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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: |
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| London's Burning?; Open | |
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| Topic Started: Sunday, 29. June 2014, 14:31 (1,027 Views) | |
| Church | Sunday, 29. June 2014, 14:31 Post #1 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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I tried not to linger in front of the charred corpse for too long in case my face got stuck that way. All twisted up, combining dumbstruck and confusion with squinted eyes and gaping mouth. The only thing I'm gonna catch here is flies and unwanted attention. I eventually turn away and pull my phone out, not exactly saddened or engraged but...Jebus. This is too much of a coincidence. I don't have a beer on me to pour out for my homie, the recently condemned Night Tripper, nor would I cause It's hardly upsetting. I never liked the fucking place, but I've got reason to, primarily the bitch who used to run it. But after my vacation to Paris and, with it, meeting up with my old mentor...after stern talkings and flying fists after coming clean all this time...things changed. I realised about three days in - three days of Mac wearing the grin of a shiteater and dragging me around all the cool looking places there were, three days of stacking bodies high and bleeding them dry, three days of victorious and unrestricted fucking, much of which was alfresco - it only took me those three days to wonder why the fuck I should ever come back to this place? I mean, leaving was terrifying. The devil I know, though where he actually is I am unsure, something in my head figured he wouldn't let me leave. That as soon as I stepped on that train it gets blown sky high. Course it didn't happen, and once I got off the other side with everything still attached, running didn't seem like a half-bad idea. I wanted Mac to run with me; no matter where I find myself in the world, I'm sure as long as Mac's there, I won't be bored. And maybe she would've done it gladly. But I never asked. I chewed it over, umming and awwing at the prospect, till I went to visit James Joyce at long last and Letitia knocked the dumb outta my head. As well as knocking something into it. When I'd built the courage to go see her - and after all the fucking touchy-feely stuff - I told her everything. There was some, er, conflict. She got angry at me for being such a fucking moron all my life, I got angry cause I finally got this off my chest and she was pissed at that, she got angry cause I was getting angry, I go- you get the picture. Brujahs in close quarters who actually care about what the other one thinks and feels. I went back to Mac that night all busted up and unburdened, then she sure as hell made sure I remembered who my godess was. Caught between a mean bitch and a hard place, which incidentally was owned by a mean bitch. But she told me to come back, so I did. The rest of our time was sure an experience. Capturing poor baby vamps dealt the worst hand imaginable occasionally being broken up by my head being caved in by one of two amazonians. Sense was beat into it, something I feel my brain has been running without for a good decade or two. What she said to me managed to sink in. Made me...think? Dangerous idea I know, but she had an answer for everything. And while there was so much said and done and learnt, there was one lesson of significant importance. One thing that really stuck with me. Admittedly, it was also something that Mac really wasn't a fan of and turned her into a bigger cunt than usual. Can't take any fucking criticism if you ask me... So anyway, I'm home. Yeah, home, as dreaful and fucking stupid a place that it might be. Panicked a little by the sudden dissappearance of the Anarch foothold, but through the grapevine (and by grapevine I of course mean a bat-eared freak named Wyoming) that my comrades are alive and well, hanging their hat elsewhere. A place that I can't even pronounce. But he gives me directions and I thank him for it. Though he decides to give me a little cryptic bullshit on the end of my call, asking me whether I'm serious about not knowing what happened to the Tripper before hanging up and not answering my callbacks. Prick. Oh well, what does it matter? One thing that sure didn't change during our vacation is my sense of style, cause a little while later and I'm stepping through the front doors of an old townhouse wearing the same boots and cargos that refuse to die. The dark blue hoodie isn't so much a question of if it will die, but when? Place seems...nice? Ugh, as if I could tell. Interior design is not my forte, not compared to my love of thumping things. But that's what got me banned from The Dream, the only other Anarch stronghold I can think of. Seems like the best and only place I can go for some information. I guess I'll head to the bar, see what's on tap? I could get drunk right about now. Then again, I can get riled up just as easily. I hope this place is flame retardant. |
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| Lynx | Sunday, 29. June 2014, 15:06 Post #2 |
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Lord Torchwood
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The man behind the bar, or boy, depending on the expanse of life experiences; appears to be in his early twenties. His blond hair is gelled into a tangle, his green eyes are sparkling with some sort of inner amusement and a thumb thick scar travels down the left side of his face from above his temple to down below his jaw, a couple of hair fine branches messing with the three day's stubble on his jaw. At 5'7 and somewhat stocky he's not exactly intimidating, nor is the black button down, black slacks and soft black sneakers much of a fashion statement. Still he offers a smile to the man who walks in and rests his elbow on the counter. A wide mouthed glass sits next to the cash register, a few fingers of some amber liquid resting in it's depths as it sits upon a napkin. "So, what can I do fer ye then?" His Irish brogue isn't horribly thick, just a faint remnant of the Emerald Isle throwing a few of his sounds out of whack from a normal British standpoint. His golden complexion, steady pulse and a few drops of sweat upon his brow would seem to point towards him being a mortal. Oddly, for those with the Auspex to check, his paled aura would say otherwise. But poor Lynx doesn't know becoming a ghoul gave him a vampire's aura. Not that it matters in this case in the slightest. "We've not got the specialties of some establishments, but we do have a number o'rarefied liquors and beers fer those of a discerning diet." Edited by Lynx, Sunday, 29. June 2014, 15:11.
