite like to hang onto their night lives when she politely handed them the opportunity to end it.

Thus, no friends, and no skin off her nose because she hadn’t expected to make any. Granted, it was a terrible fate for someone like Lena, who practically thrived on social interaction, but still, she managed. Allies and contacts were a different matter, often brought about by an entirely different set of circumstances and consequently subject to different treatment. Thus, all targets were primarily the enemy. However, she’d made a mistake. She’d underestimated Adrien de la Cour. Not his abilities, not his power, but him. As a person, simply because she hadn’t expected to fail so epically at eliminating him. She’d seen and gauged him as an opponent, but not properly as an actual person. Which of course he was, and always had been, but an assassin, taking the approach that she had with Adrien, does not place weight at that. If she’d taken the more personal approach in assassinating Adrien, his persona would have come into heavy scrutiny, but she knew he wouldn’t fall for those tricks and thus a straight forward ambush had to do.

However, the point still remained, one that she’d only touched upon slightly so far, that he was a person. An utterly, frustratingly, perplexing one at that. He wasn’t just any vampire. A passionate hunter turned into a vampire, driven by something so powerful that it propelled him through his crusade for over a century and yet he never spoke about it. That was really his lookout, not that his outlook held incredibly different prospects anyway. Of course he hadn’t given up or given in. He was indeed perplexing.

Then again, so was Lena. It was part of her appeal, being the socially revered oddball that she was, which was an oddly rare thing in itself. The way her mind worked was something that was, in all honesty, not normal. Nonconformist at the very core, there was no significant correlation between her psyche, her wants and fears and her reasoning and that of the general public. Thus, it was an excellent thing to possess for it did something very, very important; it kept her alive. And apparently it had its effect even on the indomitable Adrien.

Now, it didn’t catch him off guard, but there it was, the faint smile in place of that ubiquitous smirk, eyebrow raised and head tilted in very subtle, silent and what seemed to be almost curious appreciation. A gesture to which Lena simply responded with a slight, ever impish, and yet almost bashful smile up at him.

Yes, I have my moments.

However, there was the question that Lena asked herself before making her offer; was he just going to dismiss it as another trick, was he actually going to give it some weight or was he going to let his emotions dominate? Given what she knew about him so far, the second option would somehow lead to the first and thus, like she expected, he was going to dismiss it. And yes, he did, but somehow proving her right and wrong at the same time:

"And spend more time in your 'charming' company, than is absolutely necessary?" he teased, that amused smile actually managing to stay put when she knew a smirk must have been fighting it’s way to the surface. "Gee, let me think."

Firstly; err, what? Now, yes, she did expect him to dismiss the offer, but for reasons 1 and 2, not for reason 3. Well, that was… unexpected. For him to apparently base his decision on how he felt about her rather than the circumstances themselves. Oh, wait, unless he did base everything on reasons 1 and 2 and then used reason 3 as a simple mask to throw her off how his mind really worked? More likely.

And secondly; ouch! Not charming? Well, of course she was charming, otherwise days at the office would be extremely tedious. Although, truth be told, she hadn’t been on her best behaviour tonight and most of what she’d put on, the lies and the harsh taunting, was just one part of her thrown out at him because he’d been such an uncooperative ingredient of the assassination attempt. Though she was rather indignant about that, it did lead to one sound message; Well, you were an absolute bitch and also, you did try to kill him. So, if he doesn’t send you a Christmas card, you know why that is.

Though, thirdly; Yay, team Adrien! He really was stepping up in the banter factor, wasn’t he? Excellent! Cheerleader moments aside, at least he was being more… informal and less ‘So, now that I hold your life in my hands….’ Progress?

Now, for Lena to appreciate something, she had to work for it. It truly wasn’t the case of simply wanting something more once she was denied it, after all, how dull was that? No, that wasn’t it at all. Though it did arise from the fact that she was handed almost everything she wanted on a silver platter whether it be due to her wealthy status or her own appeal. Either way, it meant much less when that was how she obtained it. Oh, she didn’t complain, in fact, why reject something you can enjoy? It was the matter of how much she cherished it. Things simply meant more to her when she worked for it, when she’d made the effort herself, to obtain it against odds or not. For if it was just handed to her, there was always, more so now than ever, that suspicion of the price tag attached, concealed for now until she was in too deep.

So, when she accepted something, such as a favour, she always made sure she wasn’t left indebted. For while someone thought they were owed something by you, they pull in all sorts of justifications to screw you over. And thus, she made sure that she was not left indebted to someone else. So, just like she usually did not give something without taking something in return, she did not take without giving. It kept things on an even keel, which was far healthier and far safer.

So, it was somewhat disappointing that Adrien was not only failing to grasp what she was actually offering here, he apparently hadn’t even taken a moment to consider whether she was offering him anything he actually wanted.

Lena was not and had never been a problem child; she wasn't seditious to an intolerable degree, never the rebel without a cause. She had no agitating problem with authority unless it was controlling. That, however, was in no way to say that she was a good little girl, that she abided by every rule there was, curbing her ways to suit the desires, recommendations and orders of everyone else. The truth was so far from the case. She did not break rules unless pushed to it; there was no fun in that. It was so easily done, rather ordinary, so obvious and really, it left you so predicable.

Some battles were won better with no fighting at all and hence, she had no real love for those who screamed at the world for no real reason instead of doing something productive with their time. Wow. Impressive. Go burn down a building or something. No, she wasn't like that, she was much more subtle, much more dangerous because if you weren't especially on guard, you didn't even see her coming. Really, it was something that started in childhood - pulling any trick in the book to get what she wanted - and grew to be presistent manipulative behaviour in adulthood. She did not break rules, she bent them instead to fit her wants and desires such that, still within whatever restrictions she'd been imposed, she got exactly what she wanted and how she wanted it. She took what she wanted right from under their noses while they watched. Well... she was playing by the rules, right? It wasn't her fault the rules were completely... specific...

Now, she understood exactly what Adrien’s predicament was; a natural, driven hunter restrained and then have that very fact thrown in his face time and again – hence explaining why he hadn’t responded to her attempts at highlighting that very fact; he was so used to it. He would try to fight his new identity by holding onto to what made him who he was back before he was Embraced, but lo and behold, Merlin and his hippie gang saw that one coming and made sure he didn't turn straight back into Buffy by shackling him with a complementary blood bond. Nobody goes home empty handed; Tremere get Adrien on their membership list and the man himself gets a batch of new reasons to hate Kindred over. So yes, of course she understood the quandary and of course she could fathom exactly how to work around that little issue. And that was what she was offering him; a chance to be a hunter again. True, with his compulsion, there will come a day when he got free and it’d be pointy toothed havoc all around, but still, that day was at quite a distance. Hence, it was somewhat surprising to Lena that he was turning down such an offer.

Now, it could just be that he simply didn’t trust her enough to even let himself recognise the proposal. Thus, given what they both had to gain from it, she would make sure that he did see it for what it was before dismissing it. But first, it seemed that both of them were being belligerent for the simple sake of it.

“Would it be very mundane of me to point out that we got off on the wrong foot?” she asked, tilting her head and demeanour somewhat coy at the slight humour of the state of affairs, a full smile breaking out to flash the perfect row of teeth before she bowed her head slightly, the silent laugh manifesting in the form of a shudder of her shoulders before she raised her delighted eyes back up at him, attempting to regain seriousness and eventually succeeding after adding: “For which, I accept full responsibility.”

Well… she did attack him first. Though, she had good reason and since then, he had got his own back.

“However, I figure that this would be the closest you’d get to slaying kindred in a while,” she pointed out curtly, her piercing gaze upon him once more and her voice dropping to soft, but assured and a very slight knowing curve up at the corner of her full lips. Of course, he’d already pointed out what she had to gain from it and thus it wasn’t as if she was doing him a magnanimous favour. If he was basing his decision on simple dislike of her – rather unlikely, as it was probably more to do with the idea of her pulling a very predictable ‘Et tu, Brute?’ act at the first occasion, but just in case – she’d give him one more opportunity to think rather than feel. But that was all the chasing she was going to do for now and if he still refused to see the possible benefits, then so be it. “So, yes… do think about it.”

Now, if he was apprehensive about things just because he expected her to attack him or plan her attack on him by observing the way he worked, did he not think that she’d actually been watching and learning about him for quite sometime now? And those best preparations had been… thwarted. Of course, as he pointed out, he had 120 years worth of tricks, there was only so much she could prepare for and he could very well just wear a mask over his psyche while indulging her and thus leave her wandering in completely the wrong direction if and when she next attacked. While it was true that she would be observing him, it would be only as much as he’d be observing her. And thus, again, they’d be right where they were now. Also interesting was the fact that she was a human – ghoul or not – putting herself in a vampire’s – bloodthirsty or not – company, and in such situations, the human had much more to worry about.

With that, she settled back against the wall, both challenging and resigning at the same time, ease and nonchalance as her essence, for if he did just refuse and walk out, she did have to stay back because obviously, she had a job to do here. And if he did accept, well, that was a different quarter, wasn’t it?

(((OOC: I know Lena sounds very manipulative in all my posts, but... well, she is supposed to be like that so... yup, no real exaggeration intended :D)))

"Life is just a chance to grow a soul" - A. Powell Davies
Retired Moderator
retired moderator
Original Poster
#530 Old 2nd Aug 2008 at 7:18 PM
Default Adrien and Lena
(((ooc: trampled - Sorry, was already on the road by the time you posted your question. Back now though, a little earlier than expected. And, to actually answer your question; feel free to submit Alric's app any time, and jump right in when you feel inspired. )))



One of Adrien's finer qualities, and quite truthfully, the key to his to success and thus the downfall of so very many Kindred, was his patience. As a hunter, he had taken ample time to study, to observe, and to learn, and he would never ever strike, unless the moment felt purely and completely right. Everything up until the moment of attack had to run smoothly in his mind, or else he would wait. Though that didn't mean small glitches such as the target taking a slightly different route than expected, or someone on the street bumping into Adrien himself. Such things never sucked the mojo out of him. No, the smoothness he needed was the one within his mind; adapting to everything that happened without a moment's notice, and no sudden irregularities to snag his thoughts. If for even a moment he hesitated, he would abort, and resume his mission at a later time. It was the principle of the butterfly effect; one small, seemingly trivial thing, could end up having disasterous consequences, and when that very thing was what would usually keep him alert and prepared to counter any event before it did turn disasterous, well, then going ahead would be the moment defining the difference between guts and idiocy.

