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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. Create Your Account! If you're already a member, please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| Into the Surprisingly Pleasant Lion's Den; ATTN Lisbeth, Anarchs | |
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| Topic Started: Friday, 20. June 2014, 15:21 (3,145 Views) | |
| Lisbeth | Friday, 20. June 2014, 22:26 Post #21 |
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Darth Ventrue
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Okay, Lisbeth was no longer pleased. But the die was cast. She kept a discreet distance from the prince and the elder Gangrel, not wishing to offend by crowding in. Based on what she had read and what she was seeing Lisbeth didn't think that Jason would start anything; so Lisbeth took more interest on the reactions of the other kindred in the room. This was an important moment; one that Lisbeth had argued against. Behind her stern countenance the tall Ventrue was nervous for her kinsman. She couldn't protect him politically like she could physically. Jason then started being rather amicable; though Lisbeth winced at the offer of a drink. The clan of kings had very discriminating tastes. It seemed unlikely they had bourgeoisie capitalist on tap. Eventually the tall woman's gaze settled back on her prince and the elder. She clasped her hands together behind her back. |
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| Victoria Scott | Saturday, 21. June 2014, 00:55 Post #22 |
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
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"Victory. We have an interruption. A royal interruption. The Prince of London is downstairs." It stroke her as a blade of pure ice right to her stomach. The friendly tone she had held during the conversation with Pisces turn into a growl from the deepest pits of her throat. "The hell is he doing here?" "Enjoying hospitality, presumably," Piscina said, punning gently as she watched Tory carefully. "You're upset. You do not like this man?" "Ngh." If it was a snort of laughter or a snarl, not even Tory could determine. Admittedly, it was closer to the latter, or so the dead calm of her pale features hinted. "I thought you knew me better Pisces. Haven't your sparrows watched the North lately?" "Victory, last time we met you were fighting for the Camarilla. You've only gotten a few years into catching me up on what has caused such changes in you. And yes. For danger. Not political movements. They're not good at detecting that." "I never liked Princes." At this point, Tory noticed the Ravnos was taking off her clothing. Although curious, she supposed there was a clever reason for Piscina's imminent nudity and only dedicated her a raised eyebrow before going back to the topic of her sparrows, the North, and a couple of not so spontaneous combustions in Enfield. "I was more thinking of the explosion at the Tripper. And the Houdini who tried to set an Anarch on fire the night before." "Ah. I heard of this. People are saying it's a Tremere. I think this is a silly rumor. Or possibly, a very, very stupid Tremere. But more likely a silly rumor. Well, perhaps he will say something about this to gentle your growling." A change of clothes was produced from a sack. "Or perhaps not. We shall see. Anyway. I hope you will not think less of me if I curtsy. He is part of my most profitable customer base." "Warlock or not, the pyro was a Cape. The only thing that would gentle my growling would be for the Ventrue to tell his dogs to stop walking down our territory like they own the place. And to learn some fucking respect." She got a hold on the glass of fresh dream-whiskey Piscina had poured for her before, and gulped it down entirely. The fiery water stung at her throat and set fire to her stomach, and almost immediately, engulfed her brain in blurry vapours. "I don't mind. It's me who swapped lanes. That doesn't mean all my friends have to. But I will accompany you downstairs." "Lovely. Let us descend." Miss Sherwood did arrive soon after, alongside the client she had been with. Her dress was unremarkable, white blouse and black skirt, notable likely only to Iakov because she had stripped off the shawl and all of the usual colorful hints particular to her culture. As a result, the initial impression was that she was a small, Spanish woman, not a small traveler woman. Tory, who didn't think the way she dressed mattered one bit, wore the same clothes as always. Worn out pants, a sleeveless white Sisters of Mercy T-shirt and black boots. The sempiternal leather jacket was left home in favour of the growing heat and Masquerade. Her hair hung free down to her shoulder's line, kept long tonight, partially hiding the yellowy fangs at her right lobule. But she did care to maintain a stoic posture descending the stairs alongside Pisces, not letting her wrath take part in this meeting. Her eyes went through every Kindred in the room, finally stopping at Alarik, though her mouth remained a fine line of purplish, closed lips. The civility of greeting was left to the Ravnos, then. "Good Evening Mister Dahlgren. Good evening, your highness. Leslie." Jason was first, because of his age, and got a nod, because he did not stand on formality. The Prince received a half-curtsy, because he was royalty and this was England, Leslie a brief smile, because she was young and pleasant, and the strange woman who was obviously with the Prince a very slight nod, because she was an unknown factor. Pisces used peripheral vision to locate Iakov, but did not address him, because he was not part of the conversing party that had clearly formed around the Prince, and they did not know each other at the moment. This shit had been drilled into her in the 1920s. |
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| Alarik | Saturday, 21. June 2014, 01:28 Post #23 |
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"Papers, Please."
