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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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| Blood, Bruises and Drugs; Sullivan's haven, any anrachs (if you knock first!) | |
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| Topic Started: Friday, 22. April 2011, 19:15 (1,417 Views) | |
| Sullivan | Friday, 22. April 2011, 19:15 Post #1 |
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"God damn." Sullivan said, his voice softer than it had been earlier. In Camden, and even during the drive here, danger had been about - he could smell it, feel it on his skin like sharp little pin pricks all over his shoulders. In truth, he spoke with a dual purpose - subtly scolding himself for an abyssmal lack of self discipline and then partly in sheer wonder at how his going hunting for another kindred had led to him meeting two and bringing them home. He wasn't sure if Vinnie was coming back, but he wasn't surprised that it was taking the other man a while if he was - he had one hell of a wreck to hide somewhere, blood-splattered and smashed-in windscreen making it all different kinds of noticable. He glanced at the address on the slip of paper in his hand, and frowned, his other hand coming up to pinch his nose in mild distress. He knew that Tumor would call in a favour to make up for all the ones Sullivan had asked - he'd just been hoping that it wouldn't be this. Still, as a result, Nora had gotten what she needed, distilled with her 'special' blend. He'd lain her down on the couch in the other room and hooked her up to the bloodbag, along with a few extras in the fridge - he hadn't mixed the coke into them, but he suspected after the first she'd be able to do that herself. The Irishman glanced up from his lap towards the fire, and despite wincing slightly with each flick of the flaming tongues, he smirked - his pants and vest had been thrown in it. He wasn't sure if the heat would help Nora at all, but he figured it couldn't hurt. Shaking his head loose of the contemplations coming at him from every angle, Sullivan stood up and paced towards his dresser, taking out and throwing on another pair of jeans to replace the ones burning. He hadn't burned the coat. It was worn, ragged and battle-hardened - a little blood wouldn't kill it. Besides, it had been his father's trench coat, back in the Great War. It was the only thing of his that Sullivan owned - his mother had brought it into the city for him the night that he... Sullivan truncated his line of thought with a swift turn from the dresser and a forceful opening of the door through to the main room, his eyes back to glaring and his jaw clenched. After realizing it, he let it remain that way - he was angry, and he knew the Beast fed on his temper. But he had a right - Alasdair had set up something fr him to be angry about. He'd had to - unlike Nora's gallery of tells, he only had the three, and was similarly stable - moreso, maybe - in life. He supposed that Alasdair considered that something he'd need to rectify. Again, he dropped from his thoughts, and from his feet, as he fell backwards onto the chair opposite the couch, his smile only halfway there, "Well, that was a close call lass. You gonna be alright, or do ye need more pillows?" He asked, a chuckle showing in his grin but falling short of hitting the air. He couldn't quite do it - he'd only be using humour as away to feel less guilty for what he'd done to get this far, and if there was anything Sullivan prided himself on it was honesty. That and an iron gut. Edited by Sullivan, Friday, 22. April 2011, 19:15.
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| Vincent Tadeu | Friday, 22. April 2011, 21:09 Post #2 |
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Garbage Man
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Having driven the car out of the city he'd given the whole thing the dirty treatment, dousing it in white spirit and then petrol before spreading a bag of manure and the innards of a slaughtered cow (hurray for the British countryside) on the inside he'd set it alight in a quiet field. But Vinnie knew better than to leave it at that, burning out a car wasn't enough to destroy the evidence, you had to hide it too. So he jacked a tractor from a nearby farm and used it to push the car into the river and waited until the last of the burnt wreckage went from view into the murky depths below. Then without further ado he returned to the city, dumping the tractor on the outskirts and using public transport to make the rest of the journey to the address Sullivan had given him. He considered just leaving it there, after all the pair of Gangrel had made his night somewhat over exciting, and if any of the shovelheads had spotted him he'd be marked, hell they all would be more than likely. But he wasn't one to just leave things hanging. By rights he'd pulled them out of the shit there, both of them seemed determined to get themselves killed or mauled and it was his decision to keep the car handy, and in fact get the car at all that had gotten them out of Sabbat turf, but he wasn't about to start calling debts or favours from them. They were Anarchs like him and in his mind that made them deserving, even if they were fucking suicidal. So he made it to the door which a couple of hours ago he'd driven Nora and Sullivan to and gave it a knock. |
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| Sullivan | Friday, 22. April 2011, 21:57 Post #3 |
