Vampire The Masquerade RPG
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The Kindred Chronicle
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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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The Singing Fingertips; ATTN: Belle Dubois
Topic Started: Tuesday, 27. January 2015, 04:10 (687 Views)
Tsar Ilya the First
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* * * *
The joke was lost on Ilya. He just didn't get it. In that sense, he was as oblivious as any average Briton. However, any casual observer who happened to be from any other part of the world would have probably laughed at the name of the Pub: The Famous Cock.

The situation was as simple as it gets, in Ilya's case. He was riding one of his cabs, just checking on his assets, roaming through the North following random patterns. Something struck him as weird. He felt that the same routine had been repeated for too long. It was becoming predictable. That raised his red flags, and made him doubt the veracity of what surrounded him. If the same events repeated over and over, day after day, the chances of those events being the works of a storyteller, of a twisted mind pusher like his sire, were really high. After all, if he was the one messing with anybody's memories, he would probably create loops like this very one, just to save time and details. What were the chances of him repeating the same actions over and over again, every single night, for such a long time? Very slim indeed.

He needed to break the script. That's why he stopped the cab and climbed down. He let the minicab go, and he started walking through the cold streets of Enfield, trying to find ways of breaking the pattern, and demonstrating to himself that he was not being manipulated. He needed to do things that no mind pusher would think about.

That's when he crossed in front of the Famous Cock, and something caught his attention. Music. Horrible music coming from the inside. Some technologically supported aberration, punching the basic four on the floor endlessly and glazing it with ridiculous pentatonic decorations. It was an insult to his ears. He needed to get inside that pub, and so he did.

The atmosphere was as dense as in any given pub. The flesh machines gathered there were apparently trying on some mating procedures, and trying to numb their senses with beer and spirits. He overcame his horror towards that incredibly stupid music, and got a glass of vodka from the bar. No ice. Just vodka in a glass. Full. A pint. The robot barman's face twisted with surprise and disbelief. Not relevant.

There was something in the corner: a piano. A musical instrument, designed to produce elevated music that soothed the souls and nourished the hearts. Not that abhorrent repetitive noise that was hammering his ears. He approached the console board where a man with a hat was controlling that horrible noise. He stared at the man in the eyes until his gaze was corresponded.

[DOMINATE: MESMERIZE] "Listen to my voice. All that exists around you is my gaze, and my words. Pay attention. When I stop talking, you will stop this music. You will stay here, making sure nobody comes and puts it on again. You will do all of that because you hate this music. Listening to it makes you feel very ashamed of yourself, because this is the music that horrible people like paedophiles and dictators enjoy. Now, stop the music."

The robot with the baseball hat blinked, and turned off the music as Ilya walked towards the piano. There was a choir of surprised and disappointed voices, and some flesh machines even started walking towards that automaton, probably to ask him to put the music on again. Ilya needed their silence and cooperation. Even their attention.

[PRESENCE: ENTRANCEMENT + UNIVERSAL GRACE]

The atmosphere in the pub switched. The very air became friendly towards him, and every single atom there granted him its undivided attention. The feeling combined positive dependency with guilt and shame, like the feeling an A student could have towards her drug dealer. He sat down on the piano, and let Shostakovich talk to them through his fingers.
Languages:

Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German

Oleg's Voice

You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza.
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Belle Dubois
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* * *
As the musical scene played out in the bar, Belle had been preoccupied in the bathroom wishing she hadn’t ate Thai food earlier that evening. The regurgitation process of a vampire that eats human food was anything less than appetizing, but it was one of the things she missed the most about being human. The food, not the vomiting. This food was particularly spicy, just as fiery coming out as it went in, if not more so. So, it was a bit more unpleasant than usual. ‘At least it’s more pleasant than that god awful bile they call music that they’re playing out there’ she giggled at her thoughts in between her violent, but necessary vomiting.

Once she was certain than her stomach was empty, Belle flushed the toilet, unlocked and opened the stall, then began to freshen up. It was then that the door swung open, the tinkling of the piano reached her ears for a brief moment and then was swept away by an extremely drunk... what she would call ‘woo woo’ girl. You know, those girl’s that scream ‘woo!!’ every time something fun happens. In great drunken fashion, she repeated what Belle had just done, a soft giggle of pity reached her lips as she strode over to the girl, who looked like a tourist, and pulled her hair from her face.

