Vampire The Masquerade RPG
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The Times
The Kindred Chronicle
Key Figures
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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Beast for Tea (open)
Topic Started: Monday, 10. February 2014, 15:25 (2,633 Views)
Mr.Gar
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Freelance Enforcer
* * *
The small man stepped through the door with his bowler cap pulled low and the lapels of his canvas trench turned up to make it harder to notice his pointed ears. His eyes lacked their customary glow, a mere red-brown staring out of copper skin, leathery as though he'd spent a great deal of time in the desert or at sea, though he'd done neither. Slashes marred the fall of his black canvas coat, patched with raw red silk, giving it the look of an animal torn by claws. He wore a simple dark blue suit with slim white pinstripes. A black vest buttoned across his cream shirt and a tie of dark red. A pair of black penny loafers were polished on his feet, two gleaming copper coins shining in their straps. The barely 5' tall man exuded the scent of old tombs and graves about him, a scent like dust, old stone, dry bones and aged blood. The mortals in the building shifted uncomfortably as he entered. A presence like a disturbing wave washing over them. One by one they started to rise and make for the door, each thinking of a reason to be away.

The small man had a thick cane grasped in one hand. A three foot length of black polypropylene with a three inch steel knob on the top. The cane thumped softly as he walked towards a table in the back and settled in to wait. If what he'd heard was true, eventually someone would arrive and decide to converse with him. The vampires of London couldn't seem to avoid confronting each other in this place. One leathery hand reached up and brushed the gray van dyke that wrapped his lips in bristling hair. Should be interesting.
Gar's Antham

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Victoria Scott
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
* * * *
"The promise given was a necessity of the past: the word broken is a necessity of the present." Bullshit!

The pen scratched the yellowy page drawing a curse in the narrow space between two lines. The strokes were violent and messy and she went over the lines twice leaving a valley of black ink between the faultless vocabulary of Niccolo Machiavelli. Right away her hand moved to the contiguous notebook, ripped a corner of the paper, shoved it on the crack between two sheets and moved to the next page. The book was quickly growing a forest of white marks.

Far were the days of illiteracy that ruled her mortal life, when nothing mattered more than having a chunk of bread to eat at the end of the day. No, reading was definitely not a major must living in the streets, and the flagrant opposition of her father to the new wave of feminism that flooded the United States in the 20's didn't help her younger daughter intellectual development. It all changed in Washington, when she decided to stop relying on Jack's better education and be a proper member of modern society herself. After all, being treated as a thug with no other worthiness was not exactly pleasant. The quiet life of the Camarilla provided space for the Brujah to start her self-taught education, and when a new world of phylosophy, history and science opened its doors to the girl, she couldn't help but regret not having started years before.

An hour passed before something finally made the small woman unglue her eyes from the book. Half the customers at the Tripper were piling up at the door with a certain and spontaneous urge some made a decent job hiding while others simply had a big, loud danger signal blinking above their heads. A scent of musk and soil flooded her nostrils. She frowned, trying to discern the tiny figure that was making his way to the centre of the pub. Wasn't that flagrant breach of the masquerade... familiar?

Fuck.
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Mr.Gar
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* * *
The small figure chuckled softly, a dry rasping sawing sound. His red-brown eyes took in the room and he spotted Tory standing there. He remembered her. The other hot head to get staked at that piss poor excuse for a political rally. He'd bet his shiny pennies that both of the women were Brujah. Never could manage to hold their tempers in a large group. Why they kept trying to have these free for all discussions confused the hell out of him. Still, he walked over to her calmly, his cane thumping. He regarded her book curiously and a smile twitched at his lips as he regarded the cover.

"The Prince? Not bad.. there are worst choices. However most who follow old Niccolo are rampant untrustworthy assholes."

A leathery hand settles on the back of the chair and draws it out. The small suit wearing man seats himself across from her and leans his cane against the table. Then he takes off his bowler cap and sets it atop the steel knob of his cane. His voice was a dry rasp, the observant would notice a scar on his throat, like someone had rammed something nearly thumb thick through his larynx at one point. His red-brown eyes regard her steadily. Without the hat his pate is bald, shaven into a smooth coppery dome above gray bushy eyebrows and a bristling van dyke.

The well dressed little Goblin grins at her, leaning back in the chair and clasping his hands in front of him, resting his wrists on the table.

