V:tM - BECOMING

Eric's admission as he looked at her surprised Alice. Yet it seemed he was being sincere. That was an odd concept these nights. The only ones she was use to being honest were those in her herd, after all she encouraged it. This was another vampire though, with motives of his own. Motives that concerned her.

But it was Eric too and she was relaxing her guard again as he spoke and then he went and had to say stpid things. It was amazing she even heard a word past "prisoner" because the word rang in her head like a bell and she wanted nothing more then to take several steps backwards. It was only the need to not show weakness in this room full of preditors, some only a step away from the Beast no doubt, that kept her feet where it was.

"I am not going to refuse you," she told him in an aggitated tone. "But until I know what's going to happen tonight... Do you know what this is all about? That Brujah didn't and he was too worked up about all the "Cammy types" to be spinning tells to someone he didn't know." She was changing the subject. Why? Because Eric just had to be so damn... damn...

Clinching her fist she looked down for a moment, then she looked up at Eric's eyes. Her tone was softer, kinder, but that was by force of will. She needed to be sure he didn't take anything said or done as a final refusal. She doubted there would be another oppertunity to talk to him civilly. The nights seem to have not made Eric so much hard as ridged. "I want to talk to. We will see if tonight gives us that opertunity, if not, soon. For now though I think we both have other things we need to be focused on. Unless you are so terribly comfortable is a group of such mixed company?"
 
He gave her a smile. "You get used to it." She had answered and that meant he could drop the subject before they were overheard. "Though I might be one of the biggest 'Cammy bastards' here." he eyed her, a small test of her skills. She had undoubtedly heard him say what clan he was and now he had names his sept. Not that anyone wouldn't be able to tell by looking at him.

"How about a drink? When offered freely it's rude to refuse and it will give us an excuse to sit." She didn't seem to trust him, that was probably wise, but she had given the best answer he could hope for and he was content with that. "And no, I probably know as much of out purpose here as you do. Anarchs, Camrilla... my guess is the Sabat are encroaching on his turn and he wants to gather support from as many enemies of his enemies as possible. We are young so he might want those who haven't lost their touch with the modern world and those who he can influence. If I had to make an informed guess I'd say we are not the only allies he's calling to his side. The only problem with that is that unless he has some convincing words we're neutral parties at best. I feel tonight will be interesting..."

He looked at her and remembering how she had reacted to his arm around her settled for handing her a glass and brushing a finger across her cheek. "To the show we'll get tonight and the possibility of a private chat later. It's been a long time Alice. I hope I'm not taking an unnecessary risk in offering you what little trust I have."
 
"Can't get much younger then us," she muttered in agreement. What he said made sense, as much sense as could be made out by this sort of gathering. That he was used to gatherings, albeit likely not with an Anarchs, reminded her of differences that now seperated them. She had tried to carve out a very very small niche all on her own, but Eric was brought into this world more purposefully it seemed and was use to the careful dance around other Kindred. Though if his display with Sevens was indication he liked ruffling feathers.

Taking the glass she neither flinched nor closed her eyes when he touched her cheek briefly. Both had been equally as likely and thus canceled each other out. "You took much greater risks when you started to enjoy the Nights I think," she told him.

"That looks like a good spot to sit." There was a brief smile as she turned her head and walked over to the table she saw. She took a sip of the warm liquid before she sat down. It did nothing to help the conflict inside. "Not that I, socialize, much, but there seems to be an odd mix here, and I do not mean clans and such. I suppose the normal partiers are here with those of us that are a special engagement." She hadn't wanted to, but by this point she was looking in his eyes. She was searching for something she wasn't even sure exisisted or if she really wanted to find.
 
[size=+1]Somehow he's managed to wind up in a worse mood than when he entered the building: genuinely impressive, even by Sevens' standards. He laments this fact rather bitterly as he finishes the glass he was handed and continues to scan the room, watching the goings-on of Harry Rothstein's exclusive little party with an irritated expression. He's starting to regret ever even coming here, and this is before Rothstein's even started trying to explain why he ever even asked.

