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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The Path We Follow; Open
Topic Started: Friday, 25. February 2011, 20:00 (1,577 Views)
Dahlia
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True Sabbat
* *
Dahlia stood a few blocks away from the Station, yet she felt foolish for having even considered the need to inform the Archbishop – her ‘interrogation’ had cut her deep enough to evade notice, and she had committed a blunder. She was slipping from her practices and path; it had taken her decades to even grasp the exchange she had made. Losing her humanity had been simple enough, but to tread on such as she did now, only to fall so quickly was abominable.

She leaned against a brick wall in a discarded backstreet while she tried to think of a way to pull her spirits up. Dahlia looked left and then right before choosing a direction; down the alley and across the street was a hole-in-the-wall dive, and she fancied a visit to the little girl’s room. Holding herself snugly, she made her way towards and behind the no-name bar in search of its bathroom. Above the dumpster at the rear of the parking lot was a window, and through it she could see the pale-green flickering of a bulb somewhere therein – the bathroom, most likely.

The mirror of the restroom was cracked and decorated with a collage of names and logos, penned by the drunks and vandals that frequented the place; her pale face stared back at her, made green beneath the dangling fluorescent above her head. Blood stained her skin as if it had been mascara, smeared by tears, “How far we have fallen…” she reflected idly with no real depth behind the question to herself. Her lips parted to expose her teeth, examining them as though she were staring into a prized dog’s mouth instead, lifting the fleshy tiers to observe the perfection of those dangerous teeth.

Forgetting about her mouth, she set about removing the piercings, septum first; the silver ring wasn’t meant for such a locale and she felt the thickness of it cause the cartilage to completely rip in two. Had she the functionality, her eyes would have been teary. But in her present state, the pain was a temporary quelling of her inner turmoil and brought a crude smile to her lips while she took out the remaining pieces and replaced them in the case. The faucet expelled a brown mist when she pushed the lever, sputtering the muddied water against the already stained vitreous china until a stronger surge of fluid began to pool. Her fingers swirled around the water before splashing her face with it, moistening the dried blood on her features until the streaks came to life once more, streaking down the length of her jaw and over the bridge of each cheek.

Dahlia found her self staring into her own reflection, confused by a growing ache inside of her body that rose like vomit; she blinked and brought her face to smash against the mirror, sending a crack to spider outwards until more blows via her cranium caused it to completely shatter. She began to wail. Her hands gripped the sides of the mirrored cabinet and she flung it into an open stall, turning her attention to the space it had occupied while beating her fists into the yellow drywall and tile.

Footsteps and incoherent swearing sounded from somewhere within the bar; the sounds grew louder until the door swung open and a pale face thrust itself into the room,
“Oye! You crazy twat!” Dahlia was yanked back by the shoulders as the vampire tried to stop her from demolishing anymore of the wall.
“You facking bitch. I’ll show you to bunk off in Izzy’s house!” he spun her around like a dance partner, only to bring a fist down on top of her face, sending her head to hang momentarily until he was kind enough to adjust it with a second, and then a third right hook. Dahlia accepted the blows willingly, but she grew angry when he couldn’t hit her any harder.

He had a fist full of her shirt, holding her off the ground as he wailed on her callously, amused but unshaken by the fact that he was beating a woman senseless. But what did provoke a pause in his hitting was the recipricated lack of concern and worry she possessed, unmoved by the violence he was subjecting her to. He shook her in between hits, attempting to rile her to respond, beg, plead – anything to demonstrate that he held the power and she did not.

“Oye! I SAID..” Dahlia had kicked him mid-sentence; a shiny, metallic tip from her left boot tore through flesh and gore and lodged itself somewhere between his groin and ass. He stuttered and then stumbled back, dropping her. He swore as she came to her feet gingerly, wiping the back of her hand across her bloodied mouth; the Vampire was starting to become incoherent again, but this time it was the Beast issuing its howls. The vampire scrambled to stand, to fight – it swung and tried to claw her but a second kick caused it to tumble backwards. Dahlia met its empty gaze and felt nothing for it – no sympathy, no humor and no pleasure; she radiated true death and listlessness. The Camarilla’s words echoed in her mind:

WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO LOSE

When the frenzying vampire approached a second time, intending to rend her to pieces, she side stepped and sent an empowered fist to the side of its skull and was on top of the creature before it even had time to reel from the blow. Struggling against her prey she managed to put it face down, a knee over each of its arms until she was steady enough to sink her teeth into meat of its neck. Against the deluge of blood that rushed to meet the dank air of the bathroom, she issued that same miserable wail until the thing beneath her no longer moved. Her mouth filled with its blood and as she waited for that last bitter drop containing the soul she heard that question again, accompanied by her answer:

Freedom
What fantasy is there in the act, that one cannot derive greater pleasure from than while denied the act...
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Fantasy. Mutilation through restraint; taste but do not touch. Enjoy, but do not feel...

