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| Blood Binds and Blinds. [ENDED] | |
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| Topic Started: Tuesday, 9. September 2014, 18:18 (347 Views) | |
| Lynx | Tuesday, 9. September 2014, 18:18 Post #1 |
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Lord Torchwood
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The club had been closed for almost two weeks. Lynx had needed to get his head on straight. A week for Jason to help him get over his disorientation at things like no longer needing to breath, passing out when the sun rose, and how to control his hunger. A week to teach him the basics of hunting... and to remind him of the traditions. Secrecy and seclusion. Never violate the hospitality of another vampire, respect their territories. Things he had been learning as a ghoul. Things he was reminded of. A week to say goodbye to C.J as she prepared to go and learn at the feet of Kristoff Jorgenson, her Grandsire. It had been emotional, but the girl needed to leave her mortal life behind her. She had taken the best guitar from the music room at his insistence and promised that one day, they'd meet again. But she couldn't adjust to her immortal life with so many reminders of her mortal one hanging around her. She needed a fresh start, to break away from everything so she could begin anew. And then the last week had been for himself. To deal with the ache in having them gone. The love he had for C.J. The supernatural bond of loyalty and dedication he had to Jason. It gnawed at his heart. His missing Sire. Who bid that he make his way in the world and succeed. That he learn to hunt, that he survive, and prove himself by doing so. He'd check in with Jason regularly via email. But he was on his own. A Fledgling Gangrel in London, an Anarch by birthright. During that week he'd had Torchwood Hall modified, with shutters that would keep sun from entering the building during the day. He'd sent letters to Yuki and Celeste to warn them that he was no longer among the living, and that they should avoid him if they were going to stay free of vampire influence. He'd arranged for his lawyers to gather all the varied Torchwood assets, to reclaim all the moneys, all the stocks, the bonds, everything. Withdraw from all contracts, deals, brokerages and place all the money into special accounts, numbered ones in Swiss banks that he could access when he needed them. He set up a special trust fund for Celeste so that she'd want for nothing. He'd reassess what he chose to invest his money in in the future. But for now he no longer had ties with anyone but himself. He used part of the money to finish paying for this building. He'd had the security system upgraded, the fire suppression system made top of the line. Then he'd come back to work. The same black button down with sleeves folded back to his elbows. The same apron. He was polishing the bar in the same manner as before. It occurred to the blond Gangrel, that he didn't need to hunt unless he wanted too. He had already made all the contacts he needed to hide here in this building forever. Blood was delivered. He had a huge library to read from. He could play the piano. Perhaps he should contact the Tremere he had heard about, have the building warded to keep him safe, and simply withdraw from the world for a time? But that was for later days. For now he had a bar to run, and a fiction to maintain. For as far as London was concerned, Jason Dahlgren still owned the club, and he was still just a bartender. |
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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| Henry Dawson | Tuesday, 9. September 2014, 19:21 Post #2 |
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The Only Man Looking Out For You
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It took repeated texts to a fellow Anarch expirate from London, who currently lived in New York, to let him in on where the famed Hospitality Club was. It took an hour to get to the location from his haven, and then another hour (complete with a few bumbles) to find the right brownstone; And eventually, sure enough, Henry was in the first proper pub he'd been in for over forty years. The man gently pushed up his aviators to mask his eyes overwhelmed with shock. The bartender doesn't look like a mean drunk, the tables are bolted to the floor, and the place has actual class, in comparison to The Cock, Ram, and Ass. Oh, the Cock, Ram, and Ass, now THAT was a pub! Shame about the murders, though. Approaching the bar, Henry took a sit at a stool slowly and glanced around. Barrels full of alcohol and the place doesn't smell like piss and cigarette smoke. I already like it. "Oy, mate, I'll have a beer and as much information on the city that fifteen pounds can get me." He reached into his jacket, tossing a wallet onto the hard bartop. Removing a stack of bills, he slid them over. "It's been a while since I've been in the city, you can say, and mate, I'm looking to get reacquainted with the old bird, all right? Maybe you can help a mate out, eh?" Henry removed his sunglasses and folded them, placing them in his jacket breast-pocket (near his lucky handkerchief.) "Information like who runs the place, and I'm not talkin' about the wanker that lives on Downing Street, if you catch my meaning." He spoke quietly, a raised brow creating a few wrinkles in his otherwise smooth forehead. The man's lips curled back to form a shark's smile. |
