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| Welcome To The Night You find yourself in London on a dreary, foggy night like any other. But what lurks in the shadows is the stuff of fantasies and nightmares, far from mortal reality. This game uses the cursed and immortal vampiric condition as a backdrop to explore themes of morality, depravity, the human condition, salvation, and personal horror. We are a writing and roleplaying community dedicated to telling complex and engaging stories. Your fate is your own. Mingle among the ivory-tower elite in the Camarilla, join the fight of the discontented and chaotic Anarch rabble, or set out independently and attempt to survive in London's nighttime underworld. Anything is possible in our World of Darkness. Create Your Account! If you're already a member, please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
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| The Path We Follow; Open | |
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| Topic Started: Friday, 25. February 2011, 20:00 (1,578 Views) | |
| Alvin Benedict Blake | Saturday, 19. March 2011, 23:29 Post #21 |
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Childe
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Alvin carefully observed the behaviour of the kindred before him, his silver machete had always made react his opponents; at least a raised eye brow, but not her. She wiped some blood she had on her face, most likely his, and for a second he saw a reaction that was expecting for some time now; she was tempted briefly for his blood... Sabbat??-Thought the Brujah feeling the Beast rising its face like a wolf would do when caught the smell of prey-What she said next had no sense, Izzy had told him his story briefly and Al knew his sire was a male kindred and even more that whore deared to say Izzy was going rogue enough to become Sabbat... that was it, enough. In a burst of celerity and fury, the Brujah dashed towards the monster before him swinging the machete from one side to the other, up and down; she would be teared down to shreds. |
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| Dahlia | Sunday, 20. March 2011, 00:01 Post #22 |
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True Sabbat
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"You fucking moron!" Dahlia felt the blood inside burn as she invoked her own speed, spotting the wild slashes of the machete as an enraged Al made his way towards her; she strafed to the right, reaching for a chair. Her mind raced for the next piece of her lie, wielding the chair as a lion tamer might. The bolder the lie, the less likely he'll be to doubt it. "Izzy was a better liar than I gave him credit for, and you're proof of that!" She used the chair to fend off his slashes, backing up towards the open bathroom door as they battled. "I'm not gonna bullshit you and say I wasn't Sabbat, but that's what happens when Izzy gets an idea -- he wants to drag everybody down with him. Don't let him drag you down, too!" His blade began to destroy the chair legs that she was thrusting at him in her defense, so she shoved the chair hard in his direction, their actions a blur of Celerity-fueled motion. When she tossed the chair at him, it was like throwing a log into a wood chipper. “STOP!” Dahlia was still searching for that golden connection, that one word or line that would make Al believe without a doubt. She just wasn’t sure if she could discover it before someone lost a limb. |
What fantasy is there in the act, that one cannot derive greater pleasure from than while denied the act...![]() Fantasy. Mutilation through restraint; taste but do not touch. Enjoy, but do not feel... | |
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| Alvin Benedict Blake | Tuesday, 22. March 2011, 10:22 Post #23 |
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Childe
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(OOC: If I am right, Izzy´s body is behind the bar table before the bathrooms; isn`t it? So, Al will see Izzy`s body) IC: The words of this Sabbat were falling on deaf ears, the Brujah knew that he could never trust what a monster like them would say; no matter how convincing their words could be. What was more, Benedict knew Izzy well enough to know that his fellow Brujah was not quite a genius guy nor manipulative... just the regular punk motorist folk. All of these considerations passed through Alvin`s mind in a split second as he kept advancing fast towards what would soon be a pile of immortal flesh and bones, maybe pulp. But as she walked backwards, cowering in fear, the Brujah saw something that made him stop; frozen on the ground with the machete in a strange pose, he tilted his head and saw the body of his fellow Brujah with a stake through it`s heart area. Alvin`s body begun to tremble as he felt the Beast claiming for the blood of this thing, this monster; the machete fell to the ground with a metallic noise and soon the trembling grew stronger and stronger. The Brujah`s head fell down to his chest as if he had fell asleep, still standing; only to reveal with a sudden movement the red glowing eyes of the Beast and the fangs of the kindred slowly lengthning as the Beast took full control of the kindred. For a second, the Brujah`s body took quite an animalistic pose; his hands with its fingers curved like claws and then the Beast lunged towards its prey. |
