((OOC: Solo post, an' it's massive, since ... catching up a bit.))

Night #12:

Gold in his suitcase, in his little black moneypouch - green gold, silver gold.

Flare entered town in the trunk of someone else's vehicle, waking as the car sped along the highway. There was the sound of air rushing underneath, the motor, the horns, the traffic outside, the angry Kine making their way from place to place, just like she was doing, only she did it quieter and not at all angry.

Maybe it wasn't the smartest plan she'd ever come up with, after all.

How had she come to be here, anyway? Oh right. She decided it was time to travel, this human male was traveling, ergo, she traveled with him. He didn't know it yet. It was all very exciting! She was curled in and around his things, which smelled like leather and male and paper and soft cottony cloth, and the 'fresh' scent of the laundry detergent he'd used on it all. Or maybe just the clothing.

While she waited for the man to park the car, she helped herself to his little square-black moneypouch, filled all up with its green and papery gold, and its silver-gold too.

The car eventually came to a stop, resting amongst its fellows. "HELP!" She screamed, when he opened the door to the vehicle, shut it again. "Help! I think I've been kidnapped! Help me!" She thumped the inside of his trunk, just for good measure. It wouldn't do to have to pry the vehicle open from the inside. Would that crash the Mask Party?

Key in the lock, and murmured words: "What the ****?"

The trunk popped open. "Surprise!" She leapt from her hiding space, wrapping her limbs around him with a squeal of glee. "DADDY!"

And she sank her fangs into the stranger's neck, hungry. It had been a long, long trip.

--

She should probably have introduced herself to the Prince of the town, whoever he was, that night, but instead, she wandered idly down the street, blending into the masses of humanity still roaming about from place to place, mostly going home. Didn't they know the night had just begun? Pity. The arcade called to her, singing out with neon colors and a swirl of noise and wonderment she just couldn't ignore.

A concerned-looking woman looked down at her, unaware the girl was a predator. "Isn't it past your bedtime, miss?"

Beat her. Every night, something wrong ...

"I don't sleep in a bed." The machines, the beautiful, glowing lights. She shoved past the nice lady into the Arcade. "Shiiiny ... " Her eyes danced with wonderment. It wasn't like she'd never been in an arcade before, she just hadn't in at least a week, probably more like a month.

... kill ...

She had her handheld screen, and it helped to assuage the loss, except the little machine-food was empty and dead, like a withered husk, except machine food never withered. People did, though ...

"Miss ... " The woman's hand landed on her shoulder. Touched her. Grabbed, held, touched her.

The girl whirled on the woman, staring into her eyes. Her blood sang in her veins, in her head. "I'm not a little girl. I'm not even female at all, I'm a big burly man, like your husband. The bruises are still there from last night, aren't they? It's why you wore a turtleneck today."

What was she saying?

Would it get the woman to leave her alone? Yes. Yes it would.

"H-how did you ... "

"You'd like to kill him, for what he does to you, wouldn't you?" She grinned, eyes sparkling, as the woman nodded. "Like to go home, and take the stupid pans, he makes you cook every night, and you hate cooking. Take the stupid pans and the boiling water and beat him with them, wouldn't you?"

... How would someone beat someone else with water? It was a good question.

"I'LL KILL HIM!" Mad laughter from the woman as the girl hurried away. "Kill!" An enraged shriek, and she ran out the door, every eye in the place on the fleeing madwoman. "Kiiiiiiiill!"

The girl took over an unoccupied machine in the corner, absently sliding the silver-colored gold from her moneypouch.

Where had she gotten the moneypouch anyway?

From the Daddy-stranger.

((OOC: Two more nights. Not really all that approachable. ... Is it all right that she hasn't (and doesn't yet plan to) announce herself? I mean, not all right so far as rules and regulations go, but all right so far as ... No one's going to mystically already know a new vampire turned up in town, if she keeps to herself?))

(((ooc: Nekhs - Welcome. And yes, it should be alright. I would doubt all the Kindred in L.A. know of eachother, so I don't think anyone would necessarily have her pegged as a newcomer, if they came across her. Except, of course, Seraphina (the Malkavian Primogen) or the Prince himself, or his sheriff. But the last two are currently occupied, so they won't be roaming the streets any time soon. )))


In a manner of speaking, Adrien was testing his current, young companion. Yes, he was offering what support she may physically need, and he was making a conscious effort to keep her mind alert enough to process logical thought. But at the same time, he was testing her, gauging the way she responded to his touch and his words, in order to monitor her condition not just as the surviving victim of a viscious attack, but also as a liability to him personally. For no matter how well she might be doing, heck, even if she'd been a fighter of his own caliber, she'd still be a liability, for the simple fact that somehow - Adrien'd be darned if he knew how - she had drawn out actual concern in him. Not the exuberant, fussy kind - far from it - but still enough for him to feel it's weight, it's effect on him, should they end up in battle again. He'd have to take her into account in every move he'd make, regardless of whether it was in attack or retreat, he'd have to keep an eye on her the whole time and see to it to keep her fairly safe. And that made her a liability. Fighting to protect oneself was one thing, and something he'd rarely had any trouble with. Fighting to protect both himself and someone else, however, was something else entirely, as well as something in which he hadn't had much practice. Even though as a skilled fighter he stood an above average chance of succeeding, there was no denying the fact that protecting one was far easier than protecting two.

So, he was studying her, assessing her strength, her perception and her wits, so that if they were attacked or otherwise approached, he might be able to predict her reaction, to see it coming moments, preferably seconds before it manifested itself in her body language, her facial expression or her speech, thus allowing him the chance to have his options ready when it did.

He'd started by putting her down onto her feet, for her to walk by herself if possible, and give him and her both a chance to discover whether or nor she was ready for it. At first, she had been wobbly and in need of support, but had since then seemed to compose herself quite well, and now as they started progressing along the alley, towards the skin bar she had mentioned, she even pulled away from him to walk on her own. And even though he was aware that it might be largely because of his apparent reluctance to have her close to him, it did still indicate that she had quite a bit of strength still left in her. Furthermore, it also indicated that her sense of perception was growing keen enough to pick up on subtleties - such as him surreptitiously withdrawing from her - and was no longer dangerously dulled by pain or shock.

And, much to his appreciation, even her wits were showing rapid improvement, because while at first she seemed somewhat confused by his remark that his reluctance to be too close to her was for her own good, he could see in her eyes how the cogs in her mind then started swiftly turning in an attempt to make sense of it.

"So...", she said slowly, almost as though she was still working towards a conclusion when she started speaking. "How old are you?"

Ah, she was indeed catching on, able to read between the very few lines he'd uttered. Good. That meant her mind was functioning, and that she was a clever girl. Now only remained hoping that her smarts would stay with her when he answered her question, because he intended to be perfectly honest, and would prefer it if rather than having to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming, he could move on to try and figure out what exactly had been going on with the Sabbat.

"A hundred and fiftyfive", he thus unceremoniously replied, and then shifted his gaze to lock her pale blue one within the grave shadows of his own, as he went on to answer the unspoken question he had already sensed in her, regarding what he was; "And yes, I am."


(((ooc: Would've had him continue, but want to give Lola a chance to react/respond first. *s*)))

((OOC: Good to know, thanks! 'nother solo-post comin' through, sorry to keep interrupting and spamming and all, but I don't like just playing with myself. >.>; ))

Night #13:

Little Fly and Spider stirring,
Hunters to each other turning
Hunt for Blood, the fires burning!

Flare stayed at the Arcade that day, sleeping in a corner of the bathroom. She rather imagined that she might have gotten some strange looks, but that she hid from the Eyes, lurking in the Half-World where the Eyes couldn't see.

When night fell, her eyes opened to the sight of a woman and another woman kissing, all intimate with the wall behind them. Maybe if they were separated she would have chanced a meal, as it was, she stood and walked quietly to the door. Pressing it open, the music caught her ears, her mind, the beat winding, repetitive, weaving into her body. She felt herself sway to it, but pulled herself away and began walking.

Blood.