Patience. It was why during his century long career, mistakes and slip-ups had been so very few, and now, it was why when the brunette dangled an enticing offer infront of him, that he did not jump at the chance. He believed, to the point of iron cast certainty, that sooner or later, he would break free from his chains, and that once that occured, there would be no stopping him anymore. He yearned to feel the sweetness of planning a strategy and then executing it with perfection, but not so much that he would throw caution to the wind, and seize the first opportunity to come along. In a way, he was already planning a strategy, though on a much larger scale than the one behind one single slaying; he was planning how to reach the point where his chains would be weak enough for him to shatter, and what course of action to take once they did.
And besides, he was already getting a bit of a taste, even without accepting the offer the brunette was making; he would be behind another slaying, and he would be watching it happen. He really didn't need anything more, because on a basic level, it was already his strategy that was behind it all. No matter how she tried to tempt him.

"Would it be very mundane of me to point out that we got off on the wrong foot?" she said, as though starting on the prelude for an actual suggestion to call a truce, even though it was obviously laced with humor, as revealed by the smile on her lips, and the slight twitch of her shoulders at a laugh restrained. "For which, I accept full responsibility."

Well, wasn't that generous of her? To admit that her behaviour thus far - being arrogant, taunting him, trying to kill him, twice - had not exactly brought her closer to being voted Miss Congeniality any time soon, and that she understood why her company held no particular appeal to him at the moment. My, my, was that a flying pig there in the distance?

"However", she continued, again assuming the more professional stance and tone. "I figure that this would be the closest you’d get to slaying kindred in a while. So, yes... do think about it."

Oh, she wanted to play it bluntly, did she? Pointing out the obvious, as a way tempting him even further by making him reflect on his own situation. And the offer she was making was, what, consolation to - out of the sudden goodness of her heart - help him cope in the very existance she had previously been mocking him for? Hardly.
And surely she didn't expect him to believe it was, neither. No, what seemed to be going on here, was a dawning realization of what he had alluded to, and contemplation of how to milk it for what it was worth. By making her gallant offer for him to tag along for the full ride, she would be able to take credit for the golden opportunity turned friendly gesture by her. (Well, at least as 'friendly' as either of them were likely to get at this point, while still keeping their own best interests close to heart.) She would gain the advantage of officially priding herself with being the one to make the peace offering, when in reality, they would both know that inoffically, the offering had been his.

Furthermore, aside from that aspect, there was another, far more dangerous one, which may or may not be playing in the back of that devious mind of hers. One regarding which Adrien decided to be equally blunt. Had she already considered it, he would know, and her generous offer would be exposed as just another strategy. And if she hadn't... Well, then she would be handed another piece of the puzzle that was Adrien, which might have been a most adverse thing for him to do, had he not decided to offer it willingly, just for the sake of seeing what she would do with it.

"Already thought about, and already declined", he calmly replied, as the cool breeze swept a few strands of raven hair into his face, creating a dark, tattered curtain to partly hide the amused twinkle in his eyes. "Why would I join forces with you, regardless of how temporary it might be? We both know there's a hit on me, and that it's why you're even here in the first place to make that offer. So what would give me reason to believe that now that you've failed plan A, you're not trying plan B, like a good little assassin should; to set me up, and give the Prince ample reason to order my head on a platter, for killing 'my kind', not in self defense, and without his blessing? Hmmm? Or am I simply overestimating you with such an assumption, and you're simply looking for yet another chance to slit my throat?"

Yes, there it was. His ability to see not just what was right infront of him, but at the sides as well; the different possibilities each situation presented him with, and his opponent too for that matter. The brunette had raised the stakes, Adrien had matched, and called.
However, he wasn't interested in her response just yet. He wanted her to have some time to think about it first, and if her interest in partly sharing her plans and tactics with him was genuine, to realize it would take more than her riding the coat tails of his initiative, for him to come anywhere near accepting hers. It was yet another thing she had yet to learn; of the two of them, she was the one selling cheap, regardless of how high an amount of money she might charge for her services. She was still the one whose interest was bought for money, whereas Adrien's interest was far more expensive than that.

"No, I'll be sitting this one out, for now," he thus concluded, and began to turn in order to take his leave yet again, while adding. "Come find me when you're ready. I trust you know where to look."


(((ooc: Alissa - Hope it makes sense... I'm too tired to be able to tell myself. *lol*
Everyone - Night 12 will be called in approx 24 hours from this post.)))

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
Scholar
#531 Old 3rd Aug 2008 at 9:28 AM
Default Lena and Adrien - Alley
(((OOC: Works fine for me, Atropa. Hopefully this makes sense too )))

Lena, needless to say, was not philanthropic. Yes, perhaps there were odd moments when she decided that being purely iniquitous wasn’t as fulfilling unless she had something to balance it out or perhaps did things a part of a little ploy, but really, she was not philanthropic. Although, between ‘good’ and ‘bad’ was a vast colour palette and though it was clear which way she swung, she hadn’t been catapulted into the abyss of the darker side of human nature. After all, life was, well, it recently had become in any case, a fine line to walk.

Still, whenever she did something, helpful or hurtful, she never did it at a great cost to herself. It was quite literally the epitome of ‘looking after number one’ and after all, who was doing any different? Thus, being reasonable enough and point out the advantages Adrien had to gain from the state of affairs, she’d been somewhat philanthropic, the first time of chasing after someone in a very long time. But that was all she was going to do, for if he still refused to see what he stood to gain, it was his lookout and if she compromised even more, the cost was likely to rebound on her.
However, that wasn’t everything. Adrien wasn’t ignorant, he would be the type to just look straight at the offer and when it didn’t please him enough, reject it. If she was in any way right about him, he would have looked around it, scrutinised it from every angle, extrapolated the results of each scenario and then happened upon his decision. Yet, the point of her bluntly illustrating the benefits the deal, however temporary, held for him was so that he looked through it. Yes, they both stood to gain from it, and thus she was rather securing her own safety, by pointing out more long term benefits of having an assassin as an ally – pay not coming into question yet – in case he was setting her up to gain the Prince’s approval – unlikely at this point, but better safe than sorry.

"Already thought about, and already declined,” he turned it down yet again, although letting her know that chances were, he had considered what she really had to offer in the long term and also perhaps that if he really was having her killed, she had little chance of changing his mind at this point.

"Why would I join forces with you, regardless of how temporary it might be?” he asked, causing Lena’s eyebrows to rise very slightly in interest. “We both know there's a hit on me, and that it's why you're even here in the first place to make that offer.”

This was just no fun, for him to point out what they both established and both knew when they were – well, she was – having such fun dancing around the issue. Did he really expect her to admit to it, when she’d gone out of her way to conceal the very fact? And to what purpose? For, regardless of what trick he pulled, she wasn’t going to give him a name, it simply wasn’t like her to do so. And similarly, when this case was over and done with, the same sort of professional anonymity would be extended to Adrien; it was just the way things worked with her. Of course, if he wasn’t her client, that was a different story.

“So what would give me reason to believe that now that you've failed plan A, you're not trying plan B, like a good little assassin should; to set me up, and give the Prince ample reason to order my head on a platter, for killing 'my kind', not in self-defence, and without his blessing? Hmmm? Or am I simply overestimating you with such an assumption, and you're simply looking for yet another chance to slit my throat?"

How very curious. Not his accusing her of wanting to slit his throat again because that was secondary at this point and really, they’d played that game. For him to accuse her of what had been flying through her mind since he commissioned her services, except putting her on the defensive by accusing her and painting himself as the intended victim was very curious. Because obviously, he had thought about it, quite clearly and so it remained to see whether he’d intended the exposure of such a plan to make her reconsider it if she was indeed plotting against him.

Which, frankly, was a ridiculous scenario because, let’s face it, what would the Prince say to an assassin, regardless of what or who she was offering him? Yes, there would be guaranteed immunity until both parties got what they apparently would want in the scenario; Lena would have eliminated her target and the Prince would have dealt with the headache that was Adrien and the problems attached with him. However, once that was over, game on. Really, it was an avenue that was more detrimental to Lena than to Adrien. For starters, it’d confirm suspicions that there is indeed an assassin operating in L.A. – of course, this was expected, but it was one thing to expect something and another to confirm it – and thus efforts would be employed to track Lena down and given that this was the Prince and his resources were, in all honesty, limitless, she would be discovered. Also was the fact that the tables could turn so easily, as Adrien being a vampire opened up several other doorways when it came to adequate punishment rather than just execution, for him to be offered a deal in return for help tracking her down. And there came the problem that he knew too much about her.

So, really, he needed to see someone about that paranoia. And it wasn’t so much a case of overestimating her as it was underestimating her. Now, there was the other possibility that the plan was exactly what he was plotting and hence by accusing her of it, he was attempting to put her suspicions at rest, because why on Earth would he outline his plans to her, right? Well, there you go. Though the chances were higher that he wasn’t plotting her downfall that way, the meter didn’t quite point to zero just yet and it wouldn’t do so until the case was over and done with. Nobleman though he was, the man did have a track record for going all out on revenge.

However, Lena gave him no reaction nor reaction, not provoking not easing the flames of his suspicion and giving him no indication of whether or not she still suspected him of the very same underhandedness. Just the very same expression, the eyebrows raised in slight interest and the half-smile upon her lips for him to infer what he wanted.

"No, I'll be sitting this one out, for now," he reiterated his refusal calmly. However, one term did catch her attentions; ‘this one’. What was that supposed to mean, that this wasn’t the only case he was interested in? Or was he putting her in her comfort zone again by letting her make that assumption. No… it was too subtle and nonchalant to be the latter.... but still.

"Come find me when you're ready. I trust you know where to look," he finished turning his back to her once more, this time surely not taunting her to come at him again, especially not when they’d started being so civil to each other. In any case, she wasn't going to do it.