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| Dahlia | Wednesday, 23. March 2011, 03:52 Post #24 |
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True Sabbat
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She had seen it in the eyes of dozens of shovelheads and only minutes ago in Izzy – the raging Brujah looked to her with the blank stare of the Beast and rushed her. Dahlia back peddled while turning in a careful, quickened step and bolted through a doorway. The small window was to the right and if she missed she’d have to deal with a frenzying vampire; she entered the bathroom and made a juke, stopping before the sink and springing into a side dive – her stomach muscles contracted and she did as she had been taught to do once upon a time. Her hips brushed over the aluminum frame where the glass had once been and she dove directly onto the cold, rough gravel parking lot. Bits of stone and glass from her earlier intrusion bore into her skin and clothes, causing abrasions to briefly turn red. Dahlia scurried to her feet and made to look over her shoulder. With the Beast raging within his chest, hopefully Al would lack the necessary finesse to enter into a chase. And if luck was on her side, he might just be kind enough to tie up her loose end behind the bar. |
What fantasy is there in the act, that one cannot derive greater pleasure from than while denied the act...![]() Fantasy. Mutilation through restraint; taste but do not touch. Enjoy, but do not feel... | |
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| NPC | Monday, 28. March 2011, 03:21 Post #25 |
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The Game Master
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As the events unfolded in the disused rail station, the Gangrel watched. Calmly, he remained perched on the rooftops hidden from the cruel glare of the moon. A while ago he had made the phone call to Hackney and told his lord that the missing Toreador was hidden in plain sight amongst the Anarchs. “You want me to bring her in?” the Russian mother tongue accent had all but died away as he muttered, an interest arousing in him now that someone else had showed up. “I can deal with the Anarch.” “No, I want you to remain unknown to them.” the voice spoke into his ear, though unlike most, it did not worry the Russian. “I’ll collect her myself. Don’t lose her.” the phone went dead. He sat in quiet, listening intently to the brawl within. Should his sister fall into trouble, was he permitted to intervene? It seemed unadvised, but thankfully came out of his hands. Before his eyes, the figure erupted through the glass and plummeted to the sidewalk. It was smiley herself. “Fuck” he growled, checking his watch for the time. He would have to stop her, kill her if she resisted coming in with him. Oh how I fucking hate you. he thought before he found himself quickly descending the structure, and gave chase. |
| The NPC is not an admin nor does it have one singular user behind it. No PM's may be sent to the NPC and neither can you communicate with the NPC outside of role-play. Please contact Staff if you have any questions or queries. The NPC serves to only bring new information into role-play, members of staff have access to the NPC and will regularly be different people. | |
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| Dahlia | Tuesday, 29. March 2011, 14:51 Post #26 |
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True Sabbat
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The glass trickled off her form as skin rebounded, forcing each fragment out to seal the myriad scrapes and punctures; Dahlia gripped her left arm in pain, the tell-tale annoyance of a dislocated shoulder. “Fucking Anarchs…everyone’s the bad guy…” whispering to herself as she hurried away from the bar and into the shadows that would hide her; Auspex flared up, enhancing her auditory senses to ensure that she could only hear her footsteps. As she made her dash towards a short backstreet she heard a second pair of hurried feet pounding the pavement, causing her eyes to dart around the scene for anything she could brandish – a dull gleam caught her attention but as she made to reach for the object her alley ended. Dahlia stood facing a locked door, and while she had been able to put her fair share of holes into walls, this door wasn’t going to be just kicked down. Letting out an impatient huff she put her back to the door and looked down the alley, waiting for the thundering steps to reach her. She shook it off, no longer requiring the heightened sense wrought by the blood; whatever was coming for her – Al, Sabbat, Camarilla or etc. – would be met willingly. |