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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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| Yukiko Miyazaki | Sunday, 29. June 2014, 15:08 Post #3 |
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Elder
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(Woops, Lynx was first, my mistake)
Edited by Yukiko Miyazaki, Sunday, 29. June 2014, 15:08.
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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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| Church | Sunday, 29. June 2014, 15:50 Post #4 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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Everythings too polished here. All so damn clean it sparkles like I do after visiting a strip club. It doesn't strike me as the meeting places for the rabble simply due to the lack of collateral damage after debates devolve to arguements which go one step further as soon as the right spark is introduced. Usually somebody losing a few teeth. Makes me think that the big cheese of this joint is especially big and therefore no fuckers acting out of order for fear of getting curbstomped. That or they don't let troublemakers in, and by that, I mean juicebags too. Fangers don't get drunk and vomit up the wall, after all. If they do, it's a very well crafted mess indeed. I don't see that here, sure as fuck don't smell it. Guess this might actually be a classy place? Jebus, what the fuck am I doing here? But it's quiet...if there's one thing I loathe is that white noise of chatter humming in the background. Having dirty fucking bikers or smackheads rubbing up against you as you wade through the shit. And, would you believe, what the fuck is this? A barman actually wants to serve me in London? Maybe this place ain't so bad! "Well...Fuck 'some establishments.'" I grumble, though he did manage to pull a smirk out of me with the comment. I can hear what I wanted to hear, or assume what he meant suggested an understanding of what I am. "Way I understand things, not many places knowin how to meet the needs of their customers like this here 'establishment.'" I gotta stop saying that word, it doesn't sound right coming out of my mouth. What with having the subtlety of a sledgehammer and the hope that I haven't taken bad directions and wandered into the wrong place, I'm taking things easier than normal. Or maybe that's just the new philosophy bleeding through? Actually ask questions first. Violence actually doesn't solve everything, just most things. Though what does a barman know about the grand scheme of things? "That bein' said, I'll have the strongest thing you got, thanks." I smile, pulling a handful of worn and weathered notes out of my back pocket and onto the counter. God I hope this is the right place or I'll probably look insane as I count through how much I'm carrying. Mortals usually have a little more care and consideration for their money, as well as an appetite to acquire it by any means necessary. Me? It's paper permission. If I don't carry it I have to find other means of getting what I want. "You own this place?" I ask, genuinely unsure as to who or what or how. I'm not wanting to embarress myself by trying to pronounce the name. He's Irish. The name Irish? Wouldn't be the first time a mortal was playing on a different field to the rest of the juicebags. "I lived here a mighty long time, ain't ever seen it before s'all." |
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| Lynx | Sunday, 29. June 2014, 15:59 Post #5 |
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Lord Torchwood
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Lynx's green eyes sparkled and he narrowed them thoughtfully, a slight grin pulling his lips to the left, but that's always there. Then he breaks into a genuine golden smile which lights up his face in amusement. "Aye, fuck'em. We pride ourselves on being able te satisfy. Now when ye ask fer strongest, are ye wanting quality or do ye jest want potent? We've got a good hemoglobin-whiskey, and we've got a raw as hell ever clear as well. Jest in. Poor bastard had te have his stomach pumped after the gathering." He chuckled and stepped back and to the stacked barrels behind him, opening the cleverly concealed refrigerator doors to reveal the cooled hanging blood bags behind him. "Both'll run ye about 200 pounds a pint. I wouldn't call meself the owner. More the caretaker. Jason Dahlgren is on the books as the owner. He's a bit o'an old soul. Enjoys things that remind him of his youth. The wood working and such. I can call fer him if ye need him." Lynx would snag the bag with Church's selection when he made it, moving it over to the bubbling water and setting the timer to bring it up to body temperature. He reached up and snagged a black ceramic tankard, old fashioned heavy handled mug good for holding the entire pint. The way beer was meant to be served, in a hearty dose and plentiful. He figured vampires would appreciate the same sentiment in how they received their blood. |