It didn’t take long for Belle to figure out this girl was blacked out wasted, she could hardly keep her own head up. She sighed and looked up at the ceiling in a “why me?” fashion while the girl cried and mumbled between breathes, “Please..make it stop..” with her request, Belle gave a wry smile and closed the bathroom stall door behind them locking it.

By now, the girl had stopped puking and sat there motionless in her drunken stupor. Her head rested on her arm which rested on the toilet, her face pointed towards the toilet bowl. Belle couldn’t contain her smile as she looked upon her drunken prey, tonight was about to be a good night. She knelt down to the passed out girl, placing one hand behind her head wrapping her hand around her hair so she couldn’t move and the other held the girl’s hand in a kind fashion. In a way she was doing both of them a favor, helping the girl to sober up a bit by siphoning some of that alcohol out of her bloodstream, and getting herself drunk.

She gave a soft kiss to the girl’s neck and then sank her fangs into her tender skin. Hot, sweet vitae gushed into her mouth. Belle’s eyes rolled in pleasure as she felt the blood course through her veins, it tasted sweet, even virgin. The girl only gasped but did not put up a fight or even open her eyes, she had no clue what was going on.

Belle fought to pull herself away from the girl managing to restrain herself. Once she had a handle on herself ,she licked the girl’s neck to seal her wound and to get a last sweet taste of her life force. She opened her black clutch, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped the girl’s neck of any trace of blood or Belle’s cherry red lipstick.

But, she went further and blotted the girls mouth of any remains of her alcoholic excursion and the beads of sweat off her face. She brushed the girl’s hair out of her face in a sweet kind of manner, however cruel of a predator, her humanity always seemed to shine through to balance it out. Once she was sure the girl was alright and no trace of herself could be found on her, she unlocked the stall and went back to the counter and the mirror to finish freshening up, leaving the stall door open in hopes someone would find her.

As she finished re-applying her cherry red lipstick, she tousled her hair, and gave her dress a once over to make sure no remnants of her last meal was on her. This dress draped over her body, black and lace stripes in an inverted v that formed, almost artistically around her. This accentuated her waist, hips, and stunning legs. Her neckline was right above her breasts, allowing just enough to show to make a man feel uncomfortable if he stared too long, but covered just enough to allow the imagination to run rampant.

Her dress had passed the inspection just as a group of drunken girls came running into the bathroom, “Have you se--en a-- dru--nk-- girl co--me in heeere?” said one of them with many slurs in between. ‘I see a bunch of them right here’ Belle thought sarcastically to herself as she pointed to the stall behind her that held her drunken prey. She then made her way out of the restroom which she had spent entirely too much time in.

As the restroom door swung behind her she strolled over to the bar, the pianist’s music hit her ears once again. She stopped in her tracks and glanced up to see if it happened to be one of the few friends she had made a couple months back, but alas she did not see a head full of golden locks but black...her heart sank a bit. She turned her attention to the bartender who had made no motion to serve her or even acknowledge she was there, as his eyes were on the pianist. This was quite unusual behavior, as Belle often had to fight to get people to leave her alone.

‘Really? Haven’t heard real music in that long?’ she thought to herself, becoming even more bitter than when she had first entered the bar earlier that evening. “Hello, double shot of tequila please?” Belle said to him as she waved her hand in front of his face. Slowly, he retrieved the tequila for her and a shot glass. He absentmindedly began to pour, missing the shot glass entirely as he stared blankly at the pianist.

After Belle corrected the Bartender’s pour and took her doubleshot, as well as saving the bottle from the bartender, she finally noticed that everyone seemed to be in a trance around her. The bartender didn’t even ask her to pay. It was then that her meal’s drugs of choice started to wear on her, ‘Ooo she didn’t just get drunk, she got cross-faded’ Belle thought as she began to feel a nice mixture of being drunk and high.

Turning her attention back to the pianist she let his music wash over her. Unlike the people that seemed to be in trance, she genuinely felt the music. From the chaos of it all, to the stalking of one’s prey. It came off to her as dark, predatory, and as if the tunes themselves were playing a game of cat and mouse.

Her dark orbs watched the pianist closely, studying his very being. Belle crossed her legs as she sat at the bar, deciding to see if her suspicions were correct and focused her gaze even more on him using her [aura perception]. If he were to look up and spot her, he’d see a pair of deep brown eyes gazing at him, those kind of eyes that make you feel naked, exposed, unveiled.