What fantasy is there in the act, that one cannot derive greater pleasure from than while denied the act...![]() Fantasy. Mutilation through restraint; taste but do not touch. Enjoy, but do not feel... | |
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| NPC | Tuesday, 29. March 2011, 18:11 Post #27 |
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The Game Master
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Vic continued his pursuit, ever aware that the Toreador would easily lose him if he didn’t close her down now. She may have caught a look of him as he thundered under the streetlights in chase. He was tall, of average build and dressed in conservative black jeans and shirt. His hair was scruffy, yet cropped to levels that wouldn’t hinder him, and not particularly distinguishable. The scar down the right of his face however was, and coupled with the fact that he wore aviators at night would make him easily identifiable. The shades didn’t dampen his vision though as his eyes were blessed with supernatural vision of Protean. The same power that had crafted his hands into claws. He rounded a corner to see her caught at the back of the alley, trapped. His pace slowed, a wash of relief running through him that she would not be lost. “You fucking done?” he growled, his brisk stride coming to baby steps the closer he came. He looked her over, resisting his dark urge before tore off his sunglasses and came face to face. Up close, she would easily see the flaw of the Gangrel. His eyes were almost fully occupied by pigmented iris, very much like a dogs. His ears which the glasses had rested upon were furry, grey, elongated slightly similar to wolves. “Come on, let’s go before he calls. Or he goes mental in the street and the Cammies come running.” As he spoke, he revealed his monstrous sharpened teeth. Every one of them were shaped like a canine. He kept wary of her as one of his clawed hands fumbled awkwardly in his pocket as he tried to pull something out. “You got a name, bitch?” |
| The NPC is not an admin nor does it have one singular user behind it. No PM's may be sent to the NPC and neither can you communicate with the NPC outside of role-play. Please contact Staff if you have any questions or queries. The NPC serves to only bring new information into role-play, members of staff have access to the NPC and will regularly be different people. | |
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| Dahlia | Wednesday, 30. March 2011, 19:08 Post #28 |
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True Sabbat
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Her arm grew taught within her grasp before it was shifted upwards violently, forcing itself back into place with an audible sound of distress; Dahlia eyed the mutt approaching her as he spoke aloud. “You first, mutt. Or should I just call you Lassie?” firing back at his words and pathetic concern for her affairs. “He’s not going to call anyone; in fact, he’ll probably wind up doing me a favor before he’s done making a fool of himself…” She flexed her arm and rotated it, loosening the tendons and muscles idly; her eyes focused on his face and then his hands as he attempted to awkwardly maneuver in his own form – failing to perform even the simplest task of reaching into a pocket. She invoked that supernatural speed and grace once more as she made a quick dash to the side of his person, pulling up beside the arm lodged in a pocket. If she caught him off guard with her speed, she would use the side of her foot to sweep behind his knee in an effort to bring him to his own – she meant to put him into a submission hold, uninterested in trading quips with a fucking mongrel. Brute force was likely the only language he knew – and just his luck: She was fluent. |
What fantasy is there in the act, that one cannot derive greater pleasure from than while denied the act...![]() Fantasy. Mutilation through restraint; taste but do not touch. Enjoy, but do not feel... | |
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| NPC | Monday, 4. April 2011, 00:04 Post #29 |
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The Game Master
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He muttered his displeasure for her whole attitude as he finally managed to hook the phone with a clawed finger. The Archbishop would be arriving soon enough, and Vic wanted to ensure that they were both found and brought in without problem. As he finally manoeuvred it from the tight confines, his gaze faltered for only a moment as he aimed to make the call. It was the only opportunity she needed, her speed far beyond his own capabilities. But Monroe had sent no mere mongrel for this. Vic was dangerous. The Gangrel let the phone slip from his grip, spilling from the pocket and falling to the ground. He span wildly to meet her, but had been confined to no room to strike a blow, and no momentum to take her down. He felt her foot come into the back of