CLOSED SIGNUPS Vampire: the Masquerade - Visions

[Kuno]

Amélie

The miasma of unpleasantness over the lounge was growing. It weighed on Amélie's skin, like an unseen presence pressing in around her. If she were human, she would've felt the prickle of goosebumps on her arms. When the background noise in the bar died away abruptly, it took all the woman had not to glance about, settling instead for a hard squint at the dreadlocked valet. Of course, he probably didn't have anything to do with it. Of course. Her eyes slid sideways.

God, she really hated this damn lounge.

Marcus went on yapping all the while. She wanted to feign indifference to his words. But he was onto something interesting - well, more than interesting. She paid rapt attention as he mentioned some mobsters, plus a little more. Something about the Veil and crossing it while asleep--

"What?"

Amélie started. The valet went on blithely, and she stared, blinking slowly as her expression smoothed into something less frightening, her eyes distant.

Baton Rouge, Louisiana. 1931. A heavy cloud of gnats hung over the river's edge. Madame led the way; spine straight, skirts hiked up to her knees, she held the jar in her hand aloft, tapping at the fireflies within.

"Ey bout as thick as this ri-vah." Her voice sounded strange, her lips forming haltingly around the English words. "They flit around so, yah? Like fireflies."

The Veil. What a poignant reminder of her own ignorant beginning. The fleeting memory passed, and Amélie's mind blanked as she scrambled to remember the rest of what her Sire had said. There'd always been a lesson in her words then. She'd been trying to show her something then down in the deep Mississippi mud. Something about crossing the barrier...

"Anyway, y'all need anymore drinks?"

"No," Amélie said sharply, coming back to the present. She didn't know what disturbed her more: that she, one with supposedly perfect memory, could not recall something from sixty-eight years ago, or that Marcus had sparked her interest so with such a half-baked story. She liked to stay in her box, so to speak, and mind her own damn business. This whole adventurous streak rising up in her? Eh. She could have done without at the moment.

Still. Kindred wanting to know about crossing the Veil while sleep? She would have to look into it. Maybe not now, but soon.

At her side, Wesley went away with Hanna, then Isabel, and soon Amélie too was trailing after them, murmuring a soft thank you to Marcus as she passed. Outside, Madame's SUV idled at the corner a block away. Upon Amélie's exit, the car came to life and came up alongside the curb. Earl stepped out to open the passenger door for her, but Amélie had stopped, her eyes resting on the keys in Wes's hand.

Ah. Car thieves. Seemed like Houston and New York had more in common than she thought.

Wesley managed to keep his cool, though Amélie caught the blanketed message in his last words. Her eyes rolled.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's nearly sunrise...you don't have much time to go running all over the city" Amélie chided. Tossing her head, she gestured loosely at the ghoul hovering by her car. "I have a car tonight, alright? We can drop you all off. No need to waste money on a taxi."

 

[Red Thunder]

​

As Isabel recounted her Embrace, succinct story though it was, Marcus paled appreciably. As she turned away, he touched his own cheek, very obviously imagining the same happening to him. His eye lingered on her she left before shifting back to Leon. He swallowed, hard; his master held him in a look that was some malicious mixture of comprehension and contempt. Sweat gathered on Marcus' brow, and his heart sank.

Outside, a stillness sat on the city, even among the seedy underbelly. The nocturnals, natural and supernatural, were concluding the business, finding it prudent to give themselves leeway to get to their abodes before the day-walkers emerged to claim the sunlight again. The fog that had settled over the harbor a few hours before had drifted into the city itself, though spread butter thin by the stories tall blades that pierced the sky. Vehicular traffic had increased marginally from before; at half passed 4am, Public Works was beginning its daily routine. Yet the sidewalks remained vacant, save for a transient in moth-eaten rags that pressed itself into the abandoned entryway of an ancient apartment, shielded against the chill by newspapers.

And save, of course, for the drunkards.

"Ahaha, you bicchh. You bes' puh-a bedder name onnit th'n tha', then."

One of the young men gave his friend a half hearted punch to the shoulder. His raven hair, clearly once meticulously coifed, was wildly waving in the gentle breeze. He raked his fingers through it again.

His friend, woolen sport coat bearing a fresh and unnoticed stain, waved his hand in the other's face dismissively.

"F-coff, Brian," he said as Brian pulled away as if from a snake. "Byer def'nition, f'yew yank kaaaaall th' featherz offa schikin, well- issa man!"

The others laughed again, but Brian scowled, his face red from more than alcohol. As Earl exited Amélie's ride, no one gave him the slightest glance.

"I'll show yew a man, Les!"

Growling, Brian launched himself at Lester, catching him around the middle and shoving him backwards. They stumbled, neither able to get their footing, before colliding with Isabel. The men, footing now lost entirely, fell to the ground, with the thin-blood trapped beneath. The remaining four merely pointed and laughed.

@Doctor Jax @Lillian Gray @Applo @Kuno

 

[Applo]

---

The first thing Isabel noticed was the taste in her mouth. It was blood but not blood. It tasted sweeter, fuller, richer, thicker. Perfect in every way. It tasted how she dreamt blood tasted. It was how the beast dreamt blood tasted. The second thing Isabel noticed was the pain and weight pressing down on her. The third was the raucous, braying laughter. In the darkest corner of her mind the beast's hackles raised at the noise

Opening her eye, the fledgling saw blood speckled concrete barely an inch in front of her. Twisting to get a look at what was pinning her to the floor Isabel was met by a confusing twisted mess of arms and through her friends legs the sight of a fat red faced man pointing and laughing at her. HER!

The beast pounced.

"Get off of..." The rest of the sentence was lost to a torrent unintelligible, almost feral snarls. Suddenly, the young vampire's entire body started to rigidly twitch and contort, her lips drawing back to reveal razor sharp fangs as her face twisted with sheer unbridled rage.