She watched another dead-man-walking enter the arcade, all swirling and purple-black, tendrils of it leaking from him to fill the place. So strange. He looked around, but the Half-World had settled over her, shielding her from his gaze. Still, it lingered where she'd appear to not be, and she stared back at him, wary.

She was hiding. She was.

When the other Kindred stopped looking at the place she wasn't, she walked up to a Skinny Blonde Kine, not much taller than she was. She tapped him on the shoulder, and the Half-World fell away, no longer Obfuscating her presence.

Don't get attached.

The Skinny Blonde Kine turned around to look at her. "What, man, can't you see I'm in the middle of - oh! Hey there, cutie!" A smirk. "Come to check out my big ... score?" SBK checked her out, and, deciding she was pretty enough for him, he folded his arms, waiting for her to speak.

Cute, but dead already.

SBK thought he was cute, talking about two things at once? It saved time, but it made it harder to wring meaning from his words.

Could kill him, save time.

She flicked her gaze at his score. "I could do better, but I don't have time. This is urgent, you understand?" She holds up her portable screen, waving it in front of his face to make sure he can see. "I need food for my machine." He looked at it in awe. It was a very nice screen, she knew that, but she needed to feed it, or it wouldn't work anymore. "Where do I get the food for my machine?"

"Little 24-hour store down the street - dude, is that seriously an original GameBoy?" He looked at her with something between awe and pity. "Seriously, this is so old my Grandma prolly has one'a these. If you want, I know a guy who can sell you at least a GBA, maybe even a DS if you're real nice to 'im, on the cheap. Or maybe a PSP if you're not that all that loyal to Nintendo?"

So she'd gotten her screen a decade ago. That was practically yesterday! "... I have no need of the alphabet soup, just show me where to get food for my screen."

"Whatever you say, lady ... " Thinks you're strange. Oh well. "Look, lemme finish up my game here, an' then I'll show you if you really need?" Hours later. No. When she shook her head, he shrugged slightly. "Arright then, your loss." He turned back around to his machine.

Should kill him sooner, rather than later. "...No." She told Them, already leaving the Arcade. She had to wonder though. Would the four and twenty store take her gold, filched as it was from another?

And would their pie really feed her machine? It was picky, like a girl with golden locks - neither too much, nor too little, would do.

She shrugged. The blackbirds would know.

"One hundred and fifty five."

How could a simple number, uttered so nonchalantly, shatter her world so? The Smiler could've been one crazy f***er. Just one. But with Adrien's support as well, that's looking less likely.

Ten thousand ants swarm over her back, and tears prick into her eyes. Lola instantly snaps around to stare hurtfully at Adrien. The stiff-lipped frown on her face, the way her eyebrows wrinkle upwards pleadingly, and the glossy pools in her eyes speak of her betrayal. Tonight, the world as she knew it was destroyed irrevocably, replaced by something far more sinister--a dark planet that turned under her feet and lied in wait to swallow her whole. And to hear it put so resoundingly, so plainly, oh god. Why does she feel like crying?

"And yes, I am." He finishes, knowing what her next question would be.

Her mouth forms a tight pout and suddenly feels dry, so she wets it with her tongue. The corner of her lips curl sardonically, and she whispers desperately, "Am what? Counting in dog years?" A soft, humorous snort cuts through her melancholy.

Finding it a little too intense to maintain Adrien's gaze with her emotions as they are, Lola looks away and swipes her free hand over her eyes to dry off her tears. When it comes away, it's darkly streaked with her eyeshadow.

After all this, she probably looks like a total mess. S***, she could go for a shower and a toothbrush.


((OOC: Atropa: I kept it short since it sounded like you had some upcoming actions for Adrien in mind. Hope this works.))

#35 [Night #14]

Words didn't come easily. Noah had a hard time expressing himself. It didn't surprise him, but it did keep him confined in solitude even among others. Especially then. He had an abundance of emotions, a plentiful source of signals that went through his body like lightning. Though he felt unsure of how to handle it, without being too blunt. Thus it often resulted in silence or words that seemed chopped from a real sentence. Nothing became easier, standing infront of Valerian. It was a little bit scary, Noah could admit to that, and he wasn't easily scared. He felt like his mind knew what it wanted, but he lacked the means to portray it. Actually, it was a pretty horrible feeling. It was as if he was standing behind a soundproof wall of glass, and though he could be seen, he couldn't be heard. No one could reach him and he couldn't break free.
Or it was the effect Valerian had on him. Usually, he was one dimensional in such a way that he was rarely occupied with several emotions at once, rather one at a time. Sometimes in a endless stream, but often just like an animal - having only one thing on the horizon. Self-loathing, grief or hatred. And now and then, the sheer need to feed. It was the latter that had put him in such a difficult situation. He would be able to talk to Valerian alone, but under circumstances he didn't like. Last night, he had been to Valerian what the fiend on the battle field years ago had been to him. A threat to that which he held dear. Though not a deadly one, it was bad enough.

"I'm looking forward to it", Valerian said, with a smile and a nod, always the kind one. "Until then."

Melody stood right next to him, with his arms around him like she would never let go, happy as if she had just won the lottery. She sparkled like diamond glints from a chandelier. Of course, like smiles tended to do, it made her all the more beautiful. Noah couldn't help but wonder who she was, though Valerian seemed like the type of man that would attract women like moths to a flame. He was strong, yet at the same time fragile. A most dangerous Toreador, in Noah's eyes. Dangerous, because he didn't seem aware of that fact. He was like a painting you would suddenly find yourself seriously contemplating to steal.
As the two of them, the Toreador and the girl, took their leave of Noah, his eyes wandered to the painting behind the bar - the very same one that had captured him his first time at The Haven. It was still alluring, as if it had been painted with magic. Dark and filled with shadows, yet it gave him hope.
But it vanished with haste as someone patted him on the shoulder. The spell of the painting was not broken, but detained in the back of his mind, as he turned his head. It seemed to be an observant spectator, having issues with Noah, looking at him with ironic glee. He looked like anyone of the street, smelling of liquor.

"Hello, Chief!" he declared and held up his drink as if to make a toast, laughing with his two friends.

This was not Noah's first time around. He had had his name, his Native American heritage dragged through the mud before. As if it was worth nothing. Initially, it always made him sad, but it soon turned into anger. That one word could anticipate what would come, you didn't have to be able to read minds to know. He looked at the three of them as if they were in slow motion, laughing and pointing, and felt all the more awkward to be there. Though they could do nothing to him that hadn't been done before, it always hurt his heart to know that his appearance alone would spark such ridicule and hatred.

"Cat's got your tounge?" the man continued. "You know what a good indian is? A dead one."

No words could describe what Noah felt, as they tried to take from him the human he once was, and the humanity he still had to this night. Though no one could take his pride, his Cheyenne dignity, since it was harder than stone, savagely fierce if anyone opposed a threat. He was clearly not welcome, even if his people graced this land before anyone else. Instead of everyone being proud to have such a beautiful and enchanting people around, they were given no air, no place that wasn't devoid of real means to survive. There weren't even enough reservations for every tribe to have one each. Instead, some had more than one, others had none.

Every fiber in Noah's body wanted to fight, to stand up for every Native American that had ever lived, or would be born upon this earth in the future to come. He wanted to draw blood, like blood from them had been drawn. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. But he was, if not civilized, bound by the laws of the Camarilla. He also knew he would bring no justice to his people, by having this man hurt or killed. Not even when he got pushed, to the point that he had to take a step back to not loose his balance, did he respond. No words, no gesture. He could just have grabbed the man by his shirt to get his point across, but the thing was, that Noah wasn't sure he could stop at that. What if, once he had started, it would be like letting the wolf loose. Even if he was to ignore that this was an Elysium, it was still Valerian's home. He could just hope that the man and his friends would grow tired of his silence and lack of actions and leave him alone.

"You've come to the wrong place, redskin", the man said, laughing like he had just landed a perfect shot at Noah. "This is not a pow wow."