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Tsar Ilya the First
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Most of the patrons of the pub were dragging their feet, doing their best to put all of their attention on the pianist. They formed a human wall three meters away from him, surrounding him. The effect was eerie. Slipping through the bodies, Belle managed to take a look at the man and his aura.

Over a vibrant and idealistic yellow base, the obsessive green pushed the suspicious dark blue in clouds, tracing circular patterns around him. The whole effect was accented by a few dark veins, a tainted presence that transformed the iridescent blaze into an unholy cocoon. All of that was blurred by its own pale shade, a clear indicative of the man being a Vampire.

The song finished, and he just sat there, staring at the wall. His horde clapped shortly and respectfully, making just enough noise to make him see that they were appreciating him playing. Then the silence fell like a snare over the place, trapping everybody's mind in an introspective mist. The man was not moving a muscle. He was not even making the effort to appear human; no breathing pattern, no blush of life, nothing. Just a corpse, refusing to rot, placed there on a chair, standing still due to its own rigor mortis. One could imagine distant friends and relatives bringing flowers and casseroles to the pub, giving their condolences to the widow, and taking a last peek at the dead body, only to satisfy their own morbid tendencies. Wearing that dark suit, the man was funeral ready. He just needed the packing and the dirt.

A short electric burst animated his brain; a spark of fake life that was transmitted to his body and limbs. The doll stood up, grabbed the pint of vodka, and emptied in one gulp. Then he turned around, and walked towards a woman. She was obviously chosen, among everybody there, just because she was standing there at that moment. No other reason. It didn't have anything to do with the fact that she was special, that she worked two jobs, and that she studied fashion design. It had nothing to do with her being a Sagittarius, or with that pesky coincidence, of her coming to the Famous Cock that very night because she wanted to get wasted and leave behind her idiot ex boyfriend once and for all. For the dead puppet, all of that was absolutely irrelevant. He had turned around, and she was there.

He just walked to her. She was overpowered by his presence. She just wanted to please him, to make him feel at ease. She was just waiting a sign, some instructions, something to do. He gave her that. And more.

He grabbed her by the nape of her neck, and kissed her. Deeply. In the middle of the kiss, his throat made a strange movement, and her eyes opened wide, in shocked surprise. She faintly tried to resist, but it was futile. She relaxed again. The kiss ended. His stomach was once again empty. She was completely drunk. He turned around, leaving her trying to stay still, finding support against the people around her. He walked towards the door, ignoring everybody around him, like an automaton.
Edited by Tsar Ilya the First, Saturday, 31. January 2015, 12:17.
Languages:

Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German

Oleg's Voice

You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza.
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Belle Dubois
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* * *
Belle's Dress

Slipping silently through the crowd, Belle was able to get a closer look at the pianist that had everyone in his grasp. She was able to get a better gaze on his aura from this viewpoint, and this was a far better spot to appreciate his music. Letting her eyes take in the colors of his aura, she wondered to herself how such an idealistic person seemed so shut out from the world.

‘So suspicious, yet so alone as to put everyone in a trance just to make she he gets attention? But what is it that he is obsessed about? Music? Maybe..or maybe something more sinister?’ Belle thought as she observed the pianist’s aura and the colors that revealed themselves to her one by one.

A few black veins appeared in the man’s aura that gave her a bit of a chill when she thought of what they seemed to indicate. One thing she knew for sure, her suspicions were correct..he was a vampire. The mere fact that all these people seemed to be under some kind of trance, plus the pianist’s pale aura made her almost certain that he was no plain ghoul.

Once her aura perception would let her see all that it could, she began to zero in on the man’s features. She noted that he seemed rough around the exterior, masculine, whom seemed like the kind of guy you wouldn’t want to cross.

It was then that he stopped his playing, giving the room an eerie silence to it. He seemed so lifeless, whereas she felt it was necessary to be full of life, even when one is dead. She wondered if the man had given up on his humanity, did the veins tell a tragic tale?

Shaking her head gently to clear her thoughts she watched this corpse just sit there, no sign of life anywhere, except perhaps in mind. ‘Idealistic, hmn.. what a paradox to all the other emotions’ Belle thought to herself as the pianist downed his liquor and stood up, making his way towards the door, only to stop in front of a young girl.