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Sullivan glanced across to his left, his eyes fixed on the door with a silent, sentinel-esque stare, stone grey transfixed with peeling green paint and pale wood. The window, boarded up since his first 'acquiring' of the place, didn't reveal anything more, and so he picked up the one thing that he relied upon more than his own two hands - a four-foot crowbar. Swinging it up into grip leant against one shoulder as he strode over to the door in rapid steps, boots thumping against creaking boards. He reached towards the door knob and frowned slightly, drawing the crowbar back in his other hand for maximum swing, "Who is it?" He asked, trying to sniff out the potential houseguest. He supposed it could be Vinnie, and he hoped so the moment the thought hit him, but he couldn't let his guard down so easily. Organized or not, between the three of them they'd just arse-screwed a whole Sabbat pack, or close enough to it - that wouldn't go entirely unnoticed, and he wasn't above thinking that some obfuscating blighter had at least tried to follow them. Hopefully, it wasn't another gangrel - most city line were still Sabbat, and if they'd followed them, they were still in trouble. On the other hand, if it was a Nos, well... Somehow, Sullivan liked to think that he'd be able to smell the reeking, rotting smell that seemed to follow them around. He eventually realized his conundrum - either he opened the door and struck first, or he let the potential assailant smash through the door, blocking his view - and theirs. He rolled his eyes - he'd kill himself and a good deal more kindred trying to live on edge like this. He shrugged, and opened the door, crowbar still in hand but not quite in striking position - he had claws, and he had drank since his last use of them. Seeing Vinnie on the other side of the doorway, he sighed in relief, and gestured inside, "She's on the couch, don't mind the fire. The car gone?" He asked as he stepped aside to allow the other kindred in. |
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| Vincent Tadeu | Friday, 22. April 2011, 22:42 Post #4 |
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Garbage Man
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"And more, the coppers will be lucky if they can prove what was in that thing was human, luckier if they find the damn thing in the first place. Hitched the plates, so here, souvenir, keep them or destroy them I don't care, just make sure they never see the light of day, or night again or we're royally buggered, at least by the mortal police." Vinnie stepped inside deciding to ignore the crowbar, he'd forgive Sullivan for being cautious, especially after tonight's events. Walking into the room where the fire flickered and Nora lay hooked up to the drip recovering, he sat down in an empty chair before chucking some papers into the fire, they were from the car, service record and the like. What idiot kept their vehicle documents in the vehicle? Unless it was stolen to begin with in which case it made Vinnie's life easier. Sighing and holding his hands forward to try and get a little of the heat, he had the same fear of fire all Kindred had, but he didn't let it stop him from enjoying the warmth of a good fire, even if it made him bloody uneasy. "Before anything else is said or done I also need to you take care of this for me. It isn't anything special but the shovelheads and any witnesses will more easily identify me if I'm seen swinging a revolver around." Vinnie chucked the revolver he'd used to cover the car for Sullivan to catch. It wasn't loaded, Vinnie wasn't thick enough to throw a loaded gun, even in a room full of licks. It was an old World War II relic, stamped and well kept especially considering it wasn't a legally registered firearm. It was a wrench in many ways to give it to Sullivan, but after tonight it was better if he wasn't seen with a revolver like that for a while, and Sullivan? Well Sullivan would probably never even use it, not that he could right now since Vinnie wasn't handing out ammo. "So, how is our mutual friend? She in the world of the unliving, or off in fairy land?" |
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| Nora Penvellyn | Saturday, 23. April 2011, 09:04 Post #5 |
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Rebel With a Cause
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Nora laid on the couch in silence and stared at the needle embedded in the dead flesh of her forearm, glancing to the blood bag every now and then to see how much blood had been pumped into her weak veins since she'd last looked at it. She sometimes caught Sullivan's passing figure in her peripherals as he passed by; once to toss his ruined clothing into the fireplace, and then once more as he bounded across the room to put on a different pair of jeans. She stared at this needle and thought about other things. What they were, she couldn't tell, as they passed too quickly through her mind to really even register as actual thoughts. Sullivan collapsed into the chair across from her, asking if she needed anything and trying to lighten the mood of the current situation. Her eyes snapped onto his rugged form with some interest, as if she were just now acknowledging his presence. She managed to smile and shake her head to his question before attempting to roll over and take some pressure off her now very exposed, slowly healing wounds. She looked over her shoulder to him, "Am I still missing pieces?" She could feel a cold draft caress her exposed skin and numb the holes and rips on the back of her thigh and the gaping crater in the small of her back. God, what had she gotten herself into. More then anything though, she wanted to get out of these clothes and sleep in her natural form by the fire. She always did enjoy a nice nap on a soft rug by the fireplace when she first learned to shift. It was something she and her Sire had shared when he'd taught her to do it...she spent many nights with Vry curled up on the floor, listening to the cracking and popping of the burning wood lulling you to sleep. She could already tell this was just straight B positive blood, as well. She usually felt a flutter with the kind of blood she was used to digesting. There wasn't a flutter, but a very subtle itch in it's place...an itch to find that flutter and bring it back. She'd have to worry about it later when she was strong enough to hunt on her own accord. She rested her head again, snuggling into comfortable crease of the couch, down into the cushions, and tried to sleep. That was short lived as well too, as a knock on the door startled the both of them. Vinnie came trekking into the room shortly after Sully got up to investigate. She couldn't help but watch his fleeting figure; she was fascinated with the way he moved, the way he carried himself. It was a primal instinct all Gangrel tapped into at some point in time or another. Whether he consciously realized it or not, he was flaunting his Alpha position in hopes of catching someone's eyes... and surprisingly, he caught hers. Vinnie sat down in a chair, making a social triangle of sorts before looking to Nora and asking how she faired. "I'm in Hell." she muttered as she rolled over again, pulling a blanket over her, and waiting for sleep to take her. |