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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| Church | Sunday, 29. June 2014, 16:49 Post #6 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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Ooooh. I find myself being a little bit hypnotized by the spiel of the Irishman, though that might be the accent. The Irish are all drunk fucktards right? They are the authority on all things alcohol related because it is integral to their biology. That's some mighty fine stereotyping there Church, you should write a book. Regardless, did he just say Everclear? Shit. Didn't know you could get that here. But considering what kind of industry I worked as a living and breathing man, should I be surprised by anything? I can't say for sure whether or not my eyes light up like that certain kid who was taken to that particular candy store that was apparantly awesome. But I'm a little intrigued. Blood is usually blood. Booze is usually booze. And while I don't like to think about all the puppy dogs and rainbows that everything class B and above is, it was always the same old. Fantastic, yes, but rarely different. So maybe this'll be nice to try...even if it's ludicrous pricing. "Think I'd like to try the Everclear." My eyes flit from the fridge to his own, head bobbing with a mild enthusiasm of approval. I count out two hundred, thinking how fortunate it is that I tend to stuff money into pockets without realising. I usually get scrutanized for it too; looking like a scumbag and carrying around fifties usually makes people think a) I'm a thief b) I'm a drug dealer or c) It's fake. Hell, A and B might've been true at some point, but so long as it's real money, who the fuck are they to judge? "Dahlgren?" I repeat the name he said, probably butchering it with this accent. Again, the guy hints at this 'Jasons' present state to possibly fall into the realms of undeath, but that being the case, should I know this cat? I've been around a while. A hermit, sure, but nice places like this usually have somebody important in charge. And seeing as Nora vanished long before her base became a blackened ruin, what does that make this guy? The Baron? "Can't say I heard of him, neither. Don' need to see him unless he needs to see me. Bu' considering the reason I'm here n' all...hmm, fancy..." I pause for a moment as I watch him with mild fascination as he takes a blood bag out and dumps it into what I now realise is a boiling pot. Very damn fancy. Makes me wonder if the Ventrue like to get their little manservants to prep their meals in the same way, make sure it's a certain temperature or they feel the lash. "If I tell ya I'm wanting to know what in the blue hell happened to my old haunt the Tripper, you tell me if ya think I need to speak to the boss man." Straight forward enough? I hope so. Cause frankly I don't want to be wasting time where I don't need to, mine or anybody elses. Perhaps I'm being prejudice, that I can't fathom me liking the owner of such an establishment just based on the furnishings he's chosen to lump it with. Rather, the fact that he even bothered to put thought into such insignificant material things. Then again, I am an estranged fucker who will never own a bar because he wouldn't have any damn customers. I slide the alloted amount across the shiny surface of the bar, though I don't tidy up what stray notes I have remaining. Looks like it'll just be the one drink tonight. |
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| Lynx | Sunday, 29. June 2014, 17:02 Post #7 |
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Lord Torchwood
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Like a practiced magician Lynx's hand passes over the cash and it disappears. He sets off the old cash register with a fancy ca-CHING sound and slips the bills away before shutting the drawer. Turning around he slips the blood bag out of the boiler, snips the end and squeezes it out into the pint mug. At one point this might have given him some pause, but working here has been getting him used to the realities of life. The ghoul turns, steps up to the bar and sets Church's heavy black tankard down in front of him. Authentic vampire pub this place. "I can fill ye in on those details. The Tripper was visited by a Camarilla vampire named Lazarus. Bloke apparently started a row with one o'the folks at the bar. Set her on fire. The crowd tore him te pieces. Next night the place exploded. Prince Blucher showed up here te affirm that it was NOT an attack on Anarch turf. There's a notice he put out o'er there in that closed cupboard. Keeps the announcements in a central location." Lynx raises a hand and points at a cupboard on a nearby wall, it looked like a hanging dart board that had been closed. When the doors were opened several notices were hanging inside. The Princes The Enfield Manifesto "Jason tends te leave the tenants in peace, as long as they're peaceable. Takes a dim view on a right ruckus busting up the joint. Though mostly that's if people start getting real out o'hand. That's why the tables are bolted down. Makes it a bit harder te swing em. Folks'll be folks though, in the long run." The stocky little Irishman scooped the extra bills into a neat little pile, flattened them, folded them over and set them next to Church's mug. He didn't seem to be to concerned with keeping the bar clear, so much as just making it clear he's not snagging the vampire's extra bills just because they're there. |
