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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Blame It on Bad Luck; Open (Anarchs preferred)
Topic Started: Thursday, 20. March 2014, 05:53 (837 Views)
Vanja
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детская сука
*
She'd spent two months locked in a basement, and in the meantime, Camden seemed to have sprung back to life, like little shoots of grass poking in between the cracks of a concrete sidewalk. Good news for London, maybe, but bad news for the inhabitants of the ruins. When she'd finally scampered back into the borough, she'd found a nasty surprise- the entire condemned apartment block where she spent most of her days had been demolished, leaving her magpie collection of bits and pieces of valuables buried under the rubble. iPhones and Rolex watches and credit cards, pearl earrings and expensive cameras and the passports of a few hapless tourists- all of it was lost under concrete slabs and twisted iron supports.

The kid was, admittedly, pretty pissed.

Her life of crime just wasn't working out, and she didn't feel like starting over. Not when it ended in getting beat into torpor by a fucking rat. Nah, somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered that she had, in fact, come to London with a purpose in mind.

Her mentor had wanted her to be a proper, upstanding member of a kindred community (though maybe she'd just wanted her out of her hair), and part of that was actually becoming involved with the London Anarchs. That hadn't exactly appealed to Vanja until now, but she had to admit- it might be nice if someone noticed the next time she got knocked out and shoved in a basement. So here she was in the Tripper, hoping the Baron would be both around and open to letting her stick with her crowd from now on.

Vanja didn't exactly blend in here, though. For one thing, she sure as hell wasn't old enough to hang out in bars, not when her feet dangled off the barstool and didn't come anywhere close to the ground. For another, she didn't exactly seem like an upstanding citizen with her tattered clothes and tangled hair and the dark circles that ringed her enormous chocolate eyes. Rather, she looked like the sort of sick, waifish street kid that might wheeze their last breath at any second- 'course, she wasn't breathing at all, so at least that impression wasn't accurate.

The bartender had given her a knowing look and slid her a Coke instead of anything harder; sourly, she sat sipping at it with disinterest, pulling each bead of soda up through her straw before letting it slide back down, blowing the occasional bubble. Booted feet kicked back and forth as she sat on her stool, and each time they hit the wooden legs, clods of caked mud fell to the floor like dirty snow.

It was stupid to come here, she reflected angrily. Where the hell was the baron? With a scowl, she glanced around the room, trying to figure out exactly who was here.
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"Sad and angry, can't learn how to behave; still won't know how in the darkness of the grave."
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Malia
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* * * * *
"Little young for a bar aren't you kid? Unless of course, you're older than you look. So many are these days. Old souls trapped in young bodies. Then again maybe you're just a young little skank hoping to get a creepy uncle man to buy you cigarettes and beer. That it? Because this might be the wrong kind of bar for that scam."

The woman speaking was 5'2 in her boots and barely a handful over one hundred pounds soaking wet. She had a leather vest buckled across a lean chest. Three spiked chains wrapped around her slim waist and the black leather pants that looked painted onto her slim legs. Her boots had no less than six steel buckles and rose knee high. They also had gleaming steel toes and it appeared, steel soles as well. She had a myriad of bracelets around her wrists, some spiked. Her pale skin was covered in red, black and blue runic tattoos. A big fan of the Death Gate cycle might recognize Patryn runes. Most just figured them for the pathetic psuedo-occult scrawlings a teenager might do. Her gray eyes fit in a lovely, young face. Her hair was pulled back into a tight shoulder length braid. A sarcastic grin was twisted up as she sat at a table, her chair leaning back and her boosts resting on the wood.

There was no sign of a drink or food on her table, or really, any reason at all for her to be there. A battered black leather backpack was resting on the floor next to her chair and she was holding a newspaper and appeared to have actually been simply reading.
English Norwegian Spanish I'm bad, and that's good. I will never be good, and that's not bad. There's no one I'd rather be than me.
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Vanja
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детская сука
*
The teenager at the bar didn't flinch at the voice, and her narrow shoulders stayed hunched and turned, her back to Malia as she glibly replied.

"Hmph. What would I want with one of those? A cock and a wallet's all a man's really good for." Her voice was monotone and languid, accented by something Slavic and harsh, lazily offered up as she played with the straw of her Coke. One finger tapped on the top of the straw, trapping soda inside, then she'd raise the straw out of her drink, lift her finger, and watch as the liquid rushed back out. Repeat, repeat, repeat. "Though if the latter's bigger than the former, that's fine by me," she added as an acidic, barbed afterthought.