“Well, then,” she replied, her eyes not following his form on his retreat, but instead gazing at the target, deciding how to proceed, her voice back to it’s natural quality and the impish half-smile back where it belonged. “Don’t make any plans.”

"Life is just a chance to grow a soul" - A. Powell Davies
Field Researcher
#532 Old 3rd Aug 2008 at 6:34 PM
Default Noah & Valerian - The Haven
#9 [Night #11]

More so than any other clan, the Gangrel sense the moon fading, and the dawn approaching. Wherever they are. Since many of them took their refuge deep in the ground, it was a basic need to know by instinct when it was safe to emerge above the surface. It was a feeling rooted so far inside, it would overpower any other thought or influence from the outside. They were the survivors, Mother Earth's own children, and in Noah's case it couldn't be more true. Sleeping close to her, it was like catnip for him. He felt safe, untouchable and strong. She made him great, when ever he lost faith.

Although it had all happened in a flash, arriving in L.A. and finding pieces to his puzzle, time was running out and the search had to be resumed another night. His current conversation was another clue, an important one too as it seemed, and even if Noah's inner voice talked about the fireball in the sky being ready to awaken, he was nowhere near ready to leave Valerian's company. Despite that, what the man wanted was nothing compared to what the Beast craved. And his human needs were of no importance at all, when it came to sheer survival. Being torn between his need to leave, and his need to stay, Noah knew what desire to obey. Or else he would put himself at risk. Trust was a commodity hard to come by, and standing there with his gaze firmly locked on Valerian, he couldn't understand the allure. Not if it wasn't all about this being a Toreador, but members of that clan didn't have this strong effect on him. Especially not someone so young. To Noah, they were all a conundrum rather easily ignored, so why not this particular one? Why did a freshly plucked Toreador stand in his way, probably holding a key to his quest, and Noah was simply charmed. He had to know, and he had to get the next clue. Or he would be lost.

After he had uttered his question, dressed in attire far more casual than its deeper meaning to prevent himself from talking about alleged fairy tale creatures among humans as if they existed, this Valerian seemed to recieve it with uttermost appreciation. The reason why escaped Noah, far and above, as it was not in him to see what the Toreador saw. Not by his own initiative, instead he wondered if his words were taken seriously. The other man seemed happy, like an innocent being pure at heart, and therefore disarmed any negative notion Noah might have.

"It is", Valerian said with a nod. "Though our masks must still be worn at all times, as most of our guests still prefer those drinks at the bar. Only in the privacy of the upstairs lounge, are masks no longer a necessity. Unless, of course, one prefers said masks."

One could think the talk of riddles, initiated by Noah himself, would go straight in without any obstacles. On the other hand, Noah withdrew his head ever so slightly, as if to get a better view over what had just been said. It was too colorful, too descriptive and too poetic for him to grasp in a second. Not that it was hard to decipher, it was simply the messenger throwing him off track. Masks... Well, he understood about masks, but he didn't like them. He only preferred his in order to be left alone, because his true appearence would either cause shock or just pin point with a big neon arrow where he was located should anyone wish to track him down and kill him.

But this new aquaintance talked about the matter at hand as if it was a delighted little child's story, as if there were beauty and happiness to be found in their prison. Cause that was what it was according to Noah - one big prison that let some of them be more free than others, but still it gave them all boundaries. It wasn't that he didn't understand it, it was simply tieing his hands behind his back. An animal living with rules and directions, it was a bigger prize to pay for a Gangrel. The Beast wanted to roam free, kill at will. And even if Noah's human part was all he had left from his past, he couldn't deny that he understood the Beast and its frustration in the cage provided by the Camarilla.

However, he also understood Valerian's need to protect The Haven. Taking of masks and hunt in and around the premises would not serve any of them. The humans would soon have them all staked and put out in the sun. It would be a night none of them would enter gently, though they would only have themselves to blame.
Additionally, Noah soon learned that The Haven was not just a club, a meeting place for both kine and Kindred. It was also literally Valerian's home; his abode being upstairs. This was an owner that never left his establishment, instead tended to it with uttermost care.

In the eyes of Noah, Valerian was an open, warm and inviting creature, welcoming him to The Haven with such honesty that it almost scared the Gangrel away. Though Valerian was skillful enough not to present himself to the point where the newcomer actually would be intimidated. Furthermore, when it came to completing the puzzle, it would take a great deal to make Noah go away. Even if it had been one's intention.

Before Noah exited the building that evening, he had made it pretty clear that he would come back, but not in a way that would make the recipent know for sure. Though he hadn't talked in riddles, he had been a bit unclear, since he had both thought and spoken what he meant to communicate. The allure, the tension of the night and feeling so close to completion had made Noah a tad introvert. A shadowy wolf, that couldn't wait for the sun to set before it had even risen.





________________________________________

((( ooc: Not approchable. )))
Retired Moderator
retired moderator
Original Poster
#533 Old 3rd Aug 2008 at 7:17 PM
Default Night 12
.






- - - - - - - -


Introducing...




Just like the world of kine is filled with opposing parties in all matters political, religious and philosophical, so is the world of Kindred. While one of the largest organizations, the Camarilla have their adversaries; foremost the Sabbat; an organisation consisting mainly of the Lasombra and Tzimisce clans, but also numerous antitribu from clans usually associated with the Camarilla.
Below is a brief description of the two main clans, as well as the concept of antitribu.

Lasombra:
The Lasombra are masters of darkness and shadow, and possess a knack for leadership as keen as that of Clan Ventrue. Indeed, many Kindred see the Ventrue and Lasombra as twisted reflections of eachother. Once, the Lasombra were nobles, but the chaos of Kindred history and the formation of the Sabbat have caused most of them to turn their backs upon their origins. Now, the Lasombra give themselves wholly over to the damntion of being vampires. The Sabbat has affected this clan as profoundly as the Lasombra have affected the Sabbat, and without the rulership of these fallen aristocrats, the Sabbat would likely disintegrate.
These vampires have the ability to create and control shadows, but unlike most others, they do not cast reflections in mirrors or other surfaces, and are even more susceptible to sunlight than any other Cainites.


Tzimisce:
Formerly the tyrants of Eastern Europe, the Tzimisce have been uprooted from their Old Country manses and relocated into the clutches of the Sabbat. Possessed of a peculiar nobility, coupled with an evil that transcends mortal perception, Clan Tzimisce leads the Sabbat in its rejection of all things human. Certain Kindred apocrypha claims that the Tzimisce was once the most powerful clan in the world, but that history and other Kindred conspired to bring its members down to their current state. More so than any other vampires, the Tzimisce revel in their monstrousness. They practice a "fleshcrafting" Discipline that they use to disfigure their foes and sculpt themselves into beings of terrible beauty.


Antitribu:
Antitribu literally means "anti-tribe," or "against the clans." The term is used to describe a division within a vampire clan which opposes the main body of the clan in terms of Sect loyalty. The stereotypical antitribu bloodline is a branch of a Camarilla clan which has joined the Sabbat.


- - - - - - - -


Not much is known about the Sabbat outside of the sect itself, and so the Camarillan view of them and their goals is a rather generalized and simplified one. To the Camarilla, the Sabbat are the 'bad guys', cruel and vicious brutes who have little regard for human life and moral codes in their belief that they are the apex of the food chain, and their willingness to shed the last traces of their humanity, in favour of their inner beast.

They rule through fear, hatred, anger and physical violence, and their initiation procedure is designed to tear the Initiate's humanity from him and open him to subjugation and brainwashing of the Sabbat; Initiates are slain, slowly and painfully, and then given the blood of as many members of the Sabbat that are present at the Initiation, combined into a chalice. Once the Initiate has been given the Blood, he is buried alive, and must crawl out in order to live. Those who do not, spend eternity buried under the earth.

The Sabbat do not refer to themselves as Kindred, but rather vampires, and view humans as lesser beasts to be dominated and used as the need requires. They worship at the places of the dead - cemeteries, tombs and charnel houses, as the members understand themselves to be undead, and behave accordingly. They revel in being vampires and living out their instincts, and consider the Camarilla's Kindred to be weak, as they try so hard to retain their humanity. For the Sabbat, this is the greatest blasphemy.

Sabbat vampires are often organized in units known as "packs", which are strongly loyal to one another, feeding and traveling as one group. Indeed, in the Camarilla, it has become a derogatory term to call a coterie a "pack". Overseeing multiple packs is a Bishop, and overseeing the Bishops, is the Sabbat equivalence to the Prince; the Archbishop.


Now, the above is a summary of what the Camarilla knows/believes about the Sabbat, and so consequently, that is the view that is presented in this roleplay, as it's main angle is that of the Camarilla, of which, in turn, all playable characters are members. We will not be roleplaying Sabbat characters, and thus, their true motives and ambitions will remain as simplified as the Camarilla sees them. They are only to be used as NPC's at this point, either as a part of a more elaborate plotline for your characters, or if you simply wish for your character to get into a fight and kill another vampire. However, if you do the latter, do try to keep it 'realistic', and not have your character kick the behind of a dozen Sabbat vampires.
Also, for the sake of keeping things simple and fair, I would prefer that the Archbishop is not encountered, at this point.


- - - - - - - -


The Sabbat in Los Angeles:
Almost ten years ago, there was quite a bit of Sabbat activity in Los Angeles, but with alot of political scheming, boons and favours called in, the Prince, Damian Alexander III and his council of Primogen, managed to drive them out. Since then, all has been quiet.
Until now. Scattered incidents have started occuring, which all bear the mark of Sabbat ways and methods.


.

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
Test Subject
#534 Old 4th Aug 2008 at 3:00 AM
Default App: Alric Kasimir Reinard
Name:
Alric Kasimir Reinard

Age:
The tender age of 23.

Willingness to be embraced:
A hug? I hardly know you...

Occupation:
Funeral Director (Mortician sounds more professional) and part time pathologist. Yep, you heard right. Really it's a very lucrative profession. Although, admittedly, probably not suitable for everyone. There will never be a lack of demand for funeral directors, for obvious reasons, and the scarcity of funeral professionals makes life hectic for the few available. Myself included. No, it doesn't gross me out to see corpses all day. And no, I am not some morbid lunatic. Although, the eye patch does often give off the air of lunacy...but I assure you, I am entirely sane. Most of the time. And I see nothing unnatural about working with the dead! They're very good listeners. And they deserve a proper funeral, their due respect. Death is, after all, just another stage of life.

