Vampire The Masquerade RPG
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The Times
The Kindred Chronicle
Key Figures
THE MONSTER OF EALING
Last night, several people reported the sighting of a "screaming red monster" in a quiet neighbourhood of Ealing. After a power shortage in the area, a building caught fire. It was then when, what was described as a "man shaped, footless creature" emerged from the flames, leaping, running, and screaming. One woman has told our reporters that the man had "teeth like a wolf, and the face of the devil". Police officers are still trying to get to the bottom of this; neither the power shortage nor the fire have still been explained. A spokesperson from Scotland Yard has stated that the "so called monster" might be a wounded person, escaping the fire.

TRAGEDY IN TOOLEY STREET
The police has found the bodies of three TFL workers in the construction site at Tooley Street. One of their colleagues raised the alarms last week, when the three workers didn't attend their shifts. The bodies of the men have been found in a deep hole, uncovered by the refurbishment works that are taking place in the area. According to the Police, the bodies were horribly mutilated, which has led to the wildest speculations. The names of the three workers are being kept anonymous, following the wishes of their families.

HOROSCOPE
MARCH 8 - PISCES
You are used to making sacrifices, to prioritising the happiness of others before yours. Even though that is a noble attitude, there are times in life where the only healthy alternative is to embrace your own selfishness and allow yourself some enjoyment. Reserve one hour per day to do something you really like. Treat yourself! Your colour for this month is blue.
Echoes from the past ring back into London. Their intensity increases until they are deafening. What once was a faded memory of a glorious time, now becomes a shocking reality. The consequences of actions taken decades ago ripple into the present, altering the lives of everybody in the City. Unguided and blind, Kindred wander around, trying to make profit out of the reigning chaos.


The appearance of four mysterious figures turned the city upside down. Mistrust and jealousy became the official currency of London. Serpents and fiends rise to power, misdirecting the blaming eyes of the Camarilla towards imaginary enemies. Only those with clear vision and the ability to trust each other strive, while the rest run towards a shallow grave.



Across The Board
Current Chronicle: Dragons and Lions; Pride and Fire
Current Season: Spring
Controlling Sect: Camarilla



Index
Getting Started
General Information
Central London
North London
East London
West London
South London
Miscellaneous
Out of Character


Population: 31

Camarilla
Anarchs
Other
Ventrue: 1
Toreador: 5 (6)
Brujah: 2 (3)
Malkavian: 7
Tremere: 2
Nosferatu: 3
Gangrel: 1
Ventrue: 1
Toreador: 0
Brujah: 2 (3)
Malkavian: 0
Nosferatu: 1
Gangrel: 1
Setites: 5
Sabbat: ???


THE CAMARILLA

Prince

Nobody

Sheriff
Meredith Furlong
Hounds
Robyne Sheridan
Rosella Marie Allain


Keeper of Elysium
Davvad Bisset

Grand Harpy
Catherine Wilke

Primogen
Ventrue: Marcus Antonio Russo
Brujah: Thomas Krusen
Gangrel: Alexa Mallik
Malkavian: Ellora Reese
Tremere: Hannah Sundling
Toreador: Arsenio Pozzi
Nosferatu: Dogan Khojak



ANARCHS

Baron

Khoza

Baronets
Enfield: Leslie
Haringey & Barnet: Clarice Harris
Harrow: Jelena Korolenko

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Welcome To The Night

You find yourself in London on a dreary, foggy night like any other. But what lurks in the shadows is the stuff of fantasies and nightmares, far from mortal reality.

This game uses the cursed and immortal vampiric condition as a backdrop to explore themes of morality, depravity, the human condition, salvation, and personal horror. We are a writing and roleplaying community dedicated to telling complex and engaging stories.

Your fate is your own. Mingle among the ivory-tower elite in the Camarilla, join the fight of the discontented and chaotic Anarch rabble, or set out independently and attempt to survive in London's nighttime underworld. Anything is possible in our World of Darkness.

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Just another night...; ATTN Ilya Senkin
Topic Started: Monday, 24. November 2014, 19:01 (1,187 Views)
Clarice Harris
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Sexually abused by a Jew
* * * * *
The nights are cold these days, but at last they're long enough for vampires to be productive. There are many definitions of productiveness, but Clarice sure didn't match any of them. Just about two hours before she made a serious purchase, four brand new vials of alcohol-infused blood were now resting in small backpack, carefully wrapped in protective layer of grey paper, so they don't make suspicious noise as she walks through the town. The cops had a knack for fining innocent citizens who only happened to walk in the public with those drinks. The law was not about justice, it must have been created to power the huge money-making machine called the state. Nobody was getting her pounds, not tonight, oh no. And so her route to the safehouse led through Enfield's most shady alleys

So far so good, no humans in sight. The illusion of safety was so encouraging... The battle against growing temptation is deemed to be lost sooner or later and it this case it was sooner. Just one last protective measure [Obfuscate: Unseen Presence] and... She grabbed one of the flasks, promising herself she'd only take one little sip. It was one sip indeed, a sip that emptied the whole flask. Here it was again, the absolutely distorted view on reality. To her it seemed that her steps are perfectly regular and that the path is straight. Pity the mental image didn't fit in with physical world. Right now she followed a twisted, chaotic path, bouncing between the pavement and the traffic lane. But she would get home, eventually
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Tsar Ilya the First
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* * * *
Many things had happened during the last few days. The disorganization of this Anarch faction was now absolutely obvious to Ilya, and that pained him. They were being eaten alive by Alarik. Right now, they were probably getting spied upon by toddlers with fangs. And all that he could muster from his fellow Anarchs was either irrational mind bogging paranoia, or crazy daredevil shit with no ideology behind. The old guard was bunkered up, fearing for their poor unlives, refusing to give any sign of life, and mistrusting anybody who was not part of their old circle of friendships; anchored to those good old times that were never so good, and that were quite recent, to be fair. The new comers were a mixed bag. Some were just playing the shallow punk, just wanting to destroy and burn the world, not caring for the consequences or the meaning of their actions; the other half were just opportunists, cowards who refused to wear any badge, and who considered themselves Anarchs because the mere idea of standing behind the Camarilla's flag shamed them to death, even though that was exactly what they were doing. So, he could only count on himself, and his ability to inspire and motivate others. Nostalgic fossils, paranoid grannies, uneducated punks, and AINOs (Anarchs In Name Only) who actually worked for Mr. Blucher were of no use to him in that state. The only way he could turn that rabble into something slightly dignified was by connecting them, and by leading by example.

His thoughts piled up in his head, as he feared all those ideas could just be something Roman, his truly hated sire, wanted him to think, fake political analysis concerning a fake political scenario, in a fake city, in a fake country, in a fake night, projected upon the fucking wallpaper of his mind. And there was no way of confirming none of that was actually happening, and that he was not sitting in a dentist chair back in Pyatigorsk, or Vorkuta, listening to Roman telling him the story of what he remembered and what he didn't. Fucked up. Not even in that fake fantasy world things worked according to his will. If, at least, the damn pieces could fall in order... but Roman was way too smart to plant in his mind a memory where it all goes according to plan, people love Ilya, and nothing goes wrong. That would be too easy to detect.

The only way he had found to reinforce his own faith in his surroundings was breaking the script, in the most painful way he could. Doing things that no mind pusher would ever imagine, weird bizarre actions that should not happen, and that generally crippled him badly. Pain. Randomness. Spouting nonsense in any regular conversation; attacking random flesh machines on the street; jumping out of windows he should not jump out from; putting himself in grave danger for no reason; amputating parts of his own body... all of those methods made the trick, one way or another.