Not a good sign.

Lost in though, the Brujah doesn't notice the approaching company until he turns to find what looks like an escapee from the burns ward of Royal London Hospital grinning at him. Quite the sight to come back to reality viewing. A phone has been extended towards him, complimenting the mocking grin.
"Hey bub. It's the 60's. James Dean wants his hair back."

For a moment Sevens is at a loss as to how to respond: he has not exactly been anticipating some Nossie with a shit-eating grin to drop out of the woodwork and start spouting one-liners. But the hesitation is momentary; flashing a smile right back, he turns to face the other vampire.
"Really? That's odd, cos George Romero was on the phone just a minute ago; he says you're needed back on set." It's a joke he's heard bandied about in the presence of Nossies before, but applicable all the same.[/size]
 
'You took much greater risks when you started to enjoy the Nights I think.'


He battled to make sense of that statement. It could be taken any number of ways...

"I think you're more suited to this than you give yourself credit for." he said sitting and sipping from his glass. "I guess the question is where you belong in all this. It's strange not knowing anything about you... about your new life. Your clan, your sire... but we'll discuss those later. You're special enough to be called here..." he looked at her. Seeing her and knowing what she was and that it was his fault was still unsettling. Everything that had happened to her since that night was his fault.

"The last time I remember seeing you was when you were on my couch with a mug of tea next to you and my cat across your lap." he said. "Besides last week that is..." He sipped again giving her another look as if comparing her now to then. "I can't seen you smile since then... do you still smile?" It might not be the best question to ask but she was still alive and the Alice he knew would never hurt another so... what else had changed?
 
Alice took a long sip of her drink as she thought about his questions. She was not about to bring up her sire here. It wasn't something she wanted to discuss at all and considered telling Eric that much, but she would save it for when they were alone. Where she belonged was almost as difficult a question for far different reasons.

But the question that hung in the air was perhaps the most human, and thus the most startling coming from a Kindred, but maybe she shouldn't have been so surprised, they were not that much removed from humanity. Not yet it seemed. She sat back and she gave a shrug with a smirk. "I do not want to presume anything Eric, but I am liable to think that your new start was easier then mine. I am adjusting, even still, to what it is to be who we are." She then shook her head. "That's not quite accurate. I am fully aware of what I am and what I am capable of and have a fair idea of the different paths before me should I manage to stay alive. I suppose... well... we will discuss all that later too."

"Music," she said once again leaning forward. "I don't look in the mirror, but I would guess I smile when I am playing." Maybe that was part of the reason she wanted to get a cello and soon. Music was something from her old life she could no only appreciate still but in fact improve upon. It was also something she knew could potentially provide her a bit of status, even as one of the Clanless. She was grateful for her talent more now then when alive. She would hopefully have time to learn other methods of survival and talents to serve her, but at least she already had something that was sought after by many. Of course she wouldn't be surprised if it was a double edge sword like everything else in the Night.

Alice glanced down at the milling masses below, enjoying their own music. She liked it too, but not the pressing crowds, it was like... "A meat market. That's what we would call it. I never realized how close to the truth that statement was." She looked up at the man sitting across from her. "Eric, are you happy? Happier now that is..."
 
He listened to her responses and mulled them over, then with her last question entered his ears he froze, then slowly placed his glass down, smoothed out his jacket and ran a hand through his hair as he adjusted his seat. "You don't want me to answer that Alice." he said giving her a hard look. "If I do it will be later but I think you know the answer."

He picked up his glass again and swirled the liquid in it while staring at it. "Be that as it may now I have something to work towards. Here you don't find your place so much as you make your own. Sound like you already know that." he was still looking at the glass instead of her. "And that is the end of what I will say here."

He lapsed into silence and drained his glass. He wanted something fresher but like everyone here he was waiting... Alice complicated matters and maybe he should avoid her. She was unambitious and so not worth removing. Still...
 