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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| Church | Sunday, 29. June 2014, 17:52 Post #8 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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I don't get all the details. I get...enough. My eyes settle on the tankard set down before me to the sounds of a satisfactory purr from my inner demon. Suddenly, I can appreciate how hungry I am, even if I'm doubtful I can drink it all. However, as he's so kind as to 'fill in those details,' I find myself locked into places as he mentions the Camarilla. Literally, unmoving. Can't move, probably shouldn't. Probably should listen seeing as I'm not doing much else, but that seems tricky with the sudden mind fuck I got hit with like a god damn baseball bat. Oh Wyoming, you motherfucker you. So a cape sets fire to the joint...next night it's bombed. I guess that's them cleaning up the evidence, as the Camarilla so love to do. There was an incident? Bury and burn it, who cares so long as nobody finds out. The Prince came here too? Clearly I am able to move because my head cranes and follows his hand to the cupboard across the way. Holy shit though, Blucker actually showed up and explained things? Well...I gotta say, I didn't expect that. He showed up and made excuses no doubt, about how the person was completely rogue and likely insane, working under the influence of some unseen shadowy and demonic presence. Course, anything like this happened with an Anarch, they would've died and the rest of the sect suffered forfeits to make it right. I can hear him talking a bit about Jason, something about bolts...but I don't give a shit. "Could, uh...just...watch that would'ya?" I ask, clearly rocked by the information, but still not wanting to waste a perfectly good, two hundred fucking quid pint. I slide my arms off of the bar, leaving the notes there that seem to have stacked together rather nicely without me noticing, and I go wander over to the cupboard in question and open it up. "Procala...Proclamanati-fuck it" I read what parts of it I'm able to, the typed notice from the Prince is everything I expected it to be. Justice! In the form of his name and reputation becoming dirt, something that only a cape would loathe and a Ventrue moreso. He's dead, what does he give a shit? This somehow makes things right? Even? 'If he kills an Anarch without the authorisation of his Elder' - What the fuck!? This is exactly what Tia told me they did. Was I really so dense that I never saw it before? Did me and Victoria really brain each other over this shit? The next bullitin speaks to me a little better. L. King makes some compelling points, and that ain't because it's written in a language I understand. Part of me wants to give them a call. Part of me wants to drive an eighteen wheeler in that snobby art gallery all the capes like to fuck around in. All of me wonders if this is a lucid dream. I reach out to the statement straight from the desk of Mr. Blucker and tear the damn thing out. I'd like to tear it up, of course, but then I'd just be a little Brujah having a tantrum. Hell, I want other people to see the kind of disrespect we're afforded by the pricks in their ivory towers, but I can't leave it there. Not right now. I've got it clenched in a balled fist as I make my way back to the bar, well aware that the barkeep saw me do it. "Go get Jason. Or someone. Just..." My voice, well, it almost surprises me. It's not a growl or snarl as I'd expect, but sort of...tired. Exhausted. Sick of this bullshit and desperate to get it over with. "fucking anyone who can try and explain this bullshit to me." It doesn't reflect how I feel on the inside, though maybe he can get that from the jaw muscles working overtime in my cheek or the absolute venom in my eyes from the words they just read. I reach for my tankard, content to take a sip but find myself chugging damn near the whole thing. As much as I can stomach. Fucking capes ruining my drink, and that's the least of our god damn problems. |
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| Lynx | Sunday, 29. June 2014, 17:59 Post #9 |
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Lord Torchwood
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Lynx quieted, watching the vampire with wary green eyes. His eyes half close as the man stills. He falls silent and slides a half step back from the bar. Not much, just outside convenient grabbing range. It wouldn't protect him much. All the man would have to do is reach over the bar. Still Lynx doesn't say a word as the other tears down the Prince's proclamation and crumples it in hand, then chugs his drink. He nods his head slowly, making no clear sudden movements. "Alright. Give me a moment te ring Jason and he'll be down presently sir." The Irishman is quiet as he picks up the handle of an old black phone and dials the internal extension for the Gangrel's office. He kept his voice soft as he passed along a request from a customer to see him. It was all he could do. The last thing he wanted was to startle Church into an act of violence. It was like he told Reggie. Vampires were a lot like snakes... handle them properly and you could generally avoid getting bitten. Forget they're predators and you'll end up with fangs in you before you could blink. |
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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| Jason B. Dahlgren | Sunday, 29. June 2014, 18:14 Post #10 |
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För Kung och Fosterland