With a slight toss of her tangled, caramel hair, she swiveled around on the barstool, turning to face Malia with a calculating look in her eye. Young, pretty, with some sort of stupid squiggle tattoos covering her arms and studs covering every available surface. Brujah? Probably. Not the kind she had any respect for, though. Nah, she must be straight rabblerouser, the punch-it-till-it-dies variety, ruled by passions and temper. Enormous dark eyes flicked up and down Malia's silhouette, lingering on the boots on the table, on the woman's white hands. No callouses on the fingertips or dirt under the nails. Some soft kid playing at looking dangerous? Or just someone who preferred not to get their hands dirty directly?

Either way, it didn't take vast leaps of the imagination to stamp 'anarch' on the woman's forehead. The little Ravnos had a nasty habit of putting entirely too much stock in first impressions and appearances- ironic, maybe, for someone who dealt in illusions and trickery, but Vanja was known to underestimate everyone around her, convinced she was a wolf among sheep. Her ego, at least, was still thirteen.

The girl cocked her head to the side, gave a short, curt shake. Fly-away hairs bounced and shimmered in the dim barroom light, casting a blonde halo around her head. "Nah. Here to see a lady. She's going to adopt me. Isn't that sweet?" The last two sentences were delivered flatly, as if she were utterly bored. "Think she's a bit furrier than you, though. Or scaly. Something. Seen one of those around? I hear it's her bar."
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"Sad and angry, can't learn how to behave; still won't know how in the darkness of the grave."
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Malia
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* * * * *
"Hah, you're shit out of luck shorty. She bailed for America months ago. Her ass has been GOOOOOOONNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE coming on three months or so. Where you been, stuck in a hole?"

Poor lost little lamb, did she miss her mommy... awwww, sad little duckling going to be all alone in the world with the big bad baron bitch being gone far away. Stupid to turn someone that young. Brain never fully matures. Stuck being just barely old enough to handle her shit forever. Ah well, not her problem.

"Never found a use for a cock that couldn't be done better by tools. More reliably anyway. But a big fat wallet is a nice thing, I can't argue with that. Course, the ones likely to give you either are probably not the nicest men in the world. Tsk tsk tsk. Someone should just follow you around and clean up the drooling men. Make the world a "better place""

She did air quotes around the last part, as if she truthfully did not give a shit about the kind of men who might be chasing Vanja with their dicks. Though even she'd probably enjoy killing them. But then again, no point in her dealing with anything violently that she couldn't eat, and pedophiles definitely weren't on her approved eating list.

She took out a smart phone and flicked it on with a thumb, grinning and starting to play a game of Angry Birds, lazily raising one black eyebrow and looking at Vanja out of the corner of her gray eyes. She grinned like a cat licking cream.

"You're welcome to sit and wait for hell to freeze over if you want, because from what I've gathered that might be about what it takes for THAT individual to return."
English Norwegian Spanish I'm bad, and that's good. I will never be good, and that's not bad. There's no one I'd rather be than me.
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Vanja
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детская сука
*
"You're lying."

The words came out unbidden, snappy and sudden. For a split second, Vanja's eyes widened and mouth opened in true shock, but then her expression settled into the same sour grimace she usually wore.

"That's not possible. If the baron just left, things would be falling apart here. Who's to say the capes would respect your claim? They aren't exactly inclined to live and let live, and without a recognized baron, you might as well be theirs. So if she's gone somebody must've stepped into her shoes. From the looks of this shit hole, if that happened, it sure didn't happen here."

Dark brows furrowed harshly. None of this made sense. Without a baron to keep them in check, how had young and stupid Brujah managed to not burn down half of Enfield? How had they escaped the Cam? "So she has to still be around."

There was an odd sort of furious, desperate conviction in her voice. The baron did, indeed, have to be around if Vanja had any hope of taking up permanent residency in the domain. A child vampire and a Ravnos? Most people would consider staking her and leaving her out in the sun a civic favor. But Nora Penvayllen, she'd been told, was different.

Her mentor's instructions, after all, had been very clear. Julia had a long and close friendship with the baron of Paris, Letitia Vikernes. Letitia, in turn, had known London's young gangrel leader for decades, as the woman was once a resident of Paris herself. Julia had sent Vanja in hopes of extracting a favor owed, but if some new baron had no tie to Paris and its hierarchy, that scheming was useless.