"And ditch this popscicle stand of cunt throats?" the vet jabbed a thumb behind him along with the word play, "Fuckin' A, good ol' Georgie on the save. I'd put in a good word for you, but Hollyweird's ditched the strong, silent, self sufficient look for types that'd be right popular among prison inmates." Deadward reached out to a passing tray of drinks and took a martini glass blood in hand. A single laugh exhaled in a grim dark fashion as the thought crossed his mind, "If you catch my drift."

Truth be told, the whole scene stank like James Bond movie. The kind Roger Moore might have done back in the 80s before they actually started taking the premise seriously. Blood in wine glasses, A secret floor that humans were banned from, indirect threats veiled with smiles. The only thing the place was missing was an 8 foot mute with braces. There was a touch of irony in the application that this was the personal Elysium of an anarch Baron of all things. Ed was't exactly in the know by any consideration but for what he was familiar with, Anarch's got the rap of being more at home in in a dive bar than a dolled up club. Then again, perhaps that was the point. This wasn't a recruiting drive, some of these buggers had Cammie practically tattooed across their face. There was a reason for all of this and it wasn't out of the question whatever it was required a fair decent touch of gaudy flair. Truth be told, Ed had a feeling that whatever was the point of all this hullaballoo was going to drop into their lap at any moment. From there the lot of the kindred here would either tuck tail and run or be too blindsided to really take an educated response.

Deadward just hoped he wasn't just invited here to have someone clip a gas line and set the spot aflame. An evening's worth of vampires rubbed out in a felled swoop as the Baron ducked out some swanky back door. Then again, it was possible that the simple fact Rothstein had invited prominent enemies into his home might be exactly what kept the place safe. If it was the case, he was a clever bastard. Considering the letter the nosferatu had recieved back, he wouldn't be surprised.

Ed's attention flicked back to the biker as he rolled the martini in hand. Thoughts of how well a particularly dressed up patron of the lower floor would take to having a glass of human juice dumped on their Armani duds. Would it even be noticed? Would it cause a stur? Would a poetic stain of crimson be enough to rile up a police investigation to get the place shut down? Maybe, maybe not. All the same, the nosferatu opted to keep the fantasy just that and dwell on the details later. "So I'm probably the last git that has the right to say this," Deadward rasped, his yankee accent showing even through the gravel of his voice, "But you don't exactly look like this sort of thing is your cup o tea."
 
"You're a fackin' astute one, aren't you?" Sevens responds, though not without a slight grin, "Yeah, it's safe to say I'm not exactly having the time of my unlife right now. These aren't the sorts I like spending any length of time with, yet here I am rubbing shoulders with the scummiest and sleaziest those Cammy fucks have to offer."

He looks back over to his new partner in conversation. Nosferatu are each distinct in their own unique brand of hideousness, and this one is no different. Sevens first encounter with this clan disturbed him more than a little, but he's been amongst their company for several years now; whilst he can't exactly say that the sight of them isn't a little... off-putting, he's happy to do his best to look past this.

A Nossie is the sort of guy you want on-side. That way, he's less inclined to fuck you over. And if there's one thing he's learned, it's that the Nosferatu are experts in getting back at the folks who piss them off.

"So then," Sevens grins to the vampire, "what's a dashing image of beauty such as yourself doing in a dive like this? Rothstein invite you along as well?"
 


"Careful there Romeo," Ed cackled from behind shark like array of teeth in a disorderly fashion, "Flattery might get you everywhere, but it'll take more than some dolled up words to get me in the back seat of your paddy wagon."

A gnarled finger extended towards the anarch, a left over bygone from the days when the dead were greatful and the Zeppelins built from Led. A mock squint formed from the corner's of the nosferatu's eyes. Milky Yellow orbits circling pits of black. "I expect dinner first for any git chasing my tail."

As Deadward cracked yet another in a line of questionable jokes, his hand shifted to the fold of his field jacket. A motion often associated for the pulling of a pistol or the striking of a baton. The Vet considered the potential for unease in the presence of the Brujha but did not impede his movement. Elysium or no, it'd be an interesting check of how paranoid the biker looking fuck happened to be. After all, trusting a nossie was like playing patty cake with a particularly potent case of crabs.