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| Lynx | Tuesday, 9. September 2014, 19:49 Post #3 |
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Lord Torchwood
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Lynx regards the stranger warily. But he also takes out a large glass tankard and pours a black beer on tap, Guinness because he's bloody Irish and proud of it and sets it in front of the man. Then he lays his white mopping rag over his forearm, though the bar is as smooth as glass and as polished as a mirror and clearly doesn't require the cleaning. The green eyed Irishman regards the newcomer and considers him. At 5'7 the stocky blond was not in the least imposing, so he didn't try to be. He just backed up a step to give him some space. "3 pounds fer the beer. Fraid I don't sell infermation here. This is a neutral establishment. Jest a meeting place. If ye don't know who yer meeting, I can't help ye find them. Doesn't pay te get involved in matters of policy and sides and what not, and we're not exactly known fer our members o'parliment wandering about." He clasped his hands and leaned his elbows on the table, regarding Henry calmly. The fledgling wasn't inclined to just start handing out names and places to a total stranger, one he knew nothing about. Those few names and places he had. Frankly that seemed like a good way to make enemies. Lynx had about enough of enemies in his lifetime. Jason's enemies had already destroyed most of his life. That was about all he could handle. If he could bring himself to think poorly of Jason, he might have hated his Sire for bringing the spectre of Malia Hauke into his life. But he couldn't, so he saved that hate for the black haired bitch herself, and just prided Jason on making the best of a bad situation. |
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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| Henry Dawson | Tuesday, 9. September 2014, 20:08 Post #4 |
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The Only Man Looking Out For You
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Eeeegh, fuckin' Irish. This mick isn't gonna give me anything. I'm gonna have to dance around in circles to get what I want. Fuckin' ell. Fuck. Henry regarded the Guinness with mild disdain; It wasn't anything like Newcastle, now Newcastle was a right fuckin' proper brown ale. This ... What kind of trouble have you got yourself into? Don't say anything stupid you fuckin' idiot. Henry's teeth clenched behind a closed smile. "I think I've got more in common with you than you think. See, a friend-of-a-friend told me about this place, said I could find ..friends of the same political affectations, savvy?" He didn't take the draught when it was offered, and rolled his fingers around the offered money. "My name's Henry Dawson, and I think you've got to be Dahlgren, right? I've heard of you, mate." He drummed his fingers on the bartop. "Proper mate, good and smart, yeah. Thought you'd be older lookin', though." |
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| Lynx | Tuesday, 9. September 2014, 20:32 Post #5 |
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Lord Torchwood
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"I ain't Dahlgren. He's in a meeting at the moment. Fraid he's unavailable fer public appearances. As fer his political affiliations, there ain't a leader o'that particular organization in London. Though I heard they meet up some time at a place called the Dream. Ye might have better luck finding some o'the political movers and shakers there. Here we jest drink. Unless ye come te see Ms Sherwood. Then ye'll need te visit room 2B upstairs." Lynx really didn't have any way to help this guy out. If he was looking for Anarch connections he had come to the wrong place. Lynx didn't think more than four Anarchs had ever stepped foot in this place, and one of those had set fire to it. As far as he knew the Anarchs hated his club. He'd been informed that Ms Sherwood was an Independent, which was NOT an Anarch, just separate and outside the political dynamic of Camarilla/Anarch/Sabbat. Leslie was theoretically an Anarch, but as far as Jason had mentioned her he said she was a sweet young woman doing her best to cling to her humanity and avoid politics as much as possible. So there wasn't any way he was giving this guy her number. "I don't have any numbers fer ye. So ye can drink and relax if ye want, but there's no much I can help ye with." |
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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| Henry Dawson | Tuesday, 9. September 2014, 20:49 Post #6 |
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The Only Man Looking Out For You