Right now, as a way of dealing with his own disbelief, he was driving his white van through Enfield. Some part of his mind wished to be stopped by a policeman, only to have the chance of doing something absolutely stupid and illogical, to demonstrate to himself that he was in control. But he also remembered Mr. Church's advice about not making anything that could attract unwanted attention. He needed to keep a low profile in the world of the flesh machines. He hated that, but Mr. Church had a very valid point. Survival came first. Reality second. That balance of ideas just sucked so badly he wanted to punch the wheel.

He felt the vibration in his pocket. Someone required him. He pulled out his phone, and without stopping, checked his ghoul's message.

ROSTIK: Olga is not responding well to the training since you started your new regime. She just bit my face. I have tried, but I failed. I am sorry. It will never happened again. Please, bring back the van; I've got the first aid kit in the back.

Ilya never finished reading the strange apology. He did not find out about the first aid kit in the back of the van. In fact, some part of his brain watched in slow motion, quite surprised, how his phone abandoned his grip and levitated up and forward, going through the wind shield like a knife through butter, leaving behind a trail of cracks that grew bigger and bigger, until the glass quietly exploded. At the same time, the wheel turned slowly towards the right, and the van sled through the pavement until hitting a dark grey Vauxhall and stopping. All of that was preceded by a loud -THUD-, a clear indicative of something being hit by the van.

What the fuck? Ilya had hit something -or someone-, and lost control of the van for a couple of seconds. As a reward, the vehicle crashed against another car, and a large fragment of the wind shield was buried deep on Ilya's forehead. The placing of the glass shard was quite high, so he didn't even noticed it there. The pain from his arms and neck was way worse; broken bones and torn muscles. His nose was flattened in his face, and his lips crushed against the wheel. His Old School Russian driving style was not fond of safety belts. Any flesh machine would be dead twice, after such impact. Ilya was just... severely fucked up. His supernatural toughness had saved his life once again.

But... what was that thing he had crashed against? He was checking the phone, sure, but he still had part of his attention on the road, and there was nobody there. Not at all. He cracked his own limbs and neck, putting the dislocated... everything... in place. After burning a considerable amount of blood, he managed to get to a state where he could move. He forced the door open, and fell to the ground. Maybe his ability to move was not so obvious. He clumsily climbed the van, trying to find an erect posture, scanning the ground in front of him, trying to find what -or who- was the obstacle his van had crashed against.
Languages:

Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German

Oleg's Voice

You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza.
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Clarice Harris
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Sexually abused by a Jew
* * * * *
It was going great. The distance from the Red Republic was growing bigger with every wavering step, it was so relieving that Clarice began to lose all of her alertness. Dizzy mind was flooded with a rapid stream of living pictures, some of them were silent, some had selective sounds slapped onto them. Eventually they overwhelmed her sensory perception, becoming the new reality. Now it became so clear. She could grab the film with her mental hands and rewind it at will, live through any of imaginary moments. The past got mixed up with near future, with her plans. She could see herself driving that car found in the advertisement, somewhere on the internet. Being on the move, on quiet, empty roads, experiencing that ultimate form of freedom. Suddenly - there he was. The High Commissar, his head surrounded by red halo. Yet another pest that needs to be exterminated, wiped off this planet's face and forever forgotten. There was only one proper course of action - road carnage. His red face was almost crashing on the windshield, in less than a blink of eye it would smear all over the car...

The good things rarely come true. Usually they crash with reality. Sometimes quite literally. This time the reality was a backstabbing whore, to put it mildly. Just a van happening to maul the small vampiric body. First the bumper turning the pelvis and thighs into a bag of crushed bones and torn ligaments. She was too drunk to feel it, as milliseconds later her backbone broke in half. Like a ragdoll she slid over the mask and flew towards the pavement; the contents of her backpack quickly smeared over the left side of the windshield, blood leaked into the cracks and further down, below the mask. What remained of the backpack, got hooked against the side mirror, breaking it off and nearly tearing Clarice's shoulder apart

It took her a moment to realize the scale of damage. That excruciating pain in the right shoulder and arm called for immediate response. The amount of effort required to stabilize the joints was just inhumane. She though she's howling out of pain, but collapsed lungs turned it into a short wheezy sound. The injuries seemed to heal so slowly, like it was a never-ending process. Torn tissues were connecting back, millimeter after millimeter, automatically pushing bone shards where their place is. With every droplet of blood burnt on healing, she was sweating the bloodstained alcohol, effectively sobering up and gaining unpleasant, vaporous smell

Nervous connections were such sophisticated structures that even after all those years it was still amazing her. These were always the hardest to fix for good. So delicate that they wouldn't work while surrounded by damaged tissues. So complicated that every little fiber required full attention. Step by step, she'd get it all fixed. For now, that arm remained even more lifeless than usual, only fingertips twitching a little. It was definitely easier to fix the lungs, those lacked nerves, such a primitive structure... Flesh bags were fixed in no time, cold air was filling them again. In such moments mimicking that basic physiologic process was letting her know that she's still somewhat alive

Upper torso functional - check
Abdomen - structural integrity: compromised

Something wasn't quite right. She expected it all to hurt like motherfucker but no, there was no pain. There wasn't a single sensation coming from the bottom of her body. As long as it hurts, you know you're still alive, that was unsettling to say the least. She propped her body with left hand and looked down, afraid to see nothing down there. Apparently the rest of the body was still there, she wasn't sure if it should make her happy or not, it still felt missing. Or better - it didn't feel at all

Since Clarice already rose her head, she looked around aimlessly. There was some crashed car, it almost looked like a sort of explanation. And there was that badly injured man. Amazing how adrenaline affect the mortals, it makes them go as if nothing happened, at least till it wears off, or till they bleed out. But this one didn't leave a trail of blood behind. Internal bleeding, the invisible killer. He would pass out, soon. She prayed nobody witnessed the accident, nobody called an ambulance and the man will become her first aid kit. But she had to keep him around, she couldn't just follow him in this state, not when her legs are dead meatbags

I can't feel my ass
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Tsar Ilya the First
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* * * *
Pain. Pain. More pain. Reality was sold as a brick right now, and Ilya had no doubts he was actually living that moment a hundred and fifty percent. Nobody would ever push into his mind that random, ridiculous car crash. Who would do that? It was stupid, illogical, and it did nothing for his story. It only filled him with pain. And made him lose his valued white van. He was running out of vehicles too fast. First the bike, and now this. He looked at the crashed vehicle, at the blood splatter, at the rag of a backpack hanging on the side mirror... Recovering it was just not worth it.

He needed to order his thoughts. First, the phone. Last time he saw it, it was flying through the wind shield. It was somewhere nearby, in the floor. With a bit of luck, it could still be on, and he could find it by following the light. If only. He stood up with difficulty. Broken ribs. Yes. That was it. He had several broken ribs. Maybe his sternum too. The good thing was that he didn't need to breathe. It still hurt, but it wasn't that bad.

Two things grabbed his attention. The first one was the girl on the road. Road kill, technically. She smelled of alcohol, and her body was twisted in impossible ways. In Ilya's eyes, that was just a flesh machine that was no longer operative. Until she moved. And then she crawled. There was something terribly unnatural about it. That snared his curiosity. Before he could get closer to her, the second thing grabbed her attention. The woman looking at them. She was a dozen meters away, looking scared as hell, unable to even make a sound. Technically, she qualified as a witness, and that was not good. He looked at her.

[DOMINATE:COMMAND] "Come."