his knee, yet he ignored the threat that came with it. He already knew that he was going to lose his position in some way or another, enabling her to escape out of the alley and probably far out of his capabilities to recapture. That’s why he had to make sure that she came down with him. The hand that had been fumbling his phone slid around her waist, the talon like fingers grinding into the small of her back, while the other attempted to grasp at her shoulder, hair, neck or even face. When his leg shuddered and gave way beneath him, he let his balance go with it and caused him to clumsily go straight to the floor. Dragging her with him. When faced with the dark, mucky concrete below, he did not dawdle. He could feel some fingers had grown wet with her blood, whilst his other hand had slipped from her lower back. He rolled to his back to find she had been able to stop herself plummeting into the floor as harshly as he had done, looming over him. He wasted no time lunging for her, a hand grabbing her arm and pulling her on top of him. Now, he attempted his best to wrap her legs up with his own, keep her body close to his with an arm while the other hand locked around her neck. His fingers pulled her face an inch away from his own as the thumb lingered on the throat. “Let me fucking explain summit to you.” he growled, and although the sentence was aggressive in nature, it didn’t seem to be more so than earlier. “The Archbishop doesn’t think you’re a traitor. But you run, you’re dead. Understand?” Vic would maintain his hold until she agreed to come along peacefully. Or beat him senseless, but with bodies so close she wouldn’t have much give in a physical battering. Already, the wound on his head began to piss blood down his face and he had barely noticed. He was trying his best to hide the intent that hid behind his dull black eyes. |
| The NPC is not an admin nor does it have one singular user behind it. No PM's may be sent to the NPC and neither can you communicate with the NPC outside of role-play. Please contact Staff if you have any questions or queries. The NPC serves to only bring new information into role-play, members of staff have access to the NPC and will regularly be different people. | |
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| Dahlia | Wednesday, 6. April 2011, 01:34 Post #30 |
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True Sabbat
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Maybe it was the still-fresh high of an almost diablerie, or maybe it was just not her night – Dahlia fumbled in her leg work and consequently found herself straddling the Gangrel. Awkwardly. Their faces were inches apart and had she felt randy enough, the Toreador may have bitten off a lip – or worse. She eyed the blood trailing down his face and thought of the anarch which only made her tighten up as he wrapped his legs around hers, as if he possessed some modicum of grace within that gnarled and warped form he called ‘a body’. “Pardon moi if I’m not incredibly psyched to jump on your dick at the first sign of calvary…This night has been one disappointment after the next and if the Archbishop wants me dead you might as well press the button yourself right now because I’m not going to let one more asshole interrogate me. So that better be your goddamned last question…” Her mouth was on a roll tonight, but she blamed the heated Brujah blood dancing through her flesh, making it taut in all the right places. |
What fantasy is there in the act, that one cannot derive greater pleasure from than while denied the act...![]() Fantasy. Mutilation through restraint; taste but do not touch. Enjoy, but do not feel... | |
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| NPC | Thursday, 7. April 2011, 10:57 Post #31 |
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The Game Master
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With every word the Toreador spoke, Vic’s smirk became wider and wider. He couldn’t help give a chuckle at the end; he personally thought Monroe was the definition of asshole, although he was fairly certain that it would piss her off further. But that didn’t matter right? Bitch wanted death. “Sure. No more questions.” he sighed a little. He could have wept saying his silent goodbyes to the face he would like to becoming more ‘acquainted’ with, but he wasn’t that humane...or insane. “It’s a shame. Me and you, we could’ve had some fun.” he growled. Then unexpectedly, his arms and legs relinquished their hold. He was now at a severe disadvantage position-wise, and he would not be surprised if she used the opportunity to teach him not to be so rough with girls. Most of them did. He remained most wary about his own throat, having already smelt the blood of a Cainite on her breath. “What’s the need in killing you? You ain’t working for the Cammies. You ain’t friends with the Anarchs. You ain’t got a fucking chance.” he flashed his unnatural smile. He was right, in theory. A Cainite who embraced their predatory nature like the Sabbat did wouldn’t last long on their own. She wasn’t welcome in the east, true, but was anyone going to accept her in any other direction? If she left town, Vic knew that the Archbishop wouldn’t care. If she stayed, and Monroe did want her dead, well then the Gangrel would have a fine hunt on his hands indeed. Maybe he’d mount her head on the wall. “So go on then. Fuck off.” |