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Alvin Benedict Blake
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*
OOC> Post deleted D, my apologies again.
Edited by Alvin Benedict Blake, Sunday, 27. February 2011, 00:49.
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Dahlia
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True Sabbat
* *
((This was started last night and was intended as a continuation of my original post. I honestly didn't think anyone was going to post here, let alone that soon -- but I did announce that I was preparing a second post last night for such a purpose! If you don't like it, tough noogies.))


There was no questioning the sweetness of that final drop of blood inside another vampire –an eyedropper’s worth that seemingly contained everything it was to be alive, and dead. Dahlia believed in the soul, and as a vampire, understood that she was capable of tapping into that essence beyond what any mortal could hope to even dream about; and to taste that essence was like being a God.

She fell back when the end of the other vampire seemed imminent, causing her Beast to whiplash within her, trying to cling to that shard of immortality that had been so close to the Oblivion of its maw. It remembered well that sensation of blissful fulfillment, that euphoric wave which was both invigorating and exhaustive. Dahlia removed herself from atop the corpselike form, scooting herself back against the wall, her mouth wet with his ruby red; her hands kept her head aloft as she sat there, fingers pushing up into her scalp.

What had caused her to stop before the deed was done? She wasn’t entirely certain until a light came on inside her mind: the vampire wasn’t ash because she couldn’t talk to ash, couldn’t make it feel things – couldn’t make it answer her questions. It was an Anarch, of that she was certain – its pale white skin still had too much of that pinkness found in the cattle, still clung to some semblance of its former mortality. She needed to know more, and she needed to be certain.

Standing up now she hovered over the body, ensuring that it was quite still before stepping over it and out into the larger room; the lights were turned off save for an unknown source shining from the top of a stairway, but her eyes adjusted quickly enough. The room was very small, almost too small – it looked like it had been converted from something else into a bar, but was big enough only for a juke box, 2 circular tables and a stubby bar top against the back. Behind the bar was a stairway leading up. But she sought wood, and anything would do; she gripped the back of a chair and pulled at one of its legs. The rod snapped off and she stood for a moment, listening to the air inside of the place – silence. Izzy must have lived alone here, and it hardly looked like the place was capable of entertaining others, despite its décor.

Back into the bathroom she went, driving the stake through the back and into the heart where it penetrated abruptly, dinging off the tiled floor beneath the slumbering vampire. Dahlia dragged him by the legs into the bar area and slumped the form behind the counter and it was only then that she got a good look at its features. She took him for a senseless rabble and shook her head, “A Brujah Anarch…how original…” snickering as she bent over to check his jean pockets; she surfaced with a few keys and rifled through them for any that looked like they were for a vehicle. Spotting one she walked to one of the boarded up windows that faced the parking lot and spotted a lone motorbike in piss-poor condition.

Really Izzy?...Way to break the mold…” turning away from the window and looking back over the bar where the Anarch rested, A biker Brujah Anarch…she mused sourly. Dahlia stood for a moment before plopping down into an open seat.

This place is a shit hole.
What fantasy is there in the act, that one cannot derive greater pleasure from than while denied the act...
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Fantasy. Mutilation through restraint; taste but do not touch. Enjoy, but do not feel...