And then, as quickly as this almost animalistic visage had appeared it withdrew. In its place, a mask of utter terror had spread across the purple haired kindred's face as she desperately looked to her friends.

"Hanna! Get them…" Once again what Isabel was trying to say was lost, only this time to an ear splitting, fear filled scream that whistled through exposed fangs as her whole body went rigid once more.​

---

 

[Doctor Jax]

Hanna Wojciek

It did so seem that the kiddos were ready to leave. Trailing behind them with an ear out to any... curious onlookers and stragglers, she followed outside to the Green Machine -- or where the Green Machine was supposed to be anyways. She stared at the spot where Wes had no doubt parked the eponymous chariot of the night, and her eyes blinked rapidly as a small smile crossed her face. Of course.

The idiot always left the thing with the hood down in the bad part of town, because why would God gift him both good looks and common sense?

"Wes... I don't really see a car here," she noted with a little bit of amusement.

It was no big deal. She'd have a... friend track it down. It was, after all, a bit of a philosophy of hers that if you couldn't hold onto a thing yourself, you didn't really much deserve to have it to start with, but what with the extra sting of not being invited to the Prince's shindig already biting him, she figured it wouldn't hurt to procure Wes' vehicle. That, and she just liked the stupid thing.

Amelie's offer was met with an eyebrow raise, a flash of a quirked smile.

"Hey, hey, that's an idea. Groovy. I'm always up for a free ride, you know that," Hanna said, waggling eyebrows at Amelie.

And then, of course, people came down the alleyway. She had largely ignored them at first, but they were growing louder and louder, obviously inebriated from the thick scent of alcohol wafting off their breath, their clothes. Easy pickings, had they been so inclined, but with so many it would've been a bit chancy. She turned her back on them to say something more to Amelie in more business-like terms, but that was cut short as she heard a voice cry out for her.

Hanna strode towards the tangled group in all of three strides - fast, but careful not to rouse suspicion. A hand dipped down under the arms of either man and flung them to their feet swiftly, with measured strength and struggle believable enough of someone her size.

"Hey, hey, hey, you dudes look like you've 'bout had enough to drink, alright?" Hanna stated, and for the first time that night, there was something else to her voice. It rang with a certain Authority, the kind that brooked no argument, made you desperate to please, to obey. Her eyes were piercing gold as she looked to either of the drunks, their friends behind, helping Isabel to her feet. With that same iron Authority in her voice, she muttered to Isabel close to her ear, "Get behind Wes. Listen to what he says. And get a hold of yourself."

That done, she turned her attention to the other men.

"You all need to go home already, guys, it's like four in the morning. Like, scram already, get out of here," Hanna said, waving a hand at them. She was lucky to have had that slight top off from Leon. Using her Presence on this many people was a little bit taxing, but not terribly. "Before I call the fuzz on ya for public intoxication. You're freakin' my friend out."

Had they seen anything? Luckily, they were so drunk, they probably wouldn't remember Isabel's face, but she had a rather memorable look. Luckily Presence was a much subtler discipline, less likely that someone would notice its use. The Beast, however, was pacing in its bonds, seeing an already hampered group of drunk Kine. This was a prime opportunity to feed -- but there were other things to do. The sun would be up anytime, and they were on a schedule.

Besides - she had food at home.

XXX //mentioned
@Lillian Gray @Applo @Red Thunder// Current Company

 

[Lillian Gray]

CS Link

Wesley 'Wes' James Moore

Wesley could smell it. Someone was bleeding. Two morons fell on top of Izzy, and one way or another someone was now nursing a new wound. He grimaced, nearly enough to put on a display of his pearly white fangs. That sickly sweet iron scent that went straight to his head and had him dizzy with lustful cravings for a taste.

Yeah, it was there.

If he didn't have an ounce of self control he honestly might have considered picking a fight. However, there were far more kine than kindred and Wesley was too concerned about getting blood on his boots to deal with them. He had standards, for shit's sake, when he got hungry. Besides, Hanna was far better at dealing with an unruly crowd than he was. She had a unique touch. The experience of running a bar gave her a certain flair for getting losers to scram. The flash of Presence didn't hurt.

Wesley had Isabel up on her feet in no time at all, turning his back to the group of kine that had stumbled into their party. He mostly ignored them, not wanting to give the time of day to such a sloppy looking group. Drunks, the lot of them, and it only made their blood taste more foul. While not everyone was inclined to agree to his predispositions about particular substances, there was no denying the wobbling swagger and god awful stench following them had a negative effect. Disgusting. His attention turned back on Isabel, giving her a once over for any obvious nicks or bruises.

"You good, new blood?" Wesley lowered himself so he was eye level with Isabel. He gave her a crooked smile. Her fangs were on full display and her eyes, well her one good eye, was wide with panic. It was a look he could recognize. Hunger. Fear. Wesley couldn't particularly say he'd enjoy it either if two kine dropped out of a bar just to land on him, but that didn't mean they all needed to experience a meltdown with the new blood.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. In part out of sympathy, partly to make sure she wasn't about to bolt past him to get a bite in. There were better opportunities.

"Hey. Isabel. Look at me." Wesley said a bit more firmly. "You're alright. Just a bit of blood. Nothing to lose your cool over. Hm?"

Control. That's what it was all about. Learning to get a grip on the monster known as the Beast and understanding how to force it back into the corner. Or, at the very least, learning how to coexist with the blood thirsty mutt. Snarling and barking at all hours of the day. It didn't care about daylight's burn, or bonds of friendship, or clans for that matter. It wanted one thing and one thing only. Blood.

It was a shame to see such a pretty face gnarled by such an ugly curse. A damned shame. He couldn't help but think that, forcing himself to stare her down in an attempt to get the fledgling to relax.

"Just breathe. In, out. You've got this." Wesley murmured sweetly. "So how about you and me take a little walk. Maybe Amélie will drive us home. If the offer still stands of course." He glanced back at the other woman.

