![]()
|
|||||||||||||||
| 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: |
| One dot - Two dots; ATTN: Henry Dawson | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Friday, 31. October 2014, 16:36 (375 Views) | |
| Tsar Ilya the First | Friday, 31. October 2014, 16:36 Post #1 |
![]()
Claiming Tsar
|
Back in the same place. Locations didn't mean much to Ilya. He tried to give them significance, but so many decades on the run, living in trucks and trains, the whole idea of "home" or "same place" was quite alien to him. He could go to the same place twice, or more times, but it always felt like a compromise between reality and normalcy; what any creature does to try to integrate with society and look normal. But it felt forced. That park was no different. He had his first conversation with Mr. Dawson there, but it was a different park, in a different time. Time had changed the park into some place else, and Ilya's moving life had transformed all of it into a whole new spot. Similar, even with a striking resemblance, but not the same place. It was lost forever; an instance of it stored in Henry's and Ilya's respective hard drives, to be modified and twisted every time they accessed that memory, but the real thing was not there anymore. So, Ilya was sitting down in a completely different park, which happened to be placed in the same exact location, in the same intersection between the same streets, and which happened to have the same exact name, distribution, amount of benches, type of trees and bushes... it could be safely called "the same park", but Ilya knew it wasn't the same. Of course, he was not going to share that knowledge with anyone; he knew how fastidious were the minds of other people with that kind of concept, and he had learned to keep his theories to himself. He had a bag with a cardboard box in it. Inside the box, there was a smartphone. A cheap one but, still, quite an expensive purchase. He had already prepared the phone with the necessary software. It was all set. He sat down in the bench that represented the same bench he sat down with Henry last time, and waited. |
|
Languages: Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German Oleg's Voice You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza. | |
![]() |
|
| Henry Dawson | Friday, 31. October 2014, 17:43 Post #2 |
![]()
The Only Man Looking Out For You
|
Henry pulled his Vespa up to a stop and swaggered off, quickly reaching down to his crotch and adjusting himself, unaware of a passing (and now visibly disturbed) police bobby. Engaging his bike's kickstand and setting his helmet down, the Brujah ran his long, thick fingers through his hair and rolled his shoulders to adjust his smelly jacket. A few grunts and spits and Henry was well on his way into the park. After a few sweeps through, he sat upon the same bench Illya sat upon. "Hello, friend. Been causin' trouble? I ran into some fuckers at a Diner that I think you may be interested in." He spread his hands out. "I show up, cause a bit of a scene, and then two people are dropped down on my fuckin' lap and I'm suddenly not in a fuckin' fightin' mood because some fucker touches the back of my neck, and they think I'm CRAZY." He pawed into his jacket, removing a pack of Morley's with his rough fingerless gloves. One stick was set in his mouth as he felt around for his lighter, an orange-chrome beaut with a set o' tits upon it, perched upon a branch. Flame and soon, oral fixation and the smell of cigarettes. The joy of smoking as a vampire means no cancer! "Anyway, I haven't heard shit from you since you fuckin 'text me out of the fuckin' blue what have you been doing, playing with your Mars and Venus in a fuckin' park like this, you fuckin' creepwad?" He cackled, roughly giving his fellow Anarch a slug on the shoulder. "But seriously, I know you've been talkin' your ass off and settin' things up as you said, I've been mostly ..." He imagined all the women he'd been sleeping with. "..Workin'." |
![]() | |
![]() |
|
| Tsar Ilya the First | Friday, 31. October 2014, 18:08 Post #3 |
![]()
Claiming Tsar
|
The brute entered the park. Now there were two of them, the same two, in the same different spot, changed through time and experience. Ilya shook those concepts out of his head, fearing they would plague his mind and make him hard to understand for Mr. Dawson. A short burst of disquieting anxiety crawled inside his stomach. Was this a real thing? Was he living that in the present, or just remembering something somebody had programmed into his mind? Oh no. Not now. The feeling of irreality crept inside his mind. How could he be sure that Dawson was really there, talking to him? It was all too smooth. It worked out fine. He texted him, the other man appeared. No bumps in the road. Reality should be more... messy. Dirty. Complicated. Ilya closed his eyes and counted to five. Slowly. Meanwhile, Henry started talking to him. What he said alarmed him. "They... touched you? And you got all manse and compliant? That is most worrying. My sire used to do that, back in the day. He touched you, and you felt compelled to obey him. That bastard could poke inside your mind without even looking at you. Just by touching you." Ilya shivered slightly, remembering Roman's ideals of fraternal love. "You need to tell me everything about this fight. And about the people involved. We need to develop a database of..." Ilya tried to find the adequate word to convey all that was going