‘Hm, first sign of life’ she thought with a giggle, as he pulled the girl into a deep, passionate kiss and the girl allowed him, like she was his lapdog or maybe his mistress? Doubtful. Only to ruin the moment by repeating the act of vomiting as she did in the bathroom. Belle looked at him in disgust and over to his prey who seemed now drunker than ever and completely oblivious to what just happened to her. Belle took a sip out of the Tequila bottle she saved from the neglectful bartender in order to obliterate the returning aftertaste of puke in her mouth.

Her coffee orbs followed the man as he made his way towards the exit, she managed to slip easily through the idle crowd to cut him off. Once in between him and the door she said with a grin, “Well, that’s one way to get a girl drunk, isn’t it?”

Even in 5” stilettos Belle was smaller than the Pianist, actually compared to him she was extremely small. She wondered for a moment if she had made a bad choice in pursuing him, maybe the alcohol in her bloodstream was wearing on her more than she thought. Or maybe it was her overconfidence playing a role again, either way she was bold.

“If you want someone who will really appreciate your music without you needing to give them a... nudge...” she paused giving him a coy wink, “I’m a good listener. If you decide to stay and play a few more songs maybe I will sing you one?” As she finished her proposition, Belle took another swig of the Tequila bottle that she held tightly in her dainty hand. Although the tequila itself wasn’t having an effect on her, the blood she had taken from the bathroom ‘woo woo’ girl was slowly intensifying.

Her exotic dark eyes were a fascination in themselves as she looked at his, her eyes filled with hope as she awaited a reply to her proposal. In the light they seemed pale grey, to her they seemed distant, haunted in a way. A gaze she knew all too well.
Edited by Belle Dubois, Monday, 23. February 2015, 05:07.
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Tsar Ilya the First
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Made. Found. Detected. That woman was somehow privy to some of his secrets. She knew what he'd done to the girl, for starters. In that regard, Ilya was still confused, metaphorically staring at himself in disbelief. Why would he make that effort to just intoxicate a random flesh machine? His lack of understanding of his own actions made a corner of his rotten soul a bit happier; he had managed to efficiently 'break the script'. Now he was more convinced about the veracity of the world around him.

That conviction, however, made the words of the woman with the French accent more worrying. She was unaffected by his godlike charm. How? Why? Maybe she skipped it by mere minutes or seconds. It was possible. Still, suspicious. But it was worse. She knew what he had done. She knew about 'the nudge'. She was aware of his abilities, then. But she thought those abilities had something to do with him craving... attention, of all things. He was surprised and intrigued about that concept.

How could his wish to break his routine, to make his calculated unpredictability even more unpredictable, that wish that was geared towards magnifying his own anonymity... how could that be taken for desire for attention? Looking around him, at all the empty gazes of the idolaters that would probably kill in his name, he could see the logic behind the French girl's words.

Her very logic put him at ease, after a few stressful moments. She knew about him, and she was letting him know about her. It was a friendly approach. She was not a machine, but an equal. As such, she deserved his respect. That was important for him. For that very reason, Ilya avoided her gaze as much as possible. He stared at her just enough to have a sense of her features, and to appreciate her figure. As a deference to her, he spoke in French, still with his strong Russian accent.

"Had to get rid of that drink. I guess she will appreciate it more than me. I would be delighted to hear you sing. It's been a long time since I was able to share this passion with anybody."

He walked back towards the piano. The mass of silent admirers turned back towards him, as he tentatively let some diminished chords linger in the air. He jumped from a minor seventh B, to a major E, adding the seventh to give it that unmistakable triple tonic flavour, sliding into a plain D, adding the mysterious ninth in a high note, then falling back to the same old E, through a diminished jazzy C, before proceeding to the closing sequence of the unstable C sharp with a diminished fifth and a traditional seventh on top, and the smoky F sharp, adding that vertigo inducing diminished thirteenth before going back to the top. He spoke over the progression.

"Most of the songs I know are old Russian folkloric tunes, but in my trips I learned a few more... popular ones. This one was made well known by the female singer called 'Billie Holiday'; you might know it. It's name is 'Lover Man', and I always found it quite enjoyable"

He repeated the chord sequence, playing it as smooth and relaxed as possible, while keeping a strong break beat dynamic between his two hands.
Languages:

Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German

Oleg's Voice

You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza.
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Belle Dubois
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Belle’s exotic orbs watched as the seemingly hardened man mulled over her proposal. She held her breath, normally she was pretty good about keeping it evenly timed. But she was now mildly drunk and a tad nervous as she was often too blunt for her own good.

