![]()
|
|||||||||||||||
| 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: |
| Robyne to a Rose; Phone Call to Francesca Istrati | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Tuesday, 20. October 2015, 17:58 (160 Views) | |
| Robyne | Tuesday, 20. October 2015, 17:58 Post #1 |
|
-- Hound --
|
She needed to apologize-- or at least felt the need to apologize. She had barged in on Miss Istrati's workshop or gallery space and disturbed her meditations. It was a rude interruption. Sure, Tilly had gone missing and she was looking desperately for her, but that was no reason to just rush right in and shake the girl silly and act like a lunatic. If not for Miss Istrati vouching for her, she never would have been able to later meet with anyone else about her observations and theories about Camden. Her efforts would have been dead like cold fish in a barrel. Consulting her slowly growing list of contacts, she found Miss Istrati's number and began to dial from her cell phone. She should really thank Miss Istarti for her help and assistance too. Now that she got the weight off her chest and explained her findings with the Sherrif and Davvad and a few others, she didn't feel quite so alone and her efforts didn't feel empty or fruitless. Robyne listens to the ring tones... |
![]() | |
![]() |
|
| Franzi Istrati | Wednesday, 21. October 2015, 22:35 Post #2 |
![]()
Dead Couturier
|
The Toreador in question was currently at the Muse, inside her studio and in front of a sewing machine. Loose carpet padding, bubble wrap, and masking tape were on the floor nearby. The Primo subfloor's storage inventory checklist was by her side, and she was staring dumbfounded at some very impressive glass-framed paintings. She had spent a good deal of time like this, so when her mobile phone rang it sparked new life in her, albeit with a somewhat delayed effect. The display informed her that it was Robyne. "Hello. This is Francesca speaking." |
![]()
| |
![]() |
|
| Robyne | Thursday, 22. October 2015, 16:34 Post #3 |
|
-- Hound --
|
"Hello... this is Robyne. We met a couple times at Muse. I just wanted to thank you for your assistance earlier but also to apologize for my rude interruption the other night. I didn't realize you were probably meditating or creating art work. Anyhow, I just wanted to apologize because I feel bad about shaking you up and disturbing you. As for why I had to disturb you... unfortunately, one of the children I was escorting on a late evening class field trip had gotten lost and is now... well now she is dead and her blood a contribution to the vintage thanks to Vince. Needless to say, I won't be attending Muse very often if at all. You might say I have a moral score to settle with Vince and for me to show up in or around Muse would be a sort of trigger and inconvenience. I cannot condone what he did and he has no moral justification for it. Anyhow... I didn't call to gripe or complain or vent my anger-- I want to thank you again for your assistance. Without you, I doubt I would have been able to bring to light some of the concerns I have with the goings-on in Camden to the proper authorities. If ever you need some favors, by all means, give me a call at this number." |
![]() | |
![]() |
|
| Franzi Istrati | Saturday, 24. October 2015, 01:04 Post #4 |
![]()
Dead Couturier
|
She resumed her work, carefully packaging the pilfered art pieces so that no harm could come to them on her way back to her haven. Her face contorted with sympathy at Gangrel's struggle that night, and appreciated the intent here deeply. "There is no need to feel sorry, sweet Kindred. It is I who should apologise. I... I always suspected, or wondered… no supply can last forever, I was aware of that, and yet I never truly questioned it. I was unaware of what went on that night, and yet I am no less to blame. Please, forgive me." |
![]()
| |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · Cold Callers · Next Topic » |











1:58 AM Jul 11