Just as a black man wasn't really black and a white man wasn't really white - the Native Americans weren't red. Though it was all logical, man had always craved ways to put everything and everyone in categories. There had to be names, otherwise there would be confusion and fear. However, as far as Noah was concerned, there was still chaos. And he was also a man himself, even if he was Kindred. Was he any better? He didn't know, but he knew he wasn't the one targeting a stranger without a real reason. Finally, he chose to speak, when the man took the liberty to pat him on the cheek.

"Don't do that", he said, as if it was wise words of warning.





_______________________________________________

((( ooc: Not approachable.

Nekhs - Welcome! )))

((OOC: I'm sorry it came out so long, please forgive me. ;-; And ... uh. *Sheepish grin.* Lola and Adrien were on the streets, so I picked them to harass all ninja-like.

Thanks to everyone who welcomed me aboard!))

Night #14:

Chaos.

Flare returned to the Arcade after her trip to the four-and-twenty store, and once again she spent her day there, having grown ... comfortable, after her fashion. It was noisy, filled with Kine and not always empty of Kindred, but she'd found a base to work from, someplace solid with a flow she could follow - her first few nights in a city, that was always the most important, finding some kind of Haven.

Tonight, though, the Cobweb had once again settled over her mind, the Voices slithering through her mind and bringing with them Visions, and so she turned more than ever to the silent steel machines. IT was coming, boiling up inside. Had to hold IT off, back. As long as she could.

And still ... flashes.

An image - a girl hanging, dead, a puppet moving her own strings, a Little Fly only a few nights old, and already weaving her very own cocoon, to become a Spider all her own - Spiderfly

And she shook it off. She settled in front of the pinball machine she'd monopolized the night before last, slipping it more gold. Had to focus.

Child-Woman wrapped in the web of Spiders. Tangled, twisted, 'til the Hand of Purest Black plucks her free.

Pull back the lever, nearly breaking it from the machine in the process.

Careless.

SNAP! The lever sprung forward, the ball sent flying. Settle hands over the buttons on the sides.

A thousand masks dancing among the Kindred, nameless ghoul Fired her Sire ...

Bounce, bounce, bounce, whir - the ball reached the top of the machine, began its descent.

Predator turned to Prey, declawed and harmless, yet stronger than ever.

Smack the side of the machine hard enough it rocked up on two legs for a moment. Dizzy, lost her focus for a second, so many voices all vying for her ears, for her mind, couldn't think, couldn't breathe....

Not that she needed to, but it was her habit, one she hadn't shaken from life and she needed it even if she didn't, needed clarity, focus.

Hail to the Chief
He's the Chief and he needs hailing~

Ball struck the flipper struck the ball, ball goes flying, hit the bumpers, rock the machine up on two legs again, the scoreboard touching the wall.

"Ma'am?" A male's voice, couldn't listen, had to block it out. Big man, suit, didn't fit him, though it was cut to look like it did.

Rabid dog, slipped its leash ....

"Ma'am? I'll have to ask you to tone it down a bit." His voice sickly-sweet, so pleasant but it hid a ghastly truth, she knew, she knew how wrong he was, how awful in his head.

Had to tune it out, focus, stare only at the bouncing silver ball.

Starstruck Ghouls, don't you know?
Leeches don't know Love ...

A hand on her shoulder, touching, and she tensed, the ball dropping between the flippers. Oh God ...

She gave a full-body shudder and succumbed.

It all started with the neighbors' dog, of course. That and the flies, he peeled the wings off, he kicked the dog, and then he did so much worse ...

It was so hard to bury the body convincingly, make it look like he hadn't dug anything up, and then he told the little neighbor girl the dog ran away, and how he'd tried to catch it. She trusted him ...

Flare screamed as though he'd burned her, melted under his touch like wax to a blowtorch and he followed her down, kneeling by her. "Ma'am, you need to calm down. I'm not going to hurt you."

A hand, a push, shoving a woman down the stairs - his own Mother, how could he? B**** wasn't dying fast enough on her own.

Didn't even need the money.

She'd seen worse, she had, it just didn't spring to mind readily. Tears began pooling in her eyes, bloody red and that would crash the Mask Party but it didn't matter because he was going to die but she couldn't stop IT. Didn't he understand? Didn't he care? No, he didn't. She flinched away from him, cowering under the machine, but still the images came. Faster now.

Was she the only one who could see how angry he looked?

Then the mask came up again and he was so "normal" she couldn't tell anyone how bad he was ....

A little girl, and she'd struggled for her size, but it had been so satisfying.

"St-tay back." She held her fingers out in a cross shape, not that it had helped anyone who cowered from her, not that it would help her now, but ... it was a symbol he'd know.

"I won't hurt you. Please, you're in no trouble." Honey-voiced and silver-tongued ....

Images, in his head, what he'd like to do to Flare herself, cowering from him like the dog had and all because she, like it, knew how BAD he was, how WRONG.

And that was all it took to set IT off.

Blood sang in her veins, brought with it horrible, crystal clarity, and she focused, pushed, the whirling chaos in her mind filling his, and he backed away, landed on his a** with a thud, eyes wide. He began clawing at his own face, gouges running down his cheeks where his nails were just long enough, and his head cracked against the pavement, and oh God, if she could only stop it with him.

Every ghost he ever made came roaring back, in his mind, and in moments his scream was silenced by his heart exploding in his chest, she could HEAR it and oh God ...

The madness spread.

First, it touched the Skinny Blonde Kine, and he laughed, pointing at the bleeding, dead man, he laughed long and hard and helpless as it touched a burly biker man, who shrieked, gripping his pool cue by the thinner end and swinging the thicker one like a club, smashing into the back of his opponent's head, and he was sent spiraling down the rabbit hole, the edges of his vision gone black and loopy, while the Voices talked to him.

It didn't even stop there. One woman, thought herself a tough b****, until a rat bit off her head, only not really, because there was no rat, but it was real enough, the girl forgot to breathe, forgot how. Without her head, of course, how could she remember?

And then someone roared, and shrieked, and burst every muscle in his arms, picking up a vending machine, but still, somehow, he flung it just a foot or so, where it pivoted on its corner and crushed someone else's lower half. He couldn't feel the pain, so he swung his arms like clubs attached to his shoulders, striking someone else, a little child, and oh God, it was all her fault, and she couldn't stop it, and she dug her nails into her cheeks, because that was so much easier to heal than popping her own eyes again.

Someone tried to call the lawmen from a pay phone, only to turn around and scream at nothing. Blood trickled from his ears, from his eyes, and she didn't touch him but it was her fault, all her fault.

Something Else took over then. Had to leave. Had to leave this place, she crawled out from where she was, ducked under a wild swing of a club, the Half-World settling over her. Couldn't swing at what they couldn't see. Not that they would swing at her anyway. Probably. She walked to the door, eyes all wide and unseeing. She felt better.

She felt fine.

She ducked out the door as a lawman walked into the carnage, holding his gun, but down and away because humans died if shot too much. Only that was the thing, they were all dead, so he laughed, and laughed, and laughed ....

--

Flare didn't know where she was going, nor did it really matter, nor did she care.

She felt fine.

For once, she felt fine.

Well, except for the part where her cheeks itched where they were healing over already. And the part where she was hungry. That wasn't as fine, but it was okay.

She heard a scream, somewhere to her right, and she paused outside the maw to an empty alley. What would she look like? Little girl, streaked in blood, so when no one was looking anyway, she hid from the Eyes once more. No; she Obfuscated. She felt fine, she could use the words that fine people used, weird as they were. An image of a little girl, all dressed in big girl clothing, but no bigger than she was, the little Kine woman, all drunk on blood, sliced to ribbons and ash on her from the dead Not-Prince ...

She still hadn't announced herself to the real Prince, had she?

The Prey wouldn't much like her for what she was about to do, but it was okay.

He wasn't a Predator anymore.

Lurking there, she waited for her visions to manifest, feeling madder than usual. Except the Voices and the Visions never lied.

The child-woman reeked of blood, but Flare could handle the hunger in her gut as she listened to their conversation, quiet till it hit a pause. Dog years? No, that wasn't right. The Prey wasn't a skinshifter, wasn't a werewolf, and didn't own a dog - he had no reason to count that way, and none to lie either.