It came as a surprise to her to hear him suddenly speak to her in fluid French, albeit with a harsh and husky Russian accent. The words came to her in the drunken blanket she was in, it had also been a while since someone had spoke to her in her native tongue so it took her a moment to process his words.

A smiled appeared on her crimson painted lips as she searched his eyes, noticing he was avoiding her gaze she pondered to herself if it was because he was giving her respect or if he was distrustful of her? ’Possibly a bit a both’ she answered her question internally.

“I know the feeling, It’s a bit harder when it’s food..." Belle spoke in a heavy, sultry french accent. “It was just a little more brutal than I am used to. I usually use a toilet. I suppose I just have a great sensitivity, what she doesn’t remember tomorrow won’t hurt her, right?"

As she followed him to the piano she let his words wash over her ignoring the herd of zombies watching her new found companion’s every move..’Creepy’ she thought to herself with a quick glance toward the’ zombies’ before responding,, “It’s hard for me to find anyone with my same passions as well, you really do play beautifully.”

Belle watched as the man with the strong russian accent begin the beginning of his song. She listened as he spoke over the tune he had started, a tune she knew well as she had heard it quite a few times within her lifetime. As she put her bottle of tequila down she positioned herself where she was standing half facing the crowd, half facing her new found companion. she allowed her eyes to close, listening to the recumbent song that the man played across the dull ivory keys.

As the keys tinkled across the moment the words should enter she began to sing, in a soft, seductive, raspy American voice,..her french accent lightly licks the end of the words. It’s just loud enough to fill the room. It was as if someone pressed the perform button, the passion in her voice and the seductiveness of her movements is enough to get even the meanest man’s heart pumping in angst, something she had been trained for years to do.


Very close to how Belle's singing voice sounds but a little deeper, more sultry and raspy like Lana Del Rey


“I don't know why but I'm feeling so sad

I long to try something I never had


She wagssher finger in a “no no” fashion

Never had no kissin’

Belle allowed her fingertips to touch her lips briefly,

“Oooh, what I've been missin'

Lover man, oh, where can you be?


placing her hands out in a 'why' fashion

The night is cold and I'm so alone

letting her left arm trail down her left side and her right hand drifted down her left

I'd give my soul just to call you my own”

both hands move to her chest softly at the words as well as her shoulders moved at ‘my own’

Got a moon above me


Lets her hand point to the sky

But no one to love me

letting her hand slowly drift from the sky doing a no-no finger wag to the words ‘no one’ and at the words ‘love me’ she places her hand over her heart.

Lover man, oh, where can you be?

She gently brings her dainty hand to her forehead as if she was looking for someone before she let her hands fall to her sides. She was a performer after all.

I've heard it said

she lets her right hand cup her ear in a cute sort of way at the words ‘heard it said’

That the thrill of romance

Can be like a heavenly dream


‘moves her left hand to her cupped hand and places them together gently laying her cheek on them as if sleeping

I go to bed with a prayer

moving her hands to her chest as if she was praying

That you'll make love to me

letting her fingertips trail down from her chest to her waist and then fall to her sides accenting her hourglass shape

Strange as it seems

Someday we'll meet

And you'll dry all my tears


She let her fingertips wipe her cheeks as if she was crying

Then whisper sweet

her finger moves from her cheek to her lips in a seductive ‘shh’ type fashion

Little things in my ear”

points to her ears

"Hugging and a-kissing

and then lets her arms cross as if hugging herself giving a subtle pout while beginnig the word ‘oooh’

“Oh, what I've been missing

Lover man, oh, where can you be?

Lets her hands out in a 'why' fashion.


Once the song came to a close Belle placed her full attention on the pianist “You play wonderfully"she said with a soft smile. Her toreador nature was setting in as she was becoming more interested in this pianist, loving his talent. It was then that she noticed her feet were beginning to throb in their 5" tall cages so she sat gracefully on the edge of the pianist's chair,"I hope you don't mind, I just realized how much my feet hate me right now. But I'd love to hear you play more.." she said in her native tongue, allowing her dainty fingers to dance across the keys in no particular tune, as if dancing with her fingers. "I've always wanted to learn an instrument, but never have had the patience. I have to flow and to move, I suppose more with my body and my voice than with my fingers."she said, as if speaking her thoughts out loud as they came to her.

