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The Kindred Chronicle
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THE MONSTER OF EALING
Last night, several people reported the sighting of a "screaming red monster" in a quiet neighbourhood of Ealing. After a power shortage in the area, a building caught fire. It was then when, what was described as a "man shaped, footless creature" emerged from the flames, leaping, running, and screaming. One woman has told our reporters that the man had "teeth like a wolf, and the face of the devil". Police officers are still trying to get to the bottom of this; neither the power shortage nor the fire have still been explained. A spokesperson from Scotland Yard has stated that the "so called monster" might be a wounded person, escaping the fire.

TRAGEDY IN TOOLEY STREET
The police has found the bodies of three TFL workers in the construction site at Tooley Street. One of their colleagues raised the alarms last week, when the three workers didn't attend their shifts. The bodies of the men have been found in a deep hole, uncovered by the refurbishment works that are taking place in the area. According to the Police, the bodies were horribly mutilated, which has led to the wildest speculations. The names of the three workers are being kept anonymous, following the wishes of their families.

HOROSCOPE
MARCH 8 - PISCES
You are used to making sacrifices, to prioritising the happiness of others before yours. Even though that is a noble attitude, there are times in life where the only healthy alternative is to embrace your own selfishness and allow yourself some enjoyment. Reserve one hour per day to do something you really like. Treat yourself! Your colour for this month is blue.
Echoes from the past ring back into London. Their intensity increases until they are deafening. What once was a faded memory of a glorious time, now becomes a shocking reality. The consequences of actions taken decades ago ripple into the present, altering the lives of everybody in the City. Unguided and blind, Kindred wander around, trying to make profit out of the reigning chaos.


The appearance of four mysterious figures turned the city upside down. Mistrust and jealousy became the official currency of London. Serpents and fiends rise to power, misdirecting the blaming eyes of the Camarilla towards imaginary enemies. Only those with clear vision and the ability to trust each other strive, while the rest run towards a shallow grave.



Across The Board
Current Chronicle: Dragons and Lions; Pride and Fire
Current Season: Spring
Controlling Sect: Camarilla



Index
Getting Started
General Information
Central London
North London
East London
West London
South London
Miscellaneous
Out of Character


Population: 31

Camarilla
Anarchs
Other
Ventrue: 1
Toreador: 5 (6)
Brujah: 2 (3)
Malkavian: 7
Tremere: 2
Nosferatu: 3
Gangrel: 1
Ventrue: 1
Toreador: 0
Brujah: 2 (3)
Malkavian: 0
Nosferatu: 1
Gangrel: 1
Setites: 5
Sabbat: ???


THE CAMARILLA

Prince

Nobody

Sheriff
Meredith Furlong
Hounds
Robyne Sheridan
Rosella Marie Allain


Keeper of Elysium
Davvad Bisset

Grand Harpy
Catherine Wilke

Primogen
Ventrue: Marcus Antonio Russo
Brujah: Thomas Krusen
Gangrel: Alexa Mallik
Malkavian: Ellora Reese
Tremere: Hannah Sundling
Toreador: Arsenio Pozzi
Nosferatu: Dogan Khojak



ANARCHS

Baron

Khoza

Baronets
Enfield: Leslie
Haringey & Barnet: Clarice Harris
Harrow: Jelena Korolenko

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Welcome To The Night

You find yourself in London on a dreary, foggy night like any other. But what lurks in the shadows is the stuff of fantasies and nightmares, far from mortal reality.

This game uses the cursed and immortal vampiric condition as a backdrop to explore themes of morality, depravity, the human condition, salvation, and personal horror. We are a writing and roleplaying community dedicated to telling complex and engaging stories.

Your fate is your own. Mingle among the ivory-tower elite in the Camarilla, join the fight of the discontented and chaotic Anarch rabble, or set out independently and attempt to survive in London's nighttime underworld. Anything is possible in our World of Darkness.

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A meeting under a good star... or a bad one ?
Topic Started: Thursday, 30. January 2014, 15:38 (547 Views)
George Henry Harris
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Methuselah
* * * * * *
So Tory wants to talk about something... I wonder what that might be about... Well, we'll see...

After the call had ended, George busied himself with cleaning up and locking the valuables away, not that he thought she'd steal, but no need to tempt her. When he had finished that he prepared the living room by putting pens and paper on the table just in case it became one of those meetings where there were notes taken.