The woman approached, not understanding why she was moving.

[DOMINATE:THE FORGETFUL MIND] "You are going to forget everything you have lived during the last ten minutes. You just were on the street, and nothing special happened."

She was paralyzed, confused, and bewildered. He gently turned her around and pushed her lightly towards the road, so she could walk away. It worked. The woman started dragging her feet towards the other side of the road, slowly moving away from the accident. One problem solved, he needed now to find his phone, and check out that broken girl on the floor. Was she one of his kind? Or just an exceptionally durable flesh machine? If she was not a Vampire, Ilya would have to snap her neck. Not that he resented that course of action, but it was just too much of an unnecessary annoyance. He walked towards her, trying to find out her true nature, when the noise came from behind him.

It started slowly, as a low rumble in the distance. Something subtle, but invasive. It grew bigger and bigger, but it was one of those city noises that people tend to ignore, out of habit. At some point, during a split second, it was nearly deafening. Then it transformed into a strong percussive noise, and stopped for a moment. Ilya turned around to see the blue sports car finishing its sliding trajectory against another car parked at the other side of the road. Another car crash. What were the chances? The blue car was leaving a red trail beneath its wheels; the witness. No risk of her remembering anything now. Some pieces of the stunned woman were scattered around. Nobody opened the door of the blue car, but there was some movement inside. The driver was trapped. Then, Ilya's worst nightmare became real. Fire. The car started burning, spontaneously. It was more than twenty meters away, but still, it was a horrible show. The shouts of the man were deafening. Ilya was paralyzed, trying to react upon such a horrifying spectacle. Not the burning man, but the fire itself, instilled the most terrible fear on Ilya's soul.
Languages:

Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German

Oleg's Voice

You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza.
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Clarice Harris
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Sexually abused by a Jew
* * * * *
That man... He seemed to be about as clueless as herself. His eyes were also hungry for the picture of destruction, trying to absorb all of it. She was really glad to see he's not of the hysteric sort. Panic would only make it all worse, it's a killer. For now she'd like to think that he is indeed cold-blooded and will not panic once adrenaline burns out. She still needed to drain him empty, to get back on her legs and flee the scene. That was her only wish. Doesn't wishful thinking work? Doesn't it bring the desired effect? Deep inside she felt how everything in this world is intertwined, she just couldn't see in which exact way

No no no...

Some woman approaching. A woman. An overly sensitive creature with no control over own voice. Clarice's eyes widened in sheer terror, she was busted. Every breath of that mortal figurine could be the one turning her into a banshee, becoming an alarming screech. And she couldn't do a damn thing, even with her right arm regaining functionality, she still couldn't leap and choke that thing to death. And then something weird happened. That guy... He was speaking surprisingly clearly and in familiar manner, but it wasn't quite the most abnormal part. How come that woman obeyed without making a sound? As Clarice watched her slowly walk away, it became clear. He must have been another bloodsucker. One of patrician blood on top of that. Before she could even consider her current situation, the tonight's events continued at a bit faster pace than expected. It felt like the time slowed down, her eyes followed the blue car and upcoming mayhem, it was a true nourishment for cracked soul. She couldn't help but laugh, laugh as the would-be banshee was wiped out from the scenario

Oхуеть...

The emerging flame suppressed her manic laughter in no time. Now it was just fascinating. She saw videos of people burning alive, but this was the first time she got to be a direct witness. The screams of agony and hot, sunny colors, what a show... But it wasn't perfect, there was that dark figure obscuring part of the inferno. That guy. He seemed to be entranced and she couldn't blame him, you don't always have an opportunity to watch something so dread and beautiful happening right in front of you. She wouldn't interfere, at least not until the fire started growing bigger. Now it was becoming a direct danger, the urge to flee the scene grew stronger with every minor outburst. She fought to regain control over her arms, instincts were telling her she should move back already, but there was one more thing to be done, and words were not good enough. She crawled a few meters forward and grabbed one of his ankles in the biggest gesture of mercy and empathy she could pull off

Man, time to get the hell out of here
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Tsar Ilya the First
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* * * *
The fire expanded to cover his whole field of vision. In his eyes, it was engulfing it all, eating the buildings and the cars, the very floor that supported him was turning into rabid fire. In the distance, he could hear the screams of Ivan and Doctor Pauk, begging him to rescue them. His hands smelling of gasoline; he was the one who torched them after all. He was the one to blame. His friends... his adopted family... murdered by him. The fire was coming back for him, to devour him for his sins. It was too late. He was going to meet his final death. He was paralyzed. There was nothing he could do.

To the occasional witness, Ilya was standing away from the fire, at a good distance, and the fire was contained in the car; it was not expanding at all. The Russian's face was contorting, transforming into a mask of terror and despair, an alien grin that had nothing to do with humanity as we know it, but that was very easy to read: the image if the purest and most animal terror.

Something shook his leg. A legless monster, a child who stepped on a landmine, a worm with arms, a skink, sliding its scaly webbed hands across his ankle. What was that? A ray of sanity crossed Ilya's mind, not enough to perceive his surroundings in an objective manner, but still sufficient to make him see Clarice under a different light. A survivor. One of the members of his lost pack. Wounded, terrified. He grabbed the limp body of the girl, and started to walk away from the fire. Then he started running. After several blocks, he stopped, and dropped the girl on the floor. He fell to his knees, spitting blood on the floor. The large shard of glass was still buried in his forehead. They were far away from the accidents, and the fire. Some sirens were howling in the distance.

"Fuck. My phone."
Languages:

Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German

Oleg's Voice

You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza.
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Clarice Harris
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Sexually abused by a Jew
* * * * *
It was to be expected, but Clarice didn't actually expect it all. Being lifted, it was so new, so confusing. So was being a cripple with broken backbone. Up till now she never needed direct help, there was always a way out. She could just make herself vanish from people's minds, there was a solid distraction for mortal eyes after all. She would make it, somehow. But apparently she didn't have to. And so she tried to get herself hooked on blueblood's body in such way that she would cause no further injuries. Now she saw more of her legs, the picture was far from comforting. A bone pierced one of her thighs, the knees seemed to bend backwards, or maybe just in every direction. And yet fixing the damage should still be easier than growing whole new limbs. If it was only as painless...

The moment she's hit the ground something made an odd, gnashing sound. It must have been the broken bones in one of her legs. She tried to pull herself up to a wall, have something support her torso, but everything down from lower back felt like melting gelatinous mass. For now she had no choice but to lie on cold concrete, with only her shoulders leaning against the wall. If there was only any sort of lever she could use to pull herself up... Gravity would do the job, straighten her backbone; the ends of spinal cord would move back to their rightful place and regrowing the bridge between them would be a child's play. But it seemed that she already used her dose of luck, all of it. Meanwhile the stranger was struggling with his own wounds. Sneaky glass, it always starts hurting in the least appropriate moment

Clarice took his words for a request and reached into one of her pockets. That's where her own phone could usually be found. The inside of pocket was cold and moist, half of her face twitched nervously before she managed to pull that damned phone out. Without even thinking to check, she offered the broken piece of electronics

Я принесла бы твой телефон но... Как же вы скажете? Kręgosłup kurwa! My fucking spinal cord, shit just won't let me...
I'd bring your phone but... How do you say it? Fucking backbone!
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Tsar Ilya the First
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* * * *
The mist of the panic attack was getting clearer and clearer. His thoughts started to get linked in coherent chains, in logical conclusions that led to more logical conclusions, instead of strobes of images and sensations. The most alarming part of his situation was having lost his phone. That was bad. He had replacements, of course, and his Samsung had plenty of security measures so no one could find what was contained in it but, still, it was a terrible risk. He needed to sort that out quickly... without getting close to the fire.