Her scowl deepened, and small hands balled into fists, struck by a sudden, pervasive desire to beat the shit out of the unhelpful woman. "Tell me where she is. I'm not falling for bullshit. Someone must still be in charge around here."
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"Sad and angry, can't learn how to behave; still won't know how in the darkness of the grave."
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Malia
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* * * * *
"Oh no, tragically you are fucked. Anarch territory is broken and falling apart. They're having meetings where they chat with Sabbat members. The whole place is madness and falling apart. At least as far as I can tell. Interrogating bar patrons here and then removing their ability to think of the conversation is rude yeah, but it DOES get some good information. Hell, she took her little group with her. Those other city gangrel, her pet ventrue. All gone bye bye."

The gruff, rude little woman just laughed in amusement. She could see the child vampire was sort of screwed. Probably looking for a protector given the desperation she was demonstrating. That was sort of amusing. Depending on what she was, she could be a very useful little puppet. She raised a black eyebrow and narrowed her gray eyes.

"You're in a pickle, right? Let me guess. A child who needs someone to watch over her, to vouch for her existence? So you want to come and nuzzle up to the Baron, trade skills and favors for a bit of protection. Sucks."
English Norwegian Spanish I'm bad, and that's good. I will never be good, and that's not bad. There's no one I'd rather be than me.
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Piscina
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Ancilla
* * * *
Sometimes, coincidence exists, and shit happens damn mysteriously.

----

She had scouted the place ahead of time as an owl and then a dog. She knew the exits, and recognized some mortal faces. She hadn't found any obvious traps or security measures. Such t hings weren't very 'Anarch', but there were always exceptions.

Sparrows were positioned outside, hidden or seemingly sleeping. They avoided other animals. She'd heard the Baron was a Gangrel, and didn't want to start off on the wrong foot with a scuffle between ghouls.

She changed out of her old skirt and shawl, replacing them with jeans and a sweat shirt. It was always queer to wear men's clothes, but she wanted to blend at least a bit. Not wear her age on her sleeve.

Piscina Sherwood had yet to determine the best way to approach the Prince, so, with information as old and out of date as Vanja's, she decided to start with the Baron.

----

Pisces went into the pub with no particular fanfare. She went up to the bar with money in her hand, and put in her order with the tender. She ordered quite a bit of food, explaining with a smile that she was expecting a party. She tipped well and in advance. When the food was ready, she came up to fetch it, one plate at a time.

As she delivered her food back to a semi-sheltered booth, she replaced each delicacy with a dream of itself. When she arrived, she slight-of-handed the real food into a plastic bag in her backpack. Clever use of illusions and a century of experience in legerdemain made for a subtle switch.

But more importantly, halfway through the delivery of each item, the scent of the far superior dream-version of the food started to waft through the pub. She made sure the food tasted good, but more importantly, she made sure it smelled good. Scent was the key to this introduction. Normally the smell of freshly sizzled steak and well browned chips would mean nothing to a creature who ate only blood. But these were dreams plucked from the memory of life, and the smell of this food would touch a Kindred's nostril's with as much enticing delight as it would a mortals. She hoped that any Kindred in the pub would notice the strangeness, and investigate, and accept the tribute.

The spread she ordered, and therefore the delicious, death-transcending smells she wafted through the pub, included crispy fresh fish and chips, tart Branston pickle, sharp Huntsman and Stilton cheeses, fresh bread, dark ale, and steak pie with crispy pastry crust, filled with chunks of beef, dripping with flavor and seasonings. She also transported a piece of apple pie, in case anyone had an ancient sweet tooth.

Then she settled in her booth to wait and watch and nibble.
Edited by Piscina, Wednesday, 26. March 2014, 15:25.
"I am Piscina Sherwood, and this is what it looks like when I speak."

I am the Beast of Piscina Sherwood, and this is what it looks like when I speak.
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Vanja
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детская сука
*

"They're talking to the Sabbat?" The girl gave a harsh, barking laugh, a malicious spark in her chocolate eyes. "Because the Sword of Caine is always so renown for their diplomatic skills. Lemme guess, whoever came up with that brilliant plan's never spent time in a pack themselves, yeah? They don't know what the Sabbat is. There's nobody who'd go back to that."

Sometimes she thought she wouldn't mind going back to that. But that was better left unsaid.

She stared at the suspected Brujah across from her as the girl spoke, gray eyes cold beneath long lashes. There was something off about her, something feral and inhuman, like a cat holding a mouse's tail in her claws. It was the sort of thing you'd see more often in elders, not fledgelings. A sign they'd already forgotten they were ever alive.