 

[Kuno]

Amélie

Un. Deux. Trois. Quatre. Cinq. Six. Sept. Huit. Neuf. Dix.

Amélie had only meant to grab one cigarette from the car. But then the smell of drunken bodies had assaulted her senses, and she'd spun, jolted, rolled tobacco falling towards the ground as Isabel was knocked down. The scuffle drew blood across the pavement. She'd blinked, frozen. For a moment, for just the tiniest moment-

Her nails curled into the boy's neck, vicious and unyielding. Pearls of red beaded beneath her finger tips. She could see the veins standing out in relief against his skin. Her fangs bared.

-She'd dreamed, until sensibility kicked in. Until the numbers came in their precise, calming manner, and the old woman had brutally kicked the dog back down into its cage.

Amélie fished around for the lighter in her pocket. As Hanna and Wesley rushed to Isabel's aide, she leaned in to light the cigarette wedged between her lips, coming up in a heady rush of smoke and with a shaky breath. The laughter of the drunken fools continued on all the while, and she eyed them blankly, her body stiff, the smoke around her the only thing moving.

She could feel the ghoul's eyes on her. Her head was already shaking no as his mouth came to open.

"Should I-"

"Leave it be."

Hanna had wrestled the two boys to their feet. As the petite Anarch warned off the rest of the kids, Amélie blew a charcoal grey ring into the air. The rim was off-kilter; Earl glanced at her again, and she frowned, pursed her lips, and tried again.

She knew her limits. Crowd wrangling wasn't exactly a strength of hers, and neither was being a peacemaker. She knew how to end conflict, sure - just not in a way that left the poor suckers unscathed. Madame hadn't just Embraced her for kicks, after all; she'd wanted a violent deterrent, and Amélie, old as she was, was more or less set in her ways. It was better to leave her to what she did best: hanging off to the sidelines, aloof, the picture of cold indifference.

Wesley drew near to the car with young Isabel in tow. His gaze met her own, and Amélie stared from behind the cloud, her eyes an unflinching cut of steel.

"When you're ready."

Wisps of smoke darted out with every word. She took another puff, blowing it up into the air above them. There was the barest trembling of her hands.

She still smelled the blood on the pavement.

 

[Applo]

---

It was dark. It always seemed to be dark here. The memory was hazy, like a dream almost, but Isabel could just about remember the first time she had found herself in this primeval forest. The beast had been so timid then. Violent and wild yes, but also hesitant; like a foal deer taking its first uncertain steps on shaking legs. Now it was just gleefully malevolent as it pulled the silvery chain that linked that two of them together tight around Isabel's neck. She was trying to fight it, pulling back on the chain the was squeezing the breath out of her with everything she had but it wasn't enough. The beast could sense her weakness, how close it was to freedom and that seemed to give it more strength. Isabel knew she was going to lose. It was just a matter of when; everything was already blurry and she felt so lightheaded. If she just let go now at least it would be qui-

"Get a hold of yourself."

Girl and beast turned as one. There was a third being in their clearing now. Tall and dressed in dark clothes that hid almost everything about them, the only features Isabel could make out was swathe of silvery hair cascading from under their hood and a baseball bat held loosely at their side. For a few moments everything including the wind that had been shaking the trees was still, then the newcomer lifted the bat and levelled it at Isabel and the beast.

"Scram already."

In one impossible step the stranger closed the distance, their bat already mid swing before Isabel was able to even flinch. She felt the whisper of wind in her hair as the Louisville slugger slid over her head and heard the terrible hiss of pain from the beast as it was sent tumbling through the air. When Isabel opened her eye again, she found herself staring at an outstretched hand adorned with a ring that she knew somehow. Looking up, she found the strange newcomer standing over her though she still couldn't see their face.

"You're alright."

Suddenly aware that the chain around her neck was slack, Isabel feverishly unwrapped herself from the heavy silver links until they hung loosely by her side before reaching up to take the offered hand. As soon as she felt the flesh of the strangers hand under hers the young kindred found herself with their bat in her hands standing over the twisted, shadowy figure of the beast.

"Just breathe. In, out."

The words being whispered in her ears were like a lovers sweet nothings and somehow propelled the fledgling to take a step closer to the beast and raise the bat.

"You've got this."

Closing her eyes tight, Isabel brought the bat down with all the force in her body. She felt the impact. And then suddenly she was falling.

---

The first thing Isabel noticed was the taste in her mouth. It was blood but not blood. It tasted sweeter, fuller, richer, thicker. Perfect in every way. It tasted how she dreamt blood tasted. It was how the beast dreamt blood tasted. The second thing she noticed was the gentle caress of arms holding her up. The third was the soothing scent of soft leather in her nose.

Opening her eye, the new blood saw a sea of blonde hair filling her vision. Wes. Throwing her arms around the older kindred, Isabel spent a few moments just concentrating on breathing and summoning unlife back into her legs. The taste of blood wasn't going away, but she could deal with that for now.

"I'm good." Gently, Isabel patted We's back before slow extricating herself from their grip enough that she could see her friends face a few inches in front of her own. "I think I'm go-"

Suddenly realizing why she could taste blood, Isabel clapped a hand over her mouth as her tongue started to probe her gums. It only took her a moment for the appendage to find the tiny oozing wound on the inside of her lips. She was breathing the most perfect thing she had ever tasted all over her friend.

"I'm sorry!" With a spin Isabel broke free of Wes's arms and sprinted at full speed along the street past Amélie and her ghoul, slowing down only to snatch the lit cigarette from the rocker's hand. After that Isabel kept running until she spotted a storm drain at the side of the road. Almost falling upon the opening, she frantically started spitting into the dark void while grinding the stolen cigarette against the asphalt. When she felt there nothing else in her mouth except a lingering lustful scent of blood, the new blood dabbed the mashed cigarette against her skin and when it didn't burn her threw it in her mouth and chewed.