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| Sullivan | Saturday, 23. April 2011, 17:53 Post #6 |
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The Irishman chuckled, and glanced around his haven, his smile genuine - she was talking, and the holes were smaller. It was a start. He spoke as he caught the flying revolver, gazing at it while his mouth tried to keep the mood somewhat light. "I'd take offense if I was half-convinced of the same thing, lass. Listen, I... Wasn't really sure how to mix the blood and the drugs, truth be told. I had some dropped off along with the blood, but wasn't sure how to mix 'em, or how much of each. When you can stand, all the stuff I was given is in the kitchen - powder on the side, blood in the fridge." The line of thought that followed the speech, though, was somewhat darker. Tumour had asked something a little disproportionate to his own requests - but if it wasn't done, he no longer had eyes or ears in the city beyond his own, and he wasn't stupid - that, more than anything else, would be a very bad idea. Kindred died alone - always. Well, that or en masse, but having the fighting chance was always a plus. He wasn't happy with his job, but... Well, Nora had needed help. It wasn't called the high road because it was easy. He glanced down at the number plates, and one of his fangs poked down over his lower liip in a mischievous tweak of the edge of his lips - those, he'd have to keep. Maybe a gallery of reminders for each attempt to find Alasdair had gone. Blood-spattered car plates, expedition one - the hunt consisting of shovelheads, but still a good brawl. He sighed, and snatched a bottle of whiskey from beside his chair - God, he missed bar-brawls. Smashed bottles, cracked tables and beer-soaked, bleeding head wounds. Appropriate jukebox soundtrack if you'd been in the right dive at the time - at least until somebody found their teeth buried in the machine. He glanced at Vinnie, and laid the revolver down on the floor where the whiskey had been, "Thanks. For the help, I mean - ye didn't hafta keep us alive, but ye did. I won't forget it." He wasn't sure how many of the multiple meanings of the statement he meant - he was happy he had survived, sure. He was also - at least a tiny bit - irritated that he'd needed the help, and that as far as he was concerned, he owed another kindred more of his time tht he really needed to spend hunting down his sire, or at least hunting down leads to where he might be and whose life he might be trying to fuck up now. Still, it was refreshing to find somebody who helped of their own free will - here he'd been thinking he was the only one. Now, though, his thoughts drifted to the previous events in Camden as he raised the bottle to his lips - Jack. Malkavian. The Irishman wasn't sure what to do about him - he'd gotten a good lokk at Sullivan, while he had but a name and a clan. If he could drag a shovel head free of a pack, he could try interrogating them, but he wasn't convinced it would work - and he didn't want to ask Tumour for anything for the rest of his unlife if the details he'd been given were the price. No, this one he'd need time and caution - much like Nora and her house. Edited by Sullivan, Saturday, 23. April 2011, 18:14.
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| Vincent Tadeu | Saturday, 23. April 2011, 19:00 Post #7 |
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Garbage Man
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Vinnie realised for a moment that the Irishman felt he owed him something. This wasn't his way, at least not with fellow Anarchs in need. Sure he'd fuck over some piss brained lick for a suicidal favour, but this was different, these guys were a part of his world a part of his society and now he supposed a part of his unlife. He had no doubt they'd remain in contact, if not remain a pack of sorts. After all Kindred were not generally solitary creatures and it had been a long time since Vincent had been a part of anything. "Don't think on it. Its what friends do and I knew from looking at you both I couldn't just leave you there to die. Its not my way. I suppose its what you call honour among thieves...so what now? I'm reckoning we haven't heard the last of those Shovelheads and we certainly aren't rid of the Sabbat. Sooner or later they'll track one or more of us down..." |
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| Sullivan | Saturday, 23. April 2011, 19:14 Post #8 |
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Sullivan snorted slightly as the whiskey caught in his throat, the laugh obvious but silenced in burning liquid. Lowering the bottle and thumping his chest with a grin, the Irishman raised an eyebrow, "You're worried about them? Don't. They scream and shout about how 'different' they are to the Camarilla, but they're just as bad. Same bullshit, different leaders. If they do try to follow up on us, it'll be with lowlives and idiots - nothing me and Ironhide can't deal with, nevermind all three of us." He said, patting the crowbar with a certain degree of affection. He was a little concerned, sure - but he knew he liked a good fight, and he spent most nights plumbing the depths of Camden for a Sabbat elder. He figured that even if it bothered him, he didn't have the right to be scared or worried - he was doing too good a job of being suicidal to justify it. He fell silent at this point. He wasn't entirely sure what else he had to say, at least not until someone else spoke up - and he had to somehow find a way of dealing with Tumour's request. Damn - a crime scene. He understood that he should be concerned - if the police were considering exploring lengths of the sewers, then yeah, somebody needed to give them a reason to search elsewhere - but damn, did he have to do it? It was a Nosferatu problem, surely it was up to one of them to solve the puzzle and lead the coppers away from the sewers somehow. Edited by Sullivan, Saturday, 23. April 2011, 22:59.