on in his mind in a way that Henry would understand. "...of fuckers. The Fucker Database. That way, every time you meet a new fucker, you can check the database and, if the fucker is already in, you can learn more things about them. Fuckers." Henry started smoking again. Filthy habit. Vampires playing with fire. It was madness. Unconsciously, Ilya moved some inches away from the Brujah. The smoke, the flame, the smell, the heat... it all freaked him out considerably. Ironically enough, the presence of such a menacing force -if you can call a cigarette 'menacing'- made him feel more in tune with his environment. His feeling of irreality was still there, but it wasn't so strong now. Still without looking at Dawson, he placed the bag in the bench between them. "Mars and Venus? I... I'm sorry, I have no idea what are you talking about... Whatever. Look, I've been working on something, some sort of network, something to share information in a secret, secure way, with any ally we find along the way. It is already working, and it has quite a lot of features. The... Fucker database... Well, I'll add that later on. Right now, it is a place where you can connect from your phone, tablet or computer. There, you can share messages and information. There's a smartphone in that bag. It's yours. It has the basic client software that will allow you to connect to the network. The security measures are quite... interesting. In order to connect, the software scans your retina, taking a picture of your right eye and comparing it to a stored picture. That way, it is quite hard to hack. Also, the 'access points' are located all over the internet; mainly in porn sites and disreputable webpages of all sorts. There is a list on your phone." Ilya stopped talking for a few seconds, allowing Mr. Dawson to process what he was telling him. Then he pulled his own phone from his pocket. He entered the admin user of the network and, in a few steps he created a new user for Henry. "Now I only need to scan your right eye. You just need to look into the camera for a few seconds." He typed a few things in the phone, and held it close to Mr. Dawson's face, while looking elsewhere, as if that was a very private moment for the Brujah, and he wanted to preserve his intimacy. |
|
Languages: Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German Oleg's Voice You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza. | |
![]() |
|
| Henry Dawson | Tuesday, 4. November 2014, 21:00 Post #4 |
![]()
The Only Man Looking Out For You
|
Henry stretched his eyelid open with his fingers and peered into the sensor. "Yeah, fuckin' touched me and got me all compliant and it weren't in the best way, I'm tellin' y' fuckin' now, like a fuckin' swedish girl with blonde 'air, you get what I'm saying, say no more, say no more." He gave Illya a shove and cackled. "Also, good fuckin' work' with the fuckin' network, I've mostly been networkin' on me' own if you get what I'm saying." "It's been a while since I've fucked an English girl, okay? Fuckin' 'ell, I'm just gettin' me shit sorted in my fuckin' homeland, sowin' my roots and drinking in the local flavor as rotten as it can be, fuckin' vegans nowadays taste all fuckin' diseased and wot's not, anyway, what in the fuck is all this business about?" He took the phone from Illya's hand. Oh fuck. What is this? His phone didn't have a touch screen. Henry'd never really encountered a touch screen before. "Where are the fuckin' buttons? How can y' have a fuckin' phone without any fuckin' buttons?" |
![]() | |
![]() |
|
| Tsar Ilya the First | Saturday, 8. November 2014, 13:17 Post #5 |
![]()
Claiming Tsar
|
The news about Vampires pushing minds with their touch were clearly disturbing, but Ilya didn't want to make the issue seem as big as it was, so he let it slid. He would have to learn more about that, but Henry's jargon was borderline incomprehensible. Was that really English? It had nothing to do with the rich, noble language he had studied on his youth, or with the straight forward and direct form of communication that he had practised in Alaska. He knew some of the words, but they were all arranged in the wrong order, as if the goal of the language was not to convey new ideas, but to thwart any attempt at communication. "Ah, the network. Right now it's just you and me. I'm making contacts, trying to make it bigger... at least, we have an online platform to support us, and to make communications easier in the future. It's better to have a record of events and things that happen when adapting to a new place, you know? I can write down information regarding people I meet, and rumours I hear, and you can do the same. This way, we'll both be more prepared to face whatever comes in this strange town." Eye scan completed, Henry was in the system. Now it was up to him to access and set up his account in the way he found more convenient. For some strange reason, Henry felt compelled to share with Ilya a relation of his sexual escapades. The Russian man needed some seconds to understand what the other guy was talking about, but he finally got it. Strange. Weird. Somehow degrading. He was not judging; pleasure was a rare thing these days, and they were all free to seek it wherever it could flourish. He couldn't even relate to the Brujah when he referred to the taste of the blood. For Ilya, blood tasted like blood; like a new life coming to this world, like hormones and femininity... Blood tasted like pregnancy, nothing