But... The mutilated girl spoke Russian. She was offering her help. Looking at her legs, Ilya couldn't help but questioning his own perception. She was messed up like crazy. Torn apart. It was a miracle that she still had all of her pieces still attached to her body. But she didn't look like someone in pain. Quite the opposite. She seemed quite awake and aware of her surroundings. Not even Kindred could resist pain so efficiently; not regular Kindred, at least.

"Thanks. It won't be necessary. Somebody will pick us up soon. You need... You need a whole new body."

His statements were all said in a cold, clear, and confident way, showing quite a lot of detachment. He closed his eyes for a second, focusing his energy elsewhere. His blood started pumping through his body, looking for a way out, a way to escape the madness, the torture of inhabiting such an insult to nature. A small portion of that blood managed to get vaporized, and to abandon Ilya's body in the form of sweat.

[PRESENCE: SUMMON - ROSTIK]

"Just focus on healing your back. I can hold you up, if you need it. I'm Yuri, by the way."
ROSTIK
A night without the Master was a night without fear. It was also a night of sadness. The fact of having to choose between fear or sadness could drive anybody crazy, but Rostik didn't even have a choice. This time, he was left on his own. Tomorrow, the Master could want him to be with him the whole night. There was no way of planning ahead.

He already had finished the training session with Olga and Galina, and he had checked out that the rest of the girls did their job. The wound in his face was hurting, and stinging. He had managed to stop the bleeding from Olga's bite using some toilet paper. He needed that first aid kit... But he would have to wait. It was his time to cook dinner for the eleven inhabitants of the house. He dreaded that moment. The Master always insisted on the importance of keeping them healthy and well fed, but Rostik would have happily given them dog food. But the Master's wishes were orders for him. Literally.

He was preparing an epic amount of white rice, and frying some dozens of bacon rashers, while he felt the call. It was an unequivocal sensation: the Master needed him. He turned off the induction plates, and ran to check his phone. Nothing. There were no messages and no calls. That was a bad sign. He called the Master. The phone was off. No signal. It was getting worse, and the need to run out of the house and find the Master was becoming overwhelming. He grabbed his coat, and got out, locking the door and activating the security systems while getting out. In the street, just beside the Edmonton Green Market, he made a phone call.

"Said? I need a car. Now. His orders. No arguing. Edmonton Green, the Bus Stop. What? Yes, I can see it. Okay. Call him."

While Rostik approached the parked MiniCab, Said was calling the driver. The ghoul didn't even need to let the driver know. He opened the door and climbed inside.

"Go North West."

"What?"

"North West. That direction. Follow the avenue, I'll tell you when to turn left."

"Huh... Okay..."

Rostik realized that, worried as he was about the Master, he was not sad nor scared. He felt useful. This was the best he had felt in months. He smiled.
Edited by Tsar Ilya the First, Thursday, 4. December 2014, 05:08.
Languages:

Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German

Oleg's Voice

You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza.
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Clarice Harris
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Sexually abused by a Jew
* * * * *
She could use that new body. If there was a promo, she'd take two right away. But there was no body farm in her sight, no merchant happily rushing to serve her. And the time was so wrong, still not the era of organs or whole bodies grown in the vats, like they do in those futuristic movies. No, tonight Clarice was stuck with her own meatbag, and that meatbag called for maintenance. Examination first. She pulled her pants down a bit, just enough to see the hips. And she didn't like that picture. The pelvic bones, each displaced on different level, who knows how badly broken. With hesitation she touched them, and then slightly pressed. They seemed to be moving, bad news... She was supposed to do something else, but that moment of silence, so helpful in self-focus, was suddenly paused. Her eyes locked on Yuri's face, bloodied hand reached out to him in an automated gesture

Clarice

Moment later she rolled on her belly and exposed the lower back, her cold fingers were running down the spine, trying to find the broken vertebrae. Damaged skin, the broken spiky elements sticking out a little. Further down the damage was much worse, bone shards stuck in the spinal cord and adjacent muscles, or so it seemed to be. Further down, the pelvis was in total disarray. If anthropologists were able to dismantle it and name every little bone, then her abdomen was a bag of puzzle parts, a riddle for the Royal College of Pathologists. Well, she had to do without the degree and surgical tools, only compensating it with magical properties of her blood, of which supply was very finite. She knew she can't get it all done right now, but there had to be something that can be fixed on the site

I'm your lumbar plexus, your minister of pain
I'm your iliopsoas, my fibers are crushed and torn
I'm your transverse processes, so fractured, marrow-deep...
I'm your neural arch, I hold the lifeline in my grasp
I'm your lumbar nerves, I feel so downtrodden...
I bite

SHUT THE FUCK UP!


There she was, again. Waiting for her prey, like a hungry vulture, again. She seemed to dance around the wounded structures, so insolently, so viciously. She was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, an intangible entity from the realm of madness. Clarice wondered where...when did she come from, but the answer would never come. Away from this world, back to the ground, that's where she was headed for now. This guy, Yuri, he didn't really look like any Yuri... Didn't he say they will be on the move soon? He didn't seem to mind her broken speech, so she'd try to practice Russian a little more then

When they pick us up, uh... Just lay me prone, with my hips and legs straight

Clarice didn't even think how odd she must have been looking with her bare back, almost bare ass. She only hoped that they are indeed going to move on soon, that her wrecked body is brought into the private, where she can get her shit together and scream all she wants in the process. Right now the muscles were becoming nearly functional, they were intact, ready to be plugged back into the neural network. Maybe it was a bit naive to think that way, but she was pretty sure that later tonight she will be able to sit properly
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Tsar Ilya the First
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* * * *
At the end of the street, in the distance, the glow of the sirens. All sorts of law enforcing, health concerned mechanisms had been put in motion in the world of the flesh machines. Their own form of white cells. Following that analogy, Ilya and Clarice were a couple of bacterial infection focuses, small and wounded, trying to escape through the veins of the victim. Or something like that. Ilya was anything but an expert in meat robot anatomy. What was important there was that some policeman would find his phone, and that was a massive problem. This was the worst moment for Rostik to be late.

That Clarice girl... Ilya could not decide upon what was more upsetting: the nasty severity of her wounds, or the cold and detached way she had of inspecting them. All in all, he found that attitude interesting. Appealing. Something caught his sight... With a quick movement, he pulled the large shard of glass from his forehead and threw it away.

"You are hurt. You need to feed. Can you wait a few minutes? As soon as they pick us up, and I manage to sort out my phone problem, I'll make sure you get sustenance."

He wanted to ask her all the pertinent questions. She had seen his face, and that was bad enough. Was she a Camarilla agent? A spy maybe? What was her allegiance? This sort of random event was always problematic. He couldn't leave her here. She couldn't walk, and the sunrise would get her. No. He needed to take here to a place where she could feed, and heal. Unfortunately, the only place he had that checked all the boxes was... his fortress. Bringing another Vampire to his fortress, even before knowing if that creature was really friendly or not. That was the definition of reckless. But he could not let one of his kind die in the pavement like that, like the pet a flesh machine would own.

A car turned the corner and advanced towards them. The cab. Saved. Rostik and Said stopped beside them, and opened the back door.

"This will probably hurt. Try not to scream."

He grabbed the broken Vampire, and placed her inside the cab, following her instructions. He proceeded to sit beside her.