Stir that one in your noggin for a bit.


Ed's hand brushed the inside pocket of his coat and removed the letter exchange of he and Rothstein from the nights before. The variation of text was a chess board miss match of handwriting. The walking corpse was no stranger to penmanship but compared to the centered masterwork of the Baron's letter, his own looked like a chop shop abomination. Hammond mused for a moment on the humor of the exchange and handed it to the anarch. "Looks that way. Politics and I get along about as well as two badgers in a gunny sack. Given the invite, I'm sure all this is leading to some back room side deal. I couldn't turn the prospect down with a response like that."


Deadward set the bloody glass back against a nearby banister as he spoke, having disregarded his previously impish prank. "Faces are a dime a dozen, but a politician with a sense of humor?" Three tsks sounded from the Nosferatu's tongue as he shook his head poignantly. "That's something I just had to see."
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Harry Rothstein is a master of the act of pretending to be extremely interested in whichever subject someone happens to be prattling on at him about.

Take the delightfully dull neonate waxing lyrical at him just now, some whelp who can't have been sired more than a decade or so ago and already trying to play at Kindred politics. He's on about the nightclub business, from what little he's said that Harry has actually paid attention to; something about big plans and grand schemes and blah, blah, blah, etcetera and so forth. He's heard it a thousand times from as many mouths.

This one will be dead within a few years, Harry wagers, another victim of over-ambitiousness and a lack of patience. Two weaknesses that act as an excellent buffer for greedy neonates with a head full of ideas about carving a little slice of this city for themselves. Fools who throw all their chips down without even bothering to learn the rules of the game, then wonder how it all went wrong when their grand schemes get torn apart by the sharks who've been circling these waters for centuries.

If you want to play the game, you must be patient. You must be clever, charming and utterly ruthless when you need to be.

Harry Rothstein is all of these things. That's why he's relaxing in his own little tower, and this neonate has come seeking his approval. And boring little neonate he may be, he's played his role excellently tonight.

But it's almost time to get the show on the road, for the true reasons he's allowed the Ivory Tower to come swaddling into his piece of London tonight. As one of his waitresses wanders past him he carefully touches her shoulder, ostensibly little more than a light caress from a vampire to one of his ghouls.

Now things are set in motion.

Slowly he rises from his chair, and looks back to the neonate who has been jabbering at him.
"If you would excuse me, my friend. Help yourself to more refreshments." Flashing the sort of smile only a Toreador can flash, he saunters off through the throng that has gathered around him, moving towards a steps that lead further up into Elysian Fields...


The girl who approaches Alice and Eric has hair dyed a vibrant red and a face covered with piercings. Edward and Sevens, meanwhile, are distracted from their conversation by another, brown hair curled and large eyes further accentuated by the thick-framed glasses she wears. Vincent and Lana's charming discussion pauses as a petite blonde with dimpled cheeks appears next to them, and over to Ren walks a dark-haired woman whose features denote an Asian heritage. Each is dressed up a black uniform and carrying a tray of crimson drinks, and each pauses but for a few moments to hand over a small note to the seven vampires.

"Compliments of the house," the girls say with an empty smile, before wandering off to continue dispensing drinks amongst the other guests.

The notes are a simple affair, but the signature at the bottom is familiar from the letters each of the vampires received.

"Esteemed guests,

Please join me upstairs in the room marked 'STORAGE'. Follow the stairs and you will see it. Discretion when leaving this floor is recommended. It is time I revealed my reasons for requesting your attendance tonight.

Cordially,
- Harry Rothstein"​
 
A note was slipped to them and Eric grabbed it before Alice had the chance to and scanned it before looking at her. "Seems like it's showtime." he said placing the note on the table for her to read, leaving it there for a few seconds before crumpling it up and stuffing it into his jacket pocket.

So they'd need to either not be noticed of not be taken note of. "Alice, I think I know what we need to do." he said his hand slipping around her and his eyes meeting hers. "It's time we went to the storage room and looking exactly like a couple sneaking into one are expected to look." He eyes her making sure she grasped his meaning. "Then we can finally find out what we're here for." he was insatiably curious.