Biography:
I hate writing these. Brief biographies...that's an oxymoron if I ever heard one. They're so impersonal; just a series of facts that trail on and on, endlessly listing every detail from the first time you tied your own shoe to the last meal you ate. How can I possibly summarize myself in a pithy paragraph? I cannot. There are too many things about me, too many idiosyncrasies and oddities, too many normalities to name. Should I write that I'm intensely acrophobic? That I love nothing more than the smell of fresh-cut grass? That my stomach churns when I see crumbs covering a counter top, but it is steely in the face of a rotting corpse? That I am an utter anomoly as all individuals in the human race are?

I came into the world silent; eerily so. Unlike most babies, I was somber and tranquil. When my eyes finally parted and soaked in the world for the first time, the doctors surrounding me emitted a colelctive gasp, one that I swear I can still call to mind. Behind my tiny eyelids sat the two bluest eyes they had ever seen--my mother said that they were God's single gift to me. An icy and piercing stare. I had perfect vision, hawk-like and critical of every minute detail that surrounded me. As a youth it was my dream to become a pilot, to use my precious vision for a greater purpose.

I grew up well; my parents loved me well enough. They fed me, clothed me, provided for me. I had a sister. Older than me, but only by a few years. I use the past-tense because she's not here any longer. Three days after my eighteenth birthday, we were attacked by someone. Something. To this day, the glowing eyes are burned into my memory, seared across the fissures of my brain. It's raspy breathing, predatory stance. My sister's eyes. I was weak. Horribly, pathetically weak. All it had to do was take one swipe at me and I was unconscious. I can still hear the breeze rustling the autumn leaves in the trees above me, the strange silence that settled over the world. When I awoke, I had lost both the vision in my right eye and my dear sister.

So no. The eye-patch isn't just for effect.

Photographs

"You must be the change you wish to see in the world." - Ghandi
Test Subject
#535 Old 4th Aug 2008 at 5:08 AM
Default Alric- Welcome to the jungle!
His father was a doctor of sorts. He had taken him to work with him once when he was nine. The plasticine walls of his small business made him uneasy--they felt unnatural and detached from humanity. There was no warmth. Beneath his feet was an endless sea of seamless white-gray tile that echoed eerily each time his heels clicked against it. He tugged at the collar of his shirt; it cut into his neck uncomfortably, and he was beginning to feel as though his throat was constricting within its vice grip.

"This way, Alric."

His father spoke gruffly, pushing a nearby heavy wooden door open with his massive palm. Alric gave an uncertain nod and his cerulean eyes fixated on the stark plaque that hung ominously over the door. Etched into its body in an austere scrawl was Morgue.

He felt sick to his stomach as his father navigated the silent room with ease, the efficiency of a man who was completely in his element. The morgue was no different to his father than his own bedroom; it was the same degree of comfort. Slender fingers grazed the cool outer surfaces of the 'cabinets', storage compartments whose contents were unknown to Alric. At least, in reality. He knew what lay inside. Still, unspeaking, solemn for eternity. But his naive eyes had never suffered the solid image. Now though his father seemed intent on forcing the gruesome truth upon his reluctant son. "You're going to assist me today, son."

The voice was as cold as the bodies that filled the icy metal compartments that filled the room. Nine year old Alric swallowed with a concerted effort, attempting to force away the golf-ball sized lump that was forming in his throat. He managed to mumble a quick agreement and watched as his father reached for a pair of gloves. He slid them on slowly, the disgusting sound of the rubbery material ringing in his ears. His hands moved to a metal box with the label, 'Richardson, Lionel' carefully written upon it and unlocked the safety latch. Alric felt his stomach begin to turn.

As the tracks of the metal began to move, the case slid outward and its contents began traveling forward with it. The distinct smell of barely-preserved flesh began to ease into the room and sift up to Alric's nostrils, sending him gagging only briefly before he forced the reflex away. Inside the tray was a certain Lionel Richardson, dead only a day or so, awaiting his autopsy. And Alric wanted no part of it.

"Come help me remove him. Come here."

His father's voice seemed oddly faraway. The room had a slight spin to it, as though he was riding a carousel that was beginning to depart from the stage of 'fun' to 'sickening' very rapidly.

"Dad, I..." his voice was weak--his stomach even weaker.

As though deaf to his son's panicked tone, his father began removing the body. It was almost in clear view. Alric's gaze darted away, to the tile, the ceiling, the window. Anywhere but the corpse.

"Son. Now. Don't be a child."

But he was a child, wasn't he? Alric couldn't shake the sinking feeling that felt like a buried boulder weighing down his stomach; as though he were in a deep ocean with stones tied to his ankles, pulling him endlessly downward with no chance at resistance, no hope. Only futility. Regardless of what he did, the result would be invariably the same. Regardless of how you fell, you fell. It didn't matter if you died of a heart attack on the way down, or if the cement crushed you on impact. Either way, you were dead.

"Dad." This time, he was pleading. He didn't want to see the body. He didn't want to see death firsthand...not yet. With that, his father pulled the corpse upward, and the mannequin-like figure seemed to stare at Alric even with his eyelids sealed shut. The gray pallor of his skin, the discoloration of his hair and the holes in his neck. It was all too much.

"Take hold of him. Now."

He couldn't do it. All he could take hold of was the nearest trashcan as he gave in to the nausea that had overwhelmed him. His father let out a disgusted grunt and pulled the body out himself.

"Spineless."

-----------------

Alric breathed into his hands. They were clammy, paler than the rest of his lightly tanned skin. The warmth of his dewy breath cloaked them in a new heat that banished the cold. Temporarily, at least.

"Damned air conditioning," he cursed under his breath, pulling his jacket closer to his chest as he flipped the lights off in the morgue. Night was rolling in, and with the artificial light gone, the few windows cast eerie shadows and streams of light cascading over the seamless linoleum beneath his feet. From over his left shoulder he could see the first stars of the evening blinking impishly beside the waning moon which hung in solemn observance like the guests at his funerals.

"I'll come for you tomorrow, Ms. Harriford." A crescent smile broke over his lips and he gave a respectful bow to the cabinet inscribed: Harriford, Beatrice. With a half-wave he secured his bag over his shoulder and closed the door quietly behind him, breaking out into the skylight of the open streets.

A quick glance at his watch sent a relieved sigh creeping out of his mouth. The Internet Cafe wasn't too far from there, probably only a block or so. He kept a steady pace, his sturdy legs carrying him the distance with little effort or exertion. Once outisde the building he descended the flight of stairs into the basement where the cafe was located and dashed inside, warming his hands by rubbing them together like two pieces of flint.

He approached the counter and smiled charmingly at the waitress. "One coffee, black." With a quick motion of his hand he withdrew the necessary bills and planted them on the pristine countertop in exchange for the steaming mug. The warmth emanating from the mug seeped into his cool fingertips and instantly warmed him, and he took a seat at a table near the window. Once the mug was set gently down on the table, he reclined further back in the comfortable chair and watched people pass by outside.


(Figured I'd use his old post to get him started because I was kind of at a loss, but tacked on a little flashback. :] Approachable!)

"You must be the change you wish to see in the world." - Ghandi
Lab Assistant
#536 Old 4th Aug 2008 at 6:04 AM
Default Catryn - Returning to Los Angeles.
The taxi screeched to a stop just outside the penthouse building, jolting Catryn forward a bit as a look of annoyance crossed her features. Horse and buggy had been a smoother ride than most she'd taken in a cab, yet she reluctantly paid the driver before quickly getting out. Her gaze went up to the middle of the building, to the window which was Damian's office. Making an entrance unannounced crossed her mind, but she looked rather like a pauper in these clothes she'd been wearing as part of her disguise in San Diego. After a few moments debate, she entered the building and went to her quarters.

Her suitcase was thrown onto the bed, popping it open as she began to unpack her things and sort what could be put away to wear yet another day. Most of them she was just going to throw out, they were nasty little rags just to disguise her usual opulence. She was Damian's childe, and as such she was not unknown amongst the realm of the kindred; therefore, neither was her penchant for taking great pride in her appearance and always needing the finest of everything. Call it an old noble habit that refused to let go. She wondered idly what Damian was doing now, in truth she'd thought of her sire quite often while she was away; Cat had to squelch the urge to call him many times, so as not to potentially have it intercepted and blow her cover.

Ah, yes, she had best call his office to set up an appointment! Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her lavish cellphone and dialed his number. She was hoping that he would answer, but of course it was his secretary. Sighing, Cat forced a smile into her voice as she spoke. "Yes, this is Catryn Pri-"

"Oh my goodness, Miss Privalov! I have not heard from you in ages it seems, does this mean you are back in town?" chirped the woman, quite eagerly.

Catryn couldn't help but grin. "Yes, I am in my room right now actually. I need to come up and speak with my sire as soon as he is available, however. Do you know when that might be?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line, along with some faint humming and the sound of pages being flipped. "Ah, yes, he is free later on tonight. I believe he has another meeting after the one he is in now, then you should be able to see him. Would you like me to call and remind you of your appointment when he's close to being free?"

"Yes, that would be perfect. Thank you," Cat said, to which the secretary replied, "It will be my pleasure to tell the Prince you're coming. He will be most pleased to see you again, I'm sure!"

Cat chuckled at that and replied with, "I do hope so, I look forward to seeing him as well. Goodbye for now," before hanging up the phone and setting it on her dresser. She was quite looking forward to seeing him again, she'd missed Damian since the very moment she left for San Diego; she often wondered if he knew of the extent of her feelings for him, though. Shrugging off the thought, Catryn decided to relax a while before getting ready to meet with her beloved sire.