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Mael
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Ooc: We are not using a points system here, please remove them from your post. Your strength etc is up to you, any combat you need to speak to the other party to determin where it will go. This is not a fighting game, it is story driven. Thanks!
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Alvin Benedict Blake
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Childe
*
God save the queen
The fascist regime
They made you a moron
Potential H-bomb

God save the queen
She ain't no human being
There is no future
In England's dreaming

Don't be told what you want
Don't be told what you need
There's no future, no future,
No future for you

God save the queen
We mean it man
We love our queen
God saves

God save the queen
'Cause tourists are money
And our figurehead
Is not what she seems

Oh God save history
God save your mad parade
Oh Lord God have mercy
All crimes are paid

When there's no future
How can there be sin
We're the flowers in the dustbin
We're the poison in your human machine
We're the future, your future

God save the queen
We mean it man
We love our queen
God saves

God save the queen
We mean it man
And there is no future
In England's dreaming

No future, no future,
No future for you
No future, no future,
No future for me

No future, no future,
No future for you
No future, no future
For you


Alvin found himself singing along with the music as he drove by the Enfield Town Railway Station, as the chorus was getting to the finale of the song; the Brujah stopped the engine of his Black Chevy Impala '67 and scratched absently the scar from that fight with a Gangrel so long ago while he looked at the 'bar' that was six feet from him-Men, this Izzy guy really needs to go somewhere else... living here really-Thought Ben with a sad smile crossing his lips-.

He watched to his left and right and was nothing but a stray cat licking one of his paws and looking at Alvin with a mistrustful look, animals always detected something from kindred that humans ignored; This time his hair was dyed on ruby red colour and had the usual attires as always, his guns and machete making a metallic noise as he walked on a fast pace towards the door of the locale-Wonder if the guy is in the mood for a visit, it's been a while...-Thought Al as he tried the door knob-Hmm... closed, bleh I can open it without making him come down-Thought as he pulled his lock-picking gadgets out and started opening the lock-.

The door opened a few seconds later, the lock wasn't exactly the one from a fort so Alvin was inside the locale that fast; he was surprised to see all in shadows except for a dim light coming from Izzy's room, then, he saw the figure of a person sitting at one of the only two tables available. Al felt a bit ashamed, maybe he had interrupted some action scene with a gal and for what he could appreciate from body build and figure; she was. Alvin walked at a slow pace this time so as not to alarm the girl sitting in front of him.

"Hey, name's Al... is... Izzy... around?"-Asked the Brujah to the woman as he scratched his head.
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Dahlia
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True Sabbat
* *
While the antitribu sat there in the dark, idly contemplating her possible responses and retorts to accusations from the Sabbat, the sound of a lone motor roared somewhere in the streets and died shortly after drawing her attention. A part of her thought that it was another van come to grab her, but she quickly dismissed the notion – the only point in snatching her up twice in one night, in such a time frame, was to demonstrate that they could do such a thing and get away with it. And though Dahlia admired that kind of tact, she didn’t think that that was what the Camarilla had had in mind, although The Camarilla had made it a point to flaunt her predicament…

After the car engine cut off she cast a glance to the bar where Izzy was propped discreetly, but before she had a chance to put his body somewhere else, there was a faint sound of metal on metal – the lock to the front door was being penetrated, and successfully. She watched the door swing inward as a man stepped into the bar. Dahlia sat in the back in silence, her hands upon her lap. And again, before she could react, the figure spoke to her.

"Hey, name's Al... is... Izzy... around?"

Carefully she placed one hand after the other on the table in front of her, seeming to crawl from the shadows that enshrouded her, "Izzy…" and in the length of a pause, she concocted a very bold lie.

"Izzy…he was a bad boy. Got mommy in trouble with the Prince." She didn’t know who this stranger was, let alone who the fuck Izzy was, but she was going to make everyone else think that she did.

"Figuratively speaking…" she tossed onto the end of her previous statement; the rank smell of Izzy’s blood was still clogging her senses, and in the lack of light, she was pressed to discern his apparent age, let alone whether he was a vampire or not. "Might I ask what you’re up to…Al, was it? Sneaking around in the dead of night, breaking into my haven?" Leaning forward she paused, gesturing for him to shut the door. "If you wouldn’t mind…"
What fantasy is there in the act, that one cannot derive greater pleasure from than while denied the act...
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Fantasy. Mutilation through restraint; taste but do not touch. Enjoy, but do not feel...

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Alvin Benedict Blake
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*
Okay something was terribly wrong here, Al hadn't visited Izzy for some time now and the fellow Brujah was not quite a friend of his but what the woman said at first had no sense at all-Izzy making bonds with a gal and got trouble with the prince? That sounds too rare for him-Thought the Brujah suspicious. But then she said that it wasn't quite that literally speaking and she kept talking but what actually interested Benedict was that she claimed this was her haven. He knew things could change fast sometimes on the world of kindred but this was too farfetched.