So, she corrected the girl, seeming to materialize out of nowhere behind and between them. "Vampire. He's a vampire. Can't you tell?"

((Also hope, for all its length, it didn't suck. ^^; ))

[[ Sorry to spam. I am withdrawing my two characters and myself from this rp due to lack of time. Sorry for any inconvenience. ]]

(((ooc: Nekhs - Could you please include the age of your character, instead of "???". You don't have to put the exact amount of years, but please do let others know if she's Neonate, Ancilla, Elder or Methuselah. Thanks.

summerkelsa - I know I said this in PM already, but it's worth repeating; really sorry to see you go. You and your characters will be miseed. )))


Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Adrien had always trusted his gut instinct, that sixth sense that seemed to have been given to him upon the day of his birth, his entrance into this world as the son of a mortal woman and a Kindred father. It had always allowed him to sense when trouble was brewing, and ever since he'd chosen his path as a slayer, it had been one of his most formidable weapons, alerting him that something was about to happen. It didn't always reveal to him what and how - that part of his skill, the ability to sometimes figure out what exactly was waiting for him up ahead, had come only with age and practice - but it did allow him the chance to prepare for anything. Now, as he and Lola started nearing the club that was the first check point to their destination, he could feel the depths of his gut stir in that all too familiar bad feeling usually preceding a turn for the worse. His senses were tingling, tugging at the metaphorical sleeve of his mind like an insistant child craving attention, and in his mind, the bells of warning were almost deafening.
He didn't like this. At all.

Though he showed nothing, strayed not from the pattern of his behaviour over the last couple of minutes, of glancing around every now and then as if to check and make sure they weren't being followed. Any such deviation might alert the possibly upcoming aggressor or aggressors that he had caught on to their presence, and prepare them for finding him prepared, thus taking away the small advantage he'd have by having them count on an element of surprise that ended up void. So, he just kept going about things the same way he had since leaving behind Blondie, keeping one eye on the surroundings, while keeping the other on Lola and the reaction drawn forth in her by his upfront statement. Unsurprisingly, it seemed as though, like most probably would in her situation, she had been hoping that her obvious suspicions regarding his nature would turn out incorrect, and that he would give a reply that indicated he was just as human as she was. She seemed almost hurt by his revelation, as though he had done something to her personally, simply by being Kindred.

Although, in a way he supposed he could understand that, given the fact that after Blondie & co's rampage, the last thing she'd want around her was another one of their kind, even though Adrien personally thought of them and him as worlds apart. It probably choked whatever security she might have found in him, and rendered her feeling even more vulnerable, since for whatever reason, she had started out trusting him, only to now have the rug pulled out from under her feet.
Though she handled it well. She didn't scream, she didn't try to run, she didn't even stumble back from him in terror. She simply stared at him, albeit with that hurt look in her eyes, and then turned away, with a somewhat mumbled yet ironic;

"Am what? Counting in dog years?"

Pretending not to notice the way she reached up to dab her eyes, Adrien gave a slight, equally ironic chuckle, while yet again allowing his gaze to roam the surroundings.

"Mm, I wish", he stated dryly.

He wasn't exactly thrilled about the idea of having become what he loathed, even though he, in his own mind, was still light years away from being like the rest of them. And he had no problem making it known. Neither to her, nor to whoever it was that was now looming somewhere closeby. It wasn't his original stalker, that much he could tell, because that man actually made sounds, and Adrien could sense he was much further behind them, whereas this recent second presence, didn't have him picking up on sounds, but rather the lack thereof. Almost like a silence that could be heard. Even if it was only in his mind, and due to that sixth sense of his.
Coincidently, almost as though it in turn had picked up on his thoughts, it was right about then, that said second presence decided to reveal itself;

"Vampire", came a voice from close behind. "He's a vampire. Can't you tell?"

At the very first sound of that voice, Adrien quickly snapped around. In one fluent motion, he had come face to face with the intruder before the first word had even left her lips, placing himself infront of the startled Lola in the process, and swung out Blondie's shotgun, which had been hanging from his shoulder, from underneath the long leather coat. Firmly in his hand, it's muzzle locked on the target; a small, redheaded girl in what appeared to be her early teens. Hardly something the average Joe would percieve as a threat, even despite the blood spatter covering parts of her tender form.

But Adrien wasn't your average Joe. He'd had her pegged as a threat even before she had revealed herself, and seeing her didn't much change that conclusion. What it did do, however, was help add to it. With Lola close behind him, and feeling her fingers wrap themselves tightly around his arm, once again seeking comfort, and a quivering whisper of "Take me home" pricking his ears, he warily studied the Kindred infront of him, too focused on her for Lola's gesture to have the same impact on him, had they still been alone.

A Malkavian. No doubt about that, considering the only way she could've gotten this close to him without him actually seeing her, was by Obfuscating. Considering her appearance, she clearly wasn't a Nosferatu, and so that left only Malkavian; the worst kind of opponent. There was no way of telling what their strategy would be, mostly because they usually didn't have one, and even when they did, odds were they wouldn't stick to it for long anyway. They were completely unpredictable, often didn't even know themselves what they were about to do. With Malkavians, the only thing you could count on, was that all bets were off.

"Sorry", he said, his husky voice laced with warning, while his unarmed hand swung behind him to land on Lola's lower back, to make sure she stayed close, and didn't try to run or stray too far from him, thus winding up far more exposed to an attack than he'd like her to. "This is a private party."

That said, he started slowly backing towards the open street, eyes and shotgun both still locked on the Malkavian, ready to fire should she force him to, and knowing that all it would take was one well-aimed discharge to do enough damage to her small body, for her get into alot of trouble.

"How does it look?" he asked Lola over his shoulder, indicating with a slight motion of his head that he meant the area behind them.

Valerian was truly delighted.
Granted, it usually didn't take much to make him so, since he had a tendency to find some level of joy and fascination in most things. But nonetheless, he was. With Moira's unexpected appearance at The Haven this evening, came two opportunities he had much desired, but not known exactly how to go about achieving. And now here they were, both of them at once, and what was more, the very best part of it all, was that he wouldn't have to choose one over the other, as due to the very cause of their timing - Moira's visit - they could actually be combined.

The first was to do something special for Melody, to make up for his negligence over the past week. Something more than he already was, something more than devoting "just" time for her. For while he knew that simply spending time together was what she most wanted, he couldn't help but to want to offer something more, to put a bit of effort into getting her something, or surprising her somehow. Partly, and mostly, because he enjoyed doing such things to show his affections, and partly in order to further reassure her of their existence and their strength. A gift or a surprise would offer her something tangible to remember, whenever her faith in his fondness for her might start waning, and hopefully spare her at least a little bit of the torment he knew she was going through whenever it happened, even though he knew that much to his regret, it would never spare her all of it. Therefore, he had been so very excited to find that Moira had chosen not only to grace his club, but had also chosen to do so in the company of the vibrant young man she had told him she was acquainted with, and whom he had since figured out was her ghoul.
Now, admittedly, none of it was Valerian's doing, and he hadn't even been sure that Connor Hale would agree to be introduced to someone who claimed to be a fan, but Valerian knew that if he did, it might make Melody happy, and that was reason enough for him to give it a shot. He could always try to think of something a little more materialistic later on, as a token of his affection.

Then, there was the second opportunity granted by Moira's decision; the chance for the two of them to talk. Last night, she had expressed her support for his cause, and a desire to help, but due to the circumstances right then, they had barely gotten to scratch the surface. Now, with Valerian having come clean with Claudia, he was free to discuss it all further with Moira, even though he'd still want Claudia's blessing (or, since her blessing seemed a rather useless thing to hope for right now, at least her go-ahead) before actually going further, and had been looking forward to a chance of doing so.
As had Moira, it would seem, since the look the two of them exchanged as Valerian began leading the way towards his and Melody's table - following both Moira's and Connor's agreement to meet this friend of his - revealed to him that she had been thinking along the same lines. He could see it in the tell-tale twinkle in her eyes, and knew it had to be visible in his own as well.
Words were not needed.