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The phone wasn't answered, then again, it didn't need to be now did it? He knew who was calling and as such, had merely gotten up and headed downstairs as the phone had rang. Which in turn meant that it only took a few moments before the sound of Jason's footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs in at a relaxed pace. The Gangrel, wearing black pants and a discreetly pinstriped vest over a white shirt though lacking a tie, folding his sleeves back to three quarter length out of old habit as he approached the counter. As always, he had that three day stubble of beard, his hair merely combed back with his fingers and tied into a ponytail to keep it (for the most part) out of his face. He also had a few tell tale signs as to what he was with the amber wolf-like eyes, fangs and short but claw-like nails of his, but though his hands were calloused and his features touched by a rough life, he certainly dressed and carried himself as if he belonged to another social layer than that which he'd been part of in the past. "Yes, Lynx?" well he [assumed[/i] it was Lynx calling him, offering the other man at the counter a brief nod of his head in acknowledgement of his presence, though, at the moment, addressing the Ghoul. |
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Swedish - English - French - Latin Amber wolf eyes - Permanent fangs - Claw-like nails | |
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| Lynx | Sunday, 29. June 2014, 18:17 Post #11 |
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Lord Torchwood
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The ghoul waved his hand to indicate Church, his voice soft and respectful. "One o'the customers wished te speak with ye about the Tripper incident." With that the stocky Irishman nodded his head to Church, took out a rag and moved to the other end of the bar, polishing the already polished counter top. It might give the Brujah an idea of why the place ended up so shiny. Because the ghoul stayed the fuck out of everyone's way doing simple tasks so nobody had to feel like a pesky mortal was getting into his business. |
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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| Jason B. Dahlgren | Sunday, 29. June 2014, 18:33 Post #12 |
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För Kung och Fosterland
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The Swede, though curious as to anyone would be asking him about the business with the Tripper, as he was neither a long term inhabitant of the area nor native to it, turned to face Church. And while the two probably looked like they belonged to very different worlds, perhaps, if one knew what signs to look for, it would be possible to recognize that in some aspects, the two of them weren't that different. "Yes, Mister..?" the Swede's tone of voice was neutral, calm, relaxed. Though he let very little, if any, emotion shine through as he regarded the other man, seemingly waiting for him to speak as he was the one with the questions to which maybe Jason had the answers. Although he doubted he did. If anything, he suspected it would be a rather short conversation given the local Anarchs track record so far. But who knew, maybe he'd be pleasantly surprised? Heaven knew that would be a first a first as far as his own Sect in the area. None the less, while he wasn't about to hold his breath in hopes of that, and that despite not actually needing to breathe, he was still willing to give Church a chance to speak his mind. Hopefully using words rather than fists. |
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Swedish - English - French - Latin Amber wolf eyes - Permanent fangs - Claw-like nails | |
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| Church | Sunday, 29. June 2014, 22:05 Post #13 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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Holy shit that stuff hit the spot. A little concussion to the brain sends my beast reeling with blood and then some. A light haze instantly seems to settle in and slow me down, soothe that feeling. It's something difficult to describe, and it makes me wanna give up before I've begun. Disgust. That's a good word. I don't know jack shit so far as what actually happened goes, but it's sickening to me. I don't know Blucker, but I know other princes. What they do for the smallest...not even crime. Any act they deem unacceptable. I remember Malloy dusting a Sheriff about six years back for siring without permission. That's retarded, right? Even if the guy behind it is dead, it is a good point. Capes come and go as they please, I mean, it's not the first fucking time someone set a fire there. Well, this dude isn't what I expected. Though I don't know what I was expecting, so it was pretty much an odds on favourite. I turn to him though I don't step away from the bar. I set the ruined notice down on the bar somewhere in the last minute, fuck if I know when. Must be the booze...or the constant mindfucks this city throws around. "Church. Mista' Dahlgren?" I'm mustering something a little firmer than the voice I requested to see him in. I'm sure I'm saying it right...it just doesn't sound right. Far be it from me to copy the barmans twang, cause I'm sure it'd make sound like I'm garbling. But yeah, I'm showing a little courtesy. When it's shown to me I tend to. But that's usually as far as I go, cause I tend to forget who I'm talking to. Which is especially tricky when I have no idea who this guy is. "I wanna know if you can tell me what he said. The Prince. I mean-" I lift the paper, now realising that yeah, it's fucked. Where it ain't ripped, the paper is mangled with creases and ink smudges. Whoops. I assume he knows what I'm talking about. "-Barman says he came here. What shit did he try and spoon feed you?" |
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| Jason B. Dahlgren | Monday, 30. June 2014, 19:56 Post #14 |
