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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: |
| Gather all ye Outlanders; Gangrel Only (unless you have a death wish) | |
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| Topic Started: Wednesday, 17. October 2012, 15:17 (1,093 Views) | |
| Matthew Harkness | Wednesday, 17. October 2012, 15:17 Post #1 |
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Arimathean War Dog
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A raven alighted on the branch of the oak tree under which Matthew stood. The colossal piece of vegetation was well over a hundred years old and dominated the whole of the clearing in which it grew. No other trees dared invade the radius around it; the tree was sacrosanct. The Gangrel had not chosen the spot because of the tree, but because it afforded the privacy that his people would need during their London gathering. In nearly two hundred years, Matthew had attended many gatherings of the Gangrel. Never a grand one, but the smaller groupings had their own charm. In many ways, it was better not to have one with the grandeur that only legendary Gangrel could call; Claude had always said that they were oppressive functions reserved for the most dire of matters. Regardless of how he felt, Matthew didn't have the respect attached to his name to call something of that size. And given that London was a major urban centre, there would be too few Gangrel to populate such a spectacle. After a week spent in London, Matthew had finally decided to put out the word. He was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a well known Gangrel figure, but any member of the clan had the right to call for a gathering. The Texan had to hope that his age would help to smooth over any reluctance on the part of his clan mates that his scant reputation could not. In the Americas, there would have been no issues; both he and Claude, his pseudo-sire, were well known and well liked. Gangrel would have gone into the deepest depths of the Lupine populated mid-west just to hear from them. Europe however, was a different matter. Despite his reservations about the Gangrel in cities – it was well known that they had difficulty communicating with animals – Matthew had decided on the traditional form of communication. He had gone to the birds, rats and other animals of the city to have them spread the message amongst the Gangrel. From there, the Texan would have to hope that those of his clan that could speak with animals would take the message to those of them that could not. And there Matthew was, a week after sending out the message. The night was warm and there were few clouds in the sky. The orange glow from the city lit up the horizon and obscured the stars from view. In the woods of Sutton however, darkness reigned. The trees shielded the Gangrel from the light and noise of London proper and provided the perfect setting for the gathering. Matthew stood stark naked next to the oak, for wearing clothing of any kind to a gathering of the wild ones would have been wholly inappropriate. He stretched his massive, black wings and took a step forward. The soft grass tickled the soles of Mattew's feet, and as if it were a cue from some unknown force, he crouched and sniffed gently at the earth. New scents were being brought to the clearing. Some of trash and filth, others of fresh blood, and some few that tickled his nose - not unpleasantly – with hints of cologne. Another bird, this one a hawk, landed on the branch next to the raven. Then suddenly they dropped to the ground, landing not as birds, but as a man and woman. She had the ears of a cat and thin groupings of feathers up and down her arms. He was thin and lanky, with reptilian eyes and a long canine tail. Then more began to arrive: wolves, bears, dogs, men and women with a feral appearance. Some were clothed, many weren't, and despite the fact that most had never seen each other before, they all looked upon each other in the spirit of kinship. There were embraces, gentle kisses, sniffs to gather each others' smells. And the first question on everyone's lips was, “How many winters?” |
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| Leslie | Thursday, 18. October 2012, 12:41 Post #2 |
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Flemish... furry... flirty... feline! (YODO) Perfection Purrs!
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Leslie had heard about a meeting of Gangrel. First she didn’t really wanted to go but then she thought it might be a great way to meet others of her clan and to get to know more about what Gangrel can do. She was running through the park on bare feet but was wearing a black halter top dress with bare back so everyone could see the furry stripes on her back. The dress was held up by knotting it together in the back of her neck. The front of the dress hid her Sabbat sign on her chest because it would have been very foolish to walk around with it here in Camarilla territory, even if these woods was Gangrel related and lupine, though that was just a whisper. She had never seen one before and wondered if she would see one tonight. Suddenly she noticed a change in the air, she was getting close to the rest of her clan and she jumped in a tree to move along from tree to tree until she reached the clearing. From a branch she watched the spectacle of changing from animal form to human form. It was so fascinating for her; she hoped to be able to do the same one day. Her attention was immediately directed to the man with the beautiful black wings. She was completely blown away from how he looked. Those wings were big and really suited him. After sitting for a while she jumped down and landed on all four. In this crouched position she gazed at everyone there right before she stood up and walked towards a tree to lean against it. She didn’t talk to anyone but just stood there, taking it all in what was happening. Tonight she was clan first and sect came second. |
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English Dutch French German Demon: Leslie's ghoul cat! IA Business
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| Nora Penvellyn | Saturday, 20. October 2012, 22:09 Post #3 |
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Rebel With a Cause