"Trying to figure out where you went wrong last time?"
Gar's Antham

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Victoria Scott
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
* * * *
She closed the book and eyed the... man? As he took a seat. She didn't like Gangrels. Call it pride, call it racism, but being the second most fearsome kind of monster on the ranking of vampiric society she didn't quite feel comfortable amongst the firsts. She was certainly not used to feel weak and scared. Because if there was something even more dangerous than a fist with the strength to lift a motorcycle thrown with the speed of a train that was definitely the claws of those bastards. Even worst, not sure what kind of genius taught them but some knew how to use Celerity.

At the Assembly, she could only catch a glimpse of the small man right before losing her shit to Maddox, but Tory remembered him the moment she could distinguish his tiny figure amidst the turmoil that tried to leave the Tripper. Well, he was not exactly hard to recognise. Hell, how was he ever allowed to walk the streets?

"No one can deny the man had his pinch of reason. Sometimes." when not being a cynical piece of shit, for example. "If that makes you feel better, I don't follow his Man is wolf to man way of thinking. I'm rather reading it to try and understand what happens in the heads of those rampant untrustworthy assholes you were talking about."

The friendly tone with what the man addresed her took the She Wolf by surprise. All the friendly one can sound with the vocal chords of a dog, that is, but definitely friendlier than Church. She still didn't know how to rate her encounter with the Brujah, but as this goblin had already proved, the meeting at Gladstone Park was gonna be the first of a series of consequences brought by the unlucky anarch assembly.

"I get it. I did it wrong. I learnt my lesson." she said with weary voice. "I was fucking expecting something else. And I was not the one who took his pants off and slapped everyone in the face with his dick talking about the Sabbat, which is something everybody happens to forget. If it were for me, I would have started things in another way."
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Mr.Gar
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* * *
"Yeah, that have been wise. Still, it wasn't a bad motivation. The Baron abandoned the area to go somewhere. The Anarch's are in disarray. A guiding hand who appreciates the sentiments of being unified without being codified would be good. But to do that the person has to have a strong measure of self-control. Which means not freaking out when someone gets in your face about things. You know?"

The man leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his hands crossed. His skin was leathery and a pale copper color. If she thought about it she might realize he was of native american stock, hence the darker complexion. His nails were well trimmed with a hint of dirt under them. If it wasn't for the scent of old graves and dusty tombs about him, he'd be immaculately dressed, if a trifle dusty. He regarded her with his red-brown eyes, for once leaving his Eyes of the Beast off so she didn't have to stare into his glowing red gaze. The tapped a finger on the top of the bowler hat on the table, making a slight thumping sound, contemplating her.

"Baron in a contested city has a lot of pressure. Has to be strong enough to defend the Anarchs from the Sabbat, diplomatic enough to keep them from falling about, and able to both both diplomatic and strong when dealing with the Camarilla. Especially when dealing with a Prince like the one here."

His dry rasping voice was quiet. His eerie presence generally meant mortals didn't linger around him long enough to eavesdrop. He's watched them start clearing out of the Tripper when he arrived. Given this was the Baron's seat of power, he figured most of the kine were probably part of someone's herd, but still, he'd speak softly.

"I don't particularly want to see the Anarchs here fall apart into divisiveness and strife. For one thing if the Anarch presence grows too weak the Prince can simply order each of the Anarchs here to swear allegiance to the Cam or leave the city. The folks here got no War Coterie, no patrols, nobody guarding the borders. People wander in and out of this city and it's boroughs like Kine. Hell, I walked up to the Prince's home and taped a letter to the door without ever being stopped. Damnedest way to run a war I've ever seen."
Gar's Antham

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Pierre
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The Black Rose
* *
...over my first weeks here in London I have traveled to the Tripper seeking to make contact with my London Anarch brethren. While I did meet a few Kindred, and gained the information needed to contact the leadership, I have made little overall progress. Now there are rumors in the wind that the Baron has quit the city. It is in the wake of this unsettling news that I've returned to The Night Tripper, intending to assess the situation directly...

Pierre walked down the steps from the billiard hall upstairs to an unexpected sight. A largely empty pub. The old crow paused on the stairs and cast out a net of Auspex to take in the room. The graveyard scents of the short man, in addition to the pale halos around him and the woman helped the Frenchman puzzle together what occurred. The monsters were in attendance.

He continued down the rest of the stairs into the pub's main room. The black rose caught enough of the short man's words to know that there was a conversation happening between two of his fellow kindred that highly interested him.