She gestured him to close the door and he did but because he wanted to have privacy rather than obeying a woman he did not know and what was more important, if she was human or kindred; Al couldn't get any human smell from her except that of blood and street odors and yet... the fragrance of blood came along from the far back at the bar. Alvin glanced from the woman towards the bar and back to her, ignoring her question; then he gave a few more steps towards the woman, he wanted to know a few things.

"So... your haven? You know, most people call home where they live"-And as he said this Benedict caught a glimpse of her face and saw a scar on her face far more nasty than his, it seemed recent though that could be not quite accurate-"And this place doesn't seem to fit you... I didn't catch your name..."-Said Ben as he scratched his chin and fixed his gaze upon the woman who more and more seemed a kindred rather than human.
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Dahlia
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True Sabbat
* *
For a moment it seemed like she could literally see the cogs in the man’s head spin; she stared at him for a moment before gingerly reclining in her seat. When he looked towards the bar, she did as well, although her look was one of mild amusement, as if he were looking for something that just wasn’t there. She smiled as he questioned her a second time, but as he did, she felt his eyes focus on her scar – a normal place for a stranger’s eyes to rest. She furthered her ruse by reacting to his attention and lifted a hand to rest over the scarred portion of her face while he spoke.

"And this place doesn't seem to fit you... I didn't catch your name...”

“…I didn’t give it because you still haven’t told me why you had to pick the lock to get in.” she stared at him blankly from behind the shadows, resisting the urge to simply end him and the questions – the one thing she had gotten tired of quite early in the night.

“And what kind of place would fit me, Al?” placing an agitated emphasis on her words and his name. Leaning forward again it was evident that her ‘grin’ was not completely healed and without her usual bow, the gaps between scar tissue were well illustrated. Her looks were a contradiction, she knew that well and went out of her way to exploit that juxtaposition – but against vampires it seldom achieved the same reaction it could out of random cattle. Dahlia turned sideways and appeared to sneer at a thought before coming to stand. The chair grated against the floor as it was pushed behind her.

Carefully placing a hand on each hip she looked at him and waited for a reply.
Edited by Dahlia, Friday, 4. March 2011, 02:48.
What fantasy is there in the act, that one cannot derive greater pleasure from than while denied the act...
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Fantasy. Mutilation through restraint; taste but do not touch. Enjoy, but do not feel...

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Alvin Benedict Blake
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*
Okay... touchy touchy-Thought Alvin as he looked amused at the woman who by now was standing with her hands at her hips and looking at Ben as if his mother had caught him doing some naughty deed. But when he thought about his mother, Alvin couldn't help to avert his eyes from the woman and give a little sigh pondering on the things he never had had. So you want to know why I picked 'your' lock?-Thought the Brujah as he circled the woman in a predatory manner without thinking, his head tilted to the left while still looking at her scar. Bossy people or kindred never got a straight answer from Alvin, except by force; he shivered at the memories of his past.

"Well, Izzy has quite a temper and is a bit lazy... wanted to have a drink with him and as not to bother him to open the door, I opened it"-Answered finally to the woman standing beside him.

He paced around her, carefully and prepared for anything, still intrigued by her attitude and being that she clearly was on a defensive position; something was wrong and the woman was trying to divert him from it but Al had gone through this game many times and it always ended bloody, and in between debris of the place he was before. What place would fit you better? Hmmm hard to decide that...-Thought Alvin glancing at her and his surroundings as he kept pacing around her, place was small and with several objects so he had to dodge them but this was almost done uncounciously.

"Well definitely not 'here' "-Said the Brujah stopping his pace and placing a hand on the back of a chair-Wood, good...-Thought still looking at the woman-"I'd say a fancy place or maybe you like to live in groups"-Said Ben making indirect statements about the Camarilla and the Sabbat.

The second shit would hit the fan, the Brujah was going to be prepared for anything; though it seemed the woman was not quite the fighter... but he could be wrong. After all they seemed to be alone but still, he looked for Izzy; Ben never bought that thing she said about him being careless with the Prince, not that Izzy wouldn't but he was not that stupid. At last, that was what he thought and taught to that fellow Brujah.
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Dahlia
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True Sabbat
* *
She stood her ground as he attempted to explain himself, but in her apparent idleness she was anything but. In the darkness she focused on his form: his figure, his height, his build and even his voice – through a gift she had learned from a Tzimisce, Dahlia withdrew herself until he became a steadily growing array of colors [Auspex: Aura Perception]. Rather than focusing on strengthening the vibrancy of his colors, she instead waited for that plus or minus – that livid-colored aura to show itself and then she would know. By the time he had circled her once, coming around into her view again, his aura was the tell-tale pale of a vampire.

