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| Welcome To The Night You find yourself in London on a dreary, foggy night like any other. But what lurks in the shadows is the stuff of fantasies and nightmares, far from mortal reality. This game uses the cursed and immortal vampiric condition as a backdrop to explore themes of morality, depravity, the human condition, salvation, and personal horror. We are a writing and roleplaying community dedicated to telling complex and engaging stories. Your fate is your own. Mingle among the ivory-tower elite in the Camarilla, join the fight of the discontented and chaotic Anarch rabble, or set out independently and attempt to survive in London's nighttime underworld. Anything is possible in our World of Darkness. Create Your Account! If you're already a member, please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| Making Friends | |
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| Topic Started: Sunday, 14. December 2014, 02:28 (756 Views) | |
| Republicain | Sunday, 14. December 2014, 02:28 Post #1 |
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Childe
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Having quite a bit of free time while negotiations with the Camarilla were on-going, Fabio had already exhausted the novelty of the Parson's Green Estate's facilities. The sauna, pool, garden and cinema could only be enjoyed so much in solitude. In snooping through some of the notes left behind by earlier family members, though, he came upon mention of a neutral ground. He didn't think much of the note at the time (pre-occupied more with the boredom that prompted him to violate someone's privacy and the guilt of said violation), but a week gave him ample time to yearn for some company. So he showed up at the Hospitality Club, dressed in a noncommittally professional manner: a cream dress-shirt, a pink silk tie embroidered with small stylized clovers, and matching gray jacket and trousers. He knew it was a bit light for winter, but hadn't packed more suitable clothes from Italy. Besides, resistance to cold made him seem more manly, right? Besides the Italian/Trans-Atlantic accent that immediately marked him as an outsider, he'd also placed an adhesive blue name-tag on his chest. "Hello, My Name is: Fabio Gio-Vanni". The surname was split between lines as he poorly estimated the space it would take to write in sharpie. Realizing he likely stood out among the young, hip and local clientele, he bought a Guinness because it was the only beer he could recall that wasn't German or American. From that point, it was all about getting nice and comfortable at a table facing the door so he could let his name tag do all the talking for those "in the know". He was a bit nervous about getting beat up, given that he'd heard the last family members were a bit abrasive, but that's why he wore his cheap suit jacket that night. Fabio, master of foresight, was on the prowl for a friend. |
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| Republicain | Sunday, 14. December 2014, 02:57 Post #2 |
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Childe
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You know how Giovanni all have a certain image? The guy with slicked back hair, acts like he owns the room and speaks with a palpable sense of menace at all times? A disturbing evil that reeks of moral decay and ambition? And here, in the flesh, a Giovanni had come to visit the Hospitality Club. His eyes lit up at being greeted (and Sam was smiling, too!), his hands spreading out to his sides, open-palmed, in a gesture of welcome that pulled his shoulders along with them. His mouth opened and gesticulated for a half-second, a gesture familiar to a great many less fluent ESL students, before he just gave an emphatic, "Very pleasant!" He looked to his left and looked to his right, a stool in each direction. It was a hesitant decision, as he seemed quite split between the two, but quickly enough he gestured with both hands, shoulders rolling like sea waves, for his companion to sit. "It's open. Very open!" If his desperate loneliness were an act, it would likely seem he was a talented actor... for terrible silent films. "So... ah... you know my family? I'm new. New in London. Making new friends." He reached forward for a handshake, initially nearly bumping his Guinness and needing to carefully move it aside before going for the shake again. "Your name, signore?" |
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| Republicain | Sunday, 14. December 2014, 03:20 Post #3 |
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Fabio's puppy-like enthusiasm waned a bit at the mention of the reputation. Granted, he rarely, if ever, suffered from ostracism over it in Italy. After all, in the peninsula, nobody disrespects the Giovanni. But still. The reputation. He let out a big sigh, his pneumonic disease making itself quite evident in the wheezing, raspy sound of his expression of frustration. "Do not worry, Sam. This circle my family has. There, I also do not run." His head bobbed a bit with his words, adding emphasis where his command of the spoken language might have lacked. "Ehh... but maybe you know this. I think you can see. I do not run often." He straightened up a bit, his hands gesturing to his body. Corpulent by a dated standard, though he didn't stand out excessively in this day and age. If avoiding inquisitors, Walmart would be a safe haven for him. "Your clothes speak very loudly. You are a man of action? You seem... ehhh... very interesting. In my eyes." His hands fluttered in circles close to his temples, as if to make clear that was more literal than figurative. |