Pierre was a tall man, lean but broad. His sun-worn face had was lined with the roadmap of a life hard lived, made softer by wisdom. As usual, he was dressed in all black save the pin of a silver rose on his lapel. He moved slowly towards the pair. Not clandestinely in any way, but with the confident gait of a man intending to introduce himself. Once he had approached the table, the old crow paused. His dark eyes glinted with interest on either side of his beak as he looked the pair over.

When the moment arrived, the Frenchman spoke with his thick accent "Bonsoir. I am Pierre, of the Roses. Forgive me for eavesdropping. I only intrude because I believe we may have some common interests."
The world ended the day disco died...
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Victoria Scott
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
* * * *
She couldn't help but let out a snort of laughter. A sincere, unexpected giggle out of pure hilarity.

"Yeah, well, never really said I wanted to become the Baron but hey, thanks for your advise." said with a wide, sceptic smile, head slightly leaned back, as her right hand played spinning the pen around her fingers. "I'll keep it just in case the Anarch population of London succumbs to a more than convenient fit of contagious amnesia and I can go back to walk more than two steps without hearing the click of a gun behind my back. Otherwise you better start looking for someone else."

She leaned forward again, elbows on the table, tired eyes fixed on the Gangrel, mind somewhere else. She would have tried to be more... nice under different circumstances. Nah, not nice, but perhaps lively, sharper. Actually focused on her conversation with someone that oddly enough seemed to like her. Which meant either he was crazier than Church or actually shared her point of view. Yeah, she should have been nicer, but she wasn't. Too tired for that. She tried, at least, to not sound like an ungrateful asshole.

"Baron in a contested city, or anywhere else... Actually, any leader of whatever kind you can imagine should be popular amongst her people. Care for her people. Like her people. I can care, I already do. Why would I have tried to wake them from their stagnancy if not? But I'm neither popular nor like them too much. Not yet, anyway." she tapped the book with a slender finger. "Of course I could pay attention to what this centenary bastard says, but that's not my style. I am not a fucking tyrant."

Time for a smoke, that she took from one of the side pockets of her jacket. It was not the nicotine that was addictive. Her lungs didn't work, so even if it was, she would have needed to get the drug from her preys' blood. It was still relaxing though. Breathing was relaxing.

"And as much as I'm aware of what the lack of a leader can cause, I don't even know if I'm right for the position. I'm pretty sure I'm not."

She lighted the cigarette, trying not to focus on the flame. The Brujah was about to add something else when she noticed the eyes of the Gangrel drifting from her and focusing at something on her back. The soft french accent carried her to a place thousands of miles away from there, across the ocean, to a warehouse in the middle of a war. He couldn't be Dardenne... Could he? He was in New... No, wait, he came back to Paris. To Europe.

Her entire torso twisted, facing the newcomer, a face eroded by scars and time, significantly less bloody than the first time she had seen it. Because she had seen it before.

"...Pierre?"
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Mr.Gar
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* * *
The small man's head swiveled slowly until his red-brown eyes were focused on Pierre. It was mildly disconcerting because he hadn't bothered to shift in his seat. Any human could turn their neck that far, most would just think it HURT to hold it that way, then he turned his face around and reached out and gripped a chair, sliding it back and waving a copper skinned leathery hand to gesture for Pierre to seat himself. Since Tory clearly knew him. He leaned back, stroking his van dyke, contemplating what she'd said.

"Greetings Sir. Feel free to sit down. My name is Rhys Jonathan Gar, also known as Gar the Goblin or, to those from New York, Jon Redcap."

Not that he expected any of the New York vampires to remember the time he'd spent there in the early 80's cleaning up some of the messes a few rebellious Brujah had made for the local Prince. But since Tory was clearly from NY, she might have heard that name, now that he'd taken the time to consider it. Wasn't hard to take down a Brujah who was too dumb to remember not try and grapple a Gangrel known for taking his lumps until he could get his teeth and claws in. But so it goes.

"We were discussing the political problems of the area... and potential fixes. No disrespect to the Prince and all, but I'd just as soon not see an Anarch bastion end up falling. I have a few other Gangrel willing to back me when it comes to claiming a bit of land and holding it against all comers, but I want to get an idea for what the flavors around here are first. Lest I brew hard feelings unnecessarily."

His rasping buzzsaw of a voice was quiet and calm. There was nothing threatening too it. He knew some people would always get nervous to hear a group of Gangrel were organizing. They were just too savage a group for most people to feel comfortable thinking they were organizing. Not that these folk needed to know how many he was talking about.