With the two of them following closely behind, he started making his way through the crowd with his usual grace, slipping in between people just as a space opened up and being long gone once it closed again, leading the trio's winding way towards the reserved table. Halfway there, his eyes locked on Melody, whom had risen somewhat from her seat, apparently in an attempt to spot him in the crowd, and he couldn't help but to light up with a wide smile as seconds later she discovered that he was so much closer than she had expected. And there was no mistaking the amused delight that spread it wider on his lips as he saw the shocked expression seizing her beautiful features when she realized whom exactly it was that he had brought back with him, this mystery person whom he had claimed a need to talk to.

"Melody", he grinned at her and held out his hand to support her as she slid out of the booth to stand. "This is a dear friend of mine, Moira Sushill, and a close friend of hers whom, if I'm not mistaken, you have already recognized; Mister Connor Hale."

That part of the introduction dealt with, he then turned to Moira and Connor;

"Moira, Mister Hale", he started. "This is Melody, my..."

A most brief hesitation, only a moment long, and his eyes locked with Moira's, as something seemed to suddenly dawn on him.

"... partner", he then finished.

Uttering that last word, he couldn't help a somewhat sheepish smile from forming on his lips, as he realized it was the second woman he'd labelled his partner to Moira. He could only hope she was perceptive enough to notice they were not the same woman, for this was hardly the time to try and clarify the situation, nor could he justly give Melody a lesser title.

"I was just explaining to our guests how you unfortunately missed the performance at Club Envy last night", he added and turned back to Melody.


(((ooc: Ghani - Please me know if it isn't enough to go on. Brain isn't cooperating atm.)))

((OOC: Done an' done, Atropa. /salute. Postin' here since robokitty said 'sokay to. Midnight just works well for me, to post.

Flare ah ... rambles. A lot and very quickly. There are advantages apparent in not needing to take a breath.

Aww. Hi-bye, summerkelsa ))

An Elder, a Neonate, and a Kine Walk Into a Bar ...

"Sorry." The Hunter swing around, all fluid and swift as the wind, but wielding a boomstick instead of a blade. "This is a private party."

"... What'd I even do?" Flare held her hands up, showing how completely unarmed she was. He was declawed, but then, one didn't much need claws to wield a boomstick, and boomsticks could hurt a lot no matter how non-lethal they were. She liked her insides all inside, and not burned nor filled with metal.

After the defensive question, without waiting for syllable number one in response, she chattered on: "Hi! Please don't shoot me, I'm not even armed and did you know that bullets hurt? The little fingers on the hands of black - they don't, you should use your boomstick on them!"

It'd be edu-tain-ment-al!

A beat as she bounced after the Hunter and the woman-child. "What's the Little blood-drunk Kine there got for you to want to help her out against Them, past a brain all morbid and creepifying and not nearly enough clothes?" Flare tilted her head. "Someone all grown and old as you - no matter how young you really are - ought not to want to do a thing with a wardrobe so incomplete. Or is it just that you like to play pranks on Them too? It's always funny hearing Them howl ... do you mind overmuch if I tell your tail to follow you somewhere you're not going? Since it's pinned to you, I thought I'd ask first."

Having finally, finally stopped speaking, and changing the topic three times without once stopping for input, the chatty Malkavian Elder now wondered (quietly) if the Prince and Primogen were all blindfolded and spun in circles, before pinning their first tails to the Donkey. That was, after all, how the game worked. Wasn't it?

--


He wasn't quite close enough to make out what they were saying, but he didn't really need to; his job was to report on what Adrien actually did. Even without having heard the ex-hunter's conversation, he'd gained quite a bit of information for his report.

He blinked once, and suddenly what looked like a child, a teen at the very most, was there, talking to Adrien.

The ex-hunter aimed his 'borrowed' weapon at the young woman, who held her hands up defensively. Her back was to Adrien's hidden follower, so he hadn't yet seen her face, or the blood on her.

Adrien took a step backwards, his Kine woman held behind him, and the child, apparently unable to take a hint, took a step forward - a step for a step.


((OOC:

Edit: Mm. Sorry, I'm ... very, very odd. This might well be apparent.

Edit 2: Resolved.

Damn im signing up for this. love the masquerade series. PM me for the full details, please!

"I might as well," Alfmundr answered, giving her a crooked smile and sliding onto the stool next to her. He didn't even know why he was doing this to himself, nor to the mysterious Kindred woman. He wasn't the typical socialite member of his clan. He could only suppose that it was his age getting to him. Hopefully, his kind didn't grow senile after too long. If he found himself weakening enough to seriously contemplate ghouling someone, that would be about the time he considered it appropriate to contemplate a nice walk in the sunshine.

Looking at Selene, he wondered if he wasn't beginning to weaken even now. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he gazed quietly at her comely features until he finally gave voice to the thought that currently plagued him the most.

"I beg your pardon, Selene," he said, his deep voice drawing out her name in a pleasant fashion, "but what clan are you? Your... scent is not obvious enough. At least, not in such a place filled with all the odors of crowded humanity." At this last statement, a faint grimace crossed his face. He still wasn't used to such crowds.

"Tremere" Selene responded. "My clan is Tremere. And what would your clan be? I am normally good at "scents" myself, but your scent is.... intriguing to say the least. No, wait, let me figure this out myself. There is nothing I like better than a good mystery." All this was said with an enigmatic smile. "You are either Brujah or Toreador. The question is which? As for my scent being less than obvious, I realize I am not your typical Tremere in appearance, but what can I say, my moon is in Leo. I assume a Methusulah like yourself is familiar with astrology? Let us just say that my moon lends itself to a certain dramatic flare, shall we?" She thoughtfully studied Alfmundr with her finger poised upon her chin, leaning back to study him further. "Upon further consideration, I do believe you to be a Toreador, as you seem far too sensitive, something a Brujah would not be, but I think you would have been considered a good candidate for the Brujah back in your mortal days, am I correct?" After studying him curiously some more, she came out with a question. "How much time have you spent in the Far East? You have the ease of one who has spent many years studying martial arts. I would say possibly you have studied dance, but you do not strike me as a dancer, too much Brujah like energy to you to have spent time at something like that. Feel free to question me as well, as I do tend to bluntness, to the extreme, when I am caught up in a mystery." She gave him a flashing smile of the type that intrigues men, one that is wholly genuine, and utterly charming, largely because of the fact that the giver is unaware it is utterly charming. She sat there waiting for him to question her back, fully expecting him to take the opportunity since after all, he had been the one to question her in an intimate way first. Not that she minded, not in the least.

"Mm, I wish."

His laugh is gentle and ironic--the kind of laugh that plants a seed of warmth inside her despite the tears. And when she hears it, she can't help but smile a little in return because she feels better. Not good, but better. As Lola finishes drying off her eyes, another voice, small and feminine, startles her:

"Vampire. he's a vampire. Can't you tell?"

A chill creeps along Lola spine, and as soon as she sees the intruder, a slight, redheaded girl covered with blood, she instinctively clings to Adrien's arm. And maybe it's her imagination, but that blood reeks so bad it makes her empty stomach churn with thoughts of the people who bled it. Where the hell did she come from? Lola had thought that she and Adrien were alone, but apparently solitude is a luxury she can no longer take for granted. What other monsters did the night hide?

She just wants to get the hell out of here. Too drained and scared from the harrowing experience before for the fight to come alive in her, too self-possessed to panic, she swallows hard, steadies her voice in an insistent plea, and whispers:

"Take me home."

And there it was. Simple, direct, a confession of all she wanted Adrien to do and packed with more meaning than she intended to show. Every part of her body that isn't in contact with his feels so painfully vulnerable, and when he wraps his arm protectively around her waist a rush of gratitude fills her followed by the low, comforting rumble of his voice.

"Sorry, this a a private party."

The girl responds with an incredulous "What'd I even do?" and the blood on her clothes, the ancient glint in her eye, both belie her innocent appearance. For her part, Lola is too frightened, too wary, too startled, too confused to understand the girl's ramble. She hears it all, but does not comprehend a word.