“Is there something you’re trying to fucking say, Vampire?” She threw the table that lay between them aside like it was made of paper – a hostile act, certainly, but one meant to illustrate a greater point: her power.

“Are you another piece of Ivory-tower dog shit?” musing acidly, “Or one of Izzy’s ‘mates’ come to see if his plan had worked? Hm?” Dahlia looked across the small distance that separated them, a mere three yards. She shook the focus from his aura and watched it fade from sight, “You have no idea what Izzy was doing, do you?” she said, a look of amazed incredulity spreading over her face. “You have no idea what cause Izzy was really fighting for,” she shook her head sadly, replacing the bewilderment of only a moment ago.

It had been a quick truth to learn in her time among the Sabbat, but the wisdom she had gained was as always, invaluable: without the underlying current of the vinculum, you could trust no one to have your back. She doubted very much that any vampire – of whatever allegiance they claimed – could trust each other more than they could trust the certainty of their next meal, especially without the tug of a blood bond somewhere in the mix. Vampires by their very nature were untrustworthy, or so she had come to learn. Looking at Al, she was banking on that distrust to fuel him.
What fantasy is there in the act, that one cannot derive greater pleasure from than while denied the act...
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Fantasy. Mutilation through restraint; taste but do not touch. Enjoy, but do not feel...

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Alvin Benedict Blake
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*
Alvin couldn't help it... He laughed... out loud; If he had been human, he would've tears in his eyes for laughing so hard. This vampire woman was interesting, fiery and had potential to be from his Clan but as she just blurted the word vampire he knew she couldn't be a Brujah; while he was walking she kept looking at him and perhaps doing something that to Benedict went unnoticed.

Then she threw the table between them like if it was nothing, a wood splinter on her clothes-Oh, you want to get a little bit of a fight? No problem, always liked fights-Thought the Brujah as he removed his black leather coat from him revealing his 'toys'. Two custom made 9mm guns with special phosphorus rounds which burnt upon impact, a machete and a sawed off shotgun; beside of ammo on a back pocket his holster had.

But then she had to say that: "Are you another piece of Ivory-tower dog shit?" The Brujah in him claimed for her blood, calling him a member of the Camarilla? That is one of the worst insults you could spit at Al. But he new the Beast almost as well as the Gangrel did, she was taunting it but he would not submit to the Beast this time. Not for now, anyways. He didn't now what cause was Izzy fighting for? Of course he did, he was an Anarch for crying out loud!

And again she changed her mood, she was with a sad look yet suspicious about him. She was going along the lines of trust and supporting his 'mates', yet Al wondered what she truly meant by that; her words sounded so... human. The fact of not knowing her sect was killing him! And his wit was screaming !Sabbat! Though again he could be wrong. But there was a simple way to know if she was Sabbat or not, the cainites hated the way the Anarchs and Camarilla called themselves; Kindred.

"You're wrong, Kindred"-Said putting emphasis on the last word-"Let me tell you what, if this is 'your' place... how about a bit of remodeling?"-Said Alvin feeling how the powers of the blood fueled him with strength and dexterity.
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Dahlia
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True Sabbat
* *
((OOC: Sorry for the shortness...))

Dahlia sighed internally at the gratifying sound of her aggression -- the table spun through the air and slammed into the second table; in the wake of her gesture, silence ensued. It was short lived, however, as the flowing sound of leather revealed a collection of flashing metal covering Al's form. Maybe he is from The Camarilla, she thought as she began to stretch. Her left leg lifted behind her and she slid something out from within the knee-high boot: a dull sheen glinted in the shadows of the bar as she lifted the stiletto to hip level.

"You're wrong, Kindred. Let me tell you what, if this is 'your' place... how about a bit of remodeling?"

Her eyes narrowed at the scrawny vampire before her, threatening to 'remodel' the place; apparently her comment had scratched deep enough, but it left her with one question: Had she pissed off the Prince's assassin or just another piece of anarch garbage?

"I'm not going back to that fucking tower for another sit down!" The knife she wielded dropped within her grasp, the blade pointing towards her elbow now as she prepared herself.
Edited by Dahlia, Saturday, 5. March 2011, 19:11.
What fantasy is there in the act, that one cannot derive greater pleasure from than while denied the act...
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Fantasy. Mutilation through restraint; taste but do not touch. Enjoy, but do not feel...