( OOC: This ended up a lot longer that I first planned. XD Not approachable! )
Scholar
#537 Old 4th Aug 2008 at 12:51 PM
Default Lena - Penthouse apartment to car - Preparing
There were many things that Lena Sayliss did that would be looked at with concerned scrutiny. Things other than the obvious of being an assassin who dealt almost exclusively with vampires. But that wasn’t everything that she did, for it really would be imprudent to put all the eggs in one basket. Though the assassin in her got the most attention, it was actually one of the lesser parts of her professional life, there were so many more lucrative avenue and with a mind like hers, why let it go to waste? Yes, she dealt vitae, but it really was the currency among rogue ghouls who were often hitmen or bodyguards or whatever else they wanted to be. She was, really, a private investigator. She tracked down people, vampires and human, art, artefacts and anything else. She gathered intelligence, something that played heavily on the assassinations that she carried out too. Now, it wasn’t an easy job, getting other people to tell her their secrets and even Lena’s charms would sometimes hit a barrier, but still, nothing was impossible and she eventually did get it done. After all, she was a beautiful, intelligent young woman, in any case a lot prettier than the Nosferatu, and usually with men and even some women, vested interest from such a woman was more than just flattering.

That made her recognisable. If you spent hours talking to a charming young lady, telling her your innermost thoughts, would you not remember what she looked like? Would you not remember her name and anything else that she told you? Yes, it did help that in the case of mortals and ghouls she got them stupidly drunk in the process so that they were lucky if they remembered where they lived let alone anything about her. She, of course, used fake names, fake IDs, had a vast wardrobe with enough clothes to see her through the next four or five years without having to wear the same piece of clothing again. She wore no distinguishable permanent jewellery save for that platinum and diamond ring that claimed its place on her right hand thumb simply because she couldn’t bring herself to part with it. She wore wigs, coloured her hair temporarily and wore different masks of defining make-up to make herself look sufficiently different from what she normally looked like.

Still, there were certain things that she simply could not shake off. Habits. No two people do anything in exactly the same way; each of us has their own modus operandi. With Lena, there were several things, learned childhood behaviours, which she simply couldn’t shake off. It was quite literally exactly how she used to do things back when she still lived in England, back when she still had a life, and sometimes she’d catch herself doing it subconsciously and then consciously remind herself of why she had to stop doing it. It never worked; it was far too ingrained to be overriden that easily. The way she walked, the way she smiled, the order in which she did things, foods and combinations she preferred, even how she put on a coat and so many other things… really insignificant repetitive behaviours, but, being a private investigator herself, she knew that it was that kind of thing that gave people away. One case, for example, pivoted around the way the man used to cut his cigars – he left a trail of them, like breadcrumbs and she simply followed, like Hansel and Gretel.

As it applied to them, it applied to her. It was excelent breeding. After all, she was upper class English and with it arrived ridiculous amounts of nurtured traits that were drilled into her since early life and thus were incredibly difficult to surpass. On a lesser level, it was the accent itself, the refined, English, Received Pronunciation that decided it’d be the way she normally spoke. Yes, she could fake other accents, but without the conscious effort, it reverted straight back to the 6 o’clock news type and pointed whoever was trying to find out about her or her history right towards Great Britain. Fabulous.

That was really just one part of the problem. Added to that were several other things, such as the manners she simply had no choice but to execute. Waiting for doors to be opened, chairs to be pulled out for her when in the company of gentlemen because she’d been taught it was an insult to both parties if she did not, the way she held glasses and cutlery… frankly, it was nothing short of ridiculous for an assassin to indulge in airs and graces, but what to do? Poise always intact, manners always employed and mind always a closed book. Oh, yes, let's not forget her personal favourite; stiff upper lip. Always. Yes, very healthy.

Problem: she could only easily pull off certain characters. Spoilt little rich girls, trophy wives, overprotected, naive daughters and the like unless she really could spare the energy it took to curb her natural subconscious behaviour at every moment, unless she’d practiced that well, because, this was a career where if you were not sure of something, you just don’t do it. As illustrated perfectly during the events of the previous night, courtesy of Adrien de la Cour.

Raised like a lady, though Lena was, she was not actually aristocratic. In fact, her family was very Nouveau Riche and actually had no blood ties to the British aristocracy, only social allegiances and very good family friends. To add to that, she wasn’t completely English either. She was half English, a quarter Egyptian, an eighth Dutch and Eighth Israeli. It was a confusing family and it was ancestry that did show – though nowhere near glaringly – particularly in that soft golden and subtly bronze skin of hers.

On a side note, that ancestry did lead to a rather interesting name; the first name was the city where her maternal grandmother had been born, the middle name was a mythological figure and it was an ensemble topped off with a very English surname. No, it was not ‘Copenhagen Harpy Smith’. Thankfully… although she wouldn’t actually put it past her parents. One would suggest it, the other would veto it and there’d be an argument and then they’d settle on it just to spite one another. Typical. Thank God that hadn’t been the case.

It’d been… more than two years now since she used that name, since she even said it. She knew exactly what it was, the nicknames derived and everything, but she did not say it. For simply paranoia, if anything, for if she did not say it, her brain would become desensitised to the sound of it and she’d be less incline to respond to the sound of it and give herself away. A long shot, but really, anything goes. Now, however, her name was Lena Caitlin Sayliss.

Though with Lena, breeding did meet style. She looked like a model, walked like one and acted like the world was her stage. When you made your living - quite literally - selling people illusions to make them do what you wanted, you learned to be very, very good if you wanted to continue... well, living. You learned – often a development of your own talents for without it, you wouldn't last long – which buttons to push and which to avoid like the plague.

It was really the art of turning one’s disadvantage to an advantage. Now, her upbringing did make her quite the polyglot – the advantages of which were frankly countless. Then there was the training as a dancer. It did seem rather moronic that, being an assassin and engaging in hand-to-hand combat, she still wore high heels. Well, actually, it really wasn’t. She trained as an Argentine Tango dancer, thought more as a hobby than anything else, and it required high heels. She actually worked better in heels due to that training. The art itself gave her precision and speed, the heels, if sharp enough and used with good force, were downright deadly. Her form, tall – at 5’ 7” – and very slender, not what is expected of an assassin, but more what is seen in a fashionista. It gave her agility, less inertia and again, greater speed. It was also a part of the deception, for looking at her, you would think something along the lines of ‘model’ or ‘hostess’, not ‘assassin’ and the strength of a ghoul was thus a hidden weapon. She was female, apparently not a great start, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to rectify that, but that femininity and her own beguiling nature, when it came down to it, were damn helpful. Although, truth be told, it was really brains that guaranteed her success rather than brutish force.

Last but not least, was the dressing. And she dressed impeccably. Nothing extremely flash – it was tasteless in her opinion – but certainly nothing demure. She always wore elegant, sophisticated, yet fashionable clothes, usually in the dark colours she preferred. Her hair, the locks of perfect dark silk, though long as they’d always been, was cut just as fashionably. Today, she opted for something simple, brown pointelle top, dark bootcut jeans over dark brown leather boots topped off with a comparatively dressy dark grey coat and hair tied up. The simple make-up, practically nothing except for kohl lining the almond shape of her eyes, very little, subtle black eyeshadow on the eyelids and yes, pomegranate oil balm for her soft lips. Well, a young lady must look after herself, after all. Weapons, the usual; gun – the actual bullet shooting type, fun and games might not be on the menu tonight – strapped to her right calf, hidden by the flare of her jeans, knife in it’s sheath at her back clasped to the hipline of the jeans, trusty lighter in the jeans pocket, a stake and a mini-taser – ghouls had a habit of getting friendly – in the inner pockets of her coat.

Straight after Adrien excused himself the previous night, she’d got to work. She’d returned to her car, stripped off the jacket and replaced it with something she’d rather not be caught dead in; a hoodie. The boots had been replaced by converses, her hair had been restrain in a bun and the hood had been thrown up, face obscured the way the kids liked to do these days, resulting in a look that, as far as Lena was concerned, was rather… icky. That done, she’d picked up a small GPS surveillance tag, something the size of a seed and stuck obligingly to clothing, and made her way back to the target. Her walk style changed, by conscious effort transforming her usual alluring glide to a swagger that, to her, resembled the walk of someone with two sprained ankles but was apparently more ‘hip’, she simply walked past him as he remained seated on the bench, subtly placing the tag where it wouldn’t be noticed – the underside of his collar. Being a ghoul certainly helped with the speed at which she carried it out and being Lena helped with the grace and subtlety. All he would have felt was the gust of air of someone walking past him.

Target tagged and hence, the surveillance began. She knew where he was (well, the coat, really, but the guy didn’t look like he had a vast collection of clothing), where he slept during the day and she could see where he would go. His face was not among the photos and added information that she already had amassed about L.A. Kindred – he wasn’t that important, then. Or he was new. It was odd not having a name to go on, but still, his anonymity could be fixed. She’d showered, trained, eaten, showered again, dressed, packed and was now ready to go, exiting her lavish penthouse apartment, phone and keys taken, to make her way down to her Lexus, her left hand clutching the bag containing what she needed.

(((OOC: Not approachable)))

"Life is just a chance to grow a soul" - A. Powell Davies
Test Subject
#538 Old 4th Aug 2008 at 7:14 PM
((I guess my "Breaking Dawn" mini-vacation was ill-planned....I missed a lot :P. Post coming soon.))
#539 Old 5th Aug 2008 at 7:29 AM
(((OOOC: Atropa and trampledsneakers, my internet was down the last two days. I am in Texas and we are having some severe tropical storm weather which has caused me some connection issues. I have a post i will add it here for space just wanted too let you know i was still here just had some issues sorry ...)))
Retired Moderator
retired moderator
Original Poster
#540 Old 5th Aug 2008 at 3:44 PM
(((ooc: Psst, people. Wake up! Let's see some action here. Chop chop. One approachable character and two non-approachables doesn't make for much drama. )))

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
Scholar
#541 Old 5th Aug 2008 at 7:12 PM
Default Seraphina - Waiting outside Damian's office.
(((OOC: Atropa hope this works for you And yeah, she's pretty emo. :D
Also, if anyone wants to play with Claudia, she's wandering around in the Haven. Feel free to find her, otherwise, I'll write up a post putting her somewhere - Claudia is approachable)))


The light faded. It was gone, receeding from the darkening sky, plunging itself into the depths of darkness. Many think that darkness falls. It does not; it rises as much as it falls. It bleeds into the light from every corner, closing the distance in insidious fury. Though, to Kindred, it held soothing, safety, welcome. The harsh light of day no longer a friend, but a fiery enemy. Seraphina remembered the sun. She remembered the energy flowing down over her shoulders, the warmth spreading its way through her pale skin, lovingly, obligingly. No more.