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För Kung och Fosterland
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"The paper, or what remains of it" he motioned towards the crumpled up note. "Summed it up pretty accurately. The Prince stated that he and the Camarilla had no involvement in what happened, that it was not an ordered attacked and that if the culprit turned out to belong to the Camarilla ranks he would be punished" the Gangrel said, still with that same unchanging expression. "He offered compensation to those who had been injured or had lost something or someone to the explosion, and stated that according to the treaty of Thorns, those under the protection of the Camarilla would be protected as such" he gave no inclination to actually believing what he said as much as he was merely reciting what had been previously stated. After all, he was well past the point of caring about anything or anyone outside of his own little family. What the local Anarchs did or didn't do no longer held much interest to him. Same went for the politics of the Camarilla and those claiming allegiance to that Sect. Sad part? It hadn't been that long since he actually did care very much. But times change. Situations change. People change... The Swede regarded the man before him with amber predatory eyes, a relaxed posture matching the relaxed tone of voice. Oh, he had a temper himself, one that did flare when triggered by the right things. But he had no such temper to spare over this matter. The Camarilla wasn't going to change. The Prince, as any other Prince would've, was covering his own back and offering half a hand in hopes of things remaining calm rather than having to wake up to an Anarch revolt on his doorstep. Not that that was likely to ever happen in London. No, in fact Jason was fairly sure the Camarilla hadn't really needed to do anything and nothing would've changed. But, it wasn't any of his business. And either way, a peaceful resolution to things was always the favourable option. He ought to know. He'd seen enough war to know. |
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Swedish - English - French - Latin Amber wolf eyes - Permanent fangs - Claw-like nails | |
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| Yukiko Miyazaki | Monday, 30. June 2014, 22:27 Post #15 |
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Elder
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Yuki is often a perceptive little creature with well honed senses (aside from needing glasses to properly focus) but when the little Japanese girl is concentrating on something you could almost fire off a cannon next to her without getting through. A bit of an exgeration perhaps but up to now the small, freckled brunette had been quietly drawing behind the bar's countertop in case Lynx needed her help, or in case a patron wanted a hand drawn portrait, or in case..well, anything she could be of service with really. Within reason. As is so often the case the girl is wearing something eclectic: A black, circular hat with a flat top and a poofy piece of white fluff stuck to the hat by some glass and brass ornament in the shape of a flower, her hair styled into two 'corkscrews' on opposite sides of her head, a light orange bowtie at her throat, light yellow shirt, with detached sleeves in white, a dark brown bodice covering the lower half of the shirt and laced up at the front, ending in a layered skirt that might be considered on the short side due to the way it flares out halfway down her thighs, dark brown kneesocks with white pinstripes do a reasonable job of still maintaining her modesty and a pair of dark brown and yellow knee-high boots complete the outfit. ..well..sort of..there's a knitted black scarf around her neck that ends in a bobble resting on her shoulder with a face that would be friendly and sweet if not for the mouth full of sharklike teeth. As it is it still looks cheerful. It finally perculates into the girl's consciousness that there are people talking when she sets her sketchpad and pencil down to take a sip from a delicate cup of tea on a saucer... "Nya?" Oh! People! Well, one person..A man, with the kind of growly tone that leaves a tingle in Yuki's stomach. And..further down.. The small mixedblood brunette sits up a little and half turns around to kneel behind the countertop, her head slowly rising to peek over the top of the bar at the visitor. Slightly slanted, expressive brown eyes twinkle from behind a pair of glasses (admittedly not a part of the outfit the character she's dressed as normally wears) and take in the newcomer's features while he talks to Father about that business that is none of Yuki's concern, from the top of his head down to ..drat, she can't see his butt from this angle.. She slowly, unthreateningly, rises a little higher to let her learn forwards just far enough to let her look at Church's cute boy-butt. The tip of a slightly pointy tongue poking out with a mischievous smile and a matching twinkle in her expressive eyes. Then the girl slowly retreats back behind the bar to kneel behind the bar again, with jsut the top of her head and those expressive brown eyes visible. As she considers Church's...are those muttonchops? Is it a style of beard? Whatever it is, Yuki has a pressing urge to sniff the man and nom on his..sideburns? Is that the name? To nom on them, and possibly groom them, perhaps with a comb, perhaps with delicate, carefull fingers. A very soft, happy little purring noise issues forth from her throat. Edited by Yukiko Miyazaki, Monday, 30. June 2014, 22:30.