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Alvin Benedict Blake
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Not even a flinch-Thought the Brujah surprised the word Kindred didn't give the result to expect from a Sabbat member-Then with her last statement he got a hint she had problems with the prince-Naughty girl, what have you done?-Thought smirking at the kindred in front of him-. He was sure he would find about that soon enough as she pulled up an stiletto that was hidden inside one of her knee length boots.

"So you think I'm from the Camarilla sent to catch you?"-Said the Brujah laughing at her. He didn't now why seeing his toys made her think that but it was clearly she was being either paranoid or had been threaten to be killed or being blood hunted by the Prince... Though if that scumbag wanted her alive, it meant he wanted something from her first; most of the times the prince didn't even see the corpse, he just let his subordinates to do the dirty job and him remain untouched on his silver castle. Such a sissie.

Alvin cracked his knuckles and his neck, getting ready for action; he wasn't going to use any weapon yet, wanted to have a classic boxing match with a mix of bar brawl. Luckily enough he was near a chair, he smiled-This will work-Thought as he grabbed it from the back of it and threw it towards the face of the female kindred at a speed that made the chair to produce a sound as air resistance hit it. And as the chair flew towards the female Kindred, Alvin ran feeling Celerity fueling him and launched a punch to her left side of her ribcage with his right fist; So, the match had begun.
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Dahlia
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True Sabbat
* *
Al was mocking her: "So you think I'm from the Camarilla sent to catch you?"

The Antitribu no longer cared whether or not this was true – the charade was turning dull and it was only the desire to see this one turned to ash that kept her from simply killing herself just to end the night. He guffawed and smirked before reaching for a chair, only to whip it in her direction; the lightweight seat flew towards her and set Dahlia in motion.

She switched footing and brought the left leg behind her and distributed her weight between both legs; her upper body leaned to the right to dodge the chair, only to feel a part of it to graze her left shoulder. A mild groan slipped between clenched teeth but she enjoyed the pain – it brought back memories of broken toes and twisted ankles bound in lace.

As she made the brief recline to dodge the flying seat he was dashing towards her with a speed she was all too familiar with, and suddenly she found herself hoping that this one could hit her harder than Izzy had. He sent a blow towards her ribs but she was already twisting sideways with her own burst of celerity and natural grace; placing the bulk of her weight on her left leg she lifted her right leg and extended it, immediately closing the gap between them to deliver a kick to his abdomen. Her left hand clenched the stiletto in waiting, hoping to send the vampire flying back.
What fantasy is there in the act, that one cannot derive greater pleasure from than while denied the act...
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Fantasy. Mutilation through restraint; taste but do not touch. Enjoy, but do not feel...

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Alvin Benedict Blake
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Childe
*
This vampire chick was way too fast. Alvin pondered for a split second if she was another Brujah given her dexterity and her nasty scar on her face, but what if she was a Toreador? She had almost completely dodged the flying chair and twisted her body to avoid his punch, he felt almost like fighting a dancer; Yet, he shouldn't be so hasty towards uncertain resolutions.

The fact she seemed a skillful fighter fueled Benedict's enthusiasm when it came to receive a hit of this kindred, her kick hit right upon his chest but rather of just letting his body being sent back by the force of it; Alvin took the chance and grabbed her leg as it impacted on his body and, almost as if seducing her, he slided his hand going over her boot and skin to get even closer to her (All this in a blurt of high speed), with a concentrated look; Ben raised his right hand once more and threw a bone crusher punch towards her upper breast.

(OOC: Anything you feel it's not right, Rob, just pm me and I'll change it)
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Dahlia
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True Sabbat
* *
Her right boot slammed into the vampire’s chest with modest force, but to her surprise he clung to her thigh like an animal rather than be taken down by the gravity of her blow. Sensually he groped at her, almost to her amusement, while sending another right-hook her way; allowing him to move in closer, she made to loop her arm behind his neck. They could have resembled tango partners under different circumstances, the way they had collided. Dahlia allowed him to grab her, but at the same time, bent her leg so that her knee would be pressed against his chest as though she were actually trying to dance with him.

Her form shuddered as his fist pounded into her breast, causing her sternum to buckle beneath its impact. As she attempted to lock herself against him, the stiletto twirled once more while the left arm moved close to her form so that its jutting point directed itself towards the other vampire’s right side.