"Rostik: Phone"

The ghoul proceeded to hand him a smartphone, without hesitating. Ilya browsed the contacts section, until he found the number he was looking for. He called.

"It's me. There's been a traffic accident. A white van, and a blue sports car. I need you to take any phone that's been left behind in the scene... Yes... The phones... Grab them, and put them in the usual place... Yes... Also, the van... List it as 'unregistered'. Do you understand?... Good. We'll talk about it later. Thanks"

The idea of thanking that cop flesh machine was a bit ridiculous, but he knew that it was a necessary courtesy. The phone and the van were being dealt with. There was so much he could do now. He handed the phone back to Rostik.

"Home. We need to get home."

"But... Master... She is..."

"I said home."

Rostik started giving directions to Said. The car started moving towards Ilya's fortress.
Languages:

Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German

Oleg's Voice

You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza.
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Clarice Harris
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Sexually abused by a Jew
* * * * *
The lower back was beginning to function again. While muscles lacked the support of skeleton, Clarice could finally feel them, they were twitching in chaos when provoked, causing the good kind of pain. What started out as a hiss, quickly turned into disturbing giggle. That was her first little success tonight, her small celebration that couldn't be ruined even by the most malevolent spectator

Feed? I guess...

That was the missing element of reality, so effectively suppressed by initial shock and focus on the healing. What is noticed cannot go unnoticed any longer. Life would probably be too easy if challenges didn't pile up like that. The duel has begun and time was working against her will and self-control. Just few minutes, it seemed like no big deal. Shit happens, she used to endure starvation for hours, now it was mere appetite for candy. Like that delicious blood on Yuri's face, it must have been smelling really good... Clarice blinked a few times, refusing to believe in her not quite own perception. It was so wrong to even consider him to be eatable. No feeding from her kind, ever

A car approached out of sudden, she was genuinely scared, ready to escape. Only that broken bottom prevented her from tumbling away and vanishing in thin air. Then came the calmness, realization of true purpose behind this vehicle. A trusted cab, not bad... There was no time to think though, the moment Yuri took a solid hold of her body she just gritted her fangs and let a muffled snarl out. It felt a bit like in that commercial of gel for arthritis, just about 20 times worse. She could almost hear the trained male voice praising the product, now even more excruciating. Then came hip and limb straightening, she pushed her face into Yuri's lap, trying her best to merely growl instead of howling in pain. Still throbbing she rose her head a bit, too ashamed to look in the man's face

T-thanks

It was time to get hooked in physical reality again, to busy her perception with the surroundings, so it won't have enough space for pain left. Quick look around, she was lying on the back seat now, too low to see the driver, high enough to see a curious face glancing from the passenger seat, so bluntly invading her intimate mental space. She narrowed her eyes and responded with the fuck you lookin' at? kind of gaze. Meanwhile Yuri was making emergency calls, apparently contacting someone capable of fooling the mortal servicemen. Who the fuck he really was? You don't meet such influential people every night. She had mixed feelings about it, but as long as the police and their likes were under his boot, there wasn't much to worry about. If they intended to kill her, she would have been dead by now
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Tsar Ilya the First
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* * * *
The car moved fast through the empty streets of Enfield; a dark blue shadow, transporting unnoticed monsters in the night. Ilya was pondering what to do with that girl. She had her face buried in his lap, in a very awkward position. She made a couple of noises, and even giggled. How the hell was she not agonizing in pain? His very sense of reality felt threatened, and that wasn't good. He would have to do something about that soon. But he needed to focus on the situation in front of him.
PEEK INSIDE THE EXECUTIVE LOUNGE OF THE MONSTER'S MIND

SUBJECT: Broken Kindred. Looks like a young girl.
STATUS: Broken. Legs non functional.
OBSERVATIONS: Doesn't seem to care about her own pain. Giggles. Barely speaks and, when she does, she does so in poor Russian.

HYPOTHESIS #1: She is an agent of the Russian Brujah.
ARGUMENTS FOR: This is always a probability.
ARGUMENTS AGAINST: Meeting her was a genuine accident. Planning that would be absolutely impossible.
Her physical state is terrible; she has no way of becoming really dangerous to me.
CONCLUSION: The only way she could be dangerous, would be if she had any sort of GPS tracker. In that case, THEY would know where his fortress is. For the rest, this hypothesis is quite unlikely.

HYPOTHESIS #2: She is Alarik's spy.
ARGUMENTS FOR: Not many.
ARGUMENTS AGAINST: Meeting her was a genuine accident. Planning that would be absolutely impossible.
Her physical state is terrible; she has no way of becoming really dangerous to me.
CONCLUSION: The only way she could be dangerous, would be if she had any sort of GPS tracker. In that case, THEY would know where his fortress is. For the rest, this hypothesis is quite unlikely. Just like the last one.

HYPOTHESIS #3: This is all a genuine accident, and this Clarice needs help.
ARGUMENTS FOR: Every thing points to that idea.
ARGUMENTS AGAINST: Meeting her was a genuine accident.
CONCLUSION: Although bringing her home seems reckless, it's also the only way of ensuring her safety. However, precautions must be taken to avoid any possible complication.

HYPOTHESIS #1: This is all an implanted memory.
ARGUMENTS FOR: Finding a female who fits so well in the Damsel in Distress box is quite suspicious.
ARGUMENTS AGAINST: The whole randomness of the situation is weird enough. Any mind pusher implanting this memory in his mind would have to be quite creative to think so out of the box.
CONCLUSION: The possibility of being trapped inside a fake memory is always there. It's necessary to make sure this is not the case. Later.

REAL WORLD
The decision's have been made. He had to trust her, but only up to a point. Security measures had to be taken.

"Stop the car. Here."

The car stopped at the side of the road.

"I want to help you, I really do, but I need to be sure no harm will come to me because of this. I'm sure you understand. I need you to remove your clothes. All of them, and leave them in the car. With your backpack. I'll give you something to wear, don't worry. One of my associates will check your clothes and your items to make sure you don't have any tracking device. Do you understand?"

He stepped out of the car, and made a gesture to Rostik and Said to do the same. He removed his red tracksuit jumper, and made a sign to Rostik. He was not happy. Ilya insisted. Rostik rolled his eyes, and removed his tracksuit trousers. Ilya waited outside for Clarice to undress, or to let him know she was not doing that. Either way, he waited, still like the marble statue of a fashion impaired Russian.
Languages:

Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German

Oleg's Voice

You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza.
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Clarice Harris
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Sexually abused by a Jew
* * * * *
Well, shit...

The car stopping in the middle of nowhere did never mean good. If she knew they were all unaware mortals she would expect a mere kidney extraction, gangbang could be an option too. Then she would land in the trunk and be brought to her own burial, deep in the woods. The virtual reality was suggesting it is true, TV was full of testimonials of drunk female victims. But it just didn't fly, the media didn't include vampires nor cursed Malkav's blood in their equation. There she was, a roadkill in walking corpse's embrace. In a weird way it was relieving, having someone who understands the lack of human physiology right beside. No unnerving heartbeat, no irregular breath, no tears, no sweating, no hysteria. The blueblood was welcome in her mind's home. And then came the request. Initially Clarice wasn't quite certain of her sobriety. She had to strain her upper back quite a lot, but the direct eye contact was worth it, it reassured her about the real state of affairs

I was pretty wasted tonight, but I think I get what you say...
-I like where this is going...
-Shut your whore mouth


She watched everyone get out of the cab, now that they were all staring at her, it got too uncomfortable, too awkward. And the driver, while in her simple understanding it was a mere servant, she'd like him to know his place... Still lying prone, she took her thin khaki jacket off, then the white tank top, revealing deadly pale back with swastika-less Parteiadler tattooed over her shoulders. The cold autumn wind lashing the skin felt pretty refreshing, a petty pleasure in the middle of this misery... She simply threw her clothes somewhere around her dead feet, rose as much she could and glanced over the cabbie again. Her dead face was sure helping to hide it, but a sharp eye would notice how it began to slowly frown in disgust

Нелюдь не должен моих вещи трогать!
This subhuman won't touch my stuff!
And you two better turn the fuck around and watch out for the cops and other drones!