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| Vincent Tadeu | Sunday, 24. April 2011, 16:20 Post #9 |
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Garbage Man
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Sighing Vincent leaned back and looked at Nora, she was looking a little better even if the clothes she was in were ruined. That reminded him, he'd picked some spare clothes up on the way her, just in case, they probably wouldn't fit but they were better than nothing. Although that said he wasn't sure how the Gangrel felt about clothes, they were after all that bit closer to the primal and instinctive side of their condition. He thought better of standing up and leaving, besides Sullivan seemed to be confidant that everything would be fine, but something told him it wouldn't be. He'd lived in London for most of his life and he'd lived connected to the criminal world for longer, there weren't so many differences between Kindred society and the society of career criminals when you thought about it. The Sabbat were just an extended network of criminal organisations that existed to make everyone's life a misery, they wouldn't leave something like this unanswered. Cutting apart most of a pack in the middle of the night in one of the most heavily Sabbat controlled areas in the city, it wasn't something that went unnoticed by those higher up the chain. "I'm not so sure, we did after all just fight our way through a whole pack of them, in the middle of their turf. That's tantamount to a declaration of war if you ask me, and the Sabbat, they may be idiots but they have more resources than the three of us combined." |
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| Sullivan | Sunday, 24. April 2011, 17:55 Post #10 |
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Sullivan nodded, but raised a finger from where it was coiled around the neck of the bottle in his hand, a point to be made sitting comfortably on his lips, "You make a good point - but you make the same assumption everybody does, that the Sabbat are a united force. It ain't true, and they won't all be jumpin' at the chance to strike - They know just as well as we do that like it or not, this city is mostly Camarilla, and if they assault the city - even turf that's under Anarch control - then they bring down a whole mess of trouble that they could do without right now." He shrugged, and raised the bottle to his lips, a swift swig of the burning alcoohol inside punctuating his last sentence and beginning another, "Besides, the man in charge of the pack was a Malkavian. I've been in the Sabbat, thankfully in nights that are now long past. They don't get any more respect with the Sword than with the Cammies - crazy good with a shotgun though he might be, Jack's on his own fer the moment. We got breathing room." He did admit that the Sabbat would get around to dealing with their 'transgression' one of these nights - but right now, it wasn't a problem so much as something to keep in mind just in case. He lowered the whiskey bottle back to its' place by the side of the chair, and placed his hands behind his head, one leg swinging up and dropping itself across the other. He glanced to the side at the time, and smiled lightly, "Well, yer both welcome ta stay here - ain't too much room, but there's a spare matress and enough blood for three ta share. Other'n that... Well, I got somethin' I need to make plans for." The Irishman didn't say what - hunting down Jack, that was obvious - or at least he thought so. Sneaking into the situation that Tumour had arranged... Hopefully less so. He didn't want Vinnie to know - the man had common sense, and that was good, but he didn't want to be stopped. Well, he did, but he couldn't afford it. Nora... He hoped she hadn't caught on even more. It'd been a while since he'd seen what a shotgun-toting lunatic could do. He needed dealing with. More than that, Sullivan needed to get Tumour's job done - and he needed to keep Nora from knowing about it. If he was to even try to keep her safe, whether she wanted him to do it or not... He felt as though he should keep her out of it. |
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| Nora Penvellyn | Monday, 25. April 2011, 07:12 Post #11 |
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Nora listened to their talk of politics and possible threats with little interest. She didn't care much for thinking or worrying about either anymore. Having been raised in the infancy of her unlife in a world that was all about structure and the "proper way of doing things" was not a life she wanted to lead. The Camarilla had nothing but ass backward rules and codes of conduct to offer her, and as far as threats? She'd made it this far, being as young and reckless as she was, somehow. Somewhere, she'd done something right all those times her life was on the line. What it was, she wasn't sure. Maybe Fate or luck had something to do with it, but that was too spiritual for her to believe anymore. All she knew was that she had to fight to survive. She had to survive. Or die trying. With that thought, she couldn't help but chime in, "Personally, being the one missing chunks of flesh, I think it's safe to say this isn't worth worrying about right now. There's more important things to invest our time and energies into other then a fuckin' pack of dogs and their psychotic babysitter." She looked up at the blood bag and saw hanging empty and lifeless above her head. Looking down to her arm, she reached for the needle, pulling it out with some care before slowly pulling herself to a sitting position on the couch and planting her feet firmly on the floor. She hoisted herself up quickly, knowing that trying to baby her wounds would only amplify the pain that much more. Hissing as she staggered to the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator and looked at the bulging bags of blood with some interest as she studied the types labeled on them and fished out two of her liking. Laying one of the counter, she punctured the one in her weak grasp with her thumb nail and brought the opening to her mouth, swallowing the cold vitae in smooth gulps, and after a few moments of staring at the now empty plastic in her hand, did the same with the second on the counter. She leaned against it for some time, at first because she could barely support herself, but now, she was just relaxing and feeling the rich red sustenance really begin to take effect as she could feel herself healing, feel some kind of new found strength thrum in her dead veins. She still had an itch for the blow, but she could take care of that later... on her own time. Sullivan's thought was considerate, but just mixing nose candy into a cup of blood wasn't enough...it had to be digested...flowing in the blood stream, being pumped through out the body. She looked down to herself, still covered in blood and her clothes ruined. She might as well have stripped and just done as Sully did and thrown them in the fire. These were her favorite jeans too...fuckin' shovelheads. It didn't sound like such a bad idea now... as she pulled her shirt over her head, unhooked her bra, and slid out of her jeans. She stood in the kitchen completely naked as she neatly folded the tattered clothing and set them on the counter, popping her head back into the main room, "Any chance I could get something...clean and still stitched together to wear?" she posed the question to the both of them. |