| The NPC is not an admin nor does it have one singular user behind it. No PM's may be sent to the NPC and neither can you communicate with the NPC outside of role-play. Please contact Staff if you have any questions or queries. The NPC serves to only bring new information into role-play, members of staff have access to the NPC and will regularly be different people. | |
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| Dahlia | Monday, 11. April 2011, 17:09 Post #32 |
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True Sabbat
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She quickly removed herself from his stiff form and stepped away as she made to brush herself off, jumping a few times in place; this night was filling her with some unsavory vibes and the Archbishop's messenger was just one more domino to fall in a long line of misfortune. Dahlia continued popping herself a few inches off the ground, shaking her hands out and though the bodily function was no longer required, took several deep breaths while bouncing. She didn't need this, people telling her her business; a hand lifted to push her hair back as she settled on the ground, finished with her little 'shake off'. For once she was unable to find the energy to fire back a retort yet felt certain that her silence would speak volumes. Her lovely eyes settled on the Sabbat's body and she made a sucking sound with her teeth -- he laid there like a waste of blood, no better than the cattle. At least they acted as if they knew their place, unlike the mutt at her feet. He seemed more willing to think himself on top of the food chain, as if he could devour her. She would make sure to end this one, someday -- she'd pull that smug fucking head from its shoulders and toss it in an incinerator. "Keep talking asswhipe," spitting as she kicked at his side, wanting to bury the steel tip of her boot as far into his ribcage as she could. |
What fantasy is there in the act, that one cannot derive greater pleasure from than while denied the act...![]() Fantasy. Mutilation through restraint; taste but do not touch. Enjoy, but do not feel... | |
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| NPC | Monday, 11. April 2011, 17:55 Post #33 |
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The Game Master
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Vic remained on the ground but with a look of amusement as she started shaking about to dust herself off. He actually laid his hands underneath his head now and seemingly relaxed on the ground. Playing dead, but tense and alert, waiting for her to strike. He could see it in her eyes, loathing of every fibre of his being. He got it a lot. Perhaps she thought that he a new born mongrel running around, not truly understand the cruelty of the world. In reality, he had been knocking around the earth longer than most humans, and learnt how evil and destructive individuals could be first hand at the Siege of Leningrad. He couldn’t have dodged the kick if he tried, and while Fortitude absorbed the majority of the blow his body arced around her foot and a nasty crunch sounded. It hurt, yeah, but he’d had worse. If she wanted to be angry, he would make her furious. “That all you got honey?” he chuckled, though suddenly his vision was drawn to something moving at the mouth of the alleyway. Suddenly, the chuckle became hysterical and he found himself helpless. He attempted to compose himself, but it was impossible to mask as he uttered the horrific words. “Daddy’s here.” he giggled, as a blackened 4x4 stopped before the entrance, and the Archbishop emerged. The Lasombra paused a moment, peering into the alley, before he started his strides into the alley. “Wanna get a sneaky dig in before he gets here?” Yeah, she was in trouble. |
| The NPC is not an admin nor does it have one singular user behind it. No PM's may be sent to the NPC and neither can you communicate with the NPC outside of role-play. Please contact Staff if you have any questions or queries. The NPC serves to only bring new information into role-play, members of staff have access to the NPC and will regularly be different people. | |
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| Dahlia | Wednesday, 13. April 2011, 19:12 Post #34 |
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True Sabbat