Squeezing her hand he slowly stood and slipped an arm around her shoulders he leaned over and whispered softly into her ear. "Whatever happens it's been good to see you tonight. I'll admit to that much. Now we shouldn't keep the man waiting."
 
Alice looked down at the paper and read it, then looked up at Eric, her expression unchanged. "Curiouser and curiouser," she muttered softly. She was glad to be getting on with things, but the whole cloak and daggers play seemed overly dramatic. Leave it to a Tordedor.

Once the note was crumpled up and stowed in Eric's pocket, she hoped he disposed of it well later, she saw the light of an idea in her old friend's eyes. Which was a good thing to, for she wasn't then completely surprised when he moved his arm around her. Of all the ways to do this, including plenty that required going seperatly, he seemed to come up with the one that made sure they did not. It was reminicent of Eric of old. Not the man she saw too briefly before the nights took her life, but their younger high school years. The charming, intelligent, ladies man. A younger Alice would have been delighted.

A pleased smile formed upon the Caitiff's lips and anyone that glanced at them might believe she took joying in Eric's idea. She kept her voice low however as they both stood up. "It will be good to finally know what this is all about. It's bound to be a good performance." Her own performance only flawed by the harshness of that quiet voice even as she played her role to Eric's little play.

It wasn't until their stride took them halfway to the stairs she spoke again. "I will be pleased when we can finish our conversation," even though she did not know what she wanted from a more conversation with Eric anymore as they continued going closer to the door.
 
It wasn't hard to find the door once they got upstairs and with his arm still around Alice's he looked around making sure no one was watching he pushed it open and then stepped through, his arm falling from around her shoulders and his lips curling into a frown. Her discomfort at a simple touch only highlighted how much things had changed. Still the frown was quickly replaced by a smile at the prospect of getting to the bottom of things.

Still in the doorway he locked his eyes with hers, she was certainly attractive, one of the reasons he had first decided to spend time with her. Getting her to trust him then hadn't been easy, with his personality and what she thought of men like him but he had never tried anything with her an eventually they had gained a friendship. Now, now there would never be trust again but there might still be a companionship of sorts.

"Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?" he asked softly touching the tips of two fingers gently against her cheek before the hand fell to take her hand and squeeze it. Then without another word he let go and turned to enter the room.
 
"Compliments of the house,"​
​
The words were dry like leftover thanksgiving turkey forgotten in a fridge for the better part of a month. The woman who carried them had little interest at playing nice at the Nosferatu, that much was clear. Strictly business this one, and business it seemed was profitable to say the least. The dead vet took in hand the envelope and cracked open the seal with a grime caked fingernail. Looking upon the contents revealed the next line of cliches of which would prove to solidify the evening as a bad spy movie.​

"Esteemed guests,
Click to expand...
Please join me upstairs in the room marked 'STORAGE'. Follow the stairs and you will see it. Discretion when leaving this floor is recommended. It is time I revealed my reasons for requesting your attendance tonight.