Adrien guides her, backing them up towards the street with a shotgun trained on the girl. When he asks, Lola takes a quick look behind, and outside the alleyway it looks like any other night in L.A. Normal.

"It's clear." Lola whispers. She looks at the barrel of his gun, her body clinging to his like some needy kitten, and she remembers herself. She's stronger than this. "Where's my gun?"



((OOC: Sorry about the wait and the general crappiness of the post. Inspiration was not forthcoming... meh.))

Malkavians, to anyone who had at the very least a faint understanding of their madness, could be as much a blessing as they could be a curse. Speaking in riddles that sometimes even they themselves didn't understand, they stood a very good chance of confusing you and trapping you in the thoughts churning in their maze-like minds, either if you paid too much attention to what they said, or if you paid too little. One could of course try not to listen at all, and thus escape the tangled mess that they, intentionally or not, might otherwise trap you in, but that also meant that whatever useful clues they might have to share - again, intentionally or not - might go unnoticed and be lost. They were a curse, in that they were unpredictable and often nonsensical to the point of frustrating whoever was unfortunate enough to be around them, and they were a blessing in that every now and then, they would indeed happen to spill a little something from those deranged but clairvoyant minds of theirs, that might have taken you ages to figure out without their "help".

Presently, however, deciphering Lunatic ramblings was something Adrien had neither the time nor the patience for, and even if he would've, despite rambling on and on, this particular one hadn't yet said anything he didn't already know. Just ravings about the Sabbat, Lola and Adrien's stalker. Not even her offer to point the latter in the wrong direction interested him much. If he wanted to loose the tail, there were ways. They just hadn't been available to him while carrying Lola through dark alleys. But soon, they would be.

No, the main problem as he saw it right now, was not him having trouble understanding her, but rather the troubles she was having understanding him. Apparently, the shotgun didn't speak loud enough - yet - for her to get the message, because despite the silent yet blatant warning of him aiming it at her, she still followed him, much in the same manner as a playful child, having tried to assure him that she was unarmed. Tried, but miserably failed. Adrien had hardly forgotten about that little thing called Disciplines, some of which tended to be ten times worse than any material weapon, and he was ready to put a violent end to any attempt she might make to use them. Or to come closer than she already had. She may have missed the warning in his words, but there was no mistaking the one now in his eyes.

"It's clear."

From behind him, Lola's voice informed him of what he'd wanted to know, her body pressing against his back, it's heat seeping through the fabric of her coat, and the leather of his, searing his cold skin underneath. Not with the heat itself, but with the alien sensation of it.

"Where's my gun?" she added.

The question came only moments after her initial statement, and yet in that short time, it seemed to have grown firmer, stronger, more determined. As though she had decided she wouldn't, or couldn't, rely on him alone. Though he wasn't sure giving her back her gun was the wisest thing to do, since even though she sounded fairly lucid, there were no guarantees that she would stay that way. Then on the other hand, giving her the gun, and with it a sense of security not dependent on the confirmed vampire she was clinging to, might be exactly what would keep her lucid.
Plus, a small gun would be far more inconspicuous to keep pointed at the Malkavian once they entered onto the street, with the chance of finding people around, but would still cause enough damage if fired to slow her down.

Thus, after a split second of deliberation, Adrien took his arm from her and reached under the coat instead, to retrieve the small gun he'd picked up near her unconscious form earlier, and since then kept tucked behind his back.

"Don't fire unless you have to", he said while handing it to her, still without taking his eyes off of the Malkavian, and then kept backing slowly towards the club, while continuing in a much lower voice, yet not quite a whisper. "Can you see a cab? If so, go for it. I'll be right behind you."

Then he raised his voice again, now clearly addressing the redhead;

"And you'll be so kind as to stay there."



(((ooc: Nekhs - Would much appreciate it if you didn't have Flare cause the tail to loose track of Adrien. Me and robokitty need him for future events. Thanks. )))

Humans:

1. Name: Aishe Jaelle

2. Age: 43

3. Willingness to be a ghoul, or embraced (if so, by what clan):willing to be embraced if by the right person.

4. Occupation: Gypsy fortune teller who comes from a long line of psychics and healers.

5. Short bio: Aishe owns a small occult shop where she does astrology charts, tarot card readings, and palmistry, plus she sells herbs, and occasionally will look into a crystal ball for just the right client. She has incredibly good hunches, and reads people very well. She is a sensitive. She has a son and a daughter, but both have recently left home to go away to college in a nearby city. One is studying to become a doctor, and one an artist. She is a widow. Her shop is called "Little Romany". It is in a bad part of town. Aishe is a little different, even for a Gypsy, but doesn't really care, as she has always marched to the beat of her own drum so to speak. She is a petite, beautiful woman, even if she isn't twenty any longer, and has long wavy black hair, dark brown eyes, and slightly darker skin, as if she were suntanned. She is wise, but has a bit of a temper, and stands her ground against any one and every one that has the nerve (or stupidity as some may put it) to bother her. She is both well liked and well respected in her little community as she also has a big heart, and often helps those in the neighborhood that no one else will help, or even notices. She is a major "voice" in the community that consists of the blocks that surround her little shop, which is also her home, as she lives in an apartment above the shop.

6. Picture: no picture

7. Additional info: She dresses in vividly colored clothes, primarily loose, long, flowing skirts in bright colors, and shirts that just go over her head, no buttons or zippers in them. She wears sandals, and often wears a scarf on her head or around her hair, with gold hoop earrings in her ears, and a dragon necklace around her neck. She wears gold bracelets on her arms. She knows about the Kindred, as she has dealt with Gangrels before in the past.

((OOC: Heh. Fair enough. Sorry for the inconvenience.))


And the Tremere were too nosy by half, even newly made ones like him. There was a reason her clan largely thought that his was on to them.

... Where had that thought come from?

The Hunter handed off the little boomstick to the Little Kine Woman, and they had little words for each other, before he gave her words of his own. "... And you'll be so kind as to stay there." Flare made a face, sticking her tongue out for him, but froze almost obediently in mid-step, like a statue, perfectly still.

"Boooooriiiing." See if she lost his tail for him now, then. It took a lot to play mind games with the other Kindred anyway.

They edged into the street proper, and she figured it safe to put her foot back down.

Surely someone in this town knew how to have fun? Since she wasn't invited to the Sabbat party after all. And now she couldn't even go back to the Arcade. Why did she do that? It was all fuzzy around the edges, just tinged with guilt. Stupid. Stupid and wrong.

((OCC: Hey people, im a noob and this be my first post. Just tell me if I do it wrongly and ill make corrections. here goes....))

In a allyway, behind a bar on the edge of LA, a dazed and confused man wakens from behind a trash heap.....



Alone and with no reconsiliation of the previous night, he feels sick to his stomach and gatheres his thoughts whist looks about to reconise any familiar landmarks...

Man: "....argh....Wha......bloody hell.....was....am.......Gahhhh...."

He remebers vaugely what happened....he was attacked by a red and blonde rush....a man with a pale cast....he knew him.....from somewhere...but the man was rabid....he felt his neck...puncture marks and residue of blood.

Man: Oh hell no....

Alone and scared, he freezes on the spot.....trying to figure out what to do...



....he tries to remember exactly who he is...

((OOC: hows that? sorry if its not great and maybe i got the wrong jist. Just trying to introduce my newly sired man. The plot will intertwine...))

He puts the gun in her hand, and it's cold and hard and feels ten times smaller than it did before. Strange, it does not make her feel safer than clutching his arm.

Lola levels it at the redheaded girl, who is noticeably smaller than the shooting dummies at the range. Normally, that would've unnerved her, but not tonight. Tonight, with everything she's been through and the bright bloodstains unapologetically splayed across the girl's face, tonight there are worse things to be unnerved by.

"Don't use it unless you have to" Adrien tells her, and she meets it with a nod and an "Mm" sound. How many shots did she fire before? She had lost count, but she figures she has at least five rounds left. That's something. She doesn't plan on wasting a single one.

"Can you see a cab? If so, go for it. I'll be right behind you."