Rolling back onto her ass, Isabel held up a hand to her friends to indicate that she was ok before slowly clambering back to her feet. Her mouth quite literally tasted like an ashtray and she had to fight not to gag on it. Still right now it was better than blood. Sure her friends had a better handle of their shit, but she could still remember the feeling of the beats chain around her neck. There was no way she was going to be the cause of that for them even if that meant a mouthful of acrid tar, tobacco and ash. At least this way she could be close to them.


Spitting out the spongy mass of the cigarette filter Isabel started to slowly meander back towards the car.​

---

 

[Red Thunder]

​

"F-cyew doin'?!"

As soon as Hanna had lifted the two men off Isabel, Brian had turned toward the Anarch. His face was beet red, likely thanks to a mixture of exertion and drunkenness, and absolutely in anger. Beside him Lester sat on the ground, leaning on his knees as he stared up at Hanna. Her lift had certainly removed him from the dogpile he'd been shoved into, but he's immediately sunk to the sidewalk again. Giving the already ruined shirt a half-hearted brushing off, he sighed.

"Yew'n yer flossofy."

Their four companions, however, seemed to feed off Brian's anger. Fists clenched, jaws set, they turned to Hanna.

Suddenly the words that spilled from her mouth bore down on them like a freight train. Some inhaled sharply, some took an involuntary step back. Lester's nostrils flared. Brian blinked once, twice, then turned away. He shoved through his group of companions without looking at them or even addressing them. His fellows have each other very obvious glances that they most assuredly thought were subtle then traced his path. Still seated, Lester raised his voice at the retreating men.

"Th- wait!" He scrambled to his feet, as best he could in his state, before stumbling after them and muttering under his breath. "Ya f-cers."

The six of them vanished around a corner, the opposite direction that Isabel had fled, and the laughing and ribbing suddenly rose again before fading gradually.

Earl watched them leave. Amélie may have commanded him to not get involved, but his mistress would be very upset if her Childe was damaged. But they left, so he looked at here once more in expectation.

Across the street, the transient shifted, a few of the newspapers that covered them falling off their feet, revealing a pair of thread-bare and much too small shoes. Some streets aware, a gunshot echoed through the back alleys. A weak breeze picked its way through the twist of the concrete jungle, carrying with it a putrid mix of sea air and sewage, its upper reaches managing to tip the clouds just enough to give the moon a brief glimpse of the city below before being thrust away once more.

 

[Kuno]

Amélie

Merde. If the kid had wanted a cigarette so bad, all she'd had to do was ask.

"You finished?" The French woman snapped as Isabel slunk back to the car. Already there was another cigarette in her fingers, and Amélie's foot tapped impatiently as Earl bent to light it for her. For once, the guy was dutiful. "Jesus fucking Christ. What is with you kids-"

She broke off to take a light huff, smoke spinning away from her face in angry swirls. She never finished her thought; too many words, frankly, for a fruitless conversation. Ultimately, she understood the girl's hasty actions. Isabel was unsettled, and Amélie was, well...her bedside manner needed work. Lots of it. For now she would just have to let it go, though for Isabel's sake, she'd better hope she didn't pull that stunt again.

Without a word, she clambered into the passenger seat. Earl had the good sense to open the other doors for Hanna, Isabel, and Wesley, and Amélie raised her seat up to give whoever sat behind her more room. The vehicle still retained a fresh scent straight from the manufacturer, and the French woman seemed mindful of this as she cracked her window, letting the smoke escape.

"Where to?" Earl asked as he settled in.

"Maximum Buzz. You know the place?"

"Yeah."

He fiddled with the radio a bit. Cig between her fingers, Amélie hung her hand out against the side of the car, and Earl pulled away from the curb, humming as September by Earth, Wind & Fire played.

The streets of Houston were sparse. Slowly, surely, the night's activities were beginning to bleed away. Those who remained out and about were other denizens of the night: bums, splayed out in the alleyways with nowhere else to go, and the waning population of revelers, filtering out of bars and nightclubs in sloppy, scattered numbers. The French woman watched them idly as the car whizzed by, her eyes turning up to regard the night sky.

Amélie kept mum for most of the ride. She felt as if she'd left her head back at Leon's Lounge. Somehow, invariably, her thoughts kept cycling back to the valet's words, and she stared out into the night, troubled. Secrets did naught but burrow under her skin like worms, and she hated that she'd been so easily pulled into this maddening mystery. She'd known better than to think everything would be solved in one night, though God knows she wished it had been. She'd been left with far more questions than answers, and it irked her. And she had yet to know what Leon had told Hanna. At this point, she wasn't quite sure she wanted to know. Not then, anyways.

It took her a moment to realise that they had reached the first drop-off. Maximum Buzz was indeed - as Leon had put less than kindly - punk in nature in aesthetic design, though to Hanna's credit, the industrial bar was far more rich in character than he'd insinuted, and most importantly clean. Some people seemed to associate grunge with uncleanliness, and Amélie had turned down many a gig thanks to some...less than desirable aspects of their decor - some intentional, and some just byproducts of the punks who'd been there.

For a moment, she considered going in for a drink. But the time was not ideal; she could feel Earl growing antsy in his seat, and she, too, felt the anxiety eating away at her. Another night, another adventure, she supposed.

"Until next time." Amélie did not so much as turn in her seat, though her fingers moved to unlock the car doors.

 

[Lillian Gray]

CS Link

Wesley 'Wes' James Moore

It had been ages since he'd inhaled something so sweet. A vitae not of a human, but of another kindred. The scent wasn't as alluring as Rosa, nor was it as comforting as Eleanor, but the faint bloody breath from Isabel to Wesley had him feeling quite relaxed on the car ride home. He decided it was best to keep those thoughts to himself. No need to start anything when it was unwarranted, especially with the new blood. Hanna would probably kill him if he laid a finger on her with any intention to feed off of her, quite literally kill him.

Now, her mouth just smelled of ash and smoke. It was easy to feign ignorance to the wound and watch the outside world pass by when she reeked of ash.