Being done with that, he put blankets on the chaiselongue and the armchairs just in case she wanted one and then after that he locked the kitchen and bedroom door as she surely wouldn't want to use those. Then he took a newspaper and waited for her to arrive...
Languages: English, Welsh
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Victoria Scott
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
* * * *
She parked the bike 4 miles from the address George gave, in the border with Richmon upon Thames. Still with the black helmet covering her head she set out on the way to the Primogen's place. A scrawny alien in worn-out jeans wandering South London, raising suspicious eyes here and there on the few mortals that, like her, walked the streets of the city. Some of them even crossed the road right after seeing the Brujah, though she wasn't interested in them. Sometimes she had that effect on people -the helmet helped of course-; the predator within startled their prey subconscious. For some of them, the bigger ones, it was something hard to accept, a creature so small yet so threatening in a way they couldn't understand.

The concept was almost grotesque; once a mortal crossed the path to immortality body features had little meaning. Age, weight, gender... It all faded. A fat fiftysomething could beat Usain Bolt in a speed test, a six years old could break a wall. Some of the bigger ones, confused and ashamed, inexplicably scared of such a sick-looking girl, had tried to recover their lost dominance by force only to find out how right their crooked common sense was. There was always something more than meets the eye, and that was one of the main reasons why it was so fucking difficult to trust someone when you couldn't even rely on your eyes. Tory's hundred years had tought her so, because it was always better to discover being wrong about someone you didn't trust than to find out a backstabbing bastard in her whom you had believed a friend. If what was being said at the Tripper was true, George was one of those few cases.

Thirty minutes since she got off her bike, a victorian pre-war building appeared in front of her hidden eyes. The Brujah approached the stairs, pressed the intercom and waited for someone to reply. Only when she was inside of the building did she take her helmet off.
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George Henry Harris
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Methuselah
* * * * * *
As she pressed the intercom, George got up, put the newspaper aside and left the living room to answer it. Wondering if she was early or it was just one of the neighbours he pressed the button on his side.

"Yes, who is there ?"

Even if it was her, there still was the problem of this meeting taking a bad course and leaving one of them either in torpor or as a pile of ash on his carpet, so he had to be careful.

Meanwhile Tory had the impression that behind almost every curtain of the ground level flats which could watch the door and some others watching the street, there were people watching her, taking note whom she wanted to visit and taking her into the gossip certainly already going on.
Languages: English, Welsh
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Victoria Scott
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
* * * *
"It's me." she was careful enough to not say her name.

The door buzzed open and she entered the building. Followed by a whispering choir, she climbed the stairs to George's storey when the fiftyish waited at the door.

"I hope you don't mind the helmet." she said, uncovering her face. "Parked at Richmon, 4 miles from here. There'll still be rumours no matter what I do, but I figured both of us prefered the rats linking you with a rather paranoid Malkavian kid thinking himself Ender Wiggin than with an Anarch coming South for a suspicious visit at 2 am."
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George Henry Harris
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Methuselah
* * * * * *
Of course... Security and all that, because in our world my nosey neighbours and their gossip are the smallest problem we'll have... But we'll see if this meeting gets troublesome or not, won't we ?

"I don't, no. I'd say you could have come without but there's too much potential for trouble right now for you to do, I think. Besides it provides gossip and keeps the neighbours happy, but that's just a nice side effect, right ?"

Still smiling he opened the door and invited her in with a friendly gesture.

"Well, for the duration of this meeting, my home is yours..."

He then lead her into a small corridor with white wallpaper and a green fitted carpet where a black iron wardrobe stood and two doors were leading further into the depths of the flat, one to the left and one to the right.

With a slight bow George looked at her before pointing at the left door.

"This door leads to the living room where we can talk, if you don't mind..."

Then he disappeared through said door to allow her taking her jacket and shoes off in a little bit of privacy.