Vanja didn't trust anyone, but she especially didn't trust those types.

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself," she said with a grimace. Deep down, Vanja wasn't even sure that was true anymore. Despite the fact she'd always had complete faith in herself, her first foray into existing on her own, without the protection of pack or sire, mentor or domitor, had gone spectacularly badly. "That doesn't mean living like that is... preferable."

Silence for a moment. What was that smell? She hadn't consciously noticed food in fifteen years. But here, in this stupid disappointing bar, she was smelling steak, of all things. What the hell? A sudden wave of discomfort washed over her, and her little caramel-blonde head looked around the room keenly. When something was new and different, well, chances were something was wrong.

"What's that smell? I need a smoke," she said bluntly, looking over the other woman with a calculating eye. "Gimme one."
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"Sad and angry, can't learn how to behave; still won't know how in the darkness of the grave."
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Malia
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* * * * *
"I don't smoke, so fuck off.... and what the hell is that smell?"

She echoed Vanja without really intending too. Looking around until she spotted what LOOKED like a woman in a booth with a spread of food that was way to good for this dive. She stood up and walked over, her metal soled boots thumping as she walked. The slim 5'2 woman with her tight braided black hair and gray eyes regarding Piscina with both curiosity and perhaps, a touch of fear.

"How... are you doing that? That's not possible."

There are many things in the Universe to learn and Malia had a good teacher, but Kristoffer hadn't known much about the Ravnos or their illusions, so this area Malia suffered a distinct lack of knowledge and that bothered her, a great deal. Her eyes narrowed as she looked over Piscina and her spread of dream food. Frowning. There's no way it could be as good as it smelled. Hell, if she drank the wrong blood she'd be vomiting her blood supply across the room. But it did smell wonderful... apple pie?

If she could have drooled she would have. She did inhale deeply and looked to Vanja to see if the scruff child vampire had any idea what was going on.
English Norwegian Spanish I'm bad, and that's good. I will never be good, and that's not bad. There's no one I'd rather be than me.
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Piscina
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Ancilla
* * * *
The woman in the booth smiled. When she spoke, she pitched her voice clearly enough so that Malia could understand her, but softly enough that the words could not easily be heard beyond the confines of the booth. Deserted as the pub was, there were still mortals about.

"I do this it just as I move with dead limbs, love with a dead heart, and speak to you with breath I do not need. We are both impossible, in our own way, I wager."

She paused for a moment, gauging Malia briefly, then the child assuming Vanja followed. Apparently deciding something about them, she continued.

"I am Piscina Sherwood of the bloodline Ravnos. I am here to honor the Domain of the Anarchs in London and seek permission to move through this territory. If you are of the Sect, you are welcome to this tribute."

As if to illustrate, she reached over and popped a slice of cheese into her mouth. It was also something of a calculated motion--ancient as old kings who would eat before their guests to prove the food was not poisoned.

"If you are not, you are still welcome," she continued. "But in exchange I ask for news of this place and its people."
Edited by Piscina, Wednesday, 26. March 2014, 16:26.
"I am Piscina Sherwood, and this is what it looks like when I speak."

I am the Beast of Piscina Sherwood, and this is what it looks like when I speak.
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Vanja
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"It's not real," she stated sourly in response to Malia, following like a shadow at her heels. It couldn't be real, could it? She stared harder at the food. It smelled real. That must mean it wasn't. A well-practiced trick, just the shadow of reality. If this is just a trick, she thought intently, still plainly staring, then all I have to do is stop believing, right?

It isn't real. She remembered the sweets her sire would sometimes leave on her pillow, sticky with honey and crumbling bits of paper-thin pastry. Karim liked to watch as she tried to cram baklava in her mouth, and the moment it touched her tongue, she tasted nothing but ashes and decay. He'd laugh and laugh at his little trick as she spat and sputtered. "Such a stupid girl." A half-remembered velvety voice, a half-remembered pair of blood-stained lips against her forehead. "It's not real." There would be no honey stain on the pillow, no flakes of pastry between her teeth. Nothing was ever guaranteed when you were a ghoul at the mercy of a Ravnos.

And then the other girl spoke.

The illusion- if it even was an illusion- stuck. Her confidence and concentration were broken, and round, angry eyes darted up to the girl's face.