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Henry seemed agitated. Lynx was being a brick wall and he wanted more information, but the Dream was a start. Reaching into his jacket, he removed a cigar and set it between his chompers. A small notepad was removed from another pocket with a pencil, and he'd offer it over. "If you're going to at least offer me the modicum of help, maybe you can write down the address for the Dream, then? " He spoke, his deep, cockney accent masking a bit of an agitated growl. The man removed an orange-chrome zippo lighter from his pants and flicked it, lighting his cigar. The brief start of the flame was something he was used to; Lynx, on the other hand, may be less inclined to stay calm. He took a long, slow drag from his cigar and dumped the resultant ash into his Guinness. "The Dream, what's it all about, is it a club? And this Sherwood, who's she? What can she offer me, and what can I do for her? She some kind of figure 'ere?" Another drag of smoke, and he'd exhale it as he spoke, taking the Jamaican Bandit between his fingers. It was a fat, hand-rolled stogie with a small sticker on it, signifying the brand. It smelled thick and sweet. |
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| Lynx | Tuesday, 9. September 2014, 21:13 Post #7 |
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Lord Torchwood
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"Yer welcome te leave now. There's no smoking in the pub. So since yer of a mind te be rude, ye can get out then." His fists clenched and then when his hands opened six inch claws sprouted from his fingers. A husky growl in his voice. His smile had showed his fangs the entire time he was speaking, and the sharp teeth behind them. His green eyes flushed a blood red and glowed with an eerie light. Jason had taunted him with lighters. A simple zippo wasn't enough to make him frenzy, but it was enough to bring his blood to a boiling rage and make him ready to drive this rude individual out of his club. So he spoke quietly, and enunciated clearly. His talons gleaming. There was a faint ripping sound as his toenails grew into talons as well, shredding the soft black shoes he had been wearing. "I said before, I dinna sell infermation. Now ye can get out or I can ask the Elders that abide down here te shred ye and leave ye lying in a pool o'yer own vitae. Yer choice." Edited by Lynx, Tuesday, 9. September 2014, 21:14.
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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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| Henry Dawson | Tuesday, 9. September 2014, 21:24 Post #8 |
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The Only Man Looking Out For You
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Claws, blood-red eyes, a glow and a fuckin' threat. If he were having a worse day, Henry could have splashed the Guinness into Lynx's face, ripped the stool off of the ground and - No, no, stay calm. Do what Steven would do. Henry took a deep breath and stamped his cigar out on a paper napkin. The Beast wanted cracked skulls and life's blood. Wanted carnage, chaos and destruction and death and dismemberment; But Henry knew this, and Henry was going to act in the opposite, to stave off the anger that he felt was approaching the neighborhood. Best to leave and save face. "Right. I'll be back tomorrow in a better mood. If you'd allow me to clean up my fuckin' mess, you can put the claws away and keep this fuckin' civil." He scooped up the ashes with the aforementioned napkin and stowed the napkin away in his breast pocket. Henry took the rolled up money and slid it forward. "For the trouble." He spoke plainly and adjusted his collar, then left the Hospitality Club. The Dream was on his mind; That was the place he needed to be. Away from the fuckin' Mick that wasn't willing to even reach out and help a stranger. No fuckin' hospitality here. Fuckin' shifters. |
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| Lynx | Tuesday, 9. September 2014, 21:46 Post #9 |
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Lord Torchwood
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The fledgling makes himself take long slow deep breaths. He blinks his eyes a few times and negates the crimson glow of his Eyes of The Beast first. Then once he's sure he's alone again he flexes his hands and toes and slowly retracts the Feral Claws. He didn't need to breath, but doing so was helping him calm down. The hell kind of person flicks a flame in a vampire establishment anyway? And how hard was "we don't sell information" to grasp? He found himself growling under his breath, his jaw aching as he ground his sharp teeth against each other. He stripped off his ruined shoes and socks and chucked them into the garbage. Then he dumped the Guinness wish ash in it down the sink, rinsed the cup and set it on the tray to be washed at the end of the night. Who the fuck orders a beer and then dumps ash in it like it's garbage? The young Gangrel considered closing the club again. Right then and there. Or just... giving is to Ms Sherwood. He wasn't sure he had to self-control to handle this responsibility. The stocky young Irishman scowled and took the pale rag off his forearm and added a bit of water, polishing the bar in earnest to get rid of the cigar ash left behind from the napkin cleanup. His shoulders slumped and he lowered his head as he focused on trying to let his soul calm down. |
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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7:57 PM Jul 11