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Ms. Sherwood, despite her very English name, turned out to be an immigrant Kindred of southern extraction. His own Eastern European bias had him settle on something of Bulgarian or Balkan extraction, though he couldn't be sure. Ethnicities mattered little though when it came to etiquette, and he presented himself with a bow and a kiss on the back of her hand, as a proper Ventrue should. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Sherwood." Next, he turned to the other woman, who clearly didn't want her hand kissed. He shook hers instead. Firmly, as he would a man's. She didn't appear very talkative, and he in turn didn't feel like repeating his name as if he were the new company intern. People were expected to know. After making acquaintance with the pair, the Prince surveyed his audience. Aside from the Elder Dahlgren there was Ms. Sherwood. Then there were Ms. Leslie the maybe-Ventrue and a man in the obvious trappings of the working class (a true proletarian?) and Ms. Sherwood's female friend, who seemed to him the more typical picture of an Anarch. The ghoul, in his mind, didn't really count as people. The others were also unknown faces, as far as he could see. Perhaps he would learn more about them later. OOC He'd rehearsed the general outline of the statement that he was about to make, but remained uncertain about the particulars. Comrades? He was most comfortable with that particular form of address, but had been told that it made others uncomfortable. Friends? Too informal, and would it sound insincere. Be insincere. Anarchs? That'd imply the sort of division that he did not want to exist. This was not an us-vs-you type of address. Rather the reverse. In the end, he settled for an alternative to an exhortation. Turning to the bar, he picked up a (remarkably clean! this place is great!) tall glass and a spoon. Turning once again to face most of the assembled, he would softly tap the spoon against the glass. Ting ting ting ting ting "If I might have a moment of everyone's attention?" It was a rhetorical question to maintain a pleasant fiction. On account of his office, he'd probably had the attention of these Kindred from the moment that he'd been recognised. But whereas Archon had basked in the attention (indeed, any kind of attention), he typically shunned it. While not exactly an introvert, he vastly preferred one-on-one conversations to the unpredictable dynamics of groups. Especially groups of Kindred with whose agenda's he was not familiar. It is too late for doubts now. You are here. You are going to do this. "As most of you already know, the establishment known as 'The Tripper' was attacked by an unknown assailant a few nights ago. You may also have heard that a Kindred of Clan Tremere was involved in this violent incident, which almost certainly involved the use of fire or explosives." In his dispatch, Seneschal Henderson had also mentioned that some anarchs believed that the attack on the Tripper had been an act of Camarilla revenge, but Alarik didn't want to give credence to these rumours by repeating them. They were just too silly to believe. Revenge? What for? For the audacious act of sitting around doing not very much at all? The Prince lifted his arms and showed both the palms of his hands in a manner so that they were both about level with his shoulders. A sign of openness, rather than surrender, as he continued to state emphatically that: "I want you to know that I did not order this attack. The Regent has similarly denied involvement, and the matter is being investigated. All options are on the table, from a rogue agent to a diversionary attack by the Sabbat cultists that make their Havens to the east of your territories. The evidence will have to bear out what really happened." There was another theory, which the Prince did not care to float in present company. The Tripper was pretty much a direct rival for this place which, at present, seemed to be packed. It wouldn't exactly be unheard of for Kindred to take care of the competition by violent means. Say, by Dominating some mortal into blowing himself up. If that was the case, Mr. Dalhgren had done the community a huge favour, Alarik thought. This place was far superior to the filth of the Anarchs' old watering hole, as it had been described to him in his ghoul's reports. "When the previous Tremere Primogen threatened the same establishment with fire, I cut off his hand and burnt out his tongue. I still keep the hand, in fact, as he will not be permitted to regrow it until the anarchs and others of the Camarilla agree that he has sufficiently repented. I promise you tonight that if the culprit is brought to justice before me, he will lose more than just a hand." And then for the closer. Probably a risky one, if any extremist anarchs were around, but it was the best way to phrase his position: "We may disagree on many things, but it is still my responsibility to keep this community safe and prosperous. Violence against all those who are protected by our ancient treaties will not be tolerated." Edited by Alarik, Saturday, 21. June 2014, 01:34.