An uneasy moment of silence; Clarice couldn't delay the inevitable anymore. It was pretty humiliating, but a moment of dignity could cost her the shade of life she had. Maybe she was getting a bit too old for this rapidly changing world, this cursed city was not what she used to know after all. What kept her going then? There was still some unfinished business, like learning the story behind predator called Yuri. It was a fair deal, safety for safety, she could comprehend it really well. It was the time she had to strip herself of yet another strain of humanity. What wouldn't one do if it's the mean of survival? After an inner sigh Clarice pulled her old jeans down, as far as she could reach. Now her shapeless, mutilated ass was fully bared; thighs didn't look much better. She couldn't do anything but ask for help

Yuri, man, if anyone comes around pretend nothing happened here, I'll get out of sight. For now you can have the pants, just try not to fuck my legs up. Oh and...

She reached out to him, gesturing like she was grabbing the red jumper from a distance, her mouth formed a soundless gimme, gimme, deep inside she was cursing the mortal pawns and their curiosity. If she could only wear her own tracksuit, the world would automatically become a better place...
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Tsar Ilya the First
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* * * *
The girl was doing as told. Good. Ilya made a sign to Rostik, who used his phone to get another cab. Ilya gave his red jumper and Rostik's trousers to the girl. He didn't want to humiliate her, although looking at her there, lying half naked in the car, with that many broken pieces, acting as if she was just a bit annoyed, made some effect in side of him. When she called Said 'Subhuman', he couldn't stop it. Something very strange happened in his face. Something so unusual, so strange, Rostik got really scared upon seeing it: Ilya smiled. This girl knew. She understood the ideal of the two worlds. Subhuman. That was her word. Flesh machines. Same thing, with a different direction. He handed her the clothes, and waited until she got dressed.

"No cattle will touch your things. I promise. I'll check them personally later on, and return them to you as soon as I'm sure you have no tracking devices on you. Now... I'll try not to hurt you... more."

Another car stopped beside them. Ilya grabbed Clarice by her arms, and pulled. He took her in his arms, and carried her to the other cab. There, he placed her, lying in the same position as before. He climbed inside, beside the driver. Rostik looked at him, with some disappointment painted in his face.

"Don't touch the lady's things, or I'll pull your fingers off and make you eat them. Tell the driver-thing to put the car somewhere safe. I'll get back to check it all out soon. Come back home after that."

"But... Master... My trousers... It's cold..."

Ilya looked at him, as if he was going to actually remove his fingers from his hands, and force them into his mouth. The ghoul shrugged and entered the cab. The car carrying Ilya and Clarice started moving. In less then ten minutes they were parked in front of Ilya's fortress; just behind Edmonton Green Market. Ilya climbed down and opened Clarice's door.

"I'm going to ask you to close your eyes. I could blind you by force, but I still believe in the values of hospitality. I'm going to carry you. Get ready."

He didn't give her time to prepare. He just grabbed her again, like a rag doll, and placed her over his shoulder, as if she was a heavy blanket or a dead body. The car went away. He walked with her like that up to his door, and spent about three minutes deactivating all the security systems. He opened the door. After two more minutes reactivating the security, he got to the huge living room. He walked to the couch, and dropped Clarice there.

The place was obviously a refurbished warehouse. It was not fully equipped for human life, but it was good enough. Out of the eleven doors in that massive room, only two of them were closed. There were stairs heading upwards and downwards. Some faint music could be heard from the upstairs floor. Ilya seemed to ignore that.

"I'm going to bring you some food. Do you have any preference, or are you alright with anything?"

He was going to call Olga, and to grab a couple of bags from his freezer. However, he was not sharing his own reserve with this girl; getting his hands on that blood was hard enough to share it freely.
Languages:

Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German

Oleg's Voice

You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza.
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Clarice Harris
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Sexually abused by a Jew
* * * * *
Yuri smiled. So he still knew how to do that. When someone so dead smiles, or displays any emotions for that matter, you just know it means something, a lot in fact. That small event was registered in Clarice's sick mind, deep in the niche that recently came to life, with sole purpose of hosting that man's soul. From now on it wouldn't really matter if their bodies perished. He will be forever remembered, very few individuals manage to earn an immortal life in aetheric plane. That was best she could do to honor him. She accepted the clothes, putting that oversized jumper on. Unable reach down or pull her legs up, she had to give up on the pants and that was shame because the mortal warmed them up pretty nicely. At least the jumper was large enough to reach the thighs, she couldn't have guessed that in modern fashion conventions mortals call it a tunic. More importantly - she could see entire legs, all the injuries. It made her realize she was hell lucky to have her spinal cord cut, it spared her most of that pain. For now...

Не волнуйтесь, это начнёшься мне болеть потом...
Don't worry, it'll be hurting me later...

Clarice wrapped her arms around Yuri's shoulders, their faces got dangerously close. It was exciting and risky at the same time. The temptation was overwhelming, now from close up, she could discreetly sniff blood on his neck, and so she did. It was unearthly, it smelled of purest ambrosia. The worst instincts were telling her to suck his veins dry, devour every single droplet of the precious liquid, to revel in ecstatic taste while it lasts. It was irresistible, her tongue found its way out and briefly licked the nectar of the gods. Intensity of this feeling was surpassing any notion of pleasure she could imagine. And as it is with all good things - it didn't last long. She was being put down, releasing the embrace felt like the biggest loss she'd ever have to cope with. And then he sat in the front, securing that tasty vitae of his

The ride probably wasn't long, but it felt like the whole eternity. Eternity spent on reconsidering what just happened. This was all wrong, it wasn't supposed to be like that... She can't just devour him, he's one of those rare good folks, too valuable to be lost. Hell, diablerie was wrong in every case anyway, it destroys two minds and corrupts the souls. Their kind has already gone through trauma of death, it was bad enough. Before you destroy somebody's soul, dig two graves. Or something like that. Beside, she intended no harm. Deep inside she'd even like the undead to peacefully coexist. And it seems that she just crossed paths with someone who shares these views. It was really rare, you can live through decades before meeting someone so special

Clarice had no idea how long it took, but it seemed that now they're finally home. Well, Yuri's home, hers was...she had no idea how far from here. She nodded to let him know she'll do as requested, in no time her partly repaired back was bent in a quick motion; sometime during her groan the lust blinked in her mind again. Either he was lucky or instincts helped him do it the right way, but he just prevented his neck from being snapped. She closed her eyes and focused on tearing pain, subconsciously punishing herself for the lack of self-control. It was first time in decades when she felt guilty. She didn't know that feeling, bitterness the likes of which she never experienced before was flooding her mind. How could it be that greater ideals perishing among the mortals didn't hurt her soul as much as that dark, bestial urge to destroy a newly met man? Her mind couldn't comprehend it, maybe she just wasn't supposed to know everything right now...
Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!
How unsearchable his judgments,
and his paths beyond tracing out!