Cordially,
- Harry Rothstein"​
Click to expand...
​

Secret sewer passages, backroom politics, bottled blood, and a sanctioned off human free zone in the middle of the biggest club in London. Throw a hobbit in the mix and you have the recipe for an Oscar nomination. "Speak of the Devil..." Deadward rasped as he balled up the invitation in his hands and tossed it to one side. "Billions of dollars in club maintenance, upkeep and staff revenue and Count Chocula plans to reveal his deep dark secrets from the confines of a broom closet. I've heard of coming out parties, but I didn't expect the man to take it so literal."​
​
Deadward turned his attention back to the Brujha with a shrug. "Looks like we've been summoned Casanova. We'll raincheck the conversation for another time. Ta ta."​
​
​
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************​
​
Finding the room at the top of the stairwell was easy enough. Discretion, interestingly enough, is easy when one frequently practices being invisible. The crowd as a whole was too caught up in the trivial inconsistencies of their own egos to really be bothered by something so out of place. It would have been prime real estate for a pick pocket if the occasion was more fitting. Deadward wasn't sure, but he assumed the laws of Elysium protected against petty larceny.​
​
"I will be pleased when we can finish our conversation,"​
​
The words echoed in the confines of the tucked away stairwell. Here, Deadward found himself in the company of two monsters dolled up to a shimmer and ready for homecoming. The nosferatu took note of the placement of the man's hands as he caressed the woman's cheek. The kindred community had the knack for drawing in all manner of storybook weirdo looking to take a page out of Stolker's legend. This one was awful handsy, even compared some of the creep fests in this dive. A touch against the cheek, the squeeze of her hand. It was clear that some semblance of familiarity was held between the two. Interesting further considering the pair was the same couple that he had noticed the Brujha storm off from before. That fact aside, there wasn't much that could have prepared the dead vet for what was to follow. The suited male gazed into his company's eyes before his voice chimed out in the dust riddled air. "Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?" the man spoke softly, and with the subtle grace of practice. The kind one would from the confines of a mirror in an empty room.​
​
Deadward couldn't help himself. Unabashed laughter flowed from his jagged maw as his head tilted back with amusement. "Oh... Oh Christ that's rich..." The nosferatu's words staggered through the space between cackles. It took a moment for the Vet to maintain his composure, and even then stray chuckles lingered in the corpse's speech. "All the romantic one liners in literary history and you choose to quote Batman." ​
​
Deadward broke his line of conversation once more as laughter rasped through the tone of his voice. "Word to the wise hon, the dialog he's quoting ends with the speaker shooting the person he's talking to." The nosferatu mocked the hand gesture of firing a pistol with his index finger and thumb, pointing it at Alice with a grin. "Something to think on..."​
​
The dead vet shook his head and continued to chuckle beneath his breath. Slowly he pressed his way up the stairs and through the door of the marked Storage room. ​
​
​
 
Last edited by a moderator:
  • Like
Reactions: ThE_DeAd
Eric should have been offended when he turned to the hideous sewer scum that should neither be need nor heard unless they were being paid to talk, but there was a chuckle and a smile on his lips. "Another special guest?" he removed his hands from Alice and instead clapped his hand on Deadward's shoulder and angled his head forwards licking his lips, the lightest traced of a sneer revealing a pointed fang as the hand gripped tightly and he locked eyes with the rat in a glare carefully hidden from Alice buy the angle of his head. One of the convenient things about being a Lasombra, inconvenient reflections were not a worry.

"I was just quoting a movie we watched together before..." every word was punctuated fight his head angling back and a little more, and him leaning in a tittle more the hand on Deadward's shoulder tighening to lock a creature in place. But as an explanation for what had happened after Eric and Alice has watched that iconic movie he pulled back his lips on the left side and tapped his fang with his nail before they disappeared. "Good to meet you, I'm sure we'll talk again."

Yes even sewer scum had it's uses. He patted Deadward on the should twice and then turned back to Alice. "Shall we move in? It seems we beat the rush but it still approaches."
 
Old quotes from a simpler time. It hadn't taken her but a moment for those words to remind her of sitting together on the couch in Eric's parents' living room and with it half a childhood of similar times. The quote was a cautionary one too. In any case Eric knew what he was doing, and that made Alice feel...

The sudden barking of laughter was a surprise as she looked upon the uglierside of death, mocking them. He was truly ugly, that was for sure. After his little pretending shooting, Alice figured at least the Nosferatu was walking away. She was not interested in little word games. Of course though, it seemed Eric was correct, he was off to see the Baron as well most likely.

She wasn't sure what Eric hoped to gain from his little greeting of the Nos and she didn't hide her eye roll. "Yes, let's get in there. I'd like to actually meet our host..." Alice put her hand into Eric's. And find out what the hell he wanted from them was the unspoken thought she had, not paying attiention to her own action but trying to puzzle out what was to come. Was the meet and greet just a smoke screen or had it a purpose. What could an Anarch baron want with among other vampires two so young to the night, and no with in his sect?