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| Yukiko Miyazaki | Saturday, 21. June 2014, 02:50 Post #24 |
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Elder
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A smallish young woman with brown hair arranged in a tight, severe bun that suggests professionalism, slightly reinforced by the horned spectacles on her nose and the crisp black women's business attire she wears, ambles down the stairs, carrying a roll of thick paper, somewhat reminiscent of parchment. The roll is taller than she is and she needs both of her slender arms to carry it. Along with a stepladder, carried by simply attaching two lengths of rope to it so it can be worn like a backpack. While the Prince makes his announcements the young mortal woman quietly makes her way to the bar, keeping politely out of people's way until she moves next to Lynx, giving him a brief but friendly little smile. With a polite half bow to Leslie. She doesn't speak or respond noticeably to the speech, which isn't intended for -her- anyway, being a mortal and thus beneath the notice of the assorted Demons visiting Father's establishment. She does observe. Quietly. Curiously. Watching the proud, predatorial creatures with big, curious, slightly slanted brown eyes that twinkle with the excitement of a suddenly inspired artist. Pretty, pretty monsters...oh yesss.. Such pretty, pretty monsters. Hmmm.. Her head slowly tilts slightly to the left. |
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Yuki is somewhat small, with an athletic build but the muscletone of a wet noodle. She looks to be in her early twenties. Those with an interest in Manga may recognise her as 'MissMatch' a noted illustrator in the business. Italics are inner monologue, White is Japanese | |
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| Piscina | Saturday, 21. June 2014, 18:38 Post #25 |
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Ancilla
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Piscina listened pensively as the Prince spoke, nodding very slightly at a few points. Not being a faithful towerman, she wasn't inclined to immediately take the Kindred's words at face value, but not being a bitter Anarch she was similarly disinclined to disbelieve them simply because of his office. So she was left with a fairly unbiased look at the facts. The Prince's words lined up with the more well-founded rumors Piscina had heard, and moreover made sense. The Camarilla as a whole gained nothing that she could see from this random destruction. It was more likely an individual vendetta, or a move in an Elder's game, which was the same thing as an individual vendetta, only on a larger scale. His presence here was clearly intended to stop an escalation of violence, which was further proof of his, personal innocence in this specific matter. The investigation would be an exercise in absolving the Prince and further this message, which might coincidentally stumble on the truth. All this served to emphasize that the Prince did not want conflict with the Anarchs, which was relevant to her, since most of her allies were Anarchs, and it might eventually mean he did not want conflict with her. Which was desirable. But the speech and the ancient treaties did not apply directly to her. She was not the target audience here. Jason, Tory, and Leslie were. And Tory was looking less than enthused. At the words "still my responsibility to keep this community safe..." Piscina reached out reflexively to touch Tory's arm. The short, slight Ravnos didn't have a chance in hell of stopping the powerful Brujah from storming forward in anger should she choose to, but that wasn't the point here. The motion was a gentle reminder, during the portion of the speech Pisces suspected Tory would find most offensive, that things existed outside of her rage. And that circumspect approaches, while not always the correct choice, existed for her to consider. It was a familiar gesture that had often occurred in New York. Generally during interactions with Caspar. In the meantime, Pisces watched Jason for his response. Owner, Anarch, eldest, he had the authority to set the tone of the rest of the conversation. And potentially much more. |
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"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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| Leslie | Saturday, 21. June 2014, 19:16 Post #26 |
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Flemish... furry... flirty... feline! (YODO) Perfection Purrs!