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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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| Lynx | Friday, 4. July 2014, 13:59 Post #16 |
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Lord Torchwood
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Lynx walked over to Yuki and sighed. He sweared the girl was going to get eaten by something one day. He learned down and whispered in her ear gently. "Not that one girl. I have a feeling he could drain ye as soon as smile at ye. Leave him be and come away. Don't make Jason's nerves rattle when he's dealing with him. Can't ye feel it? The... chill... this one has bite girl. Jest back up and let be alright?" It wasn't that Lynx thought ill of Church, not at all. He was glad to speak politely and smile and joke with the man, as was his job as a bartender. But flirt with? A shiver ran through him. He'd pass. The guy gave off that feeling of quite menace and violence like few of the other vampires he'd run across did. It was like he'd told Reggie. He thought of vampires as snakes, and dealing with them as snake handling. But in Church's case it was an EXTREMELY venomous serpent and he was just as glad to wear safety gauntlets while dealing with him. So if he could he'd quietly nudge Yuki to go back about her business and not trouble the rough dressed vampire and to ease Jason's tendency to worry by having her nowhere near the vampire. |
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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| Church | Saturday, 5. July 2014, 16:44 Post #17 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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(OOC: Sorry for delays, had a busy week) Oh, so the note pretty much summed up the conversation? Well, shit! Though admittedly, what was I gonna do, ask someone to kindly explain it to me in plainer English cause I'm a bit simpler than most folk? I'm not exactly happy with what Mr. Dahlgren has said but I know better than to shoot the messenger, cause that shit'll bite you in the ass when you're the one doing the delivery. That...and he wasn't phased by the question. He didn't seem to jump up my ass, whether through fear or loyalty, and tell me why the Prince was right. Then again, he didn't tell the Prince to go do one and wipe his ass with the little bit of propaganda. My eyes regard it one last time before I let it lay in a heap on the bar, utterly ruined. It's difficult to stomach. The fact that the Prince is willing to compensate for those who lost 'something or someone' to the explosion. I mean...what? Someone? Cause that's all people are the Capes, something to wear on your arm till it's not fashionable anymore. It's...Fuck...whatever. "So, in other words, they couldn't frame somebody else in time. Figures." My voice is low, though decisively not even. It ripples and jumps sporadically because even though I might seem somewhat...well, maybe not calm, certainly not like this guy. Restrained, I suppose. Resisting popping my basket and tearing this place up till its an enormous pile of splinters. Wait a minute. "Wait, you said if the culprit was Camarilla. So he didn't know this-" This who? There was a name, it began with L and incredibly stupid. "-fuck was responsible?" Am I to believe that the Prince did he research, got his investigators on it and determined it was one of their own? No, that's not how they work. It wouldn't have surprised me to read that note and hear that it was an 'Narch responsible. Hell, it seems like something the Camarilla would order then push the blame to the Sabbat. I shake my head, knowing it doesn't really matter. Ultimately, it's one word against another. I guess I'm one of these crazy conspiracy theorists, right? No. I just know that my government is full of assholes. And the thing with assholes, everyones got one. Or something like that. Everyone can be one. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that everyone is born an asshole and has the ability to change. I wonder if Mr. Dahlgren is said asshole? "Who are you in all of this? An' this place, I mean, I get that it's somewhere for us to go, somewhere for us to be...safe?" I guess that's what these places are for. A meeting point for a bunch of fangers, and a bunch of fangers tends to amount to a serious trouble as it relates to trying to kill them. Unless somebody blows up the building they're in of couse. Even so, that's not what I meant, and a hand tries to wave away the question as I continue. "No, what I mean is. This...Are Capes welcome here?" |
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| Yukiko Miyazaki | Saturday, 5. July 2014, 19:45 Post #18 |
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Elder
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Huh, Lynx is actually right. Not to say that Lynx being right is in some way unusual but Yuki was distracted by a cute boybutt and manly, bushy muttonchops, that's the word isn't it? Yes, possibly. ..so yes, distracted by the cute to see the..well..the not cute lurking under the surface, not actually very deep under the surface either so the strange little Japanese girl slowly disappears back behind the bar to lean against it and return to her drawing, muttering softly to herself in Japanese. "There goes the finger pointing and the paranoia again. Why their society has not yet torn itself apart in an orgy of paranoia and backstabbing i will never figure out. Possibly because i do not care." |