"How long have you been playing?" she asked as she continued to play absently with the keys..
Edited by Belle Dubois, Saturday, 18. April 2015, 10:35.
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The song finished, and Ilya just stopped, staring at his own fingers against the black and white keys of the piano, letting the last few notes echo in his mind. What sort of gates did music open in his soul, that were generally close so tightly? Playing alone was one thing; the gates trembled, but never opened... but sharing the mathematical game of music with another one, that strange communion of air vibrations... it surely made something click in his innards. It felt like a subtle version of the Vaulderie, with effects that lasted for a shorter time, but that involved his own free will in a way that no blood ritual ever could. Music made him want. Desire. Even lust. But in a deeper level that was not possible to satisfy. It was similar to the aggressive love a sensitive teenager would feel towards a puppy, or a really cute lizard; the necessity of loving so deeply that the only way of satisfying it was destroying the object of the affection. He felt inadequate, as if he had not enough arms, legs, and maybe even wings, to express -and to make real- his own feelings.

His hands were closing in fists, grasping the air, as if they were grasping her neck and crushing it in extreme affection. His jaw was tense. The eternally frustrating feeling of unsatisfied desire. There was no way he could satisfy that hunger; not even blood would quiet that drum beating in his ribcage. Murdering her, along with all the people present in the room, could make him feel a bit better for a short period of time, but practicality issues made that option not a viable one.

Then she made some reference to her own feet hating her. That was a stranger feeling than the one he was experiencing at that point. Actual parts of her own body were rebelling against her. Ilya had never seen anything like that in his whole life. However, she could be referring to the shoes she was wearing. In his experience, women had that strange habit of decorating their bodies with pain inducing elements; torture shoes that reminded of pig's hooves, jewellery hanging off holes in their skin, toxic layers of paint that would slowly poison them to death, tight pieces of fabric tied around their softest parts to make them bulge or seem smaller, hairstyles that consisted on pulling their own hair nearly out of their heads... and that was just the beginning. Ilya identified with that quest for pain and suffering quite easily; these women probably had troubles determining if the world around them was real or not, and they were brave enough to wear the tell tale signs of their own derangement on the outside, proudly letting everybody know that they were in a constant state of self torture and self disbelief. These women, taking pride in their own weakness... that was something that Ilya could never fully understand. And still, they did, and he ended up always surrounded by such women; his sister Valera, Cressida the snake, this one, Clarice in her own strange way... all of his merchandise...

"A long time, yes. I've been playing for decades. Learning to play a new instrument is like learning to speak a new language; something we all should do every ten or twenty years. It is the best way to keep our minds from drifting into the pits of madness. I've seen that happening before... it is not a beautiful show."

He was still staring at his own hands, but now he could feel her weight against him, sharing the seat. She was very close, and toying with the piano. His instinct was to grab her hand, to turn her around, to pierce her eyes with his, and to penetrate her mind, turning her into his slave. However, he managed to contain that violent urge, and just provided a bass melody to contrast her random tune. His rational mind won the war, for the time being, and he managed to think straight.

"These are strange times, and these are strange lands. The North is a mysterious and dangerous place, for those who tread around without friends. My name is Khoza. Are you a friend?"

Testing her was complicated, at this point, but Ilya's need for safety was ever present. Should she be another of Blucher's spies, he could be walking straight into a trap. It could be even worse. How to know if he could trust her?
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Oleg's Voice

You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza.
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Belle Dubois
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* * *

“I suppose that is why I continued singing and dancing, it brings me away from the madness that lurks within...” Belle said, responding to his statement, as the alcohol flowed through her bloodstream her censor was not as airtight.“But I was not allowed to learn a new instrument, not without getting it right. If I got it wrong..well..I paid the price.“ Her eyes looked for one brief moment distant. As though she were somewhere else.

Belle pretended not to see Ilya’s hand motions, the torment and hunger that she knew so well lingering in his eyes. It sent a chill up her spine, knowing how dangerous he was, but did she? She knew he was a predator, but somehow felt safe with him.

She smiled softly as he joined her in a duet with the piano, giggling with joy, how easily delighted she could be. Situating herself more comfortably on the chair next him, her small frame pressed closer to him. She was in a drunken fog when her new companion introduced himself. It took her a moment to process the name and the question that followed.

Slowly Belle pulled her dainty hands from the keys, her dark orbs searched for his. Her hands pulled her long silken hair onto one side of her slender neck, playing with it absentmindedly. “Hi Khoza, I am Belle.” she said with a gentle smile, allowing one of her tiny hands to rest on his arm.