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The Gangrel nodded at Piscina when she arrived and then she looked at Tori. Ah... that troublemaker had been met once before. Better to be careful around that one. Then Yukiko appeared and Leslie gave her a quick smile before bringing her attention back at the Prince. She was there when the previous Tremere Primogen forgot his friendly attitude. She had witnessed it and had heard how the Prince had dealt with. So she was confident that the Ventrue would indeed punish the one who had been responsible for the destruction of the Tripper. The Prince made an honest and impeccable impression. You had to give it to him that he ha guts for showing up here and talking to all Anarchs in a down to earth honest way. Depending on how honest this Prince could be of course. The Flemish girl was certain he didn't reveal all the thoughts and worries on his mind. While the Prince did his thing Leslie took in the sight of the others there. Her gaze stopped on the woman. Fuck! That was one scary woman. Leslie wouldn't mess with her. On the contrary she would stay away from here. Those ice queen eyes could freeze any Beast probably and if she was Ventrue as Blücher then she also had other disciplines to get a Beast in her grasp and cage it. Nervously her stare fluttered around the room. She wondered what the others thought. She noticed Iakov and Sokol was at his feet. She locked her eyes with Sokol. Message to Sokol for Iakov.
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English Dutch French German Demon: Leslie's ghoul cat! IA Business
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| Victoria Scott | Saturday, 21. June 2014, 22:29 Post #27 |
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
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OOC Contrary to Leslie, the Brujah was far from impressed. In fact, his very presence here was a provocation. "He knows we can't touch him." Mannerisms, protocol, speech... It all had been studied, rehearsed ad nauseam to the point it had no meaning anymore. Where others saw experience and grace she unmasked tricks and lies like a cancer spread across the centuries, the very sustenance of the so-called Clan of Kings. The tapping on the glass broke into her ears like the laughter of ravenous hyenas closing around a prey. Their teeth, though, were the words he spoke. Poisonous, pretentious and goddamn empty of the tiniest, wee bit of respect. As the Ventrue kept going on his discourse, her brain morphed the words on her head to the language of politics, the one she had forcefully learnt under the Tower's iron wings. "...unknown assailant... Which almost certainly involved the use of fire or explosives." He allows himself the benefit of the doubt. We are not to be given credibility until a chosen agent of his convenience speaks a final version. Our eyes and word as Anarchs means less than the bark of dogs or the rant of children. "I want you to know that I did not order this attack..." And thus this is not my responsability and my presence here should be regarded as a benign gift to you. "All options are on the table, from a rogue agent to a diversionary attack by the Sabbat cultists that make their Havens to the east of your territories. The evidence will have to bear out what really happened." Again, you are not given any credibility, and I will shrug off any kind of responsability you try to put on my shoulders. Don't expect any apologies. "...I promise you tonight that if the culprit is brought to justice before me, he will lose more than just a hand." And finally, the carrot. Now where was the stick? "...but it is still my responsibility to keep this community safe and prosperous." Here was the stick, in the form of feigned paternalism, a merciful hand lend to his wayward children. Be her alive, her heart would be racing dangerously in her chest and her whole body would shake in anger and loathing. Piscina's calming caress came in the right moment. It reminded her political battles weren't won by the sword, and since harming the Prince of London would do anything but shoot the Anarchs of the North in their own feet, she'd have to adapt to the weapons she had in hand and those were the same tools he was bringing into play: Venom and words. For one thing, she was going to show him she was far from the stereotype that shadowed her clan and her sect: That they were a bunch of ranting teens whose only cause was to make daddy angry. Because they were Unbounds, age was a secondary thing. Age and status were not so powerful a concept inside the Anarchs as it was to the Ivory Tower. Here respect was earned by one's own actions, regardless centuries lived or past accomplishments. And so Jason was for her nothing more than the owner of Hospitality. Thus, after a few seconds of silence, she took a step towards the Prince and his bodyguard and spoke first. "First of all, he was not an acolyte of the Sabbat or a rogue agent. I can guarantee so because I was there that night. I can even remember his name, and it was Sebastian. He was a member of your sect, as the assailant himself stated a couple of times before jumping from his seat and setting fire to one of my brethren, in a closed environment full of Kindred." Alarik was not the only one who knew his way around protocol and social meetings. She had been an agent of the Tower many more years than she had been an Anarch, and she didn't earn her ancilla status and Scourge office by ranting around. Her voice was firm but calm, and the only hint the rest of the group had about the Beast raging in her