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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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| Jason B. Dahlgren | Saturday, 5. July 2014, 21:43 Post #19 |
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För Kung och Fosterland
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Jason, being Jason, merely continued in that same calm tone of voice as he answered the man's questions as best he could. "The Prince claimed he was unaware of who had done it, and as such claimed it was not a sanctioned Camarilla attack" whether or not he believed it was hard to tell as it sounded like he was merely reciting what information had gone his way. "From what that... well, letter" what remained of it anyways. "stated, the culprit as apparently found to be Camarilla and the Prince did his " Jason waved a hand around. "Camarilla thing and stripped his name and so on and so forth, as I'm sure you've already read" politics and names and reputations, what a bore. "As for me? I'm nobody important, merely the owner of this establishment" Jason shook his head. "This is a place of neutral ground, so yes, Capes, Independents and Anarchs alike are all welcome here as long as they adhere to the rules. Anyone found not to adhere to the rules will be evicted and anyone found to disrupt the peace of the establishment may be shown the same courtesy" after all, the Gangrel wasn't interested in the place turning into the Tripper. "However, the Camarilla hardly ever comes around these parts and quite frankly neither do a whole lot of Anarchs. i do believe they prefer their Elysiums and the Tripper, from what I've heard. That the local Prince" funny, he didn't seem to like that word much by the sound of it. "Decided to show up was a bit of a surprise" even if Jason didn't really look like the kind of guy who was easily surprised. |
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Swedish - English - French - Latin Amber wolf eyes - Permanent fangs - Claw-like nails | |
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| Church | Sunday, 6. July 2014, 18:39 Post #20 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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I get the feeling I'm the only one who's outraged here - outrage that I have great difficulty expressing in a non-physical way. It's a different sensation from the norm, from the cheeky fucker giving my lip on the underground or the stupid mugger who decides to pull a knife. That's almost justifiable rage, that someone had the audacity to try and put one over on Church, not knowing he's an undead monster. This? Disgust is the only word I can think of that matches that sticky and sickly sensation in my stomach, building with each word he delivers. I would like very much to test out how secure the bolts keep the furniture in here. But, it doesn't mean I ain't gonna try my darndest not to. Cause don't get me wrong, I don't wanna. I'm not totally unreasonable. If I was, I'd be thinking up the weird and the crazed, probably putting some sort of conspiracy in my head that Jason actually burnt down the tripper in order to get his sales up. Lunacy, I know, especially when he's charging two hundred bucks a fucking drink. But it really is too much to come back to. Like it was meant to happen. I feel...dizzy. Don't know if that's the blood or just me. "I..." I, what? I wanna know who is a Cape here, right now, so I can go bestow a little retribution all over their face? I think you should change your open door policy before this place becomes a mound of ashes as well? My brain struggles to work in the most tranquil of situations, this shit blends it into a lumpy blood smoothie. I find my gaze shifting from Jasons as I try to get out something. I lick my lips, nervous about my building hatred of all things Cammy. "Thanks. I appreciate you takin' the time." I swallow hard, meeting his eyes for a second before looking around the lounge, wondering if I look any paler. I look back at the way in, wondering if I should force myself to hurl as soon as I find a nice alleyway to stay out of sight. "I better go. Before another fire happens." I mutter, again in that voice which does not bear any malice but is rough from the vile taste thats bubbled up to my mouth. In truth, it is before somebody here objects to what I'm saying, gives me some spiel about how the Prince is right and...and nothing. That's as far as I'd let them go before something bad happened. I don't say any goodbyes, cause I don't wanna. I don't thank the barman for his good service, which is a shame, cause this wasn't his doing. I could've had a nice enough time in a place like this, but now I don't know if I'll ever risk coming back. Like I said, one fire is enough, and as long as Cammies and Anarchs are having neutral ground to meet on, there's gonna be sparks. I make my way to the door, figuring I'll wander someplace just me and my thoughts. Elizabeth is welcome to join me, though I forgot that I left her and a pile of her sisters on the counter. If they're smart, they'll take that money and invest in some fire extinguishers. Though if they were smart, they'd probably never have gotten into the game of playing peacekeepers. Cause even when the dust settles and one side seems to have gone one up, it's not over. It's never over. |
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7:58 PM Jul 11