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| Republicain | Sunday, 14. December 2014, 03:45 Post #4 |
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In the pauses in their conversation, Fabio took dainty little sips of his Guinness. The kind that started with a sucking of air through the lips and produced a sustained, interminable slurping. Sam's comment about his clothes prompted Fabio's eyes to widen and his slurp to be interrupted, nearly in a spray of stout across the table. Thankfully, he kept it together. "These are your better clothes?" He struggled, reaching for a napkin to dab at some droplets of the drink that were quickly becoming acquainted with his beard. This poor, poor man! Still, he didn't seem too embarrassed about his situation, so Fabio decided not to pry. Specialmente because it sounded like this wasn't somebody to mess with. "You know, we... ah... my family has a villa here. I found a note, it say here is un terreno neutrale. For eh... you and me. Us. My job, I work with people. I wait too long in the villa, it is... eh... troppo solitaria." Getting more into a natural mode of speaking, his manner relaxed, but the proportion of Italian to English rose to dangerously unintelligible levels. "I am a psy... psy... psychologist. I help with a disease mentale and eh... study modelli of desire. I have a card." He reached into his suit jacket and produced one for Sam, held between his index and middle finger. "Is... eh... for my office in Italy. So the numbers, they are not true. Un momento. I make them true." He withdrew the card just as fast, taking out a ball-point pen from his inner breast pocket and scribbling in a phone number before offering the card again. |
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| Republicain | Sunday, 14. December 2014, 04:21 Post #5 |
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Fabio blinked for a moment, retrieving, wordlessly, a small notebook within which he quickly wrote down a note. "Beater: /bidər/ Malconcio. Non va bene." His hands moved with precision and speed, though, nothing to write home to Caine about. Still, it was clear he did a fair amount of penwork. "Eh... for me, is not about money. You know, my family, they are very powerful in the banking. My work, is money not so much. But... you cannot use a money to make your heart sano. This... people who have the power, they forget to look at themselves. I... eh... I help my family to be those eyes." He rested his hand against his cheek, an index finger scratching at his temple while he looked down at the head of his drink. He took another sip. "I could talk... eh... all day about it. About the mind. Is my passion. But, I think is... eh... so tedioso for you to listen. I am just happy to have a friend Americano here. I go to school in America, many years ago. Very good country." He lifted his glass in a bit of an informal toast. While, admittedly, he didn't really like his schoolmates, he did have a certain affection for America. Respect to the Germans, affection for the Americans and a vague sense of distaste for the British. |
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| Republicain | Sunday, 14. December 2014, 05:20 Post #6 |
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Childe
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At the offer, Fabio gave some careful consideration, his brow momentarily knitting up before he shook his head and his hands fanned out in a small wave from the wrist. "I... eh... no thank you. I don't... I prefer not to. In public." "It was... a long time ago. My college years. In Boston. Eh... very far from Colorado, I think. Colorado is in the middle western America, yes? Beautiful, spacious skies and amber waves of grain." When it came to memorization, at least, he could sound a bit more articulate. It was clear he didn't speak so much as he thought, something of a nostalgic mood hitting him as he thought back to Harvard. The talk about his family brought him back to reality, though. "It's... eh... you know, is very competitive. To be chosen. In my family, there is great... eh... pressione to be a real man. You know?" He straightened up and puffed out his chest, in that way that a real man ought to. The caricature only lasted for a moment, before he deflated back to his slouching, inoffensive self. "I am just lucky my anziani decide my research is useful. That I am... eh... worthy to help the family." From the helpless shrug he gave and the way he stared down at the table, one could see he was deeply and truly honored to be among the immortal cadre of the family. |