chest was the way her eyes pierced the Prince fiery and the rigidness of her posture. "Both the pyromancer and the bomber are dead now. They did lose more than a hand, but less than we did. We lost our place, we lost many lives and unlives, we lost the unbreakable certainty that this place is secure, a land for us to thrieve and seek shelter. We lost our sanctum by hand of members of your sect. Twice." She marked the last word, hoping he knew she was referring to the Tremere Primogen. "Be them under your orders or not they crossed our borders and came here, lacking any single tad of respect, and attempted against ourselves in our own grounds. Our home. The one you claim to protect." She made a pause. This time, the Brujah was the one to covertly seek the comfort of Piscina's touch. Now she felt her voice tremble and seether with so many words she wished to say instead of this huge bunch of lies and political correctness she was forced to hurl. Tory knew, for now, that she would have to pause and let somebody else talk before losing her shit completely. But first... "I know for a fact no Anarchs have gone around Camarilla land burning and desecrating your Elysii and homes. Because if they did, the whole of us would be ashes in the wind by now. If you were to apply the Lex Talionis in this particular case, the Muse would have to burn. But that's not what we want, I'm sure. What we want, what we need, if you don't mind my boldness, is for your people to be accountable for their own actions and to know their limits. And that's what we are asking for, Your Highness." |
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| Lisbeth | Sunday, 22. June 2014, 00:10 Post #28 |
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Darth Ventrue
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The Brujah's aggressive posturing by stepping up in the Prince's space; and the clear rage that was brewing in her as her beast crouched just under the skin did not illicit the response that some might have expected in Lisbeth. In fact, the towering Ventrue woman didn't flinch or step up in response. To all appearance she remained calm as she had been; though instead of her gaze continually scanning the room, they were now on the speaker. A question quickly appeared on the Ventrue's face; but she held off as a quick glance at the prince revealed he was ready to reply. The behavior of the Brujah was indicative of the behavior she had come to expect from the more hard-core Anarchs. To argue for arguments sake. To fight battles that didn't need to be fought because that was all they knew. It served the interests of their elders that the endless conflict continued; and so it did. They were toy soldiers pushed into battle by invisible hands. It would take an Anarch of exceptional character indeed to resist this pressure and make a political accord with the Camarilla. Instead; petty battles between them continued. The only ones that profited were the Sabbat; and all the other enemies of the Kindred. |
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| Alarik | Sunday, 22. June 2014, 00:35 Post #29 |
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"Papers, Please."
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The Princes' hand reached for his forehead when Tory mentioned the name Sebastian. He knew that name very well, seeing how he had forced that particular Kindred to take it, in lieu of his preposterous alias. The bias that he had harboured since the man's very Presentation under Prince Hamilton were all justified. If only the suicidal mission that then-Primogen Alarik Blücher had conspired to send him on had been, well, suicidal... But WHY? Why would not one but two eccentric but otherwise reasonably well-respected Kindred ruin their unlives by attempting to destroy the Tripper without any plausible motive? It makes. No. Sense. Not unless some kind of game to incite a war is being played. The long-term implications of Lazarus' death and the forces behind it were beyond the immediate grasp of this meeting, though. For now he would simply have to play the part that he had set out to play. If that wasn't the part that some Elder with an agenda wanted him to play... tough. He couldn't live his life by second-guessing the covert agendas behind events over which he had no control. "Some of what you say is new information for me. Plainly, we do not yet communicate as much as we should", the Prince conceded with a calm that was forced. It was easy to be riled, swept up by the other Kindred's argumentative, passionate tone. But it would not fit with the dignified benevolence that he hoped to portray. Open cards. A joint cause. Lets not mention that he was Ventrue, though. No need to spread this fool's disgrace around to the entire Clan. "Sebastian's absence from the ranks will be easily verified. When his guilt is definitively established, I will see to it that his assets are seized and turned over towards the rebuilding of the Tripper. His name and the names of those in his line will be damned and stripped of all honours. An example will be made of him." His shoulders slumped in an affectation of sympathy and he extended an open palm towards Tory as a gesture of cooperation as he continued with a mournful intonation: "I cannot bring back the dead, but I can at least make sure that others are dissuaded from following his example, as well as providing some small measure of compensation." He frowned. He had not wanted to spend money on this affair, but it was an opportunity to be recognised as charitable that he could not afford to pass up on. "If any of your ghouls remain injured, I can see to it that they receive the best possible private care. And if there is anything I can do to help... please, let me know." |