“That is quite an interesting question you ask. To me a friend is someone I’ve spent quite amount of time with. Sharing thoughts, ideas, being there for one another...you know..that sort of thing. I haven’t had one of those in many many years. But I know how to be one.” Belle continued, “ Or maybe you just are guarded like me...maybe you’re curious if you can trust me. But, shouldn’t I be worried about trusting you? I mean, you did turn an entire room into zombies..I only assume I missed becoming one of them by mere moments.” She said softly, she had a way of making someone feel like they’re the only person in the room."

“But luckily I did...or I wouldn’t be enjoying your marvelous company...Oh I’m talking too much aren’t I?” Belle giggled at herself,she was officially tipsy..the girl’s blood was wearing on her more heavily.”Anyways, if you really want to test how much we can trust each other...” She paused..wondering to herself for only a brief moment whether this was a good idea or not.. she continued in a whisper, “I’m not sure what..special...qualities you posses, but if you have the ability to read me or control whether I can tell the truth or not..I’ll trust you to use it, for one hour” her dainty finger motioned the number one.

“So for one hour you can ask me anything, using whatever ability to make sure I’m being completely truthful..and then I know I can trust you and you know you can trust me..I already believe if you were going to harm me you would’ve already. Why do I want to do this? I want someone to trust too. -Are you a friend?- Are you -my- friend?” She asked him back, her eyes searching for his, unwavering, bold, open.
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Tsar Ilya the First
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* * * *
The woman's reference to those mysterious beings who didn't allow her to learn music, or at least not to learn unless perfection was the ultimate goal, resonated intimately with Ilya's own personal experience. They were bonded in that, at least, in the presence of powerful external forces dictating the path they had to follow, and reducing any pleasurable task to the level of a forced chore.

Then her proposal came. He was entirely confused. He had clearly not expected that, and some of that disconcert peeked through his morbid visage. There was something definitely perverse in the offer she was making, and he didn't know how to react to that incredibly twisted proposition.

On one hand, he wanted to refuse, to keep his ethics intact, and give her a lesson in morality; to teach her -poor ignorant soul-, how opening her eyes to his arsenal of mind subjugating tools was a dangerous notion that would eventually make her ending up dead... He even considered the idea of showing off his wit by using his powers to ensure she would never do something like that again. Such a saint... That was a path that would be expected of him; part of the script of his life.

On the other hand, he wanted to take what was being offered to him, and keep on taking, to grab more, and more, to accept her invitation, and then use it to turn her into his private toy. That would be easy. And satisfying. More than just killing her, or drinking her soul off her body. Reprogram her as he usually reprogrammed those predictable flesh machines around them, and transform her into an extension of his will; a new interface with the world, one that he would only use to perform the most degrading and tortuous tasks, murdering and torturing, and becoming the a vehicle for the pleasure of others. But he would do so, while allowing a minuscule fragment of her identity survive, alive and conscious, in the corner of her mind, chained to the abstract wall of her imagination, witnessing powerless how the new Belle took over her life, pushing every boundary of her morality, and slowly driving her into madness and acceptance. Maybe eventually pushing her over the edge, and contemplating how her own demonic Beast took over her soul, transforming her into the unnatural beastly predator she was supposed to be... for all eternity.

But Ilya would never do that... that was not in his script. His own rules were very clear about this, and he never broke those rules. Which made him mistrust them for a second, as part of the apparatus that kept him prisoner in a reality that was probably nothing else than an imposed memory. Maybe her presence here tonight, and this proposal, all were part of that fake world in which he usually found himself. How to know? How to distinguish if this was really happening? He couldn't follow the script, or the script that was behind the script. He needed to rip them all apart, and start a new one.

He turned on the spot, and put a cold hand on top of hers. His eyes climbed her body, inch by inch, until they surpassed the line of her lips, and engaged in a fixed stare. She could feel as if something sharp and pungent was piercing her eyes, and carving tunnels towards her brain.

"I never do this... but tonight it's different. I am going to accept your offer... and more..."

[DOMINATE: THE FORGETFUL MIND]
She opened her eyes, and her mind opened as well. The sound of the applause was deafening, but this applause had a somehow mechanical quality. Something was definitely wrong there. Something was not as it was supposed to be...