The living room turned out to be a big room with white-rose wallpaper, a slightly faded Kashmir carpet in ivory, emerald green and amethyst coving the floor an ensemble of two armchairs and a chaiselongue in green plush with a coffee table in front of them and folded woolen blankets striped in white, dark blue and scarlet. A heavy bookshelf on the wall and a chest of drawers with an old TV on it adjacent to the table completed the furniture. Again there were two doors leading away, one left and one right and on the wall were a lot of framed photographs, framed documents and a copper cross next to pictures of the last popes and the Queen. On the table were paper and pens as if he expected something to be written down.
Languages: English, Welsh
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Victoria Scott
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
* * * *
She regarded the big living room, walking slowly. The old kashmir carpets and the floors and walls, all covered in bright pastel colours. Her eyes stopped at the portraits of the Queen and what seemed a line of old priestes wearing warm smiles and silk robes of gold and hypocrisy. She realised how different Garrison, Washington's Brujah Primogen and George, were. To her mind came the memories bred at Bjorn's apartment, way less opulent, way smaller. Actually, just a tiny apartment at the outskirts of the city, close to the Purgatory.

The memories of the time spent chained to the leg of a table at the little room drew a grimace of pain on her face as if suddenly her stomach had filled with acid. A time where she was too broken to control herself and the only escape was the constant rage that would pounce her every night at twilight, a drug she was getting addicted to, let the Beast take control of her body so she could finally rest and eye the world in a cage that was so much a prison as it was a sanctum. She'd have been slaughtered like a rabbid dog, which was pretty much what she had turned into, if not because Garrison decided to drag her out of the apartment Jack and her shared and force the Brujah to face the beast of her soulmate's death and her own until she was so exhausted rage was not even possible and all that remained was a crying skinny puppy.

She clicked her tongue a few times, shooing away the pictures in her head. To have wasted her life in such a cheesy, pointless quest... The sense of embarrashment and stupidity were even greater now that Jack had turn out to be alive. She didn't let the feeling of self-pity rule her mind, and instead, stopped in the middle of the room, facing the portraits of the religious leaders.

"To the point, George... Can I smoke here?" she turn her face to the man, that replied gesturing with a hand. The Brujah took a gasper from her pocket and lighted it, while she heard him moving behind to open a window. Seconds later a hand appeared by her side, offering an ashtray. "Thanks."

The portraits offered innocent smiles, whiter than white. God, did he really believe in those liars?

"I'm sure you've heard about a certain reward put to an Anarch's head. And a certain couple of your boys crossing the northern border to claim it. Now, I wasn't surprised to find those exact two guys there that night when said fugitive called for help. What really got me, Harris, was something else." she took a long drag, adding a pinch of dramatism to her words. "When weeks passed and neither those dogs nor anybody else showed at the Tripper and a rumour started spreading mouth to mouth. The Camarilla's are not the only rats, as you can see. Said rumour spoke about the Brujah Primogen, apparently telling his kids to go play somewhere else. Though I'm not sure why the fuck you did that..." she turn and faced George. Her face showed a slight smirk, almost invisible. "Thanks."
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George Henry Harris
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Methuselah
* * * * * *
After opening a window and giving her something to put the ash into, George listened to her words and nodded. Sure he had told them to leave that man alone, but he had to think about why, as it hadn't been an easy matter to take that decision... After a while of concentrated thinking he spoke.

"I've heard about it and I think the whole thing is ridiculous, you know ? Who puts a bounty of 10,000 pounds on someone just for a drawing ? There must be some plan behind all that, I think..."

Sitting down and gesturing her to do the same he broke his train of thought and started another, smiling at her.

"Actually there are quite a few reasons why I did that... First of all, I can respect the opinion that man wanted to express and his boldness to do what others only think about... Then there's the fact that you're not our enemy in my eyes, you know ? Don't get me wrong, it doesn't mean you are harmless, but I do think we could co-exist in a balance... To me it looks like Prince Paranoia is looking for an excuse to do something which might culminate in a war, if we take a look at the worst case... I don't know how you think about that, but I'm trying to be your friend and as such I'd hate being forced to fight you... Sure, I'd have to if Princey insists, as I have duties and responsibilities binding me to this life, but until he does, I'll do what I can to help you, even if it seems perhaps a bit odd to you... Courtesy to people not as cowardly as me, I'd say..."
Languages: English, Welsh
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Victoria Scott
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
* * * *
"Im glad you came to the same conclusion."

She took the seat George offered.

"You better than I know why your Prince would risk such an aggresive move sending his own men to the North. I was expecting you to give me a better reason than sheer honor." she lied, and when the Anarch raised an eyebrow it was clear that she already knew the answer. "Did he ever ask Nora? Isn't it how diplomacy works in this city? The Prince whines, the Baron indulges and viceversa. Won't it kill the god vibes between those two?"