The view of the street from the alley is too narrow that Lola can't see s*** unless she gets out and around the corner. She draws away from him and feels his fingers slide off her back. He gave her a gun, and now she's a reluctant island.

Oh god, she doesn't want to let him out of her sight.

"I'll see."

Lola backs out of the alley and emerges into the street buzzing with the glow of neon pink tubing. The strip club is down the sidewalk to her right, and there's a guy in his mid forties having a smoke outside. He hasn't seen her yet, and there's no sign of a cab. S***.

Lola checks up and down the street again, and as she does a cab pulls into view from the distance. It looks like it's heading to the strip joint.

Where the hell is she supposed to point her gun now?

She flicks the safety on and tucks it into her purse. Any cabbie with an ounce of survival instinct sure as hell wasn't gonna stop for someone waving around a gun.

"One's coming up now," Lola calls back down the alley to Adrien, and to her relief, it looked like the redhead was standing down.

Still holding her side, Lola jogs over to the strip club with one arm in the air to wave down the taxi. As she gets closer to the entrance, the smoker out front gives her a good thrice-over. She knows she looks like hell--faded, smudged makeup, barefoot in the street, and a coat that comes to her mid-thighs without any fabric visible underneath, making it look like she might be naked and up for easy access. She's a f***ing spectacle.

S***, she does not need a creepy gawker right now. After a few seconds of tolerating the smoker's looks, she stares back at him hard, and he knows he's been caught out. And despite the fact that she's the over-exposed one, she makes him feel uncomfortable. He puts out his smoke and heads inside. The cabbie's slowing down next to her now.

She pulls open the door and gets inside. "11002 Chavez St., and there's one more guy coming in."

The driver is a dark-skinned man who greets her with the thick foreign accent of an African. He doesn't make a fuss, doesn't make small talk, doesn't even stop to look her over more than once. This LA cabbie has seen it all. All he does is type in her address into the GPS above the car radio. She immediately likes this guy.

As he finishes inputting her address, the thought of Adrien tugs at her. Her eyes dart out the window to find him. When he finally gets into the cab, Lola's hand finds his on the car seat, and she gives it a small squeeze to reassure herself.

Aishe is puttering around her shop, putting some new palmistry books on the book shelves, and getting things tidied up. She has just closed her shop and has decided to go to the new bookstore in town, Algernon, have a nice hot cup of coffee, and read up on the latest books in the occult section. She needed something to occupy her time since her children had left for college, and they had insisted she get out, so she was compromising with them. She was going out, just to stick her nose in a book in public instead of in private. Mind you, she had access to the latest books through her little shop, but hey, this way she could keep her promise to her kids, right? Moms have to be sneaky sometimes, after all. She decides not to dress up for the occasion, and after finishing her tidying up, she heads out for the bookstore. She is wearing a red skirt, a turquoise shirt, and brown leather sandals, with a turquoise and red scarf on her head, with gold hoops in her ears and a golden dragon necklace. Soon after heading out, she arrives at the Algernon.

(ooc: approachable)

#72 [Fourteenth Night]

It was hard to impress the Ventrue Primogen. He had been around for many years, doing business, bying and selling to sustain his fortune when the times changed. He had more money than he knew what to do with. Though it did not mean he would think of others and give a helping hand. Not even his own brothers and sisters. If he ever gave anything, it would be an advice or a loan. Nothing was free and he did not want anyone in his clan to think otherwise. They would not prosper if they nurtured beggars in their proud bloodline. Any figure of authority within their clan would be responsible to care for the legacy, more so than all the newborns and those that did not manage to rise above the majority. It was Archon's vision, that even the weakest Ventrue was a pretty strong and intimidating Kindred in the eyes of the other clans. Above and beyond, that was their past, present and future. They would always rule, always lead the way. Even a Ventrue could make mistakes, Archon knew this. Though it was not the failure in itself that was important - but what you did about it once you had realized it.

Mankind was a whole other ballpark. You could not ask them to be as great as the Kindred, since they were nothing more than the vessel from which the Kindred society collected their additional members. Humans had flaws vampires had outgrown, in flesh and mind. Though, just as there could be the occasional Kindred you wished would never had been offered the immortal drink, there was the occasional human that could stand out from the crowd. Those would generally be the ones that the Ventrue sought. Both to embrace and to do business with. Sometimes it took a while before you knew if you had struck gold or been mislead. Until you could be sure, you had to cover your tracks and not make a move that you could not recover from if it turned out to be a bad one.

The deal at hand was about to unrawel infront of him. When all the courtesy had been done with and the escort had left the room, they could begin what they were there for. Archon could not deny that he was curious. She had called him herself, asking for this meeting, and to meet with her could not harm whether he would go through with it or not. As he often did, he would not make a decision tonight. He usually took some time to think it over. It was how he did business, and anyone who did not without a good reason why would make him suspicious.

"I’ve been looking forward to this meeting", Elle Archer began. "Speaking of which, I’ll begin. I took the liberty of asking our mutual acquaintance, Mr Harrison for some details regarding your fuel specifications."

She handed him a bound file, most certainily containting documents that would summarise what she was about to present to him, using the laptop she had set up. None the less, Archon opened it to take a quick glance. Of course, he would bring it with him to study later on, to help him decide on what to do. She was taking care of his needs, without him having to ask for it. So far, so good.

"Simply to allow me to tailor the presentation to your interests", she continued. "I hope you don't mind?"

Of course he didn't mind, he expected none the less. It would actually have been a mistake on her part if she had no idea what he wanted, and she knew this. He wouldn't want to sit through a pitch where she was speaking in general, having no idea what kind of aeroplanes he had or that he wouldn't invest in just any fuel, hoping that he would inform her of the basics any good business man or woman should find out on their own.
When she was about to begin her presentation Archon focused solely on her and the screen on the opposite wall. She told him about the fuel her company produced, how it was made and what it contained while taking everything around the production into account. It was thorough, well done and flawless - he had to give her that. It explained everything into the smallest detail while also painting the big picture without being too good to be true. Which was another sign of warning to keep an eye out for. Her voice seemed assertive, like she knew this deal in her sleep and could answer any question regarding it since she appeared to have thought of all the angles Archon might view the project in.

"Despite America’s lack of participation in the Kyoto treaty, we have ensured that our fuel adheres to the outlines", she promised. "So, international distribution and refuelling on foreign soil wouldn't carry any consequential hindrance."

Indeed, the lady seemed to have thought of everything. Even the Kyoto Protocol, which could come in handy. Any Kindred wanted to stay low on the radar, following every kine law until it felt somewhat ridiculous. Their papers had to be white as snow if anyone took a look at them. The most dangerous creature around, and they had to cross the t's and dot the i's to uphold the masquerade. Despite the elaborate presentation, Archon was not entirely satisfied - he rarely was. His Ventrue mind was always working, thinking of all the little details and obstacles that could appear. He wanted it foolproof, and he didn't know anything about this Elle Archer, beside what he had read and heard. And words were just words.

"Do you have any questions you'd like to ask, Lord DeWinter?"

A few, for sure, though he had to think about which ones at this point and how to phrase them. Questions didn't just ask for information, they provided some for the one who payed attention. Archon was sure that Miss Archer was very observant. Just as he was, though it might be for different reasons and certainly with different experiences in doing business. He knew the old ways, variations between many countries and even how it could differ depending on the age of those involved and even the gender. Equality was never a given, a true business man always wanted the upper hand. Even when he seemed not to. Especially then, as Archon had learned. He decided to take a simple enough approach to the deal.

"What motivated you to arrange this meeting, Miss Archer?"

Now, for not being easily impressed, the Primogen had been very content with her presentation. Though he still had questions, supporting the notion that this was not too good to be true, all was as it should be before a deal was struck. It made him interested, actually eager to take a look at all the details. After all, he loved doing business. He never grew tired of it. And a new challenge could also spark some inspiration. Though he was not sure about this Elle Archer. She came out of nowhere, in an unconventional manner, and something about her made him wonder. Maybe she was the one who was too good to be true? The deal could be harmless, though serve as a means to an end. Archon always scrutinized both the deal and the one providing it. It helped keep him alive, off the radar and made sure he came out on top. No one wanted a displeased Lord DeWinter around.