They arrived at Hanna's bar and the dark haired kindred made no move to exit the car. She didn't even so much as glance towards the back seat, only flicking her hand far enough to unlock the car doors for the three guests in the back. Wesley, being closest to the curb, exited first and held the door as Isabel and Hanna got out of the car and hurried inside Maximum Buzz. Wesley paused with his hand still on the open car door. He turned to glance at Amélie from outside the window and offered a small smile before mouthing the words "Au revoir."

Wesley followed after the girls inside the bar and let out a lengthy and melodramatic sigh. He turned his head up, effectively talking to the ceiling while pulling the band from his hair, "Well, Hanna, honey, you didn't tell me it was going to be so much fun." The taller man shook out his hair, smirking before speaking again, "Marcus, Mobsters, the Veil? Oh my. I knew when the Prince was involved it'd be interesting, but this? Consider me intrigued."

Wesley paced over to one of the many sofas and plopped down into a well shaped, Wesley sized indent. He propped his boots up on one of the coffee tables, crossing his ankles. Eyeing the new blood, he patted the space next to him in an open invitation to sit down and get comfortable. It was too close to sunrise for him to try and make it back home. And now that his car-

His face momentarily contorted. Wesley slid his hand over the back of the couch and exhaled quietly. The edge of his lip scowled and his brows knitted together with immense frustration over the events outside Leon's. Another problem for a new day, he told himself, before regaining some composure over his features.

"So, what'd Leon tell you?" Wesley asked Hanna sweetly.

 

[Applo]

---

"Did he mention anything about where we can find some of this shit?" Isabel's boots waved in the air as she fully leaned over the bar and groped around underneath for a glass. "Cos like, what Marcus said about mobsters and the veil and all sounded cool but also makes less sense to me than trading Gretsky to LA."

Sliding back to the floor, the youngest kindred turned to face her friends with two glasses in her hands. One was mostly filled with water. The other was empty. Taking a sip from the full glass, Isabel swilled the liquid around her mouth for a few moments before spitting the now grey fluid out into the empty one. Having a mouth that tasted of ash had served its purpose but was getting old fast. The wound had scabbed over or something; it wasn't oozing like it had been for sure. She wasn't a temptation to anyone now. All the acrid taste in her mouth was doing was reminding her of a night she'd rather forget. It was time for it to go. Isabel could feel the siren call of sleep or torpor or whatever the fuck it was she did these days calling her already. Blissful oblivion.

"I mean mobsters going to a kindred bar could maybe be something I guess." Dropping on the couch next to Wesley, Isabel deposited the two glasses on the table, kicked off her boots and tugged her hoodie over her head to reveal what could generously be called a very well loved tank top of her favourite hockey team. After taking a moment to settle, Isabel started to pick idly at a hole in the vest near her belly button as she leaned her head on Wes's shoulder and closed her eyes. The smell of leather filled her nostrils. It was nice.

"I think it would be better just to buy some of this… stuff. Mobsters don't talk. I… know crap about being a…… vampire but I'm from Mass; we do mobsters... big time. Some... strung out junkie is a way....... is a way better bet."​

---

 

[Doctor Jax]

Hanna Wojciek

Hanna only turned away from the group of impaired men when it was clear they were on their way out. She knew better than to take her eyes off of them. Nothing said scram like a real intense gaze. Basic predator tactic. And these guys, they were prey. Herd animals. Cattle. Sheep.

EAT THEM, DUMB B*TCH.

She walked the Beast around in circles, redirecting it, rather than outright trying to pull the leash.

Better food back at the ranch, baby. Not tonight. Maybe some other time.

Barely a placation. But enough. Some days, that was all you could hope for, was enough, especially for a Brujah. That was what Wladislaw told her, some twenty-seven years ago, about their clan, that they ran on passion - their greatest strength, their most potent weakness. Once, that had meant they were great philosophers and thinkers and orators - now, it meant they were a bunch of street thugs and hired guns. And oh, how he'd lamented, going on and on...

Finally, she turned around, leaving all of it behind her, drunkards, temptations, and memories three.

Her thoughts slowly circled, eyes on the city that was passing by in an emptied blur. The streets were always curiously unattended this time of night, even for the Kindred. Too close to dawn to be safe, while even the homeless and the reveler shuffled off to find better shelter upon the sun's approach. When they finally pulled up to the Buzz, Hanna ignored Amelie's rather aloof response to reach around the seat and hug her around the shoulders with one arm, a sly smile.

"'Til next time, mon ami," Hanna stated, patting her shoulder.

With that, they all three piled into the Buzz, Wes and Izabel tossing themselves onto a familiar couch. She didn't miss that Izzy had not necessarily... minded the cramped space on the floral patterned antique. Around her, the warehouse aesthetic served well the empty space. The bar was closed by 3:30, and it wouldn't open again until around 7:30 the next night. She wandered to the massive bar in the middle of the warehouse space, a concrete wall that used to partition the place serving as the support for shelf after shelf of drinks. Fluorescent lights gave the place a harsh, industrial glare, neon lights helping to soften it some with yellows, whites, and blues. The floor was concrete, the place full of high tables and chairs, some parts of the floor scattered with massive pillows, and of course the couches nearer the stage and dance floor built opposite the bar.

She considered the possibility of a drink and some of her own 'special ingredients' but decided against it. Better to get it fresh. Dylan should be around somewhere. Her eyes wandered to what used to be the manager's offices for the warehouse, the lights on in her refurbished, single-bedroom living space. A shadow moved around upstairs, and she suppressed a smile.

"Yeah, it really looks like I've got our collective foot stuck in this one, huh?" she stated, removing another cigarette from a pack. It was more a habit than true need. The only real addiction they ascribed to these days came out of a jugular.

She took a puff, thinking how to answer. She didn't want to let them know everything. Especially Izabel. Compartmentalization was useful for numerous reasons. It was likely there were heavy hitters backing this operation, and the less she knew, the better. Wesley at least had the years to back up him up, if not always the savvy.