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| Sullivan | Wednesday, 27. April 2011, 18:31 Post #12 |
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Sullivan stood himself up, and nodded, "Sure, lass. I'll getcha something." He said, keeping his eyes away from the kitchen door as he passed by and into his room. It was bathed in darkness, but the pine wardrobe was no trouble to find, and he fished out some jeans and a t-shirt - as well as a belt, after he figured that Nora wouldn't be quite the same size as he was - from the furniture. He folded them together so that he could carry them all in the one hand, and smiled lightly as he raised his free hand up to his eyes, "Here - they're not fantastic or nothin', but ye'll be covered and comfy. Better'n most poor sods in the Smoke can say." Upon Nora's acceptance of the clothes, he caught his own eyes latching to hers before it quite happened, keeping himself apart by turning and walking back into the room. She knew more than he did about... This. On an instinctive level - he could feel that she understood what he wasn't sure of. But then, he'd not been raised a real gangrel - just a meat-shield. He was hampered, he realized, in having animal-keen senses that he had never learned to trust, and so didn't know what they were telling him. Beyond simple scents and glares, he was lost in endless potential translations, and he didn't like being seen that way while Vinnie was around. With a glance at the couch and the blood stains on it, Sullivan's expression grew more serious and a hand coiled around his chin in thought. That'd have to go, and soon. He didn't really need a replacement - but blood-soaked furniture wouldn't be a good thing for sticking on the lower-end of the local radar, and that was something he was going to be relying on more than most - somehow, he just got that feeling. With not long before sun-up, he decided that he was calling it a night. There was a lot of effort to put into the job before it could go ahead - contacts to inform, escape routes to secure, contingency plans. Messing with anything that could point to Kindred involvement was risky business - messing with it to try and point the blame the other way was even riskier. He wanted tofind Alasdair, and at least for now he wanted to skin Jack's hide right of his back even more. But there were differences between hunting for necessity and hunting for selfish reasons - while Jack and Alasdair both had a little of the two, Sullivan figured that while there was a debt to pay, even having a little was making either hunt too selfish a goal. He needed to finish cleaning up one mess before he could solve another. There was the problem of Nora's house still left to deal with too. The Irishman scowled as he dropped backwards onto the couch and hung one leg off of the side, swallowing a second yawn - damn. He had too much on his plate to just deal with. He'd have to figure out an order to handle them in, and fast - while Tumour's job had to come first, he'd promised Nora help. He had to be a man of his word if he wanted to consider hismelf as good as he'd once been - even if the animal he kept caged in his chest was baying for the blood of two kindred who had wronged the wrong Irish. He glanced atVinnie and thumbed the direction towards one of the other doors, "Room itself is grubby, but the bed's clean and empty if yer stayin'." He still felt as though he should stick by Vinnie as thanks for the other kindred's help, but if he said he didn't owe him, Sullivan could respect that. It was good to find another kindred who wasn't trying to use him for something - so far in his unlife, they'd been so few and far between that he hadn't been sure if they were myths within a myth. Edited by Sullivan, Wednesday, 27. April 2011, 18:45.
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| Vincent Tadeu | Thursday, 28. April 2011, 21:12 Post #13 |
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"Thanks man but I'm not much of a bed person any more, I'll take a sheet and the floor any day." Vinnie sat for a while before standing up and heading into the other room that Sullivan had mentioned, lighting up a cigar as he went. No point in holding back on the habit now, besides the Irishman had worse smells to worry about than the smell of tobacco smoke. He'd decided already to let Sullivan and Nora have some alone time, he knew about how Gangrel were and even given how different the pair were the ties of their blood still ran deep. "See you both tomorrow I guess." |
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| Sullivan | Friday, 29. April 2011, 17:35 Post #14 |
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The Irishman shrugged, but didn't move, "Aye. Stay safe, lad." He said, a lazy salute to the other man. The Brujah had his respect - more than most. Certainly more than Tumour at this rate - that Nosferatu bastard was asking for a split ribcage, that much was for sure. It wasn't a good time to just be poking into Met business - they were already chomping at the bit at even the scarcest chance of solving this Lancaster case. Sullivan wanted pretty much anything but to get involved. He reached into his pocket, and read the slip of paper again. Whoever this Mr. Bradshaw was, Tumour wanted him ignorant of anything kindred. Well, that or anybody he knew had to be ignorant of kindred existence, or... Hell, he wasn't sure. Tumour's note wasn't the clearest he'd read. He'd need to see what he could do about checking the case details - if he was lucky, there'd be newspapers in one of the city's libraries, maybe an archived web page or something of the like. He needed somebody who was proficient at breaking and entering. He could deal with other kindred in small numbers, certainly mortal guards wouldn't be a problem - but security systems and alarms would, cameras and motion sensors in particular. He needed information first - the kind that he couldn't get alone. He glanced towards the kitchen and called out to Nora, "Shall we flip coins fer the bed?" He asked, a chuckle coursing along with the question. He figured if he could put some humour on the subject, it'd bother him less. He wasn't a stranger to girls... He was just a stranger to liking a girl and not actually being able to identify why. He wasn't sure if that was more his senses being ignored for what, five decades or more, or... The irishman chuckled, a half-scowl alongside it. Christ, he didn't even know anymore - and the not knowing something that had been so simple as a human man was infuriatingly... Bad. Well, he had worse words to use, but he'd wait until he was going to vocalise them. |