((OOC: A blow for blow is always fine by me. It’s all good. But the same to me – any questions/concerns, just PM me.))
What fantasy is there in the act, that one cannot derive greater pleasure from than while denied the act...
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Fantasy. Mutilation through restraint; taste but do not touch. Enjoy, but do not feel...

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Alvin Benedict Blake
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*
The steady drip-feed of information that Alvin was getting from this female kindred begun to irritate him, he'd only have clues and hints but nothing for certain; though, he knew this vampire was one to be cautious with and, even so, amusing at the same time. Her ballerina like movements to dodge his strikes were almost like if a snake was being attacked; Benedict had had quite the experience on battlefield and whatnot but, this kindred, was one you didn't find quite often.

Also, Al knew that in a fight not everything was punches and kicks; the psychological aspect of it was quite important as well, taunting your enemy or mocking him/her was very useful. So, he thought to himself as he felt how the body of this kindred buckle and shudder; what was more interesting was the way she moved next. She bent her leg and her knee stood on his chest while she looped her arm behind his neck-Dang! Are we fighting or dancing?-; But then he saw a tiny blade with a narrow end on her left hand-An stiletto, you're going to ice me with that, naughty girl?-Thought the Brujah smirking at her.

"Tell me, naughty girl, what have you done to hide from the prince like this? Did you breach the masquerade or you didn't kiss his ass as many times as he want?"-Said Al still holding his grasp on her leg but discreetly moving his hand to take the stiletto out of her's. Though this was only a diversion from the fact that he was going to punch her right on the face if she fell for that trap.

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Dahlia
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True Sabbat
* *
Her body became rigid as it posed against his, hearing his words grated on her mind, “Wrong place, wrong time. Just like you,” she quickly spat before attempting to smash her forehead into his nose; the right arm looped about his neck only served as his noose as she delivered the headbutt. The dagger in her left hand then drove itself towards his right side with an unwavering celerity – although she loved a good dance, the closeness between them was almost too much and she needed to make some distance between them.
What fantasy is there in the act, that one cannot derive greater pleasure from than while denied the act...
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Fantasy. Mutilation through restraint; taste but do not touch. Enjoy, but do not feel...

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Alvin Benedict Blake
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*
Dang she did not fall for the trap!-Was the first thing Alvin thought when her forehead impacted on his face hard enough to send his nose inside his craneum, Al was lucky he did not need to breathe-And then he felt that pinchfork plunging to his right side, Ben almost laughed at this but his broken nose would not allow it. Willing the blood he hastened the healing and as if in slow motion his nose went back to its place, though blood poured through his left cheek. Almost as a kung fu attack, Al made a quick movement of his arms pushing the female kindred afar with all his strength. Then he removed the useless stiletto, dropped it and smashed it with one singly stomp of his right foot. "Girl, if you really wanna hurt somebody; you must use the proper tools"-Said the brujah as he unsheathed his silved made machete-"Oh by the way, I´m alright here, naughty girl! It is you who does not belong here, where is Izzy?!"-.
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Dahlia
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True Sabbat
* *
Stiff bone and cartilage gave way to her skull, only for her to be thrown back seconds later. Trickling blood obscured her vision, but she relished the feel of this one’s blood upon her skin; Dahlia watched him start to heal the broken nose, realizing that she obliterated the bridge almost entirely. He had been too quick in his retreat to allow her the satisfaction of twisting the stiletto while it was still in his side, and she sighed inwardly as he removed it and threw it to the ground.

“You dick,” she hissed, pronouncing the words with a wry grin, bearing her fangs playfully. She cocked a brow when he went back to asking her about Izzy, brandishing a machete for emphasis. “I’ll make this incredibly easy for you to understand…” tossing her head back slightly, she drew a set of fingers across her face to wipe away some of Al’s blood. The urge to suckle her fingers was rising but she instead flung the droplets to the floor, and then continued to clear her face.

“I made the little twat. He was a brat like me and that’s why we got a long – but he wanted to push his limits and got us wrapped up in the Sabbat.” She forced the pause. She needed to hook Al, and she needed to hook him fast.
What fantasy is there in the act, that one cannot derive greater pleasure from than while denied the act...
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Fantasy. Mutilation through restraint; taste but do not touch. Enjoy, but do not feel...

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