"Huh, really? Well, well, lookitchu, Miss Goody Two Shoes. Here I thought you were a Girl Scout. You wanna chase the mobsters for me? There'll be a nice beer in it for you. Might even make you drunk," she joked, grinning. She tapped the cigarette in hand, the diminutive woman shrugging her shoulders. Man - it was about quitting time.

"Well - mostly just an observation of his, really. There seem to be a lot of people coming into Houston - lotta homeless - but none of these dudes seem to stick around this popsicle stand, ya dig? At least, I haven't seen a ton more of the spazzers and tent cities than usual."

The politics, she was keeping close to the vest. Salvatore was hers to negotiate with. There was a lot of nuance there, especially if the Uglies were trying to expand their turf, either illicitly or otherwise, along with the possibility they were looking into this weird drug the Prince was so interested in. It didn't help that they were a lifeline to her bread and butter -- addicts, drunks, the users. Of all of them, they had the most to lose, just by nature of their Curse, and so that meant putting on the kid gloves before she started making... accusations.

"I might send y'all on a little scavenger hunt to talk to some junkies, but I don't know. It's up to you, I'm not your mom."

XXX //mentioned
@Lillian Gray @Applo @Red Thunder// Current Company

 

[Applo]

---

"You're not?" Cracking her eye open, Isabel searched the room for a moment before thrusting her tongue out at Hanna. She'd never say it out loud because it sounded way too sappy and Hanna would probably laugh at her but Isabel definitely did consider Hanna to be family; like an older sister or an eccentric aunt. All the long-term staff members of buzz were sort of like a surrogate family, watching out for her, stopping her from falling flat on her face every night. Hanna though, well, she was like a step-sire. A step-sire who collected waifs and strays as she ran a nightclub. There was probably a dark, shitty sitcom somewhere in that idea. She'd have to tell Wes sometime when Hanna wasn't nearby.

"I wonder what this junk is called on the street. I kinda like Dream Dust for it but maybe that's a bit too girl scouty." Closing her eye again, Isabel readjusted her position on Wes's shoulder. It was like lying on the fancy couch in her dad's home office. She could almost picture it. "Kinda want to see the place that makes it too. A lab that makes stuff that can fuck us up sounds interesting. I dunno professional curiosity or something."​

---

 

[Lillian Gray]

CS Link

Wesley 'Wes' James Moore

Wesley casually wrapped his arm around Isabel so she wouldn't have to be so rigid on the couch. He slid a bit further down, watching to make sure her neck wasn't jutting out at an odd angle in case she really did fall asleep. It was bad enough to wake up sore, worse when you had to expend blood for a quick fix.

He chuckled at Isabel's idea of a drug name. "Dream Dust?" He asked. "More like Comatose Death Dust." One whiff of the dust and a vampire was as good as dead. While he could appreciate the sentiment behind dreaming, the reality was far from such a rose colored name.

Wesley closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the sofa. It had been a long day, and he was still pissed about the car. His beastie was trying to coo for him and get him up, but he knew if he walked out the door he'd turn into a different kind of dust. Wesley liked his car but not well enough to risk dying.

"I'm just gonna crash here, if that's alright with you?" Wesley called out to Hanna without opening his eyes. "This is quite a bit to take in, no?"

 

[Kuno]

Amélie

Amélie waited. Old habits died hard, and despite her cold shoulder, she could not help but make sure all three vampires entered the establishment before turning away, returning to her aloof position. Her driver pulled away shortly, and she settled further into her seat, watching the buildings race by.

"They seem nice," Earl remarked, and Amélie tilted her head his way. "New friends of yours?"

"Yeah. I suppose so..."

Hanna's hug and Wesley's smile came to mind. Though her face softened, still her shoulders shrugged as she added, a bit flippantly, "They haven't run off on me yet. We'll see."

Her cigarette had whittled down to nothing. The French woman placed her cigarette butt in the ashtray, making a mental note to clean after herself later. Earl, apparently encouraged by her willingness to talk, filled the silence with an anecdote of his. Something about his last gig as a truck driver, just outside of the city. One name featured prominently in his story, so much so that the French woman found herself shooting Earl an incredulous look.

Madame, Madame, Madame. Inevitably, without fail, every conversation of theirs circled back to her Sire. It was an inherent tic that the vampire was beginning to recognize in all of the older woman's dull-eyed slaves, and she listened patiently as the man recounted his first time meeting the woman. The adoration Earl held for Madame was almost too much; she could see it in the shine of his eyes, the inflection of his voice, the passion of his words. It was the most animated he'd been all night. Amélie could not help but notice, something faintly resembling pity on her face.

She'd been enamored, too, in the beginning. But not quite like that. Never like that.

Outside, skyscrapers and city blocks had transitioned into nearby suburbia, shotgun houses lined up into neat, prim rows. Then came the bungalows and townhouses, the wealth of middle-class Houston quietly exuded in the broad porches and the expansive lawns. It was no River Oaks, but it was a well-to-do area - quiet, maintained, and most importantly, discreet. Neighbors wanted little to nothing to do with one another, and that was quite fine by her.

Her home for the past fifteen years sat near the end of the block. It was, in comparison to its peers, a small house. The estate was more land than building, with the home purposely built further inland from the street than its neighbors. The previous owner had wanted more privacy, and Amélie, of course, was like-minded: she'd kept the tall shrubbery abutted against the living room window, as well as the trees dividing the neighbor's property from her own. As they pulled into a stop in front of the gloomy residence, the Tremere vampire noted the porch light had been left on. Strange. She didn't remember doing that…

Ah, merde. She was losing it. Just like an old woman.

"Thank you, Earl."

The ghoul smelled of smoke and Old Spice as she kissed his cheek, and she pulled away, darting quickly inside with the imminent sunrise nipping at her heels.