"Strength, compassion and compromise. I've often thought those traits made for good leaders. A mixture of leniency and ruthlessness. Far as I can tell most people just have too much of one or the other, or lack both."
Gar's Antham

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Pierre
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The Black Rose
* *
Pierre turned to take a closer look at the woman. He did recognize her. The Frenchman smiled under his beak, deepening the creases as his cheeks lifted towards his eyes.

He said "Ah, Victoria! I am so genuinely pleased to see you again, Cherie!" The old crow moved to grasp the woman by her shoulders and give a familiar squeeze with his rough hands. The man's dark eyes showed a rare fondness "I should not have survived my third trip to New York without you, my friend."

The Frenchman's attention waivered from anything but Tory. He marveled at the unexpected reunion with the Brujah she-wolf. His brain heard the words of Mr. Gar; Jon Redcap, but for the moment they were waiting in the queue for future reference.

Pierre looked down between his arms towards the ground and all the feet. He gave a sigh as he released Tory and looked back up to her. "I have been wandering and brooding since 2009 Cherie. I should have looked you and the others up, I was remiss. But, what a happy occurrence this is! I did not think to look for you in London."

Now the old crow gave more acknowledgement to Gar. "Forgive me" the Frenchman said "This is your friend, Victoria? Jon was it?" He offered a firm handshake.
The world ended the day disco died...
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Victoria Scott
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
* * * *
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Fucking Frenchie. What a corny gentleman he was. She let a wide smile light her face. Good to see her Princess had managed to survive through all of this years.

"Alive and kicking, uh?" The Brujah squeezed his arms too, regarding the man from head to feet. "No need to apologize, mate. People come and people go."

To be honest, she hadn't seen any of the New Yorkes since her argument with Calebros. Nor did she say goodbye before leaving, even though she had made good friends in the Big City. Kindreds were lonely, in contrast to the bustling mortal life. In the end, they were predators and cannibals, and even the most social of vampires were zealous and solitary when the need to withdraw was stronger than the advantages of being surrounded by an army of possible allies. The situation in which she got involved right before leaving New York didn't help her natural aloofness. To this day, Caspar was still one of the strongest reasons for which she had left the Tower, even though her choice had been one triggered by a lifetime of disappointments and not only the '09 events.

All in all, Pierre had been maybe not a real friend, but someone she could trust in, and she was happy to see him again.

"Why don't you take a seat. Hadn't you something to say?"
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Mr.Gar
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* * *
The small Gangrel regarded the hand for a moment, then cautiously reached out to shake it. He wasn't used to people voluntarily touching him, unless it was in a violent manner. Still the two clearly knew each other. So he leaned back in his chair to regard them both with his red-brown gaze. His lips pursed between the edges of his bristling gray van dyke as he contemplating the situation.

"I have been called that, yes."

He replied to the Frenchman's question, as Jon Redcap was a name he has been known by. He contemplating the situation. Sounding out Victoria's political stances seemed unlikely now, given that she has an old friend to reminisce with. His buzz saw like voice was polite though, as he reclaimed his hand and rested them flat on the table. He lowered his head in thought. Contemplating whether it would be better to simply depart and try again at some other time. He'd seen no real sign that the Anarchs here could organize, that they wanted too. As far as he could tell they were more like caitiff wandering without a clan than they were members of the nontraditionalist movement that he supported. There was no point in getting himself killed for a bunch of vampires who simply wanted to feel like they had all the freedom they could want; without being willing to organize to keep it.

"I should probably allow you to catch up with your friend. I wouldn't wish to intrude on a reunion in the making. I know how good it can be to see an old face after a decade or so."

Not that the little loner had much in the way of friendship anywhere. But he had his Clan. That at least he could rely on. The other Gangrel under the Anarch umbrella had already agreed to follow his lead and back him if he could find a good candidate for Baron. Unfortunately, that option seemed less and less likely by the minute. Still, he had tried. He picked up his bowler cap and rested it on his head and prepared to rise from the table and depart.
Gar's Antham

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Pierre
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The Black Rose
* *
Pierre took a longer look at the man. He did seem vaguely familiar. He thought they may have brushed shoulders in New York at some point.

At Victoria's invitation he did have a seat. He placed his wide hands over the table and looked between the pair. The Frenchman started to speak to Victoria again when Mr. Gar started to do the polite thing.