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| Iakov Reznik | Monday, 23. June 2014, 09:32 Post #30 |
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"Persona Non Grata"
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Iakov noticed for a moment that Sokol seemed distracted while the eloquent Prince was giving his address. He tried to ignore it and focus on deciphering all the English that was being traded about the room but the hound insisted on pressing his cold wet nose against his hand. It was obvious the hound wanted his attention. Sokol to Iakov: The hound had no concept of what the man was trying to achieve, but knew by his body language that he was Alpha. This was to be sure. Iakov however, didn't even know what The Tripper was. Obviously it meant a great deal to the local Anarch community. His eye wandered over the group of people nearest to the Prince. As soon as the angry woman Piscina was with began to give the man a piece of her mind, he grew worried that his sire might become embroiled in some kind of physical altercation. The massive woman however looked very unhappy, and Iakov was sure to not engage her in eye contact. The bohemian scratched the hound behind the ear and gave it a new message. Sokol to Leslie While the hound played middle man to their messages, Iakov watched the exchange between the Prince and his sire's acquaintance unfold. He went to take a sip from his glass, but the blood had all been drunk. With a slight frown he watched things uphold, looking stoic, but interested in what the man had to say. Perhaps his sire wouldn't have to divulge her clan status tonight. Just like the small set of horns that protruded from the crown of his head, she too had hidden the tell tale signs of her lineage. |
![]() English - Russian - German - Czech - Romani - Chimerstry IllusionsGhouls: Hounds- Sokol, Oskar, & Luka / Horses- Milos & Kamil- Piscina's Sparrows | |
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| Jason B. Dahlgren | Monday, 23. June 2014, 11:43 Post #31 |
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För Kung och Fosterland
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Jason merely... listened. He said nothing, made no moves or any indication as to how he felt about what was said. The Gangrel merely observed, because he was more interested in keeping the peace of the club intact than anything else. Which meant that if tempers started flaring he'd "politely" indicate for people to take it someplace else. Though, for the time being, things were civil. |
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Swedish - English - French - Latin Amber wolf eyes - Permanent fangs - Claw-like nails | |
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| Lynx | Tuesday, 24. June 2014, 17:32 Post #32 |
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Lord Torchwood
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Lynx really had nothing to contribute to this proceeding and it seemed like one of those moments when being a mortal might be awkward. He reached out and carefully tugged on Yuki's sleeve and motioned for her to join him fully behind the bar. Then he took out his cloth and proceeded to start wiping down the bar counters slowly. The polishing rag had a bit of spray on it, just to keep the wood gleaming and the dust away. As far as anyone would be concerned should they look over at him he was doing his job, and paying absolutely no attention to the vampire politics going on in the room. Last thing he wanted was for someone to displace their anger and decide to "chastise the uppity mortals" or something else guaranteed to make Jason explode like a small nuclear bomb. Shit sounded tense enough as it was. Either way he did his best to make no sound beyond the very soft wisk noise of his cloth on wood. |
color code 00CC00 #BC8F8F: Japanese ![]() “if you consider a woman less pure after you've touched her maybe you should take a look at your hands” Permanent Fangs - Flaw Sharpened teeth from fangs back - Frenzy Mark | |
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| Piscina | Tuesday, 24. June 2014, 20:06 Post #33 |
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Ancilla
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Jason had no input. Hmm. "That's a generous offer," Piscina asserted quietly, though she was looking at Tory, not Alarik. Tory was still clearly, legitimately, upset about the man's failure to control his people. But it wasn't every day a Prince made an open offer of assistance, and Pisces was concerned that Tory's bias would blind her to the significance, or worse, that she'd be offended at the idea of compensation. Blood money for vampires. And even if Tory had further objections, the man's efforts should be acknowledged. Because failing to acknowledge someone's efforts was the fastest way to stop them from making any effort at all. So Pisces gently made sure that the first response to the Prince's words was positive, stood as a potential trail for Tory to follow to compromise, and established a slight roadblock in the fact that Tory would have to disagree with her ally to take umbrage with the Prince's words. But at the same time, she kept the comment slight enough so as to not affiliate herself with the Anarch cause. Because that would be impolite and misleading. And she'd hate to ever mislead anyone. Edited by Piscina, Tuesday, 24. June 2014, 20:08.