Amélie would be first to admit it: her tastes, when it came to her home, were particularly bourgeois...and austere. She cleaned compulsively, and it showed. There was nothing warm and "homey" her furniture, and she blamed it partly on the location. In her New York brownstone, everything had been so right, but here, here, well…Texas called for something different, but she wasn't inclined to change. Not right then and there.

The somber notes of Strange Fruit began to play as she set her record player. Off her heels went, then her rings, her coat flying haphazardly at the couch as she plopped down beside it. Inevitably, her thoughts went back to the source of her issues: the black dope. She still had the sample. Wordlessly, she took it from her pocket and held it, even shaking it a bit, frowning as the fine crystals caught the dim light from her lamps.

The thought came that perhaps she should have coerced Earl into trying it, but the idea was a bit mean, even for him. Still. She was curious. Amélie squeezed the bag in her palm, thinking, her eyes slowly closing as Billie's voice evenly crooned her tune.

"Southern trees bear a strange fruit…"

 

[Red Thunder]

Chapter 2
Threads
​

October 14, 1999
6:51pm - Sunset

Time is relative, Albert tells us. A thing of perspective and a thing of impermanent, irregular rhythm. The past frames the future. When one's life has thus far been minimal, minutes drag by, filled with minutiae. Time becomes weighed down by the novel, the new, normalized to the point of frustration, the brain required to work overtime to categorize and catalogue in order to come to terms with events. But add years, decades, or even centuries to one's experience- Hours become seconds, blasting by at blazing pace. What was once unique has become uniform, ubiquitous with one's extended life. It becomes a weariness, in its way, withering away while watching the world, wistfully wishing for one more worthwhile waste of precious time.

The day dragged on. Even in sleep, the Kindred felt plagued by questions. The life of a vampire was that of threat assessment, determining what could kill them, what could make Unlife unbearable, and what was simply the gibbering of unhappy mongrels in the gutter. It was, reasonably, not the latter: the fact that the Prince himself had reached out to them, requesting aid, meant that they were now tied up in whatever nonsense he had constructed.

It also meant that he would owe them.

At 6:51pm, life bled into the three Kindred in the Maximum Buzz. The sun, illuminator of the kine and cleanser of the undead, was gone at last, having a few hours previous dipped below the skyline of Houston's towering structures and only just now finally slipping into the underworld beneath the horizon. In 9 minutes, the club's back door would unlock as employees checked on to prepare for the patrons at 7:30pm. But Dylan, prompt and dutiful as he was, already stood at Hanna's door, chains about his neck shined, with the new odor of body spray on him; he had clearly intended to impress someone when he got dressed, but that appeared to have changed. Hands in his pockets, more to contain his anxiety than anything, if the small shifting of weight from foot to foot was any clue, he watched nervously as his mistress came to Unlife once more; he gave the two on the couch no mind whatsoever. In his back pocket was an envelope addressed to Hanna and bearing no return address. It had already been opened, and Dylan sweated about it.

He raised a hand. Slowly. Time dragged, his paltry two and a half decades not saving him from the terror of this novel duty. Arm like lead, he knocked once, twice, three times.

Tap tap tap.

 

[Doctor Jax]

Hanna Wojciek

Waking up was something mortals took sorely for granted.

It was easy for them. The brain, already firing all synapses simultaneously, on standby in slumber as it processed the previous day's events through the filter of dreams, shook itself of the cobwebs grown over in the night. The body well-rested, the mind moving with ease, a mortal could merely roll out with a grumble. Not so for your undead, your Kindred.

It was an involved process. Every morning, the blood of the previous night powered that waking, and in doing so, a vampire always woke up with less than they had had, and never, ever more. It was a kind of restlessness that even decades did not dull, that gluttony could not slake. And Hanna had been a bit of a glutton the previous night.

Her eyes opened, the familiar yank of the Beast upon its metaphorical chain necessitating a sharp, mental retort in kind. Beside her, a young body lay upon the mattress underneath her duvet, naked back webbed by various tattoos. A likewise angular face with slight stubble peeked under dirty-blonde, shoulder-length hair, normally stormy visage softened by sleep. She gave a small groan as she reached down and grabbed a long T-shirt, throwing it on, as she heard a knocking at the door.

The man beside her jerked awake, a hand darting for a handgun next to him.

"Easy, easy, my dude. 'S just Dylan, Tanner," Hanna drawled as she shimmied into some shorts.

"Yeah... probably won't be sayin' that the one time it isn't Dylan," Tanner grumbled to himself as he rubbed his eyes. He was pale, grabbing a drink off the nightstand in Hanna's industrial-style bedroom, the carpet shag and the walls covered in Indian style wall-coverings. Incense from the night before lingered, patchouli and sage.

"Trust me, if it wasn't Dylan, that will not help you too much, baby," Hanna said as she rounded the bed, patting him on the cheek condescendingly. He winced but didn't pull away, thoroughly chastised. He reached for a box of cigarettes and a lighter, muttering under his breath. Ah, he was young. He'd figure it out, like everybody else did.

Hanna was usually right.

She walked to the door, opening it.

"Afternoon, skipper, how's -- oooh. Someone's got a letter~, someone's got a letter~..." she sang, seeing the note in Dylan's hand. She motioned for it. "And what's with the get-up, my man? You lookin' to dig a lady?"

XXX //mentioned
@Red Thunder// Current Company

 

[Applo]

---

The hunger, the hunger was how Isabel knew for sure she was awake. Before coming to Texas, she had been able to spend half a day blissfully slipping in and out of consciousness, enjoying the strange and vivid dreams that it caused. Now, the very idea seemed inconceivable. No matter how comfortable she was right at this moment, in a few minutes her legs would start to twitch; the only way to stop it she had found was to get up. It made the saying; no rest for the wicked seem terribly literal.