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She had only ever met the Archbishop from a distance, and that for ‘Caine knows why’ she had hurriedly informed him of her encounter with the Prince. Why? Why had she done that? A temporary lapse in judgment? Had it been fear? Dahlia shook her head, half-ignoring the Gangrel at her feet who seemed too amused with himself. Fuck it, she thought at last as she delivered a second kick to the same spot to his side. It wasn’t anger in her eyes – well, not entirely – but it was something else, and she was certain that that was the same something fucking with her in almost every other facet of her present circumstances. “Like a fucking hump day or something! A god-damned perpetual Wednesday that just won’t end!” [Spoken in Italian] it came out of her mouth unexpectedly, but she made no apology for the outburst as the Archbishop approached. The road to power was a maddening one, a path that did not abide by failure or shirking. If she was going to die then she was alright with that; it would only be fitting that she meet her end in a crummy backstreet, where her wretched dance had begun. |
What fantasy is there in the act, that one cannot derive greater pleasure from than while denied the act...![]() Fantasy. Mutilation through restraint; taste but do not touch. Enjoy, but do not feel... | |
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| Monroe | Monday, 18. April 2011, 23:48 Post #35 |
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Dark Lord
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The Gangrel sucked in air from through his teeth as the second shot to his ribs was received without incident. Her fate didn’t look so light as two blows to the body, especially since Victor knew firsthand the strength Monroe possessed. Perhaps this was why he suddenly had stopped laughing as he remained lying on the floor and reading the grim expression of his lord. After her sudden outburst in a foreign tongue, the Lasombra spared him a curious look, to which he simply grinned and replied “The standard reaction to meeting me to first time, your Excellency.” as convincingly as he could. Monroe seemed satisfied with it anyway, and Vic leapt to his feet. Sure, he was a little pissed that she didn’t come with him quietly, that she even fucking resisted, but he couldn’t help but feel a certain sense of sympathy towards her. Was it Vic being a nice guy? Him trying to get laid? His dislike for Monroe? It certainly felt like all of the above. And for that he would shut up. Monroe stopped before the female, the sister that Chambers had snatched. He wanted to know why she had been taken more than he wanted to know where her allegiances lay. He had his methods for information extraction, and should they fail, he would hand her over to the Tzimisces and Malkavians so eager to twist and break body and mind. “I have come to take you back to the east, Cainite, as I trust Victor has informed you?” he asked her, unsure as to why the Gangrel was now skulking around behind her with a sour look on his face. The Russian paced casually around for a moment, clearly unhappy, before feeling his lord’s gaze and parking himself behind the Toreador. Monroe put it down to the volatile nature of the beast and returned his gaze to her. Victor, looming over her such was his height, placed a single, ordinary hand on her shoulder. However, he was unconfident his attempt to calm her and make her see reason in the face of the Archbishop would actually work accordingly, and chances were she’d kick him again. |
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| Dahlia | Thursday, 12. May 2011, 20:17 Post #36 |
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True Sabbat
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If it were possible, she might have rolled her eyes but given that they were currently focused on avoiding the Archbishop’s direct gaze it sufficed to instead suck her teeth and give out a little huff. Dahlia puffed out her chest and crossed her arms, entertaining a lazy stance as the Gangrel crawled to his feet. Despite her inability to understand why she had even bothered to send word of her encounter with the Camarilla, she couldn’t help but shake her head – was the Lasombra joking? Was he a fool? Or was she being played, yet again? “It said something to that affect, yes.” Her voice was distant as she referred to the sniveling Victor, prowling behind her. She didn’t raise her voice to the Lasombra and eventually her eyes crept up to meet his, if it was even possible. Having other people burrow inside your conscious thoughts and poking at your moist noodle had a way of pissing a gal off in that special way – she wasn’t looking to invite another inside. But in spite of the possibility of being mentally raped, Dahlia looked into the Archbishops face and tapped her foot. The hand upon her shoulder gave her pause until she shrugged it off, “I’ve got legs…” Lips pursed in her own blend of Diva-esque hostility, she held both brows aloft and asked with an expressive face: ‘well?’ |
What fantasy is there in the act, that one cannot derive greater pleasure from than while denied the act...![]() Fantasy. Mutilation through restraint; taste but do not touch. Enjoy, but do not feel... | |
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2:02 AM Jul 11