Going into the stoarge closet was actually a relief. It meant answers, though Alice was willing to be there would be more questions. Alice knew one thing for sure about Kindred society, you only fell down the rabbit hole further and further.
 
Behind the wise-cracking Nosferatu comes the grim-faced Sevens, all stained denim and worn leather, just in time to witness Eric patting Edward on the shoulder. An eyebrow rises at the sight, but he resists the urge to jump into the conversation until Eric and Alice have moved further up the steps.

No need to tempt fate again, and risk beating some uppity Cammy to death in Rothstein's house.

"I'd get that washed, if I were you," Sevens growls as he moves past the Nosferatu, "Fack knows what nasty shit you can catch from someone like that." He pauses on the steps to turn around and face his fellow vampire, motioning with his head. "C'mon, it's just up here if memory serves."


The door is indeed marked 'STORAGE', a faded old plastic sign that looks like it hasn't been changed in decades. The door itself is faded and stained metal, the sort of frame they installed in nightclubs back in the 1970s. Not exactly inspiring stuff.

Push open the door, though, and you'll be in for quite the surprise.

skyloungeatdoubletree1_zpsed1f91a0.jpg

The unassuming door opens out into a small room crafted from plate glass and steel, revealing the skyline of London stretching out into the distance. A set of carefully-lit stairs leads down onto a rooftop balcony, where chairs and tables are arranged in a careful manner. White light illuminates the scene, fighting back the shadows of the night and shining on the solitary figure sitting at one of the tables.

"So glad you could join me," says Harry Rothstein with a predator's smile, "Would you all please take a seat?"

Harry politely waits until all his guests have found chairs before continuing. "I imagine some of you are wondering why all the theatrics are necessary. Others of you will likely be well aware of the fact that our kind is not exactly known for its honesty. Simply put, if one owns a large nightclub frequented by denizens of the night, and if one were to have a strange door marked 'private' up on the top floor, every vampire in the city would be fighting tooth and claw to find out what is behind it." He chuckles slightly before continuing. "Meanwhile, if one simply marks such a door 'storage', no kindred gives it so much as a second glance. Funny how that works, is it not?"

The Baron of Camden carefully rises from his chair to move over to the railing that looks out onto the skyline. "Before we begin, it seems only fair to answer any questions you all might have of me. You have all been kind enough to indulge me in my little game of deception." He turns round and flashes yet another dazzling smile. "Of course, if you would much rather I just stopped dancing about the issue and explain why I asked you all here, that is quite alright. You are my guests this evening, after all."
 
Last edited:
Deadward didn't like getting touched, especially not by a suit wearing prick with a double chin and a plastic smile. As soon as the man's hand clasped around the nosferatu's shoulder, a fight or flight response triggered in the hardwired reaches of his brain. The molars of the nosferatu's teeth clenched as he reigned in his beast. In the instant it happened, the Vet's eye's danced over the frame of the Lasombra. Tracking his movement, annotating his vulnerabilities. In that handful of seconds or less, the world seemed to slow as years of experience brawling raged in the forefront of his mind.

His knees are locked. 30 pounds of pressure from a sideways glance and the joint snaps. Pain response creates opening of which to continue assault.

Target right thumb resting against shoulder blade. Overhand grasp, turned counter clockwise. Result: Dislocation. Hand is rendered unusable for remainder of conflict.

Two limbs neutralized, move to lethal response.

Unhinged thumb will cause body to fall with the weight of motion. Step in sequence with the topple, turning enough to reveal free hand to target's exposed jugular.

Target throat, bury open hand claw strike into flesh. Grasp trachea, Pull. Result: Collapsed Air way. Death imminent. Move to close engagement.

Release throat and thumb, allow opponent to fall against stairwell. Target skull, apply 80 pounds of force by means of boot heel. Result: Ash.

Execute?
Click to expand...

Not in Elysium. Not here. The consequences would be too expensive.