As if. Baron Nora Penvellyn meant the North was another playground for the Camarilla. The Brujah was sure if he ever asked for the Gangrel's permission, she would not only accept but lay out a red carpet for his thugs.

"Balance is an obscure concept. Hard to achieve, even harder to believe in." she continued. "It requires knowledge and will. The knowledge to recognise your contestants, their needs, wishes and ways; and the will not only to accept a real balance but to fight for it." she raised her hands flat between George and her, both at the same level. The cigarette on her right spitting blurry serpents into the air. "Because as soon as one of the scales falters," her left hand fell as the right one gained some height. "The other will drew on it's weakness. And the balance will be broken."

Both hands fell again. She crossed her legs and leaned on the chair, flicking the ash into the ashtray.

"I think it's safe to say I know the Tower. I've been in the Camarilla more than I've been an Anarch. Funny, isn't it?" she drew a brief smile. "But tell me George, does your Prince want balance? Let's not talk about the current situation please, thats the worst joke of a balance I've ever seen in years. I'm talking about real equanimity. Sure I could bit my tongue and work with your boss if it meant a better future for our sects, if I had the right and power to talk on behalf of the Anarchs, that is. But allow me to have my doubts on Alarik's intentions. Call it a lack of self-confidence if you fancy. I'd rather call it 'seen shit'."
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George Henry Harris
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Methuselah
* * * * * *
"At least in my eyes it's hard not to, you know ? I don't really understand what his motives behind all that are, but I don't like what might come out of it, just as you do... If you excuse me for a while ?"

He went to the kitchen, unlocked the door and disappeared inside for a while, apparently rummaging around for a bit. When he came back he carried a tray with two glasses, a carafe and a cooler with a few blood bags. Placing the tray on the table and the glasses in from of him and Tory respectively he sat down again.

"I thought you might like a drink... Anyway, back to the topic, right ?"

After a bit of thinking he shrugged, not really knowing better than her why Al did all that...

"I don't know why he does this, but he's becoming paranoid, so his reasons might be making sense to him, even if they don't do to us... I can't tell you, how the relation between him and Nora works, so I can't tell you if he asked her, you know ? And I don't really have a clue how good the vibes between them are or what kind of vibes those are..."

With a sigh, he poured the contents of the blood bags into the carafe and then filled his glass. After doing that, he looked at her thoughtfully.

"No, he probably doesn't want balance but ruling over everyone here in the city he calls his... I can't judge you for mistrusting him as I don't really trust his intentions as well. He doesn't want balance but I do, you know ? I mean, at least in my point of view it would be better, if we had a balance of two equally powerful sects... But that won't suit the upper parts of the pyramid which the Cam is and thus probably won't ever happen. But I doubt you understand my vision, I don't do myself at times..."

Shrugging he took a sip of blood before continuing.

"You'd probably think I'm just an idealist, but a sound alternative to the Cam with equal power isn't bad I think. Gives those who can't or don't want to cope with the Cam structure and the rigid rules that come with that a perspective instead of enslaving them... Wouldn't even need to have good relations to us, but that would be better, you know ?"
Edited by George Henry Harris, Sunday, 9. February 2014, 20:55.
Languages: English, Welsh
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Victoria Scott
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
* * * *
She regarded the carafe with mistrust, and then George.

"Mommy told me to never accept candy from strangers." she said, frowning at the jar of blood.

The saying had a whole new meaning amongst kindred. And you thought those jerks putting drug on ladies' glasses at the bars where bad? Boy, don't make me laugh. She lifted the carafe to her nose and sniffed at the content. It had the bright red colour of human blood and the smell didn't make her want to drink it empty us much as every other blood would, specially when she had fed not too long ago. She would expect kindred vitae to smell sweeter, tempting. Anyway the question was, would George make use of such a dirty trick? Such a disappointing discovery that would be.

"Yet again, mommy was a bitch."

The Anarch poured the liquid in her glass and drank it all down, staring at George. If he was to be unmasked a liar, better sooner than later. To her comfort it tasted sweet, as usual. She then listened to him, waiting for any unusual effect she could feel, like the unstoppable and definitely weird need of jumping on a Primogen and fuck him all night long.

"I never said being an idealist was bad. In fact, you remind me of someone I used to know."