It was the moonlight now. The gold turned into silver, the blue turned into black, her warmth turned into ice. It was secret, all of it. To exist against the will of time and never tell anyone… shh…. Never tell anyone but those from who you take that warmth, never tell anyone but those who you turn. Seraphina had never turned anyone, never bestowed upon them the coldness that governed her existence. All because she selfishly craved their waning lives, all because she envied them their warmth. Sometimes.

The reptile’s scales roughly caressed the delicate skin of her arm. The light polished them both, the soft curves of both the serpent and the vampire’s flesh at bequeathed perfection. And it moved, life against death, the serpent winding itself down it’s mistress’s arm, trustingly laying its head in her soft palm. Asking. The colours of it’s skin stood out, dark and dramatic, against Seraphina’s delicate, pallid colouring, the contrast further deepened by the moonlight pouring in through the Orangery’s windows.

The hand of Seraphina’s other arm brushed slowly against the silk of her nightgown, the golden brown strands of hair loose and falling over her shoulders as her eyes watched the adder entwining itself around her arm. It was the Devil’s serpent and she was the forbidden tree, it seemed, calling and enticing, offering up her gift. Except it was Eve and she was the snake. For it was addicted, to her, to her vitae, bound to her forever. And it asked for more. Promising to never leave. Seraphina didn’t believe, but still, she gave, the small pinprick on her fingers, a drop of her blood crashing down on the forked tongue. Never satiated, but enough. With that, she willed him back into his glass cage and he, forever her servant, obliged.

Seraphina had already fed for the night, her ghouls willing for her to take them. She didn’t touch the blood dolls, the broken porcelain of their hearts no longer a Siren’s call to her. They belonged with the undead and yet they never will be with them, for they had nothing to offer. Nothing more than simple endless crimson. Yes, the girl. Streaked with red scathing it’s way down her pale cheeks when Seraphina’s turquoise orbs had first found her. Melissa. Something had to be done.

The Prince had to be told. Damian. He had to be kept in the light through the darkness, his mind alone enlightened. Yes, of course he had to be told. And so, it would be. The calls made, the voices carried though the cities, private and yet scattered, a gathering arranged. And soon a fate to be decided, for better and for worse.

She bathed, like a mortal, dressed, like a mortal, gathered what she needed, like a mortal and made her way to the waiting car, like a mortal. How well the Kindred fooled themselves. Perhaps they protected mankind because they envied them? Or perhaps it is because they feared envy. She could see both sides of the wall as her eyes rested absently over the passing buildings, mankind and kindred, were they all that different? Both sinned.

The V. There it was, an edifice to portray the grandeur of who the Prince was. Of what he was. Magnificence. And yet, solitary, justified and respected, but solitary. As every leader must be, for no-one would truly walk with a leader every step of the way and never falter at the responsibility that is not their own. No… no-one walked with Seraphina either and all but one sat with her now, waiting for the Prince, once her arrival had been declared to his secretary.

"Life is just a chance to grow a soul" - A. Powell Davies
Test Subject
#542 Old 5th Aug 2008 at 8:25 PM
((It's alright Jason! I was in Florida when all those hurricanes hit, so I'm no stranger to tropical storm induced internet problems. :] And agreed with Atropa! I'll try to get a post in for Vev when I can think of something, but Alric is definitely open to anyone approaching him at the internet cafe. ))

"You must be the change you wish to see in the world." - Ghandi
Test Subject
#543 Old 6th Aug 2008 at 2:26 AM
Default Sarah at the Cafe - Night 12
Sarah left the dorm about an hour early for work so she could stop for a cup of coffee and pick up something to read. Seeing how last night went, she assumed a People or US Weekly would keep her occupied enough. Her car hummed outside the Internet Cafe for a moment until she killed the engine. The song that was bursting out through the speakers and filled the car with music suddenly stopped. She took her time getting out and ordering her latte, and while waiting for the barista She glanced over at a dark haired man sitting with his coffee for a split second, then returned to browsing for magazines. Headlines mostly about Angelina Jolie grazed the magazines. But some about celeb "splits" were randomly placed. Sarah didn't care for celebrity gossip ad tabloids. She settled for the new Cosmopolitan and paid for it with her coffee.

Her thoughts raced to new people she could meet at work, which was nothing but. Most people, like Olivia, would jump for joy at a job where you sat and weren't let to do anything. Then she thought of Jim, and his devotion to his work. Sure, bartending could be fun, but it's just a job. She didn't understand it. Livs didn't either. Coming back to reality, she approached the man.

"Do you mind if I sit down?"

((It's just...uninspired. Sorry. BTW, Livs=Olivia. Hope this works trampled!



Jessica is Haunting you. I couldn't help it!! ))
Test Subject
#544 Old 6th Aug 2008 at 3:46 AM
Default Sarah & Alric - Internet Cafe
Alric heard the meek chiming of the bell that hung over the door, alerting the owner and patrons of the Internet Cafe that another soul had entered their midst. He glanced up briefly, away from the windows, and over to the doorway where a young blonde had entered. She quickly made her way over to the counter and placed her order, then surveyed the collection of magazines set up nearby. He quickly pulled his single-eyed gaze away and redirected it at the mug that rested on the small coffee table before him.

His hand reached forward and his slender fingers began circling the rim of the mug, moving into a fluid soft rhythm, as though there was some melodic sound being emitted that only he could hear. Both eyes shut, though the change was only visible in one, and he continued the circular motion, somewhat oblivious to the world around him. It was there, in that comfortable coffee house seat, in the dimly lit room and even more dimly lit outside night that was falling over the city, that Alric delved into a calm peace and let go of the tense nerves that remained from the work day he had left behind. In a bustling city of cacophonous chatter and endless crashing sound, he was in a realm of placid sound.

"Do you mind if I sit down?"

Well, he was. The woman's voice was soft and harmless enough, however, that it didn't shock him out of his tranquil state. Alric merely parted his visible eye to reveal the aquamarine gem that provided him with vision, and he gave a nod. With a slow, elegant gesture to the seat across from him, he quietly murmured,

"Of course not. Company is always appreciated."

He offered the young woman a gentle smile and extended a tan hand to her across the table, husky breaths passing through his lips as he spoke again.

"I don't believe we've met before; I'm Alric."


((Mine's not much better. xD Tingtings! And Jessica, haha! yay! Thanks for giving Alric someone to talk to.))

"You must be the change you wish to see in the world." - Ghandi
Test Subject
#545 Old 6th Aug 2008 at 4:07 AM
Default Sarah and Alric - Cafe - Night 12
(((No problem)))

"Of course not. Company is always appreciated." Sarah quickly sat down, setting the plain white mug down before, as to avoid her klutzy ways and spill it.

"I don't believe we've met before; I'm Alric." His hand stretched across the table and waited for hers to meet it. It did. She just now noticed he had an eyepatch on. It didn't bother her. The color of his visible eye was a brilliant silvery light blue. His hair, layered, surrounded his face which framed it nicely. She was halfway mesmerized. She quickly thought of her own appearance. A feminine plaid shirt and jeans made her look mediocre.

"Sarah. Nice to meet you. Actually, probably one of the nicest I met here."
Test Subject
#546 Old 6th Aug 2008 at 4:41 AM
Once the woman's hand slid into his own, he gently shook it in a warm greeting before releasing it to rest upon the cool surface of the table. For a moment he studied her, trying to commit to memory every small curvature of her face, every minute detail and every unique feature. He had assembled a sort of catalogue in his mind of almost every person he had ever encountered--though he might not explicitly recall the name he once knew to be paired with the face, the faces all remained. Alric never forgot a face. So hers would be no exception. She had exceptional bone structure; light, vivacious eyes, and expressive lips. Her features were soft, pretty. She reminded him of a girl he knew in his youth.

"Sarah. Nice to meet you. Actually, probably one of the nicest I met here."

So that was her name. Sarah. Alric filed it away for future reference and offered her a warm smile. The soft music that pumped through the well-disguised speakers in the store hummed in the background, dull and almost unnoticeable to the inattentive listener. It reminded him of someone's pulse; soft and droning, a calming rhythm that was barely there but ever present. It soothed him.

"Hm, I'm glad to hear that, but not entirely surprised." He leaned forward so that he was nearer to her face, then glanced around the small shop as if filled with suspicion. "This store isn't known for having the friendliest crowd." He then backed away and gave her a playful wink, before nodding in her direction.

"But you, you seem friendly. I don't think I've ever had someone ask to join me before; usually they want to sit alone in a corner and brood." He chuckled softly, a deep throaty rumble that sounded like shuffling velvet.

"You must be the change you wish to see in the world." - Ghandi
Retired Moderator
retired moderator
Original Poster
#547 Old 6th Aug 2008 at 11:46 AM
Default Damian
A life of wealth, no matter what is the full extent of said wealth, is nothing without a little luxury. For what is the point of fame and fortune, of power, if every once in a while one does not enjoy it? In moderation, of course.

Ever the early riser, Damian had, for once, allowed himself an hour of leisure to start off his day. A day that promised to be just as busy as any other. Three meetings, his secretary had informed him via the sheriff. Or rather, three scheduled meetings. For some reason, there always seemed to be that one arrogant prick who was under the impression the Prince had nothing better to do than to sit around and wait for them to grace him with their presence, and thus waltzed into the outer office, expecting they would not be made to actually wait their damned turned, like everyone else. Ill-bred cretins.

The world had always, as would it always, worked far better when things were kept neatly in order, and it was every responsible leader's duty, regardless of actual title, to maintain it. It was simply how one preserved the peace and justice of one's domain, and quite frankly, a lack of organization was just... barbaric. The world of the Camarilla had come so much further than simple-minded barbarism, hadn't it. Much thanks to the Ventrue, too. And Damian, if anything, was pure-bred Ventrue. The blue-blood of the Kindred world. And, let's not forget, that in his case it stretched back into the mortal one as well. He was a nobleman through and through, and even though at times those who knew no better would see him as an arrogant bastard, he worked hard to be fair, even kind when he could afford it.