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((( ooc: Alissa - I hope this works for you.

Everyone: If anyone wonders - Lena Sayliss is Elle Archer. )))

#36 [Night #14]

Backing down was not an option. It might have been a wise one, though not that courageous. No matter what, it wasn't in Noah to surrender once things were set in motion. He might show submission when he met someone infinitely stronger to avoid being killed or maimed, but if he was attacked, either by words or physical force, he would stand his ground. It was a part of who he was, who he had always been. You went down fighting or you lived in fear as a coward. It was why he had found the wolf in him the instant he had been attacked yesterday, instead of trying to find out who the assailant was before he was ready to kill him. His point of view had taken him this far, and he really had no choice. It was in his blood, in his instinct. Like a wolf in a trap, he would rather chew his own leg off than lay down to die.

Noah never felt real fear, save for the gods. He feared them, mostly because he was afraid they couldn't or didn't want to see him since he was an undead. When faced with someone older and more powerful, he might bow his head to have them know he didn't oppose a threat, but he wasn't afraid to die. Death was a part of life, even the unlife of a Kindred. Though untimely death was also a part of the cycle, Noah couldn't let go of the mayhem that took his family and most of the Cheyenne village. He felt sadness, anger and hate, but never fear. Not even when his mind grew dark as the deepest pit and he had every reason to fear himself.
What he wanted the most was to belong. To be a part of something and at the same time be free. He felt free most of the time, but he never belonged anywhere. The three men before him made sure he knew that. Him and the likes of him weren't welcome; the very color of his skin was a disgrace. Despite their effort, it only made Noah stronger. He wouldn't wanna be anything other than the Native American he was. It was all he knew how to be, especially since he had grown up as he felt his people ought to. He could still speak the Cheyenne language and if the kine of his blood had known about him, they would probably have been grateful beyond words. Noah had so much knowledge, he could tell them the original stories that had changed a little with time and he could let them know how if felt to live free under the sun and be blessed with the wisdom of Moketavato. Sometimes he would visit Native American communities, maybe join festivities they had, but he mostly stayed away. It hurt too much to not be able to tell them who he really was. When he actually yearned to have them put him in touch with the gods, to be a part of their society. Many times, he had wished for the Gypsies to trade places with the Native Americans. Many times. Though of all peoples besides his own, he was none the less grateful that they were favoured to share their secret with the Gypsies. They had a link to the human world that others only dreamt of. To be able to live with them, know generation after generation and have them know you for who you really were was a gift. And a curse, when you grew to love them and had to see them die or learn that the generation you once knew had left the earth while you were away. For a Kindred, ten years could pass by like minutes, and for a Gangrel like seconds, when they roamed the nothingness and only met prey.

In the vastness of it all, his true nature, all the years he had been on the face of the earth, it felt strange to have these three humans mock him like he was worth nothing. They had no idea who they were up against and that the only thing that held him back was laws made to protect both vampires and humans alike. They were lucky to have caught him in a crowd and not in a deserted ally where he could have had his way with them. He wouldn't have killed them, but taught them a lesson. Even if he had been devoid of disciplines and supernatural strength, he would still have been the one last standing. He sized them up, their build, their stance and their general state of mind. It would have be like lambs to the slaughter.

"Hey Zeke", said one of the others. "You might wanna wash that hand."

Noah's mind was as black as it could be. Pitch black, like the feathers of a raven, like his long beautiful hair or like the shift in his eyes. Where would this end? Would they perhaps grow tired of him, maybe they would find something else to do instead of bothering him. Though it seemed like he was out of luck. Time came to a standstill, like forever was taking place right there and then. He couldn't walk away, he couldn't fight them. He was toying with the idea to offer himself to tear Zeke's hand off, thus he wouldn't have to wash it, when someone spoke for him.

"I'd listen, if I were you", a woman's voice adviced at what Noah had just said; asking the man to stop.

She acted on his behalf, and he knew her voice. Despite the music and the lack of light; he knew who she was. She stood behind the men, but when Noah shifted his weight to his other leg, he could see her. Aeode. It was unbelieveable. Why would she risk her own safety to help him? This was the second night they met, and he was causing her trouble yet again. For some reason, he remained silent. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, or the memory of her holding a gun in his direction. Something about her told him she was stronger and wiser than most. He would let her handle this, since she probably had more alternatives than he. Even though he didn't feel good about it, it would be unwise to interrupt what she had started. He might change her initial plan.
Of course, this Zeke wouldn't know what was good for him even if it hit him right in the head. He wasn't about to give in to a woman, that was for sure. He was still having fun, planning on having some more and no one could stop him it seemed.

"Why, sweetheart?" he jeered. "What's it to you? "Are you f****** this guy?"

The latter he delivered with a dark laugh, further adding to Noah's state of mind. Some people had no respect, not for themselves, not for others. He wanted to say something, do something. Since he was tied down by the masquerade and the risk that he would make things worse, all he could do was watch. Aeode, on the other hand, seemed unimpressed, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms like she could stand there the rest of that night and anything he said wouldn't make any difference to her.

"Wait a second...", Zeke said as if something just occured to him. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

Something seemed familiar, in his drunken haze, and he finally discovered who Aeode was. Apparently, they knew each other somehow. Noah remembered that Aeode had said she both lived and worked at The Haven, though he had no idea with what. He didn't like the way Zeke talked to her, as if she was stupid when it was obvious what he and his friends were doing. If they would do anything to hurt her, Noah knew he would intervene. He would just have to hope that he could keep it to a minimum and not draw too much attention to himself. It was hard, fighting his inner Beast and instincts, rather than fighting physically. He watched every move, noted every word. The slightest inclination that anyone would take a shot at her, and he would see it coming a mile away. They would live to regret it. Though Zeke mostly tried to smooth things over, claiming they were just having a bit of fun with Noah. Fun? Then they should all be laughing. All Noah could feel was emptiness. He never got used to being ridiculed, no matter how many times it happened. It didn't surprise him and it didn't get any easier, though at the same time, he didn't care. They were strangers to him, people who didn't matter. He just wished things would have been different for him and many like him.

"Well funtime's over", Aeode concluded the tiresome conversation, gesturing for them to leave. "Get out of here."

The three men didn't surrender at once, but soon they had to realize that there was no use to go on. Aeode wouldn't stand for it and thus they left through the crowd. Then, she turned to face Noah. The Gangrel didn't know what to say. It wasn't the first time a woman had aided him, but it was the first time a woman had taken charge and sealed a deal he was unable to. It was not that he felt less than a man, but that he kept causing nice people problems. Every now and then, he really felt that he should stay away from others, since he seemed to be jinxed. All he wanted to was to belong, to find some peace of mind, but it was clearly not an easy task.

"Are you OK?" Aeode said through the noise. "Has your faith in humanity departed yet? It can join mine."

He was grateful she had come. He really hadn't seen a way out before her interruption. Though it was an unlikely occurrence. She had no reason to help him, not even after his apology for what he had done. He tilted his head slightly. Was he about to make a friend? He could hardly fathom the scenario if that was the case. Strangers picked on him, while a girl who had every reason to hate him decided to help him. A human friend that wasn't a Gypsy, but the night before a prey. Noah would never have guessed. Not even his hopes and dreams had included this possibility. And he could use a friend. He was already prepared to fight for her, that was obvious. He felt responsible. That was why he had followed her home yesterday and why he would have acted if any of the three men had turned on her. It was not only due to the fact that he had tried to feed off of the wrong human. No. He liked her.

"It's hard to hold on to it", he agreed when he found his words again. "But you're a part of humanity and you helped me. I'm not sure I know why, but thank you. Though I guess you must wonder... why I couldn't do it myself."

There was no use in pretending. They both knew he was stronger and more intimidating than this. Although she knew about his kind, he would think she didn't know all that much. She probably knew nothing of their laws, clans and what seperated them from the vampires in books and movies. Everything that was obvious to him, was a mystery to her.








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((( ooc: Ghanima - Finally! Sorry for the delay! )))