The impact was surprisingly light, she was now laid on something soft. Her eyes opened to see it's a regular sofa, it felt like sitting on the lap of luxury considering regular conditions a homeless person deals with. Then she looked around, damn large place it was. She couldn't help but smirk

Вы, люди белой кости всегда живёте в грёбаных дворцах. Всегда. А что касается еду, белое быдло, будьте добры!
You blue bloods always live in fucking palaces. Always. As for the food, white cattle please!
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Tsar Ilya the First
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* * * *
The girl was smart, perceptive. Now that he thought about it, there was something off in the way he had run her over. He should have seen her. For Ilya, the sensation of not being able to trust his senses was quite uncomfortable. How could he know at that very moment that this girl was not something else, some gruesome tentacular monster playing with his imagination? There was no way to be sure.

He lost around seven seconds with that though, and then rebooted his system again. He moved towards one of the closed doors, and went inside. He came out, dragging behind him a girl in lingerie with a leash. She was looking at him, defiantly, and he was handling her as if she was an object.

"Food. Call it Olga. Please, don't empty it; it is my property."

Absently, he put the leash in Clarice's hand, and walked towards the stairs.

"I'll be back in a minute." He climbed down the stairs, into the basement, his room.
OLGA
The big man opened the door. That was unusual. She was not sure if she hated him, she loved him, she despised him, he had a strong influence over her, or he was her slave. The lines were all blurred. She was not even sure if she wanted to be in his presence at that moment. One thing was certain: since the day they had the fight, the day he took care of her in that strange way, she could not stop thinking about him. His presence intoxicated her dreams, and her every waking hour. It was the strangest feeling in the world.

He didn't even look at her. He just put on her leash, and dragged her out of the room, without saying a word. Once again, she was allowed out of her room, into that magical living room where she could watch TV, and lie in the couch. She liked that. But there was somebody else in the couch. Another girl. She was... Broken. She was only wearing one of the big man's red tracksuit jumpers, and she could see her legs... twisted like twigs, pointing in impossible angles. The mere sight of her wounds was very upsetting. The big man didn't look too well either, but at least his body looked somehow normal.

The big man put the leash in the girl's hand. He referred to her as 'food', as if she was an object. Some part of her enjoyed that, even though she hated herself for allowing that feeling inside her heart. She wanted to rebel against it but... not rebelling was much more comforting. She was his property, and he was lending her to the broken girl. And it felt horribly right. He went downstairs, leaving her alone with the other woman. She looked her for a second, and sat in the floor, beside the couch, the back of her neck half a meter away from Clarice's face. She grabbed the remote control and turned on the TV. Some presenter with an unhealthily big smile was selling cheap zircon jewellery and power bracelets.
ILYA
He got to his room, and dropped his clothes as he walked. He would need to destroy them, so messed up they were. He stood in front of the mirror, naked, and studied his body, trying to find wounds and scratches that he could have missed before. He felt his blood burning up, as his skin regenerated around the damaged areas, and his ribs got repaired. His body was back in its default status. Back to square one.

He opened his closet. At the right side of the small room, there were dozens of identical red tracksuits neatly organized in hangers. At the left side, a vast collection of tailored suits, all very similar to each other. Instinctively, he grabbed a tracksuit, and put it on. He was, back again, the same red corpse. But this time it was different. This time he had a guest. That was new. He wasn't sure what he was doing, and some part of his mind was telling him that he had to be careful, or he would regret this encounter.

Clarice was going to need clothes. He had the big closet upstairs, with all the dresses and the sexy outfits that Rostik had bought for the girls. That would suffice for her. With that idea in mind, he went back upstairs.
Languages:

Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German

Oleg's Voice

You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza.
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Clarice Harris
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Sexually abused by a Jew
* * * * *
Clarice watched that weird scene with eyes wide open. Not that pimping was something new to her, it was just quite uncommon to see a vampire in this role. Or a blue blood using a leash, while he could sure force obedience with the power of his mind alone. Maybe he was just still conditioning that doll... Then the leash was placed in her hand, along with ready explanation - it was supposed to keep the doll from fleeing while he's not around. That was still unnecessary, another powerful hypnotizer was present in the room, this one seemed to be far more charming than Yuri, even if those commercials were becoming shittier every year. Maybe the whole charm was lying in poor quality, who knows...

The wreck allowed the trance to begin for good, then she hooked her arm around the back rest and pulled her torso forward. This thing worked wonders, Olga's face became completely bland, dull eyes locked in tunnel vision, it was only her and the screen now. Now Clarice could exploit the diversion, she wrapped the leash around her hand and then with careful motion she grabbed the doll's wrist. As long as the joints move slowly and within their natural angles, distracted targets don't notice a damn thing, sometimes mortals are just too easy. Quick inspection of the skin revealed proper veins, next moment her fangs punctured the vessel open and the lips sucked every droplet of hot blood. It seemed to be the first time when sating the hunger wasn't very satisfying. It was warm, it felt somewhat revitalizing, but it just didn't taste that good anymore. It wasn't even that hard to stop feeding in time, once she could sense the drop of blood pressure, she licked that small wound close (and clean) and delicately placed the doll's arm on the edge of the seat

Fucking TV...

This place's acoustics were quite creepy, but also hell informative. Large main hall echoing the imperfect TV speakers, but also, to some degree, the sounds coming through numerous open doorways. Now she caught it. The familiar footsteps that seemed to move back upstairs, definitely from different direction than the building's entrance. At least it seemed to be that way, if only her inner sonar generated a correct map of the place. And now the steps didn't enter the hall, instead they moved to upper floor. So this place had at least three levels, that's a whole damn mansion indeed. It was so new, so unsettling... Not only mapping large spaces is more difficult, their size sure had to serve some purpose which remained hidden

It was probably the time to heal the crushed backbone and proceed to reassembling the pelvis, but it would be a hell of bloody pain and serious trial of self-control. She couldn't risk damaging that doll, all the mortals should be moved away from her, for everyone's safety
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Tsar Ilya the First
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* * * *
Pink lingerie. Dominatrix outfits. Latex costumes. French Maid garments. Thongs. Sexy nurse, sexy cop, sexy soldier, sexy fireman, sexy secretary, sexy businesswoman, all the sexy uniforms. Even sexy vampire. The irony. High heel white boots. High heel red shoes. High heel trainers. High heel flip flops. High heel crocs. Masks. Glasses. A chastity belt lying on the corner. Ilya could not make any sense of the collection of clothes piled up there. It was ridiculous. How would he know if his guest would like to wear any of that? He resolved to let her choose. Too bad. Back downstairs.

She had finished feeding from Olga. She was probably trying to heal her wounds. That was to be expected. Olga was mesmerized by the TV. Ilya found the silly box a surprisingly efficient reprogramming tool. Some part of his mind wandered off, considering the theory of subliminal messages. It was obviously disproved, but he knew there had to be a way of controlling the population in a more direct way using the TV. Not now.

"I hope you find your meal satisfactory. Now, time to talk. Sorry if this seems rude but... It is necessary. Who are you, and what were you doing around this area?"

He just hoped she was not a spy, or an agent from the Camarilla, or the Sabbat, or an envoy from Roman... There were many things he hoped she was not... and not many things he hoped she was. He realized that precaution, prudence, fear... was the force leading his actions. It was incredibly ironic that, following the trail of fear, he had allowed a stranger into his house, and let her feed upon one of his products, finally ruining her. He thought about that while he bit his own wrist and offered it to Olga, who sucked on it like a baby sucks on a tit. Fear made him reckless and rude.

"As soon as you feel you can move, we can go upstairs. I've got plenty of clothes that you can use."