Just look at the situation with that Mallard girl. Had he not shown great leniency, by not only allowing Jessica to live, despite her betrayal, but the human girl as well? Most in his position would have said 'off with their heads' and that, as they say, would have been that. Problem solved, and no more risk of Jessica running her mouth, and of the human girl sticking her nose further into where it certainly did not belong in the first place. But not Damian. No, he had opted for the more humane solution of the problem; banning Jessica from the city, and allowing the Mallard girl to be dealt with, without being killed. Winners all around.
The fact that it had been Valerian's solution that allowed Aeode a chance to live, and not Damian's, as well as the fact that killing Jessica would have most likely caused quite a bit of commotion, possibly even an uprising among the L.A. Toreador, well, those were both facts that Damian, at this point, was willing to 'forget'. The call had still been his to make, had it not? And indeed, he had made it.

Consequently, he could now afford to start off his night a bit later than usual, as due to his masterly skills at managing the city, there was no pressing matter to make him feel compelled to head over to the office and delve into his various duties before most other Kindred could even remember their last name. Why, he had even treated himself to breakfast in bed; he had woken up to find the blonde who had slipped between his covers during the early hours of morning still in his bed, and thus had fed once more before sending her off to the shower, while he himself reclined in bed to read the evening newspaper. She was a sweet young woman, and one of the remarkably few who had seen the inside of Damian's own penthouse apartment once before. One of his main rules when feeding was to never feed from the same victim twice, as again his vague paranoia reared it's ugly head, telling him his enemies could easily find out if he fed regularly from the same people, and use it to their advantage. But, if they were trying to keep tabs on from whom he fed, they would know by now that he never repeated himself, and therefore, this occurance would have been a most unpredictable one. Furthermore, the young lady had, until a few months ago, tried to get in touch with Damian again, following their first encounter, apparently hoping for more. He would have never fed from her again, had she still been pursuing him, as that kind of behaviur, while understandable even if it was purely innocent and genuine, could point towards deception, of some kind of set-up. She was so very gullible after all, and most of all impressionable, and just as easily as she had been lead to believe she and Damian had shared a night of human passion, instead of Kindred one, she could have been made a tool for his enemies. For indeed, she had been completely oblivious as to what had really happened between the two of them, and she still was, and it would be no challenge for other cunning Kindred to take advantage of such innocence.

However, as Damian was still as much a businessman as he was a Ventrue, it wasn't long before his urge to throw himself into one of the things he did best - rule his empire - stirred within his mind, and so while the young lady was still in the bathroom, humming a soft, cheerful melody to herself as she stepped out of the shower and started drying herself off, and dressing, Damian false-started his day at the office with a few phone calls on his cell phone, to recieve coded status reports from the various spies he had roaming the city. Both human and Kindred. Trustworthy Ventrue, and trustworthy ghouls of the trustworthy Ventrue. Or, as the exception which proved the rule; ghouls of the sheriff. Damian himself had none, since in his faint touch of paranoia, he took as few risks with the people around him as possible. Ghouls, even if kept in the dark, could pose such risks. And besides, the idea of someone, a mortal, running around with his blood in their veins was just... so very off-putting.

Having recieved a fair amount of satisfactory reports, in number as well as detail, and with the blonde now on her way out of the building, Damian himself took to the black marble shower, making good use of the twenty odd minutes underneath the steaming hot spray to prepare mentally for the meetings he knew were ahead of him, the first apparently one being done over the phone. Before long, he emerged from his suite, making his way towards the office on the opposite side of the penthouse floor, now dressed in a light cream silk shirt underneath a dark Armani suit, with cufflinks and a tie pin of solid gold bringing out the lustrous hue of his neatly combed back blonde hair, and the signet ring adorning his right hand, as usual.

"Good evening, Cynthia", he greeted his demurely smiling secretary as he stepped through the doors to the outer office. "Be so kind as to call up this Mr Jordan for me."

"Right away, Sir", Cynthia said, reaching over to the card index and flipping it open to retrieve the correct phone number, while Damian himself continued into his office.

Not a minute later, the intercom buzzed, and Cynthia announced that Mr Jordan was now on line one. And thus, so started yet another busy night for the Prince of Los Angeles.

Much to his satisfaction, the conversation took no more than half an hour, and so when he finally hung up the phone, his next appointment had been made to wait no more than five minutes. Now, had it been just any visitor, he might have made them wait a while longer, as they might otherwise get the impression he was always as accessible. But given that this was not only a Primogen, who by default were privileged as far as Damian's accessibility was concerned, but the Malkavian one as well - with the odd and sometimes embarrassingly astute insight into the minds and deeds of others that came with the bloodline - he felt it wasn't necessary to make her wait, nor set himself up for one of the aforementioned astute observations that he had indeed made her wait just for the sake of waiting.

Therefore, he took only a few moments to clear his head of the previous conversation, and prepare for the next one, whatever it might be - Cynthia had said the only information she had been given by Seraphina upon the making of the appointment, was that it was a matter of great importance, which, in the case of a Malkavian could mean anything, literally - before pressing down the button of the intercom.

"Cynthia", he said. "Inform Lady Christou that I will see her now."

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
Alchemist
#548 Old 6th Aug 2008 at 10:07 PM
Aeode -- Various places around LA -- The Haven


Grunting sleepily, Aeode shifted from one side to the other, wriggling her way into as comfortable a position as the fairly limited space on the couch allowed her to, feeling a shiver creeping up her spine and preventing her from drifting right back asleep: the long coat she was using as blanket had just slid off her back again. By the time Aeode adjusted it, the damage was done: the dullness of slumber was quickly dissipating, her senses flooding her awareness with brand new information, none of which was pleasant: her back ached, the air was stale and smelled of that dreadful, omnipresent faint mould, and everything was pitch dark around her, adding to the feeling of entrapment.

Groaning, Aeode tossed the makeshift cover aside and carefully felt her way through the cluttered little room until her fingers felt the light switch: she flipped it, wincing instinctively as her surroundings were flooded with stark white industrial light. A quick glance at the watch on her wrist revealed that it was late in the morning already, which was hardly surprising considering she had only managed to sneak back into the Haven early that day, a full hour after the club had closed its doors. Given the encounter with Claudia the other night, she hadn't dared come within a hundred meter radius of it any sooner.

Eager to stretch her legs and smell some fresh air, Aeode busied herself with a quick change of apparel: a pair of dark grey jeans, almost black, fastened with a leather belt and the cleanest T-shirt she could find in her bag, made of simple navy cotton. Her usual pair of black combats encased her feet. She wrinkled her nose as she dressed, feeling the dire need for a shower and having no idea where to get one: perhaps she could sneak into a hotel room, a tactic she had used before while on the road for a long period of time. For the timebeing however, clean clothes and brushed hair would suffice.

Hesitating a moment before departing the stuffy little room, Aeode decided to stuff her most prized belongings: her laptop, money and personal effects into a shoulder bag and take it along, not quite confident to leave it behind in that place: it had been bad enough trying to fall asleep when every little creak and sound, imagined or not resembled someone's footsteps.

Once on the street in front of The Haven's dark, silent doors, Aeode gazed contemplatively into the distance, trying to decide what to do. She had quite a few hours ahead of her, at the end of which she fully intended to get a moment alone with Valerian, one way or another, and find out just how helpful he was going to be. If he had nothing to give her she would have to find a different solution, danger or no danger: she couldn't bear sneaking into that cubicle much longer, with no bathing facilities and Claudia breathing down her neck. This also made Aeode realize her stay in Los Angeles could be drawing to an end, if she was unable to find Dez' trail, it would have been foolish to remain there long, with a big target sign painted on her back.

That thought, the knowledge that her hours in LA were counted, stirred a singular memory deep in Aeode's psyche, one that had always hovered just beneath the surface but she had stubbornly refused to acknowledge: Thomas. Aeode hadn't seen her former fiancé since they were separated in the parking lot during that dreadful night eight years ago, diligently telling herself it would be easier if she didn't know anything. Eventually the temptation of knowing where he was, how he was, proved too great and Aeode had asked Dez whether he could find Thomas' address. An easy feat for a hacker of his calibre, he had informed her that Thomas Caulfield lived in Los Angeles, the very place of his tragedy. Further investigation revealed that the young man had refused to leave to what was considered a safer part of the country or even a different country altogether as most of the other survivors had done, the rationale of his decision being that he was attending college there and did not wish to move. Dez had said nothing, but Aeode knew Thomas well enough to guess the real reason: unlike her, who had chosen to run as far away as possible from them, he found solace in being around the same places they had lived together. Last she had heard, he was a resident doctor at local hospital.

Succumbing to a split-second decision, Aeode hailed a taxi and requested to be brought to an address in the suburbs, street and number burned in her memory for all those years. She had no idea whether Thomas still lived there, but wanted to visit it, just once. Better said, she needed to visit it.

Stepping out of the car, Aeode found herself standing on the corner of a long quiet street with rows of two-story houses on either side, basking lazily in the morning sun, the poster image of America's bucolic suburbs. There was little activity there at the time, given that most children were at school and their parents working, and cars seldom passed through. Feeling her pulse intensifying, Aeode inhaled deeply and began a short walk down the pavement until house number 23 emerged into view, a residence much like all the other. A children's plastic swing dominated the front lawn, momentarily drawing all of Aeode's attention to it: if Thomas truly lived there, then that must have meant...

Her thoughts were ruptured by the sight of the front door swinging aside all of a sudden, making her instinctively duck behind a hedge. From that concealed spot, Aeode surveyed the scene as a small girl, not older than three or four years old sprinted into the garden, giggling loudly. She had light blond hair that flailed wildly in the wind and a soft pink complexion. Doubting she had the right address, Aeode was uncertain whether she should simply turn away and leave, when the door opened again, this time to admit a man with short cropped brown hair and black rimmed glasses atop a slightly crooked nose. He was smiling broadly, reaching down at the child and swooping her up in a playful pirouette.