She had not encountered another Ravnos since the night she grasped her sire's throat between her hands and sucked away his very soul. Now that she was finally meeting another of her kind, all she could feel was a strange sort of empty dread. How dare she state her clan so brazenly, flaunt their illusions so openly, when Vanja had spent her entire unlife trying to hide what she was? It wasn't fair.

"It's not real!" Her balled fists tightened as she nearly shouted at the girl, her own dark eyes meeting the stranger's gaze. "You shouldn't be real either."

The remainder of the billion angry things she wanted to scream at the girl stuck behind her teeth, and instead she fumed in silence, eyes blazing.
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"Sad and angry, can't learn how to behave; still won't know how in the darkness of the grave."
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Malia
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* * * * *
"Huh, illusions. Cool. And yes, I'm an Anarch, but if you're hoping to meet the Baron I'll tell you the same thing I told the little one here. She ditched. Split. Vamoosed. Left like, back in November. Fled to the California Free State. Took her cronies with her. We are currently experiencing something of a power vacuum."

She waved her hands, thumbs hooked together like birds and made little flapping motions like a bird even as she plopped down into the booth. She didn't move to taking the food. The smell was nice enough and even after hearing it wasn't really she wasn't too bent out of shape over it. It had only been a decade since food was food to her anyway.

"But hey since none of the Anarchs around here have their thumbs dislodged from their backsides I'm not sure WHO you gotta ask for permission. There's a guy name Jason, started up a club called the Gjestfrihet Club or some shit. Old fashioned Gentleman's style club, for solitude and contemplation. I haven't gone yet but I know he and a couple of other older types are planning on using it as a place from which to talk and plan and shit. Since they ain't happy with the lack of a Baron. The Prince here's a real Nazi style ball buster. Without a strong Baron they figure he's gonna roll this place sooner or later. Or the Sabbat will. That information enough?"

She regarded Vanja warily. The small girl was having "a moment" clearly and she didn't particularly want to get caught up in it. If she started freaking out or looked like she was going to get all hostile then Malia was ditching; under the table and out the door. She might be a bit tougher than the next 5'2 girl around, but that didn't want she wanted to get hit with a table or some shit. All because someone had an ethical problem with illusion food or whatever. Was nobody in this city sane enough to do some plotting with?
English Norwegian Spanish I'm bad, and that's good. I will never be good, and that's not bad. There's no one I'd rather be than me.
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Piscina
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Ancilla
* * * *
Pisces listened to Vanja and watched her carefully. It was possible she had an enemy here--someone with distaste for her clan that would bleed over every interaction they had. It would not be the first time. Tricksters had a way of leaving a trail of bad blood in their wake that plagued their contemporaries and descendants with stigma. She had difficulty resenting this sort of prejudice terribly much. After all, it was a bias based in the corrupt truth of her blood.

But while she didn't begrudge the girl's bias, she also quietly, mentally prepared herself for the possibility it might explode into violence--always a danger with Kindred. While the childlike dead girl did not seem terribly old by her behavior, that might be a ruse. A trick that a creature with so young a face would be well versed in.

"No, it is not real. And regardless of what should be, I am."

She turned slightly to listen to the Anarch speak, but kept an eye on the childlike Kindred. As she listened to Malia's news, her brows creased in concern.

"No Baron," she muttered.

Then she addressed Malia directly.

"Thank you. These things are useful to know. As you have not accepted the gift I offered for this knowledge, I would be pleased to offer you a small gift of information as thanks. I see that my dreams are strange to you. I will answer one question about them."

Like many Kindred, Pisces wasn't a fan of even the impression of debt. She was a fan of people being aware that she'd give as good as she got in deals, and details about exotic disciplines seemed like a fair trade for a status update on London's Anarchs.
"I am Piscina Sherwood, and this is what it looks like when I speak."

I am the Beast of Piscina Sherwood, and this is what it looks like when I speak.
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Vanja
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She listened as Malia spoke, trying to keep an even keel and absorb what might turn out to be important information. No baron. Wonderful. Elders rising up to take the old one's place? How very Camarilla. Gentlemen's Club? She wasn't sure they'd let her in the front door. Still. Maybe a better avenue to acceptance than this place.

Piscina's words, once again, ruffled a few of her feathers. She wasn't sure what she expected, but a mild-mannered, friendly illusionist wasn't it. Weren't Ravnos supposed to be more impressive than this? Snarling and wild, cannibals who lived on the fringes, who took what they needed and didn't give a damn about the rest? They didn't make pies... did they?