Pierre turned to him and spoke quickly in his thick French accent "Monsieur. There is always time for pleasantries. I approached this table because of the politics being discussed. If Victoria is amenable I should like to return to that topic. As I said, I believe we share similar concerns. If we three are of a mind, this opportunity to speak should not be squandered."

He turned his face to his old friend to see if she was in agreement. Pierre had been frustrated in his attempts to connect with the London anarch community. Then when word trickled down to him about the Baron's departure he was simply stunned. A city as large and established as London, and the Anarch movement seemed to have self-destructed. He found it hard to believe that the domain's young prince had brought the Anarch's to heel, thus, his brethren must simply have failed.

The Frenchman wanted to determine if his suspicions were true, how and why this happened, and what the path forward should be.
The world ended the day disco died...
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Lazaruss
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Elder
* * * * *
Lazaruss did not know what had brought him here tonight, other than the desire to have a drink someplace different than his usual stomping grounds. This was Anarch territory however, so no flashy clothes this time. He wore an old black leather duster over blue jeans and a rumpled t-shirt which said 'invest in America ; buy a congressman'

His face was gaunt and triangular with sunken cheeks and large deep-set green eyes beneath a strong brow. He even had a silver earring in his left ear. His short red hair was this time sleeked back with a lot of gel, which annoyed him, but at least it did not scream 'Ventrue'.

Besides, considering all the effort he went through to meet an Anarch the last time he was in the neighborhood, he doubted he would have more luck this time. They were there, keeping an eye on him, surely, but they did not feel like talking to him.

This was far out of his comfort zone, and yet, he liked it in a strange almost morbid sort of way. He liked it because assuming the roles of other people gave him a brother perspective on life. There were entire worlds hidden in different layers of society which few got to experience, locked in their own routine.

He ordered a pint at the bar and sipped it, facing the room, one elbow at the table. The beer too tasted off compared to what he was accustomed to, but bore through it for the sake of the role he was playing.

No doubt, some people would have a few choice words for him about his hobbies and activities, but when in Rome...

So he sipped his beer, planning to vomit it out in the bathroom later on, and watched the group of people around one of the tables. A Kindred who was clearly a Nossferatu and two others he did not know.
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Nobody hits as hard as life. Not you, nor me, nor anybody. But it ain't about how hard you can hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and keep on coming.
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Victoria Scott
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
* * * *
As Tory was about to speak, Pierre did, with the exact same words she was about to pronounce. Or well, not really, but pretty similar. She couldn't mimic the french accent. A life far from NY hadn't erased her fast Brooklyn slang and nor did half a year in London. She wasn't even able to copy and meld with this cockneys never mind trying french.

"We'll have plenty of time to talk about the past Gar, stay with us." she said, pointing at the opposite chair. "Now the present is what matters."

And on top of that their convo was just getting interesting. She crossed her arms and stretched her legs under the table in somewhat a boyish manner. For what the Torrie had told in the past, she knew Pierre had been an Anarch before joining the Camarilla. And, to be honest, she could really enjoy some advise coming from him. Gar too seemed to have some interesting ideas in mind that she could discuss and take note of if she considered useful. And of course, she had a whole lotta things to say.

Now this was gonna be a great night.
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Mr.Gar
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* * *
"Alright then, I shall. What I was getting around too is simple. This area needs a Baron. It needs one that is smart and calm enough to work with the Prince, and aggressive and independent enough to know why NOT to work with the Prince, to stand up to him, for us. I've been talking to the other Anarch Gangrel. None of us care for politics, but we DO care about getting buggered because someone isn't organizing the Movement to keep our heads out of the Tower's shadow. So, I'm asking. Do you know anyone that fits that bill? Don't assume they'll get my support just because you recommend them. But if I don't look I won't find. I'm an American, so no matter who you recommend I'll want to see an Election. Anarch style. Something official, held in the Eylsium. Walk in, cast a vote with the keeper, walk out. I know the woman, she won't screw the results for anyone. She'd make a damn good Baron herself, if she wanted the job. Which she doesn't."

The small man sat back down and regarded them both. He lifted his bowler off his head with a leathery hand and returned it to the table. He kept his other hand on his cane though, in case he did have to go soon.

"Consider me the Spokesman for Clan Gangrel in this matter, Anarch branch."