Opening her eye, the young kindred stared at the world impassively. The bleakness of it was depressing. Sure, Isabel knew this was mostly due to Hanna's choice of decor, but it wasn't exactly inspiring and it was made all the worse by the vividly floral scent that filled her nose. The smell filled her mind with images of spring days, fresh cut lawns and a plethora of other things that just like long lazy mornings in bed, where no longer part of her reality but so much more appealing. It also made Isabel realise that Wes washed or possibly conditioned his hair. She couldn't remember the last time she had done either. It had been her assumption that was something only the living had to do. Did undead hair need conditioning?

With that thought filling her mind, Isabel pushed herself upright and stretched more out of habit than need, before giving Wes a light shove. When there was no response, Isabel filed her most recent question about this strange afterlife they existed in with the host of other stupid questions she had and grabbed the two glasses of water she had left on the table the night before and headed for the bar. Dylan got a cursory nod of acknowledgement as Isabel passed him but nothing more. She had never really had anything to do with the dude, besides, the cloud of body spray that hung around him was noxious.

Once at the bar, Isabel dumped the contents of glasses down the sink and tossed them in the baskets used to collect stuff that needed washing. Then, for a lack of anything better to do she started unloading the clean glasses from the dishwasher. The activity was mindless but distracting and Isabel carried on with it till she caught sight of the phone that Dan had used to call her a cab the previous night. The idea came to her all at once. After putting away the glasses she had been holding, the purple haired childe lifted the handset and punched the number of the cab company she sometimes worked for into the dial pad. After a couple of rings, she was rewarded with a click as the line connected.

"Hey Lisa, it's Isabel… could you do me a favour and ask the drivers if they see a ugly green dodge viper to radio it in, oh and tell Stan that I dunno when I can do more shifts. That thing I had last night is still a thing.​

---

 

[Lillian Gray]

CS Link

Wesley 'Wes' James Moore

Sleeping was something Wesley had gotten over decades ago. As in, he still found it quite easy to shut his eyes and catch a few winks without fidgeting much. Humans did it, he'd done it, it wasn't really something he wanted to kick. Sure, it took a bit of effort to wake up, but so did everything else. There was just too much time in the day for him to want to occupy every hour with some mindless activity just to fill the empty void. The only time he actively avoided sleeping was when he had a deadline approaching and his editor was at his heels.

Falling asleep on that sofa was easy. He just had to rest his head back, close his eyes, and viola. Wesley had been out like a light.

When he woke up again, his nose was assaulted by an overpowering aroma. Someone had put on far too much cologne. His hand instantly went to cover his nose, and he noticed he no longer had the new blood at his side. C'est la vie. Good things came and went. Wesley watched the man disappear into Hanna's room before setting his eyes on Isabel, working away for free.

"You know you don't have to do that." He called. "Technically, I think it's my job." He murmured. He wasn't really sure, Wesley wasn't the greatest employee. But a job was a job, and so long as Hanna didn't fire him, he'd do whatever. To a point, of course. She hadn't really asked him to do anything outrageous yet and he was fine with that.

Wesley got up from the couch with a sigh, dragging his hands through his hair. Where had his tie gone? It didn't matter. He combed his hair with his fingers until it was acceptable, walking towards Isabel slowly. When he reached the bar he propped his head up on his hands and just watched her for a minute.

"I'm gonna head out, unless anyone here needs me." He cooed. "How about you, you need me?"

 

[Red Thunder]

​

October 14, 1999
7:05pm

"L-l-lady?"

Dylan's brain functioned poorly under stress, or at least, the stress of supposed dissatisfaction from his boss. The letter had been forgotten, despite being grasped between trembling fingers.

"I- well, I mean- um, well, been seeing this bi- uh, chick for a month. S-s-so not looking to dig one, I guess?" His muscles had started to relax, the tension leaving his face. "Going to some club she likes. Tech-no shit or something."

Unconsciously, his arm lowered, and the paper brushed against his leg. His pallor returned.

"Shit. Uh-" He handed her the letter, still within its envelope. Hanna's name had been written in a practiced, flowing script across its face. "This was under the door when I got here."

He swallowed deeply, eyes dead focused on Hanna's mouth. There, lay the danger. There, lay absolution. Ten to one, she'd kill him for looking, or for what the contents bore. He could only wait and see.

∆∆∆​

Fuck work. Even at a cool place like this, fuck work. It sucked. Chuck pushed in the backdoor to the Maximum Buzz, giving the small kitchen interior the routine tired glare. Hanna was a cool chick and whatever, okay, but she was loaded, yeah? Why didn't she just- pay him a bit to live on and call it good? Taking a final drag, he flicked the cigarette into the back alley and let the door slam behind him.

The clink and shuffle of activity through the door to the bar drew his attention. Who the hell was so goddam enthusiastic about this capitalist shill job that they were here before 7? He shook his head, tossed his ratty backpack into a corner, and pushed into the bar.

"Fuckin figures." He eyed Isabel with no small disdain as she turned to make her phonecall, her status as Kindred completely unknown to him. The boss had taken the damn charity case in- however long again, and the orphan had lived with her head up the boss' ass ever since.

Suddenly, he froze, noticing Wesley. The orphan was a pushover; Wes was- terrifying, honestly, though Chuck never could figure out why. All he knew was that he really didn't want to be around him. Still cursing to himself, he withdrew to the kitchen to begin prepping for the night's orders.

Back in the bar, the receiver rang a few times before finally getting picked up.

"Izzy!" Lisa's thick New York accent spoke clearly of her origins, and the smack of chewed gum echoed into the receiver, if quietly. "Green Viper, yeah? Okay, one sec, lemme- there, yeah, made a note. I'll pass it along.

"And you best not hold out on me!" Her time changed from professional to good-natured chiding. "Call it what you want, but I wanna meet this guy just as soon as I can, ya heah? I won't tell Stan the details, but- eeeee! I wanna know! Oh, hold on."

Muted conversation filled the earpiece; Lisa was speaking to someone immediately present. Suddenly, her volume increased again.

"Anyway, yeah, I'm lettum know. What else you got?"