She smiled. A certain girl, ex-Scourge, that used to think things could change long time ago. The Brujah filled her glass again and leaned on the chair.

"It sucks, don't you think? That we appear to have some valid points yet none of us have enough power or weight to make things change." she looked at the window, staring at the dim lights of the streets for a second. "He won't cease on his hunting. You know that, right? It only gave us time, not the victory. And you'll help him."

Her tone was not inquisitive, for it was not an accusation, not even a prediction. It was a certainty.
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George Henry Harris
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Methuselah
* * * * * *
"Isn't that what all parents tell their children at some point ? And usually they are right up to some point... My dad used to tell me that as well and he was a jerk."

After a shrug to close that topic he filled his glass once again, listening to her words and nodding thoughtfully.

"Yes, that truly sucks. Weren't it for these petty squabbles Princey seems to want we could work together quite nicely, I think... Real pity we must belong to different sect, eh ?"

Raising an eyebrow but smiling he looked at her quizzically as she spoke of him remembering her of someone she used to know.

"May I know who I remind you of ? Perhaps I know that person as well..."

Thinking he looked at the pictures as if the people on there, the images of people long gone could actually speak to give him counsel. Then, after a while, he turned his attention back to her and spoke.

"Sure, he'll continue the hunting though I'll try to talk him out of it. Sure, I'll have to heed his call when he orders it, but I won't enjoy it, you know ? It'll be as always: He'll order the culling of you Anarchs and guess whose clan will be the only one on the streets and who's head will be taken if the plan fails... I'm getting sick of it, you know ?"

Shrugging again he had a tired and resigned look as he drained the glass and continued.

"Shame if it really had to come that far, if you ask me... But sadly we're in no position to truly change things. But the world isn't fair, I guess..."
Languages: English, Welsh
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Victoria Scott
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
* * * *
She kept staring at the window. The sempiternal smog of London made the lights dim and weak, a parody of the boiling sunlight she used to bath in so long ago. The star was a chant of life and protection for the monsters that dwelled in the dark. The jaundiced gleam of the streetlights was a prelude to calamity. Night after night, the question oppressing their immortal hearts was whom the calamity would ravage. A pool game of intrigues and treachery. Raise thy stakes ye brothers and sisters, for those will decide wether you die or live another night. Such is the terrible fate of our unlives, trapped in a cage of whispers.

At some point of George's monologue she took her phone from the back pocket of her slim black ripped pants. Raising her eyes from time to time to make sure the Primogen knew she still listened, her bony fingers moved across the touchscreen searching for the clock. 2:50 in the morning, she still had plenty of time before daytime somnolence would drag her into sleep. She put the phone on the table switched to silent move, so an incoming call wouldn't break the somewhat sanctity of their dialogue. She then focused on the man.

"You remind me of myself, George." she smiled vaguely, the gesture suddenly making the blackened bags under her eyes more visible. "Of a time where I trusted in the foregone nature of change. Or so I told myself. Looking back I see a scared kid, either too lazy or too lost to believe in her own power to change things. Destroyed by guilt and the need to protect those whom I called my people. My friends. Hoping that someday a knight of shiny armor would come and crush injustice while I focused on, as I said, providing shelter and a shield behind of which my loved ones could hide. And then I realised there was no such shield, no real protection, not while we were living under the hand of others, and the white knights were all too scared to show up and fight."

A pause. The heat of the lighter caressed her skin. The cigarette case described an arc in the air before falling into George hands. The zippo followed.

"Then a couple years ago, three, maybe four, I was given a reason to stand up." a dense cloud of smoke hid her face for a second. Another drag. "Forced to, If I'm to be sincere. And I realised this life, this gift we were given, is neither a curse nor worth living if not for dream; be it change, be it a better tomorrow. After all I've lived way more than I should. More than my parents, even my children if I had any." her belly twitched with the ghost feeling of the miscarried child of Jack and her. "Why were we given this second opportunity, this rebellion against Death itself, if not to fight harder than any human could ever do for the things we believe fair?"

She leaned forward, arms on the knees, facing George.