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| Nora Penvellyn | Monday, 2. May 2011, 02:22 Post #15 |
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Rebel With a Cause
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Nora leaned against the counter in all her glory, idly braiding a lock of her hair and waiting in silence. As soon as Sullivan came through the walkway, she couldn't help but giggle, taking the clothes and clutching them to her bosom. She wasn't insecure about her body in any way, nor did she mean to hide anything from his eyes, but she could tell by the look they exchanged as their eyes locked that he wasn't quite...comfortable with her yet. The attraction was unmistakable; she felt a sheer magnetism towards him. Maybe it was their shared blood, but these feelings she had when she looked at him ran much deeper then blood ever could. She couldn't tell if he understood or felt the same way, but she'd surely find out before day break. She pulled the shirt over her head and let the cool cotton caress her skin. While the shirt probably wasn't big and baggy on Sully, it hung from her tits like a curtain and billowed around her hips. She had no panties to speak of, but luckily it covered her naughty bits just enough that lacking in the underwear department wouldn't be that noticeable. She left the jeans and belt he'd given her folded on the counter and tucked her ruined clothing under her arm as she walked out into the main room and tossed the worthless things into the fire. Sitting on the floor in front of Sullivan as Vinny made his exit and left them in their own company. "Sweet dreams, skull crusher!" She called and giggled as he walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. She looked to Sully in silence for a few minutes. She studied him, his features, most importantly his eyes. His eyes could tell her everything she'd ever want or need to know about him, but at the same time...she didn't want to invade his space or try and get inside his hide. She knew what it was like being in hers...his couldn't be much better. She smiled to him finally, one of her innocent, sunshiney, 'make your heart melt' smiles that came from genuine affection and interest in him, "You Irishmen make everything a gamble..." She said, crossing her legs as she leaned in towards him, "Is sharing a bed such a crime that you must leave it to Lady Luck to decide?" |
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| Sullivan | Monday, 2. May 2011, 16:56 Post #16 |
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Ancilla
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Sullivan grinned, his arms folding up behind his head and his gaze holding to the ceiling for a bit. If there was a safe answer to that question, even with his keen senses he wasn't seeing it. This just wasn't the same as it had been as a mortal. Back then, he'd rarely felt uncomfortable around women. It had felt easy, almost. Flirtatious little quips and questions would roll off of his tongue like the tones of a saxophone, their Irish twang adding something to an otherwise corny line - though admittedly he'd done his best to stay away from those. Now, this... This wasn't the same. This was a girl he couldn't ignore, even though for the sake of ease he'd tried. He had her name, her number, and she was sitting in his house wearing his clothes - by the standards he'd used as a human, he the Irishman figured he should be feeling pretty damn pleased with himself. But he didn't he felt as if he'd never asked a girl to dance before, like the first woman he'd ever kissed was standing infront of him. He figured this was at least partially a gangrel thing, but... Well, he could smell attraction. That or predatory intent, but they were only so different, and he smelled of it too - despite his attempts to mask it somewhat. He glanced at Nora and grinned - somehow, despite his playful attitude having been his seduction tool set before, it was acting as something of a defense mechanism in unlife - he wasn't sure if it was working. "Lady Luck is often in my favour, if my unlife thus far is anything to go by. Shovel-head, but somehow made the grade. Vaulderie, but found the kind of help I needed to break it - enough, at least. Got free of the Sword. Met you." He chuckled, and shook his head, allowing the chuckle to turn into something of a laugh, but falling short, "God, that sounded like the worst come-on in the world." He grumbled, and fell backwards against the couch again, reaching back for his hair-tie and undoing the knot, waves of inky, tangled black falling loose and brushing his shoulders. He shrugged, his smile uncomfortable but not unhappy - after all, she was smiling at him. That was no bad thing. Itching the top of his head, he shrugged, "I'm not fussy about the arrangements, lass - it's you that'll need ta sleep comfortably. Buckshot's a hell of a back-ache." He said, shoving the sofa's back downwards to create a bed - if perhaps not the comfiest one in the house. His thoughts didn't grow darker immediately, ut he knew in time they would - Alasdair was never as far from his mind as the Irishman would've preferred. Thankfully, his mind didn't drift over lustfultopics either - though he suspected his gaze no longer being fixed on Nora's, uh... Well,honestly, her everything, was probably the reason for that. He sniffed the air, and chuckled, but didn't say another word - he still smelled attraction, and his mask had fallen by the wayside. "Ah, the hell with it." He mumbled, not sure if Nora would raise it as an issue - after all, he already knew she'd hear him. |
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| Nora Penvellyn | Tuesday, 3. May 2011, 07:10 Post #17 |
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Rebel With a Cause