The nosferatu bit back thought and did what he always did. He grinned like a loon, admiring the mental image of the man's potential cry as his face was crushed like a melon. This was not the time for such pleasures. That would come later. The Lasombra lifted his hand from the Vet's shoulder, carrying with it a grip full of ash that tainted everything the Corpse came into contact with. Good luck getting that shit out of the fine threads of your suit buddy. Deadward thought to himself as he watched the man turn. There's not enough bleach in the world to brush out a stain like that.


"I'd get that washed, if I were you," The words of the biker behind him rang out in sequence as soon as the touch lifted. Hearing the voice parted the distance between Ed's cognitive and the bubbling rage of his beast. "Fack knows what nasty shit you can catch from someone like that."

Deadward brushed off the fabric of his field jacket as he watched the suited man trail his way up the stairs. In a sense, it felt like releasing a freshly caught fish. "S'okay." The nosferatu replied taking in a breath and allowing his hands to retreat to his pockets. "I may not look it, but I happen to be contagious."
A twisted smirk stretched across Hammond's mug as he followed his way up the stairs.

*********************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Finding the patio space at the edge of the dust riddle "storage" door was a nice touch. It re enforced the previous throwbacks to the cloak and dagger movies of old. Too much thought had gone into this exchange and Ed wondered how many netflix specials it took to cook up something like this. The Nosferatu gave a nod to the voice of the baron and found a nearby chair at the edge of the overlook. This section of town likely wasn't cheap to maintain considering it's location. It'd be interesting to see the books for the place's construction. If this patio was cordoned off and hidden, it was safe to assume there was even more to this club than was openly visible.

As Ed lounged back in the deck chair, a thin layer of ash settled along the wood beneath him.

"Before we begin, it seems only fair to answer any questions you all might have of me. You have all been kind enough to indulge me in my little game of deception." Following the statement, the man flashed a row of teeth that would be more fitting in a crest toothpaste commercial."Of course, if you would much rather I just stopped dancing about the issue and explain why I asked you all here, that is quite alright. You are my guests this evening, after all."

"See, and here I thought you invited us out here to drink cocktails and discuss home decor." Ed's voice couldn't be more dry as the drenched sarcasm seemed to drip from his words, "You're a busy man Rothstine, and I'd bet that every minute you're out here discussing the color of your chairs is a minute away from your business. Now I'm not an accountant but given the estimate of what it'd take to put on a shindig like this, I'd imagine those minutes cost a pretty penny." As Deadward spoke, he picked at the grime beneath one of his fingernails. Discussion without eye contact. "So if it's all the same, what do you say about spilling the beans on what you' plan to get us into?"
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Alice was in awe over the view. Not that she was completely surprised by the fact the storage closet wasn't as it was labled, but the view would have taken her breath away. It was ashame that she did not have the leasure to enjoy it. This was, despite the decore, not a social call after all.

There host, Mr. Rothstein, was all smiles. Smiles of a jackle perhaps, but he was none the less polite, waiting not just for Eric and herself to find a pair of chairs to sit on, but also the Nos that Eric had just had a chat with and the Brujah, Seven, whom she had actually enjoyed conversing with. There were also a few others there that she had noticed in the club briefly. They were an odd assortment, but then again a gaghering of Kindred of various clans er libale to always be an odd assortment. She had been decently sure she would be the only Caitiff from the way the original letter was worded. Mostly Camarilla too it seemed if she was to judge by attitued. What tied them all together, besides being invited.

It was no surprise that it was the Nosferatu was the first to speak up. He didn't seem to be the type to beat around the bush. He also seemed to think he had all the answers. His mouth would get him in trouble someday, but she doubted it would be tonight. Rothstein vetted his little party carefully she was sure.

Leaning forward, Alice looked at their host, a smile carefully painted on her lips. "I do believe your friend has a point. I think the most important of our questions will be answered by your explination. If anyone has any burning questions after the fact I am sure that can be discussed later." In for a penny, in for a pound. She might have perfered to stick to the shadows of the night usually, but this was a small group that was going to know something about her no matter what, best not let them think once they realized she was Clanless, that meant she was a pushover. Better still it was best she played the game better then they did. "So why invite us?"
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Top Bottom
Back