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| Republicain | Sunday, 14. December 2014, 06:55 Post #7 |
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Fabio nodded with kind of knowing squint of his eyes that hid his near complete ignorance of American geography, beyond a vague sense for there being two coasts and a bunch of stuff in-between. Oh, and the South, but he'd heard it was not a good place for Catholics or anyone from outside the US. "For tonight, my plan is just to do some company. Like I say before, the villa is very big and very quiet. I am not... eh... I am not a life of the party. But I still can become very... very..." The word had escaped him before, but he felt its presence and had to pause, his hand lifted in mid-gesture, trembling like he was a DVD stuck skipping one moment. "...very lonely! This, it is un terrano neutrale, yes? A good place for meetings?" He'd never been much of a business frontman before, but given that he could no longer simply conduct his research without worrying about outsiders, he had to put some thought towards meeting others. Sluuuuuuurp. At least, for the benefit of others' ears, he'd finished his drink. "Why do you say you are not popular? You seem... eh... a very friendly man. We have a meeting for very few minutes, but already, I feel a very... it is close." His hands flowed, one at full arms-length and the other half that, moving his chest and Sam's to a point in-between and then back out again several times. Two points coming together. "Anarcho, they like the freedom. This is a feeling I understand, too." |
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| Republicain | Sunday, 14. December 2014, 08:01 Post #8 |
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Childe
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Fabio just gave a small shrug as Sam hoped for a little information from him. The Dunsirn had a reputation for being congenitally incapable when it came to the familial art, but Fabio had first-hand knowledge of how untraceable the Giovanni's sources could be. Best not to risk ever speaking ill. "As my family only chooses the eh... cream of the crops to represent it, I would never use the word "herd". But... ah... there is a certain uniformita of opinion." Here, he sighed, that wheezing, deathly sound like a broken accordion was lodged in his throat. "I have done some... eh... consulting for business. Is true anywhere you have eh... many competitives. A single-mind among many. Maybe for anarcho, they want the freedom. For us, the money. For..." He stopped himself, aware they were, after all, somewhere semi-public. "...for another, power over the... eh... the children. The young. Society puts a pressure to be like the others. Is a natural thing." Sam seemed a man above the pressure. Fabio had always been one who couldn't achieve it, and had to learn to accept the barbs of those who held him to account for it. At least, until he turned out to have a talent after all. "Does it bother you? That... eh... the people in your company cannot... eh... they do not have your ability? To live an original life?" |
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| Republicain | Wednesday, 17. December 2014, 15:27 Post #9 |
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Childe
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Peer pressure. The look on Fabio's face, a kind of polite discomfort, likely spoke to his feeling that the word wasn't quite fitting. Milieu control or collective narcissism were likely far more applicable, but he was having trouble turning the written English words in his mind into anything vaguely approximating correct pronunciation. In the end, he could only force himself to give a half-hearted shrug, face scrunched up like he'd eaten something he couldn't quite identify. "Is... eh... politically, very strong. We move together, very organized. But... eh... this family culture, it means my work, it is... eh... always very busy." He tried to crack a smile there. The Americans he knew seemed to all have an appreciation of work for work's sake. Certainly, Sam carried himself with the air of a man who could appreciate a hard day's work. Fabio then shifted forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially while he peered up at Sam from his vantage-point close to the table. Despite his attempt to appear discrete, it just made him look a bit pitiful, or maybe just uncomfortable, leaned so far forward into the table. "It sounds like you know many in this city. I am new. Perhaps you can tell me... eh... the people I should know? Now, I only know four people in this city." He blinked, straightened up from his short-lived "Let's talk about secret stuff" pose and confessed with a disarmingly frank tone of realization, "I'm so sorry! It's five. Five people. The... eh... you are the five." He kept self-conscious eye contact as long as it took for his hands to finish gesturing in that curiously universal language of Italian digital manipulation. You. Five. I feel guilty. At that point he broke off their gaze, finger-tips tapping at each other anxiously as his gaze went down and away. He did feel pretty bad for forgetting about Sam. |