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She peered up at him from her spot on the floor and watched him with some faint intrigue as he spoke and pushed down on back of the sofa. Was he inviting her to join him, or was he just making accommodations that would later leave her laying all by her lonesome? By the way he was settling in, it didn't look like he planned on moving anytime soon... She had two choices. She could be a good girl and simply accept his offer with some innocence and leave the awkwardness of their fatal attractions hanging in the air, as it seemed, their attractions towards each other nearly were fatal, looking back on events of the evening. Or, she could break the barrier of confused, wayward emotions and at least show him how she felt, even if it were just on a physical level. Doing so would probably end in crossing boundaries, but it was a risk she was willing to take. She couldn't quite figure what it was about this man that she found so interesting and irresistible. It was as if she were trying to read a book that was written in a dead language she couldn't understand. Her curiosity drove her to want to learn more about him. It had to be something more then blood, but then again, their animalistic nature came from the very blood they were made to drink when they were 'born' into this life...as poetic as that was, 'born' wasn't an appropriate word for either of their circumstances, it seemed. He was made only to fall for a cause, and she was only turned because if she hadn't have been, she would been dead and buried a long time ago. She smirked as he'd made his comment about meeting her, and let him lay in peace for only a few moments before she was off the floor and climbing on top of him. She moved slowly, as if she were a lioness spotting her prey, as she straddled his hips and looked down at him, her dark curls splashing over her shoulders. There was a spark in her eyes, something that made her rich blue eyes burn brightly as she gazed down to him. Her tattoos were more visible, though she still had blood smeared all over her, and so were the other patches of scales that she'd been trying to hide. She didn't want to hide them though, not with him. She knew he'd understand her features more then anyone else would, and knew they weren't meant to be a curse, but a constant reminder. Surely he understood that, as she knew he had some of his own. "If I'm right, you're feeling the same way I do... and if I'm wrong, well that's a pity, because I can't say I've felt this way about many other people I've encountered before in this life, save my Sire...maybe that's why I am what I am. But if you do, you don't have to treat me like an acquaintance... nor do you have to keep calling me 'lass.'" She sighed, stretching like a cat as she settled on her perch on top of him and subtly ground her hips against him, "If we're going to keep this up, you can call me by my name...because this deserves a more intimate first name basis. It's hard to understand how people like us act and think the way we do. We're primal creatures, and we're driven by forces of nature... That being said, you don't have keep your guard up with me. Truth be told, I know I let mine down almost as soon as I came to know you. Blame it on the blood in our veins, whatever you will, but the only way you could enjoy it and be satisfied is if you stop thinking and just do..." She knew that if she had thought at all before doing or saying any of things she just did, she wouldn't be getting on such a personal level with him. Nor would she be in a rather compromising position of sitting on top of him in just a t-shirt. |
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| Sullivan | Tuesday, 3. May 2011, 22:53 Post #18 |
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Sullivan felt the sharp intake of breath more than he actually thought he would. He felt every little thing as if it were magnified - the hairs on the back of his neck rising from the skin, defying the infinitely heavier locks draped down from his head. He could feel - not just smell - her sweet scented breath as she spoke, his eyes locked with Nora's as if a vice grip had been clamped to his skull. Her words, however clearly he understood them, hit the air dulled and muffled - it almost seemed as if his long mistrusted and disused senses were trying to prove themselves. For what felt like hours after she had finished speaking, his gaze remained on hers, his movements so very minor - each minute movement Nora made, he moved to connect with, respond to - he wasn't even sure how much of it was conscious decisions anymore. The Irishman didn't care. His hand, clumsy and uncharacteristically gentle, reached upward, grazing against her shoulder on its' way to the long dark tresses coiled about her shoulders like a cloak of pure midnight. His first tracing of his fingers against her locks was so gingerly and careful, he wasn't sure if he'd fallen short and merely dragged his fingers through air. "I... " He began trying to voice the mad, spasms of thought, sense and sound twanging through his mind like the violently strummed strings of a guitar, plectrum snapped from force and clattering to the ground. The air around them was impossibly thick, with scents he had identified and some he had not - these, he paid the most attention to. Whispers of blood and fire fluttered around the room. The iron taste of blood laid itself down upon the tongue in the mouth that hung open, tracing its' way down his throat along with the imagined scent of flowers laced with cocaine. He wasn't sure how much of that one in particular was imagined. Stone grey hadn't left irrestible blue for a length of time that he had forgotten to count. His fingers tangled themselves further into the midnight flowing from Nora's head, finding the lines of colour beneath and gently pulling them out from under the darkness, perhaps one last attempt to rescue himself from what he already knew was probably not the smartest move he would make - but it was the one he wanted. His other arm coiled around Nora's torso, his fingers in her hair closing distance to the back of her neck and resting themselves on it - and somehow, he still couldn't find his voice. There were words he wanted to say - beautiful words. But he knew that they weren't right - for either of them. They were both the enduring ruins of who they once were. He smiled lop-sidedly, and twisted a length of colours and midnight around his finger like a rainbow splattered with ink, "I'll have ye know that I'm not just some easy pound o' flesh, lass... Nora." Sullivan let his grin feel more genuine, even if he wasn't sure how much it showed. This was quicker than he was used to - and quicker than he had expected, too. After becoming so old, after watching entire years go by and shrugging, he'd somehow thought that things like this would take a long time as a kindred. He opted not to complain. He rolled his eyes, his fingers tracing up and down her spine feeling scaled skin beneath the loose - and thin to boot - shirt about her torso, "But I am a sucker fer a girl who knows what she wants." He considered tearing himself out of his clothes, but caught the thoughts and held them back long before they became an issue - there was still only so fast he intended to go without prompting, and even then... This was nce, but all new regardless. Instead, his grip around her back and shoulder firmed and he pressed his cold lips to hers. Closing his eyes only after he was certain she wasn't pulling back, the Irishman held himself to her for fear of melting away - and he wasn't the man for that. Edited by Sullivan, Tuesday, 3. May 2011, 22:54.