The strong light was blinding her, but she slowly managed to focus her attention on her surroundings. In front of her, a shinning microphone, one of the old radio ones, the ones used by crooners, and traditional jazz singers. A spotlight stabbing her eyes, and making her shine like a star. Her clothes... they were different... a red long dress, and her makeup... A quick glance made her realize that she was very elegantly dressed, with the sort of shinning fabrics and designs that are reserved for the stage. In front of her, now that her eyes had gotten used to the bright light, she could see a very well organized crowd... hundreds of people, sitting in front of her, elegantly dressed, the way people dress when they go to the opera, or the theatre. They were clapping. They were excited, entranced, as if they had just witnessed a great performance by a world class artist. And that artist... that artist seemed to be her. And she had no memory of ever getting into that stage, or even singing them anything.

She heard a familiar sound behind her... Minor B, followed by Major E, with the seventh lingering in the air... And the rest... A piano was toying with the basic structure of Lover Man, as the roar of the audience slowly became a very thick silence. She caught a glimpse of what was behind her: Khoza, the man that she had just met, was sitting behind a grand piano, on a tuxedo, staring blankly at the keys while he played. There was something similar to a mischievous smile on his face... similar, but way smaller, and colder.

Just by staring at him, she seemed to remember something... a loose memory popped into her mind. They were lying down, face up, together. Their hands clasped on each other's. They were naked. It was cold, and the sky was staring at them. Something wet was moving on her back. They were lying, floating on a canal. He was relaxed, more than before. She remembered feeling secure, at ease. He was looking at the sky. The issue was settled... but what issue? They just had a conversation... or they did something together... The result of that conversation... or that action... pushed them together. His voice filled her head, and echoed through time, breaking through her memory loss at that very moment.

"Now I can trust you."

Lover Man was starting, and her captivated audience was waiting for her to sing, even if she was unable to know what had happened after he had stared at her in the pub.

For Ilya, after all that had happened, this was a moment of strange happiness and peace, and his Beast was sleeping. The world was a warmer place, and he trusted what was happening around him. It was, most definitely, real.
Languages:

Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German

Oleg's Voice

You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza.
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Belle Dubois
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* * *
Belle’s dark orbs stared blankly out into the crowd before her, it was as if she had awoken from the strangest of dreams. The memories blurred together, flickering through her mind so quickly she had no time to catch them. She looked down, realizing she was wearing something totally different than she was, to her, a few moments ago. The dress she wore was gorgeously elegant, it fit her like a glove showing off her hourglass form. Which was accentuated by a long train making it even more sophisticated. Her long olive legs were made longer by her black 5” stilettos. Neither the dress, nor the shoes looked familiar, albeit it was her taste.

Belle's dress


Terror filled her being. Where was she? How long had she been under Khoza’s ‘spell?’ But before she had time to break down into tears of confusion and fear, the familiar tinkling of a song reached her ears. Belle was not alone upon this stage. ‘Where am I?’ she thought as fear turned to anger. She turned her head to see her pianist, Khoza, her eyes pierced his like daggers, tears at the brims of her eyes threatening to escape. To her surprise he seemed remarkably calm, compared to her flustered fury. She felt, taken advantage of, toyed with, used as her sire had done many times before. But, her crowd awaited and she turned back to them. After all, the show must go on.

Taking a few forced breaths as if it would calm her down, she began to sing the words to the song. How could she let her audience down? Yet, how did she know if this was even ‘her’ audience? Did he entrance them all as he had done before? Was this even real? Were they there because they wanted to be? Did they love her because of who she was? Or because of him?

Her voice trembled only for a moment, and then the raspy wisps of marvelous words spilled out of her mouth. Able to entrance even the most harshest of souls. Tears began to flow down her cheeks, easily mistaken by the audience as passion, but to Belle it was out of pure frustration and terror.

She allowed her dainty fingers to wrap around the pole of the microphone, which took her into a past she wished to forget. As the words fell from her beautifully red painted lips, glimpses of what she was made to forget flickered in her mind. The nudity, the canal, the complete comfort she felt next to him, and the words “Now I can trust you” was all she was able to catch from her journey with Khoza. No clue to how long they had spent together, and no clue how far their relationship had gone.

It was the inability to remember that bothered her more than anything, making her wonder if something horrible had happened to make him erase her memories. Either way the feeling was an unsettling pit in her stomach. One she was familiar with, and until she spoke with Khoza she would feel vulnerable for a long time. The question was, could she trust him?

Belle allowed the song to come to a close, never missing a beat. She had done what she was trained to do, and bowed to her audience when the song finished. She glanced behind to Khoza for some support, some indication of whether the performance had ended or if there was more to come.


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