"The problem is not standing under different flags or an inability to achieve change, the problem is the army of old wrecks that fight against it. But we still have a chance George, we do. For as long as those bastards fight against evolution they still fear it, they still fear us. Listen, I'm not trying to convince you to walk under our sign, holy shit I'm not even sure if this is the correct path. I only want you to keep fighting for what you consider just. Take your time, doesn't have to be tomorrow. An advise from a fellow idealist if you like it to be so." her eyes burnt with the determination she once read infused in the Anarch Manifesto. "But I do have one more question: first time we met you told me about the people here in Grove Ward, both Kine and Kindred. You told me you were here to protect them. Tell me, trusting Alarik as little as you do, how can you think they will be safe?"
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George Henry Harris
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Methuselah
* * * * * *
"If I didn't believe in humanity and the good in people I couldn't do all that, you know ? I might be stuck at the bottom of the pyramid but that doesn't mean I can't do things for the better, small things, sure, but in the end I do hope they matter... I'm trying to be a knight in shining armour for those who need one. Perhaps I'm doing it to repent for the things I've done, perhaps to give others a better life than I had, I don't know to be honest..."

For a moment he seemed to look at the cross on the wall, thinking, looking for words and turning to her again once he had found them.

"I don't know if this is purgatory or just another way of a second chance, but you're right, it's about being redemption and making the world better. I prefer to do it with the small and limited means I was given as I've got to stay under the radar, if you know what I mean... Annoying and frustrating but unfortunately nothing I could likely change..."

Smiling he took a cigarette and lit it before handing the case and lighter back to her. Taking a drag and coughing again he looked at her speaking.

"I can't know for certain, that's why I have to try to keep them safe... Every single day, but I guess it's worth it. After all the Prince is in his tower, distancing himself from the world while I am here on the street... He watches and regulates while I actually do something, you know ? Sure, it is frustrating at times, but I can't give up in my quest as it's not about me, you know ?"

Thinking he walked to the window and made a gesture that symbolically involved all of Grove Ward and perhaps even all of Kingston or London, before speaking again.

"It's about them, the mortals and my clanmates out there. I'm trying to do what I do to help them, to protect them, even if it is hard sometimes... I'm helping them because life, even ours isn't fair and a good commander cares for and protects his men and his wards, you know ?"

Again he thought, looking at her this time, apparently wondering.

"So you were like me once... And perhaps, given the right push, I could become a rebel just like you, which wouldn't be as terrible as the other perspective I have: Becoming one of those inhuman, backstabbing wrecks one day... It frightens me to think I might be like them, you know ?"
Languages: English, Welsh
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Victoria Scott
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
* * * *
"Don't be stupid George you can't become one of those bastards simply because you are not like that." her voice suddenly harsh and cutting. "They were not made, they were born. I'm getting tired of the "World made me this way" bullshit every prick on Earth hides behind, like if this way we couldn't blame them for their actions. Everyone is given the oportunity to choose her own path and thus, should be honest enough as to face the consequences with honour. Which is something bastards all around the world seem to forget. Yet they manage to earn people's pity."

She raised both feets to the chair, hugging her legs. A position his petite complexion allowed her to adopt even on a small seat. Then sighed, eyeing the Primogen.

"I won't let him have Dylan George, I will fight. Like you, I have to protect my people, even if he's not officially my people. But if the Baron does nothing I will. And I swear whoever crosses our borders won't return, not in one piece, not if I'm there." the Brujah shrugged, shaking her head. "That's why I was asking, how are you supposed to protect them while Alarik, well entrenched in his fortress, commands you to send your own clanmates to fight for him? You know it makes no sense, you told me already. You don't even like him isn't it? Why do you follow a Prince you don't trust?"

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George Henry Harris
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Methuselah
* * * * * *
Dragging on the cigarette George looked at her, nodding in approval and agreement while listening to her words.

"I wouldn't expect less of you actually... It's a real pity we can't be friends, if you ask me. Instead we have to fight each other just because a higher-up demands it..."

Breaking the train of thought he took another drag, then continued to speak.

"I don't trust him, true, but he's my superior and can force me to fight or lose everything I gained in the six years I'm here now... My status, the ghoul I'm planning to have, no not the usual blood-bound servant but it's consentual, he could even impose a blood hunt on me, if he wanted... And perhaps somewhere deep in me I'm scared, you know ? I do not fear for my own life but what may become of the clan, the mortals, Roisin... And that's why I'm reluctant to go and leave it all behind..."

With another drag he looked at her again, shrugging with a cynical smile.

"Perhaps I'm not as brave as I always thought, eh ?"
Languages: English, Welsh
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