else. Any attempt at empathizing with Henry was bound to fail. But he tried anyway. And failed. There was no way he could ever understand what was so interesting about biting strangers in pubs and rubbing his dead genitals against a flesh machine. In a nearly unconscious way, he slightly rubbed his elbow against the bench, trying to understand what was so pleasurable about that. Nothing special happened. Just mild friction. The last time he enjoyed sex, the battle of Stalingrad was such a menace in the air, he didn't even had time to do it properly. It was also the last time he shared something with is wife. Seemed like three lifetimes ago. Dawson's confusion about the smartphone was understandable. Ilya himself had suffered fits of anger and frustration when those machines started populating the streets, but his forward thinking spirit had made him make a huge effort and adapt to the new technology. "I know, it's very frustrating. The buttons are in the screen... Actually... The buttons ARE the screen. Tactile screens have existed since a long time ago, but now they are smaller and more effective. Look... You press this side button... and then it's unblocked... And then you slide here... See? Simple. This icon will take you to a web browser; this other one to your contacts section... my phone is here. You can also write emails by touching here, or instant messages by touching here. This is a strange game where you have to throw animals against bizarre constructions. Just ignore it. See? It's all very simple." A centenarian giving another old man a tutorial on smartphones in a park at night. It was the stuff bad comedies were made of. The explanation took a bit of time, and Ilya tried to remain patient, helping Dawson understand that unnerving gadget. When he found the other man was ready, he gave him specific instructions on how to get to the network, and how to establish communications and post messages there. |
|
Languages: Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German Oleg's Voice You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza. | |
![]() |
|
| Henry Dawson | Sunday, 9. November 2014, 00:23 Post #6 |
![]()
The Only Man Looking Out For You
|
"So.." Henry took the phone and unlocked it. The man's eyes went wide, as if he'd never experienced such a thing. After a few swipes and pokes, he brought up a camera, and mistakenly takes a photograph of his knees, complete with a flash. "What- Oh, it's got a fuckin' camera, this thing's got everything inn't." He scratched at his beard and exited the camera app, and his attention was pulled away from Illya to this newfound contraption. Swiping his phone left and right, the man slowly slid down his seat and reclined his legs out. "Fuck.. i .. huh.." He mumbled. "I think I'm in serious trouble here." He prodded and swiped away at the phone, mouth slightly agape. "What is "App Store"?" He murmured, clicking away at the button. "...This thing's got games and all sorts of shit in it!" He yelled out. "Oh... can I gamble with this thing? What about... Hrm.." He continued to swipe away and slowly stood up, pacing away from Illya. "..Shit.." He murmured, making his way back. "So this.." He murmured, bringing up his internet browser. "And it's got the fuckin' Internet in it!" He rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek and brought up recent Southall scores. "Fuckin' 'ell, Southall Stony Stratford ain't shit, that's the way you get em! " |
![]() | |
![]() |
|
| Tsar Ilya the First | Sunday, 9. November 2014, 12:15 Post #7 |
![]()
Claiming Tsar
|
Ilya allowed Henry to get excited about his new toy for a few minutes. Some part of him remembered the first time he used a smartphone, the child like amazement and dreamy quality of the moment... He really looked like an animated corpse with a phone, back then. Ah, the good times. "You've got 10 pounds credit in pay as you go mode. You can either open a contract or keep on feeding it money. Just don't waste all your credit in a single blow just yet... The Brujah was getting the idea, in his own primal and overtly excited way, but they seemed to be on the same page. Ilya stood up and gathered his things. "You can access the network from home too, providing your computer has a webcam. I'm leaving. Please, try to write some short summaries of your interactions with these people you told me about; the guy who messed with your mind by touching you, the other man at that Hospitality Club... We need to keep an archive on that sort of individual, and on what is our experience with them. I'll write a couple of reports on people I've been meeting up too. Don't need to be Shakespeare, just write down the basics so I know what we are really facing here. Enjoy your new toy... mate." He turned around, and walked away. Smiles didn't come naturally to his face, but a warm rush of satisfaction bathed him from the inside. For once, things were looking positive for him. Only that tiny speckle of disbelief, that nagging feeling of everything going too predictably well... Was all of that situation for real? There was no way to know, and that sensation was there to ruin any shadow of happiness he could feel. OOC NOTE
|
|
Languages: Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German Oleg's Voice You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza. | |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
|
|
| « Previous Topic · The Borough of Enfield · Next Topic » |










1:15 AM Jul 11