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| Nora Penvellyn | Thursday, 5. May 2011, 09:56 Post #19 |
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Rebel With a Cause
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There was something about this man that kept intriguing her more and more. She couldn't recall the last time she felt so willingly open with another being in such a subconscious level. There was a connection being built between them that she couldn't ignore. She loved how easily her body molded to his, how receptive he was to her touch and how just the lightest, feather touch sent jolts to her core. Lord help her, she couldn't begin to grasp the depth of the moment between them. Nora stared down to him, biting her lip coyly as he spoke up to her, "Ah, but Sully...if I wanted an easy lay, I would have already gotten it by now. This," she sighed and closed her eyes, arching her back with feline grace against his touch, "...is so much more then that." Her slim fingers came to touch his face, cupping his cheek for a moment as she smiled weakly once more before getting lost in his thick, dark mane. Her other hand was rested on his abdomen, slowly smoothing up his torso, taking in the hard, rigid planes of muscle and bone. She draped herself over him, her face only a breath away from his, her breasts pressed hard against his chest, and her thighs hugging his hips. The kiss was subtly electrifying. Everything else that could have been on her mind then was gone now. His scent was intoxicating, one that filled her senses completely and sent her into a tailspin. She seemed to melt against him, letting the kiss deepen as seconds felt like ages. She bit his bottom lip, pulling away slowly and laying her head on his chest as she sucked in a deep breath. She moved with seductive precision as she swiveled her hips hard against him this time, lifting her face back to his, her pearly incisors teasing her bottom lip with what could only be temptation in her eyes. She couldn't believe how fast this was all moving, yet how natural it felt. "Tell me, Sullivan. I know what I want...but what is that you want?" She could only hope this was enough of a tease to bring the true animal in him out. She stayed poised against him, breathing in his scent. It was crisp and urban, as if she were inhaling the cold, early morning air in LA. There was thick notes of booze, whiskey from what she could tell. The urges she was fighting far outweighed the control she had. She couldn't help but want to submit to him...which wasn't like her at all. She couldn't wrap her mind around this at all, but God did she love how time seemed to stop for them so they could savor this. |
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| Sullivan | Friday, 6. May 2011, 22:01 Post #20 |
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Sullivan paused in between deep inhalations of the scent of Nora, the smothering and sweet smell of her almost enough all on its' own. With each feline flex and writhe against him, each roll of her hips, she slowly but surely pushed every single one of his buttons. She had asked him what he wanted, but not without another flex of her hips against him - incase he'd forgotten, he mused with a silent mental chuckle. His eyebrow arched - no one had ever asked him what he wanted and genuinely wanted to know the answer. His mouth twitched slightly as another waft of scent hit him, but the words he'd intended to say fell short, and suddenly seemed so very inadequate. If he was to believe anything that Catholicism had ever tried to teach him, he should be resisting, ignoring Nora's overtures and presses. Whatever methods he was meant to be using, he was instead ignoring them - and smiling inwardly at the open rebellion. Another slight shift between them and her breasts flattened against his chest, supple but rough cotton the only thin line between skin-on-skin contact. His fingers clawed slightly against Nora's flexed, supple scales and then the petal-soft flesh scattered between them in patches, each rake of his nails catching another remaining mark of frenzy. He suspected that she was waiting on an answer still, but still he had no words. Instead, he moved to show her. His first obvious reciprication was physical, the spiralling scents of flame, whiskey and sweat mingling in the thick miasma of arousal covering them both. Without even thinking it through, he smirked, a single fang poking over his slightly bloodied lower lip - and then ground his hips right back at his simultaneous tormentor and temptress. A low, rumbling growl, unintentional but also unbridled, sounded in his throat as the Irishman felt lightning, or close to it, run the length of his spine from head to groin. He didn't lean any further to kiss Nora again - yet - but held her gaze with his own, almost trying to understand her before he went any further. He knew he would fail - but that was part of the fun. Who wanted to totally understand each other anyway? It took away the mystery. His stone grey eyes glued themselves to the slitted pupils of Nora's blue, and he found himself unable to see the room around them - nor did he care. As his fingers descended from her back to her bare thigh, gentle fingertips grazing soft and pale skin, Sullivan thought - though not for long - that Vinnie was in the next room, and that this possibly wasn't either he or Nora's best idea. He didn't think about it long - almost like another thundering twang of guitar strings, his shrivelled heart twitched, and blood flowed to it - along with an area considerably lower down - as unintentionally he made use of the blood in his wiry, wasted veins. He caved into Nora's God-sundering, tempting stare as his heart thrummed into life for the first time in seventy years or so - his arm across Nora's back gripped her, holding her tightly to him as the hand upon her leg moved to her rear, and he was entirely unashamed. Sullivan leaned up, and pressed his lips to Nora's again - and this time, he was not gentle. His grip firm and even clawed, he felt his nails subtly dig into Nora's shoulder and come extremely close to tearing the lower edge of the shirt from her entirely. This wasn't what he had thought it would be. He had seen the feelings as a curiosity - a passing interest. The kind that he'd get over and ignore in a day or so. But now... He didn't know if this would be long term, and Devil take him, the Irishman didn't care. This was a wanting, a desire - even a need. It was simple - something that his unlife had struggled to be thus far. What did he want? That was simple, too. He wanted Nora Penvellyn. Edited by Sullivan, Friday, 6. May 2011, 22:58.
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2:02 AM Jul 11