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"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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| Alarik | Tuesday, 24. June 2014, 23:02 Post #34 |
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"Papers, Please."
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So far so good. The Prince hadn't exactly expected the people who had ripped part of the Domain from the grasp of his predecessors to applaud his every word. So the relative silence was probably a Good Thing. The silence on the part of the Elder was curious. But then, Sir Dahlgren probably saw no need to meddle in the petty concerns of these younger Kindred. As was his right. He nodded slightly towards Piscina, though his eyes, too, remained on Tory. If anything else was to be said before he left, it would be up to the feisty Anarch. |
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| Lisbeth | Wednesday, 25. June 2014, 06:10 Post #35 |
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Darth Ventrue
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Lisbeth shifted uncomfortably. The Brujah had stormed into the room and with all that hot air blew the ship of diplomacy off course. The other woman; Piscina offered a meek effort in response to such a bold presentation. The elder Gangrel's silence also did not bode well for dialogue. The rest of those assembled seemed either cowed into silence, or perhaps tacitly agreed with the Brujah. The frustrating thing for Lisbeth was, the Brujah Tory made a lot of noise, roused the rabble; but did not appear to actually have taken a position of leadership. In point of fact, there did not seem to be any leader here. That did not bode well for diplomacy. It was just a room of frustrated, angry people. Lisbeth crossed her arms and her gloved hands gripped her arms through her coat. The tides seemed to be shifting towards the Prince departing. She moved closer to him; waiting for a sign. |
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| Victoria Scott | Wednesday, 25. June 2014, 18:09 Post #36 |
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
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Her pose didn't relax one bit. She stood rigid in her point, still and motionless as only a dead body could, deprived from all the bodily functions that made the human anatomy a tapestry of nervous micromovements and spasms. She catched Piscina's stare in the corner of her eye, but kept focusing on Alarik. Neither did the force of her gaze change. It wasn't fueled with any particular hate, but acknowledgement. It was as if the Brujah was trying to tell the Ventrue 'I see you.' Her voice on the other hand seemed to be perfectly calm next time she spoke. "I'm grateful you show an understanding to our concern, Prince Blücher. It is very generous of you to offer us help and compensation." As an affected gesture, she looked at Alarik's hand but refused to raise hers. Then looked back at him. "However, you should ask my fellow brethren about said subjects, as I don't talk on behalf of others nor am I an elected Baron. I can only speak my own mind and say I hope this is the last time we are obliged to face such a sad and troublesome situation." She stepped back, scanning the place and the atendees for the first time. All but Piscina were silent, apparently minding their own business. "Now, if you'd excuse me..." A last look at the Ravnos and, unless the Prince would speak directly to her once again, she motioned to the stairs and left the room. |
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| Iakov Reznik | Wednesday, 25. June 2014, 18:59 Post #37 |
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"Persona Non Grata"
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There was something about the towering woman at Alarik's side that caught his eye. A certain stoic hardness that reminded him of the old country. Her brow, her jaw line, the way her lips refused to shed any hint of emotion, they all gave her away to him as as being of Slavic origin. With the coat and gloves she looked like some kommandir observing their inspection. Was she a devout party member of the old order? He could only guess. Iakov set down his glass and continued to study the woman and the Prince. If the Prince did have a hand in the scandal, he was making a bold move to cover his tracks. Despite all this, being here, tonight, was perhaps the last place Iakov EVER wanted to be. The Prince knew his face now, and if Malia spoke any word about him to this man, he was sure to bring him in for questioning at some point. Iakov's Beast: No...You're safe here. Be reasonable. Keep your head. It took the Rom a great effort to stay in his chair and look (at least slightly) comfortable. The beasts urge to flee was tempting and great. He felt cornered and claustrophobic as the tension mounted. Hopefully they would leave soon. Edited by Iakov Reznik, Wednesday, 25. June 2014, 19:07.