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| Republicain | Saturday, 20. December 2014, 10:03 Post #10 |
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Fabio couldn't help but laugh, an awful rasping giggle thanks to his lung condition."This, it sounds much like us. The... eh... the funny look, it is true for me as well." In his little notepad, Fabio wrote while he spoke. The notes, of course, were in Italian, but it was obvious enough what he was writing down since the names were as he heard them. The presence of some question marks after certain terms ("Blucher = crowt ???") wasn't too surprising, given Fabio's brilliance with vernacular. "Is free? Eh... grazie, grazie. I give you some, eh... is a trade. My family, it has four members in this city, attualmente. The... eh... the lady of our house. Primo. A man of Sicily. Very well-behaved, molto musculoso. Torino. Eh... I do not meet him. He is... eh... occupato. Myself." Letting his fingers meet together in a tent, then fan out, Fabio got a hopeful look on his face. "If you are ever in need of... eh... therapy, I am very free. Open schedule." |
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| Republicain | Friday, 26. December 2014, 10:17 Post #11 |
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Childe
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Fabio instinctively cringed at Sam's clap of his shoulder, less out of a fear of Sam than a general discomfort with physicality. The wince he gave, leaning a bit away to avoid the hand, was broken by a wide-eyed blink of surprise. "Oh, no no. I don't... I would not need..." He stumbled through the words before a lightbulb went off and gave a squeaky laugh. "You joke!" His head scrunched down into his neck as he let out a hissing, wheezing laugh only half-forced. The joke wasn't so funny, in his mind, but somehow realizing it was, in fact, a joke seemed to make it more amusing. "Oh... oh... joke..." The recovery time the Giovanni needed gave Sam ample time to roll into his anecdote without interruptions. Without Pop Up Video to explain all the idioms and unfamiliar terms in Sam's speech, Fabio had to squint his eyes and wrack his brain just to keep the gist of the story. Thankfully, the man had a talent for the telling, which seemed to make it easier to understand. Though, not necessarily more believable. There was a mix of skepticism and deep thought on Fabio's face as he worked through this story. A werewolf was un lupo mannaro, so a werebear... was un orso mannaro? Very big, in Russia. A fight, Sam struck it in the... hide? Hide is a verb, to make something unseen... ah, he struck the man-bear in his shameful parts. Fabio was a bit unsure whether his interpretation was correct, but then Sam used the terms "moan" and "in pleasure", making everything very clear, in a certain sense. Fabio chewed at his lip with some worry at exactly why Sam was telling him this story, but simply continued to listen. A rock came out of the man-bear's "hidden parts". Something fur, could not "scratch it's itches". At this point Fabio was simply nodding and wearing his very interested "Why is Uncle Matteo telling me about which of my cousins are sexually active with each other?" face. It was a face he had gotten very good at. It was a face that would not break, even when told the story of how a Brujah milked a man-bear for the magic gold produced by his hidden parts over the course of an entire winter. There was weirder stuff on the other side of the sudario. Fabio sat, frozen, at the end of the story, but for that slow, rhythmic nod. Saying the wrong thing to a guy who could wrestle down and forcibly pleasure werebeasts was not an option. His eyes creasing with a smile as he gave a nervous giggle, Fabio squirmed in his chair. "Eh... is... my hide does not need the picking. But if I meet the bear, his hide needs a pick, I will tell him your pick is the biggest. Particolarmente the man-bear." Usually, in these kinds of confessions, there was a certain expectation of reciprocity. Fabio was loathe to be so open, but he was also polite to a point. Sam had been the one to escalate this into a kind of bizarre truth or dare, so Fabio had no choice but to lean forward, his forehead shifting ominously close to Sam before he murmured in one intimate, wheezing breath. "I have slept with my mother." It ate at him. Even if he was a grown man, even if a thousand years might pass, he would never come to terms with it. The Giovanni's composure cracked for a moment, as he looked at Sam. Hope and guilt written all over his face, as he spoke what he had not even revealed in confession. "Your story... you tell me your secret, so I must return it. But..." His hand reached up to grip at Sam's arm, as he stared up into his eyes. A potence far less than Sam's own came through in that desperate grip, fingers trembling. "You must never tell a soul." It seemed Fabio also had a knack for jokes, though his delivery was a bit melodramatic. |
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7:55 PM Jul 11