The flesh machine, the automaton product, was finally broken. She had been fed his blood too many times. Now it was a defective product, below the minimum quality requirements. He could only destroy it, or repurpose it. And still, he had a very nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, some very distant inner voice that was telling him to let her live, to take care of her, to be gentle and kind to her... to it. Why would he care about the fate of a silly flesh machine who was all addicted to that silly TV? The mere idea was so ridiculous he wanted to laugh. He also wanted to rip her head out of her body... ITS head out of ITS body. But that was unnecessary.

He sat down in the sofa, in front of his guest, studying the two women from a short distance while licking the would on his wrist to close it. An unknown messed up Kindred. A flesh machine. The Vampire fed from the machine, who fed from him. It was a strange triangle. Incomplete. Asymmetric.
Languages:

Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German

Oleg's Voice

You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza.
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Clarice Harris
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Sexually abused by a Jew
* * * * *
Footsteps again, this time they didn't descend to ground level or even basement, they entered the hall, echoing with whole new intensity. Here he was, a whole new man, at the same time dragging his old himself along. Seemingly new garments, and yet beside being perfectly clean they didn't differ from previous ones. At least his face was no longer covered in cuts and scratches, now he almost looked like regular humans. As he approached, Clarice looked at him sitting right in front with completely crazed eyes, deep inside fearing that one clumsy move might crush her already broken legs. But he wasn't an idiot without self-control, the motion was well calculated, he was fully aware of his surroundings. Unlike the cattle stampeding everyone and everything on their way

She handed the leash over, nodding in a small gesture of gratitude. And here was the main dish, something that obviously had to come, something that she'd even like to discuss right away instead of abiding the pretense of courtesy that is associated with traditions of hospitality. It was hard to keep her eyes on Yuri's face rather than his wrist, especially that every breath enabling the speech apparatus was filling her nostrils with that faint, sweet smell. If mortals were supposed to smell pheromones, vampires had a knack for sniffing vitae from afar...

А я такой безпризорник... Приехала в Лондон из Петербурга но это не мое отечество. Бля...
Ah just a street kid... Came to London from Petersburg, though it's not my fatherland. Damn...
I never knew русский all that good, but now I'm forgetting too much of it... It's been like what? A year? Something like that. Tell you what - that year ago there was no one around, только бидло. No Baron, and those that I knew joined the Camarilla, there was no choice. I've seen their commie Prince twice or so, worked for the Seneschal, helped save London from this Blackwood guy, pranked a blue blood couple, and that's about it. Now I'm left with a few grand, a truck and that stupid brooch, man Stalinists are really obsessed about these... (pause) So, I was probably going home tonight. You know, I don't break into people's basements anymore, I usually sleep in that truck. Sorry about yours, I don't know what happened... This Mason guy sells quite damn good booze...

The sight of Olga sucking on that sweet blood of his was becoming unbearable. Clarice wanted to lunge forward, to knock her aside and have a share too. It just happened so that her defunct bottom didn't allow such freedom of movement. In pure anger and lust, she pierced her own tongue with fangs. Yuri was right, time to get back on legs. And so the painful part begun. Her hands moved below the lower back, stabilizing the bone shards while they join back together and giving Olga an extra second to dodge any attack, in case Clarice gives in to the beast. A completely inhumane growl passed through her gritted teeth, distorting into an even worse sound. After a while the pelvis and bottom section of spinal cord were effectively healed. The ability to feel the legs should probably make her happy, indeed, on some level it did feel relieving. If it wasn't for the excruciating pain ranging from the groins to ankles

Take..the doll..away..from.here

Without waiting any longer, she lain as flat as possible, preparing to fix at least the upper half of femurs and jack them back into their sockets. Repulsive sounds of mingling flesh and bones were drowned out by a medley of harsh profanity, largely similar in words, and yet different from melodic tone of russian speech. That small step was achieved with bloody sweat and dehumanizing scars on Clarice's psyche, but it was totally worth it. Now she could finally sit, doing so with an awful grin, enjoying it like a baby that finally learned how to stabilize the little body and sit straight without anyone's help. Or like a victim of strokes, regaining motor functions after successful rehabilitation. So human and inhuman at the same time...

Um... Give me a second, I'll be hobbling in no time, then we can go upstairs

Right knee, far enough from any major nervous plexus, she could manage. An awful sound indicated that the bones slipped back to their place, the worst part was already the past. Torn muscles grew together, skin wasn't important right now. Tibia and fibula, piece of cake. A quick test of joint mobility, from the knee to toes. Everything works smoothly, time for a ground test. Without a shade of mercy for newly fixed limb, she stomped on the ground, ensuring that this leg is capable of handling the body's weight. The left leg didn't even look that bad, it could be fixed on the run
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Tsar Ilya the First
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* * * *
Ilya nodded while hearing Clarice's story. It was believable. As far as he knew, the Anarchs had been in a very dark and disorganized place for ages. If the rumours were to be believed, the old Baron was something between a despot and an indifferent mother. Under those circumstances, it was not surprising that valuable people were escaping through the cracks, and joining the ranks of the Camarilla. This young girl seemed to be interested in crossing back. That was good news. Particularly now that she was lying in his couch, in the heart of his haven... Either she was a valuable ally, or she was a terrible liability, and once under his hospitality, there was so much he could do about the later.

"My van? Don't worry about it. I'll get another one. I see that you had quite the trip in this city. Well, we are trying to make the North a better place. There is so much work to do... But we are doing it."

He grabbed Olga's leash, and tied it to the leg of the sofa. She stayed there, sitting on the floor, tied to the sofa, watching TV absent mindedly. They stood up, and Ilya took Clarice through the building. The ground floor had ten doors, an open kitchen, a living room area, and stairs leading up and down. He guided her upstairs. The first floor stair led to a crossing between two long corridors. Doors lined the walls of each corridor. They advanced through one of them. Clarice noticed that there were no windows anywhere. At the end of the corridor, there was a medium sized room, all filled up with feminine clothes. Most of them, if not all of them, were fetishistic, sexualized outfits. Ilya waited for Clarice to find some clothes that she could fit in.

"Look, I'm not going to play paranoid games with you. I guess we are both old enough to skip those pleasantries. You are here, in my realm, and I can either trust you, or kill you. I'm not particularly fond of the idea of killing people that are subject to my hospitality, so my only option here is to trust you. I just hope you'll not break that trust."

Once Clarice had chosen her clothes (or not), He guided her downstairs. She could see another girl, another doll, emerging from one of the doors in the corridor, and entering in another room. Many people seem to live there. They climbed down to the ground floor, and then to the basement. That was another world. A small area of the floor, about two square meters, were painted red. The rest was raw concrete. One wall was lined with screens. Black and white images of streets were popping up at every moment, in what seemed to be a live feed from the real world. There were like 20 old TVs there, all showing different places. In another wall, there was a long table with various computers. Most of them were quite old.

There was a side room, a small one, with no doors. From the stairs, she could see half the room lined with what seemed like dark suits, and the other half filled up with red tracksuits. Just two different outfits, but endless copies of it. There was also a piano, leaning against a wall.

"From what you say, I assume you could be an asset for us, here in the North. I still don't know how are we going to work out all the Baron politics, but we are getting organized. This place is... well, this is where you'll sleep tonight. I can't offer you a bed, or any of that sort of comfort, unless you want to sleep in a room destined for... Bydlo. You don't want that, do you? Tomorrow I'll escort you out, don't worry, but I don't want sunrise to catch you by surprise."

He stood there, letting her take in all the information she was receiving.
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You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza.
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