“Do it again, Daddy, do it again!” the girl chirped, her high pitched voice mingling with the man's slow laughs.

Behind the curtain of leaves and branches, Aeode had ceased to feel anything below her knees: she watched mesmerised through rounded eyes, finding it impossible to tear them away from the image of Thomas embracing the little girl who called him “daddy”. Although aged eight years, he was virtually unchanged, save for the fact that his hair was shorter and his features seemed somewhat more angular, more gaunt. Before she had the time to realize it, Aeode's mind superimposed a different image over reality, one that included her smiling from the doorway and the child's hair being a light brown or even auburn, in a far different world....

“Damnit,” she murmured as her vision was blurred by tears. With an immense effort of will that pained her physically, Aeode turned away from the joyful family scene to which she was and would always be an outsider and coaxed her legs into motion, slowly, then increasingly faster, walking giving way to running. It had been a mistake, she realized, coming there: what did she expect to find? Thomas pining over the memory of his sweetheart, dead for eight years? He had moved on, had a daughter, most likely a wife, too, and she could never be a part of his life in any way ever again. Above all else, Aeode knew he would never be able to forgive her for leaving him to believe she was dead.

When Aeode found herself in the vicinity of The Haven once again, the sun had set and she was unable to muster the will to do anything except keep on moving her limbs fearing that if she stopped, her body would follow her mind into that stupor she had been unable to drive away since seeing Thomas with his daughter earlier that day. The knowledge that he had a family that did not include her, that he loved another woman who had given birth to his child acted like a noose around her neck, suffocating her. Old feelings bubbled inside, after having been dormant long enough for her to believe them gone, mingled with an all encompassing sense of regret and loss. And anger.

It was almost time for her shift at The Haven, but Aeode found it difficult to motivate herself to show up. She leaned against the wall in the darkness of the alley leading to the service entrance, smoking a cigarette and staring into the dimness which filled her horizon, the faded contours of a garbage disposal bin looming forth.

Aeode didn't register it at first: the hissing sound carried on the rancid breeze that resembled her name. It wasn't until the word “Aeode” rang clearly from nearby that she snapped out of the daze she wallowed in, suddenly tense and probing the darkness with her gaze:

“Who's there?” she called out, half expecting Claudia to pop up again and pester her. The voice sounded awfully familiar and yet...she was unable to place it.

“It's me, 'Yodey.”

For the second time that day, Aeode's jaw dropped. She made a quick sprint in the direction of the voice, for she was unable to see the person she knew it belonged to: Dez! Dez, then, and there! He was alive, he was ok!

“Dez?!”

“Stay back!” the voice warned, and when she didn't comply, warned again, more urgently: “Please, stay back or I will be forced to leave, and I must talk to you. It's important!”

Aeode's pulse was racing: she looked around wildly for Dez, but saw only darkness and the usual jumble of junk that filled alleys. It was as though he was nothing but mist and a disembodied voice. She also realized why she hadn't recognized him at first: ihe sounded different, throaty and ragged, as though he had trouble speaking. His alarming behaviour also quickly dissipated any hope Aeode had previously entertained that he was unharmed. No, something was wrong, very very wrong...

“Are you okay? Where are you?” she pleaded into the darkness. “I thought you were dead, why did you...”

“I'm fine, for now”, Dez insisted urgently. “Don't worry about me. What we've suspected though...my God how right we were, and yet how wrong...”

“I don't understand! What happened to you?”

“That isn't important right now. Listen to me very carefully, Aeode, because we don't have much time. You have to get out of this place. The club, the...people who run it. It's a trap.”

“No, no you don't understand.” How did he know about the club?! “The...owner...he is...was helping me find you.”

“No he was not!” Dez growled, causing Aeode to take a step back. She had never heard him utter such a sound, almost like a wild animal... “He's working with the...people who did this to me! Who are after you too, because you're far closer to the truth than you even realize! Aeode...the same ones who killed your family!”

Silence. Shocked, oppressing silence, Aeode staring agape without seeing anything in front of her eyes.

“They're called the Sabbat. Look, I can't tell you anything else or I'd be putting you in even more danger, if they even find out I've been talking to you....but you must run. Promise me you'll run, this very night, pack anything you can, take nothing if you can't, just promise me you'll go tonight!”

Aeode couldn't bear it any more: she wanted to see him, and prove to herself she wasn't going insane. The pure, raw fear that reverberated from Dez' voice sent shockwaves of terror through her as well: what had happened to him?

“I want to see you!” she called out and marched forward, thinking she noticed a faint shadow stirring before Dez' voice rang out imperiously:

“NO!”

“What have they done to you?!”

“You have to run, Aeode! Please, get out of here, now!”

“I can't! I can't leave you!”

“Damnit, Aeode, RUN!”

And then, there was nothing more. Aeode dashed forth, almost crashing into the wall opposite, finding nothing in the very corner she had heard Dez speak from. The shock was so powerful it sent her scrambling backwards, the soles of her feet slipping in the sludgy mud below. Sharp gasps built up in her chest, ignited by a wave of panic unlike anything she had felt in many years, obliterating any thoughts apart from one: the need to get away, to snap out of what felt like a never-ending nightmare. The surreal meeting with Dez, his warnings, about Valerian, this...Sabbat, whatever it was, who had murdered her family...not knowing what had happened to her friend except that he was terrified enough to lie about it, something which scared her more than anything else.

Making a dash for the Haven's door, Aeode did not care that she almost knocked the bouncer who opened it for her out of the way, fumbling in her pockets for the key to the storage room. Once she found it, with trembling hands she inserted it into the lock, shoving the door aside. Closing it behind her without locking it, Aeode tore the largest bag from under the desk and dragged it in the middle of the room, haphazardly shoving all her belongings inside with frantic movements. Before zipping it shut however she dug underneath the pile of clothes and retrieved an object she rarely even brought out of its hiding place: a 9 mm gun, fully loaded. Aeode gazed at it for a second, then checked the magazine, released the safety and shoved it into her back pocket. To cover it up she shouldered her jacket, ready to make her escape when the sound of someone fumbling with the door handle caused her to freeze on the spot.


((ooc: Ack that is huge! Sorry, Atropa, I hope it works though!

Also, I did take some liberties with LA's geography, I've never been there so :D))

If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets
Test Subject
#549 Old 7th Aug 2008 at 5:50 AM
Default Sarah and Alric - Cafe - Night 12
"Hm, I'm glad to hear that, but not entirely surprised." Alric leaned in close to Sarah, closing the gap between them cause by the table. He looked around, looking paranoid that somebody would hear what he had to say."This store isn't known for having the friendliest crowd." He backed away and winked at her in a very friendly way.

"But you, you seem friendly. I don't think I've ever had someone ask to join me before; usually they want to sit alone in a corner and brood." Alric laughed to himself. It sounded smooth, but in a deep, rustling way. Like there was something in his throat that was gracefully trying to escape. Sarah shot him a smile that was both shy but friendly and open. She picked up her cup and took a medium sized drink, savoring the mix of vanilla, coffee and milk. When she looked up, his captivating eyes held her there. They were like an angels. Her own blue eyes, were what she thought, beautiful, but weren't up to par again when compared to Alric. She just couldn't get over it and look at him like a human being.

"I don't think I've seen anybody brood in here, just sulk. I have seen somebody in here that was ecstatic about something they'd read on the computer. Probably the happiest person in here." She laughed to herself also, but only slightly louder than he had.
Scholar
#550 Old 7th Aug 2008 at 7:48 AM
Default Seraphina and Damian - Office
They say anticipation is worse than death itself. For mortals, most of who fight the oncoming end with every last breath to keep their mortal lives just that little while longer. So, what of the Kindred? What of their anticipation, to wait for centuries? Or is it that it is a fate already come to pass and held no end, no relief, but simple prolongation? Just disappointment? Does anyone, ever, feel quite ready for the end? Does anyone truly achieve a state where they are truly sure that there is nothing more for them, that they were all they could be? Was that success at reaching your peak or was it failure, at knowing you have attainable limits, that you could progress no more? Yes, anticipation was worse than death because it was supposed to be the final end, it kept close that realisation.

But, as Kindred knew full well, it was not the final end. It was the end of life, but it was not the end of existence. Vampires remove themselves from the world, from the playing field and take their seats in the watching stadium calmly observing, their air of superiority given by nothing more than the false sense of immortality, knowing that everything had it’s place in time but for them. So, which was the gift? To live long enough to desperately want the end or to go knowing you could take on more? Which was better, to lay down and die or to go fighting the good fight?

For now, the Primogen fought, as a Primogen should, for she wanted more, she wanted more of the darkness. However, if fortune bestowed upon her enough of the dark abyss, there would come a day that the fear of anticipation wore down, that should the end not find her, she herself would seek it out. Torpor. So, yes, was giving in to that triumph or was it defeat?

“My Lady, the Prince will see you now,” the secretary broke into her thoughts like a rock hurtling itself though the ice barrier of a frozen lake. Seraphina’s eyes turned to her, never leaving as a small smile crept in, while she instructed her companion to keep her station, fluidly rising to move to the waiting doors. Anticipation was worse than the event – any event – itself.

The doors opened and Seraphina glided in, the grace of the ages enveloping her ethereal form as her turquoise eyes laid themselves upon the Prince, meeting his ashen gaze. A small curtsey, the token of respect from the former Princess of a dying land to the Prince of a secret world.

“Lord Alexander,” she greeted, her hypnotic gaze as ever, standing out against the small smile over her crimson lips. “Thank you for seeing me at such short notice." And that smile grew to appreciation "I see the turn of the tides favour you well, as always.”

Her gaze wandered momentarily around the room before returning to the handsome, distinguished man before her. Everything spoke of the respect he commanded and why. But there it was, the negative space… for a Prince was wiser to rule through fear than through love. A risk one could not afford to take, to simply, blindly trust another without knowing they feared you enough not to disobey you. So, yes, how had Damian changed? Did he feel it yet? That the burden of great responsibility was one that no-one else would – or could – share with him? Did he enjoy it? Did he anticipate the day that it’d get to him?

"Life is just a chance to grow a soul" - A. Powell Davies
 
Page 22 of 39
Back to top