His buzzsaw voice was quiet. In part because this was not a masq free zone, in part because there were still a few drunken mortals around and they didn't need to overhear what he was discussing. When he thought on it, the Anarchs needed their own Elysium really. A place they could talk Masquerade free without worrying about a drunk wandering in looking for a fix. This was not such a place.

Jason had mentioned having a lot of resources to draw on. Maybe he should talk to the other Gangrel about building some kind of "gentleman's club" an exclusive invitation only facility, and then get invitations sent out to folk so they knew the address. Staffed by younger vampires or trustworthy ghouls. It was a good idea. If they did it quietly enough it might even escape the Prince's notice for a while.
Gar's Antham

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Jelena
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Anarch Mama Bear
* * * *
To have a base that sounded like an STD? Fucking hilarious! Not having a clue what had been up lately? Unfunny. Nothing like minding her own shit, but after some time, Ellen had become bored. That and being out of the loop had brought her to the boss' joint. Didn't expect to meet her, but perhaps others who'd like to fill her in or just chat. She'd see what it was. She entered the main room, wearing jeans, trainers and a white shirt with the words 'Close enough to read this? Means you're TOO FUCKING CLOSE!' on it. Now, what was going on. She recognized the girl that had helped get Aguirre out of commision for a while. The fucker she had met in that alley back in whatever the fuck that place was called. The others? Didn't look familiar at all. The older one was caught up in talking to the others, but the redhead in the duster was not that lucky. Looked pretty not involved, almost as if he was spying on people.

The Brujah went straight to the bar. "I'll take what he's having!" was what she told the guy behind it poking her thumb towards duster-boy. After she had had herself set up with a drink, she turned around and slapped her new friend on the shoulder playfully. For her, meaning a pretty hard slap for most other people. "Lonesome tonight, honey? You look bored." She followed his eyes over to Tory and those others. "Friends of yours ?"
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Pierre
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The Black Rose
* *
The Frenchman got comfortable, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms neatly over his torso.

Pierre opened his mouth to reply to Mr. Gar, but was distracted by the influx of ears nearby. Just a quick glance over towards the bar and the Frenchman realized that any concerns he had were unfounded. The Tripper was a known Anarch haunt. It was a near certainty that the Prince had ears here. Further, nothing was being discussed that was out of line.

The Black Rose had told the prince of his Anarch connections. He had established himself as a reliable go-between the two political camps in the past, and would do so again. He deeply believed in the Anarch cause, and found over the years that the way he could best help the cause was to ensure that there were lines of communication between the freebloods and the tower.

This usually was to prevent overt hostility and to make it harder for the Sabbat to turn the camps further against each other.

Pierre started to speak again when the woman made her entrance and clearly displayed interest in the table. He looked from her and back to Victoria. He got Tory's attention and tilted his head towards the woman at the bar in a silent question.
The world ended the day disco died...
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Lazaruss
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Elder
* * * * *
The bartender brought Jelena the same pint of low-grade ale Lazaruss was having, and after Lazaruss clinked his mug to hers and took a sip, he spoke.

" Yeah. A bit lonesome. " He had a soft Romanian-like accent. " The name's Sebastian. "

He gestured towards the three people off at their table. " Never seen them before. 'Cause i haven't been here before. How about you ; You come here often ?"

He eyed her without turning his head towards her. She was a pretty thing. Buff too, judging by the lingering sensation in his shoulder. But other than that, she seemed like a good company.
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Nobody hits as hard as life. Not you, nor me, nor anybody. But it ain't about how hard you can hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and keep on coming.
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Jelena
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Anarch Mama Bear
* * * *
"Once in a while.. When I get bored or shit." She hit his mug with hers and looked down at what was in it. How the fuck was she supposed to get that piss down? Or keep it down? Ah, fuck that! Jelena pretended to drink a bit from the mug completely with making a face. "Never been here before? So you're new to the city, eh Seb? Far from home?" Like that, the mug got put down on the bar. "I'm Ellen." Not even trying to hide or soften her accent. Just waved at Tory with a grin.
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Lazaruss
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Elder
* * * * *
" Not that far. " He said. His current house was not that far away, but he never thought of any place as his home. He did not have a home. Only memories. " And i'm not new to the city, but i'm still touring it. This place was next in my brochure, so i stopped by. "

" Since you are a regular, " he said after another sip. " are you of the Warrior Scholars ?"
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Nobody hits as hard as life. Not you, nor me, nor anybody. But it ain't about how hard you can hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and keep on coming.
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