"Is this how my elders act? Trading secrets for favors?" The words felt strange and heavy in her mouth; she hadn't spoken the language in years. It wasn't her native dialect, wasn't the half-familiar language her mum had sung sad little songs in. No, this was standard Vlax Romani, flatter and less lyrical, but far more commonly spoken. Perhaps the other girl would understand the dialect, perhaps only bits and pieces. The words, in any case, weren't terribly important. She'd certainly recognize the language itself. "Are secrets that cheap? It might be one thing for you to trade your own, but that one isn't even yours to give."

Thick brows lowered and lowered until her eyes might as well just be two angry dark lines. She crossed her arms, scowl as permanent as ever, a little brat who looked quite ready to slam a door or throw a temper tantrum. On some level, she knew that one question was harmless, a fair trade. She knew she was letting her emotions get the better of her, fueling an inexplicable rage. But she was, in many ways, still a thirteen year old girl. Vindictive, petty, and fueled by whims and passions. Forever stuck at the worst age in anyone's life. And angry, so very angry, about absolutely everything.

"We are the same blood. But you are very open, and somehow, it makes me trust you even less." Still Romani. Still harsh and wary."Are there more of us here? Where did you come from?"

The questions were direct, pointed, a bit rude. Civility had never been one of her strong points. If she'd been a bit more self-aware, she might've adopted the same helpful approach that Malia had taken. But self-awareness wasn't one of her strong points either. Unfortunately.
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"Sad and angry, can't learn how to behave; still won't know how in the darkness of the grave."
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Malia
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I'm a Queen
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"I think I've save my question for a later time. You never know how useful these little favors and collected questions can be. It's a shame to squander one in ignorance. Besides, I think you and the little one here have more to sort out than just a matter of magical pie. Look for the Hospitality Club if you need a safe place. I wouldn't trust this area to if my life depended on it. For now, enjoy."

She'd collected an interesting coin tonight. Best call it an evening before these two ladies felt compelled to destroy the always dubious peace in a place like this. Malia rose, gave an amused and mannish bow and turned on her heel to allow the two to have their indelicate little argument in whatever barbaric language that was.

She was laughing to herself and even skipped as she walked out of the Tripper. Oh what an interesting evening. She had no real way to judge, but she had a feeling that anyone who could make magic pie might be on the older side of unlife, and if that was the case, well, saving a question for when it might come in most handy was most useful indeed. For now, let Piscina and Vanja have their emotional duel. They knew where to look if they wanted to find a safer place for Kindred to talk than in the middle of a bar.
English Norwegian Spanish I'm bad, and that's good. I will never be good, and that's not bad. There's no one I'd rather be than me.
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Piscina
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Pisces smiled faintly. The young Anarch had lit up at the modest offer, and was positively glowing at the prospect of having a favor, even one as small and highly conditional as this. Pisces adjusted her guess about the girl's clan. Not Brujah. She had to be one of the boon happy ones. Toreador or Ventrue.

And then she was left alone with the disgruntled child. Who was suddenly more interesting, but no less threatening. She also, apparently, knew a southern dialect. Pisces had spent enough time in Southeastern Europe to generally understand the girl, but she knew she'd butcher the dialect if she tried it herself, so she responded in English, which they both clearly knew.

"Yes. I absolutely jeapordize the secrets of our clan by offering to tell someone one thing about pies," she said witheringly. She had quite carefully couched her words to refer exclusively to the dreams on the table, which were elegant but simple expressions of the most basic Chimerical powers. If the Toreador/Ventrue asked something sensitive, she'd invoke that, which would be a fine object lesson in paying very careful attention to precise wording when dealing with Tricksters.

But back to this small girl who claimed to be a Trickster. Pisces could see and understand the fear that hid behind Vanja's rampant aggression. After 1999, any Ravnos would have a fear response to another of her clan, particularly one as obviously vulnerable as this age-trapped girl. How on earth had she survived? But if Pisces responded gently, she suspected the small Kindred would not respect her and mistrust the sentiment for falseness. Besides--she was genuinely somewhat irritated.

"You are foolishly rude to a stranger, and somehow it makes me trust you less. At least your judgement. If you wish answers, best start by giving some of your own, nameless supposed-clanmate of mine. And if you wish the opportunity to give your own answers, stop acting your apparent age. I'm not having a conversation with you if you keep snarling at me like a dog."
"I am Piscina Sherwood, and this is what it looks like when I speak."

I am the Beast of Piscina Sherwood, and this is what it looks like when I speak.
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