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![]() English - Russian - German - Czech - Romani - Chimerstry IllusionsGhouls: Hounds- Sokol, Oskar, & Luka / Horses- Milos & Kamil- Piscina's Sparrows | |
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| Alarik | Thursday, 26. June 2014, 01:16 Post #38 |
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"Papers, Please."
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The Princes' eyes stared back at the Kindred woman who had accompanied Miss Sherwood down the stairs. It was a pity that they hadn't been properly introduced, Alarik thought. In his view, she was quite possibly a replacement Baron: credible in the eyes of her peers, aware of how the game was played and not (apparently) blinded by an infantile rage against the machine. Whether she was someone he could do business with remained to be seen. But that was something he could go and find out. Or more accurately: have found out on his behalf. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name, miss...?" he asked of her. He hoped for an answer, but regardless, he would let her go up the stairs afterwards. Of course, there was no Baron who could speak for them all. He would have to rely on word of mouth therefore. He raised his voice somewhat afterwards to address the grouping: "If any of you have any concerns, or knows anyone in need or help or conversation, you are free to contact me at any time of night." Well, by 'me' he meant 'my Chief Executive Assistant'. But those were minor details that would just make his offer seem less personable as he reached out into his pocket and deftly withdrew a set of seven business cards, which were placed beside each other on the freshly polished bar. Each was the same, made of thick quality paper and containing the night phone number and e-mail address of the Blythe House. Having completed his business, he turned once again to Maybe-Lord Dahlgren, performing a curt bow as he asked, essentially, for permission to depart: "By your leave, Mr. Dahlgren, I should go and attend to other matters of the Domain." When the Gangrel had grunted (or possibly spoken) his approval, he intended to turn around and, with Lisbeth in tow, depart the Hospitality Club. |
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| Piscina | Thursday, 26. June 2014, 03:27 Post #39 |
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Ancilla
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Tory was calm. Tory was even civil. Tory had made her relevant point, and a worthwhile point it had been, and was now done. Pisces was pleased as the sky that her subtle recommendations had been taken. Her main goal had been to make sure her friend's passion didn't win her a powerful enemy, and indeed that had not happened. Perhaps even the reverse. And as an added bonus, the Camarilla and the Anarchs weren't at war! Cheers! She nodded, agreeing to accompany Tory back up the stairs. They were halfway up when the Prince's question reached them. "Victoria," Tory said simply, and continued up the stairs. Piscina dallied for a moment behind her. As long as the Prince's attention was pointed in her direction, she decided to make a cheerful, seemingly offhanded comment. "My compliments on your London, Prince Blucher. It's much cleaner than the last time I was here. Less smoke. Fewer corpses." After this, she'd vanish up the stairs with the Brujah. |
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"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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| Jason B. Dahlgren | Thursday, 26. June 2014, 07:57 Post #40 |
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För Kung och Fosterland
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The Prince was offered a small nod of the head in form of dismissal from the Gangrel who hadn't really let onto much as far as his thoughts on the current matter was concerned. Probably just as well really. He'd wait for the Prince to depart before turning towards the counter again, glancing at the cards and seemingly dismissing them before looking to Lynx again. "You've done good" basically he'd kept his mouth shut, but given the circumstances, that was the best move he could've done. "If you want to make it an early evening, let me know and I'll cover the rest of the shift" he reached over to give the Ghoul a pat on the shoulder. |
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Swedish - English - French - Latin Amber wolf eyes - Permanent fangs - Claw-like nails | |
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7:58 PM Jul 11