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A little birdie told her of a meeting taking place amongst her clan and kin in Sutton. In all reality, a little cuckoo really had sung to her about the gathering in the forest, but up until an hour ago, Nora wasn't sure if she'd even attend. It'd been a ridiculously long, stressful, clusterfuck of a week; Sullivan had vanished with no rhyme or reason that she knew of, though she'd felt it coming for some time. Damon had suddenly reappeared, as if his entrance had been perfectly queued with Sully's exit. Her heart ached in the absence of her mate, but she had no choice but to carry on. She had responsibilities, priorities, and a shitload of shit that weighed on her shoulders uncomfortably. She needed to run, stretch her legs, and leave the city behind for one night. That's all she needed. She bounded through the forest on all fours, moving with the speed and agility of a predator hunting it's prey. She trailed off the beaten path; darting through lush overgrowth that began to wither with the weather, savoring the feel of the damp fallen leaves cushioning the pads of her paws. She cantered, vaulting over a dead tree trunk that'd become one with the ground and landed in the clearing with a grace that demanded attention. The German Shepherd trotted towards the oak tree, shifting with ease into her human form. She carried herself with an air of confidence, her hips swinging like hell's bells and her long, thick tresses dancing with the breeze that caressed her bare skin. Her eyes were bright as a clear blue sky, the thin slits of her pupils making her gaze look as friendly as it was menacing. Splashes of scales covered different parts of her body, looking reptilian and snake-like with the colors and patterns that made mosaics on her pale skin. The tattoos that decorated her arms, ribs, hips, outer thighs, and calves looked dull in comparison to this lighting. The overhang of trees seemed to mute her presence, but she didn't care much. Nora stood across from Matthew, smirking in his direction and sizing him and his large wings up as she lifted her chin and silently squared off with him. She crossed her arms beneath her bust and spoke up, her subtle English twang reverberating off the aging bark of the trees surrounding them, "51 winters... And you? I'm assuming you called us all here. What brings you to these parts?" She didn't recognize any of the faces she saw. It'd also been damn near 20 years since she'd gathered with the London clan's men and women. She could smell it on him though, something dry and warm. He sure as hell wasn't from here, and judging by his wingspan, he was probably much older then she. It didn't scare her though. She always loved a good challenge. |
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| Matthew Harkness | Sunday, 21. October 2012, 15:49 Post #4 |
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Arimathean War Dog
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Matthew turned away from the Gangrel male whose attention he was attempting to win. They had just been getting a good feel for each others' scents when Nora arrived. He took a step in the female's direction to give his wings space to unfurl. Though she was young, Matthew could see that she carried herself with great confidence. It wasn't surprising - every Gangrel had a right to act so strong - but he couldn't allow her to assert any dominance over him. She fitted descriptions of the Gangrel baron of London, though he believed now, more than ever, that the office was a joke, and clearly controlled by someone without the strength to properly lead. "One hundred and ninety eight," he said to Nora. "And yes," he continued, his voice rising to booming volume that echoed across the clearing, "I have called this gathering." Matthew stretched his obsidian wings, which gleamed in the moonlight, to their full span of nearly twelve feet. The conversation of individual groups of Gangrel quickly fell away and silence descended upon the copse. All eyes were on Matthew and Nora now. "My name is Matthew, called Harkness," the male Gangrel announced, now addressing the entire gathering. It was time for the hierarchy to be established. "He who has torn the throat from the Garou." Matthew quickly stole a glance at the long fang that dangled from a leather cord around his neck. It was a long, involved tale, and the glory rested as much with Claude and several other Gangrel as with Matthew, but it did not diminish the value of the act. "I came here on a mission: To find a paragon of the Kindred and return him safely into the arms of his sire. I discovered that he was killed, by the Prince of this city, in the presence of the Baron." Matthew couldn't help but shoot a somewhat irritated look in Nora's direction, but he didn't hold it for long. "Of course, nothing was expected of her. She couldn't have known. But now that I am here and have born witness, firsthand, to the disrespect that Gangrel are given in this city, I've decided that something needs to be done." "We are weak and disorganized," Matthew shouted at the crowd in the tone of the fire and brimstone preachers of his home county. "There is no leader for the clan here. Despite the fact that Xavier left the Camarilla, I see no alternative. I refuse to allow the Prince to bully us into submission. Our only recourse is to produce a Primogen strong enough to challenge his authority. So far, I am the only one who seems to have the drive to do so. Would anyone care to challenge my lead?" A series of murmurs rippled through the crowd, but so far, no one had spoken out or tried to follow up on Matthew's boast. |
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| Leslie | Tuesday, 23. October 2012, 12:05 Post #5 |
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Flemish... furry... flirty... feline! (YODO) Perfection Purrs!
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And here she was thinking that this night would have been interesting while all this guy wanted was a top notch position up the Prince his ass. She sighed to herself and tried to catch Nora’s eyes. When she looked at her, she smiled politely and gave her a nod as to say hi. With only her nine winters she knew that she better kept her mouth shut and stayed on the background but there was something bothering her. “Excuse me but you really think that will give the Gangrel a better position in vampire hierarchy? It’s what we all make of our clan that makes people think we don’t need to be involved in important ways of the vampire society. Though I’m not a big fan of all the politics, you do have a point only that I think we should first get strong from the inside before you take it to the top...” For a second she doubted whether or not to go through with her speech but she got this far already. “Take me for example, I know I’m putting myself in the danger zone perhaps but you have to know to understand. I’m only nine, I have never met my Sire, what I do is by instinct but I don’t know half of the things I can do. I need guidance and help to grow, to explore my powers... I guess” She ended with a shameful feeling that she had to admit that she’s all talk but not really a big deal. With her head down and staring at the ground she shrugged “I guess I’m not the only one, I don’t know... it’s just hard on my own.” Her biggest concern, now that she had handed herself on a platter, was that they would take advantage of it. But at least she had been honest about everything and that was a big thing for her: showing her true self. |
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| Nora Penvellyn | Sunday, 4. November 2012, 19:43 Post #6 |
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Rebel With a Cause
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There were many things to take into consideration thus far; she'd seen Leslie's face in the crowd, but she didn't quite acknowledge it as she turned her attention back to the Kindred before her with his massive wings. A hundred and ninety eight winters? He was only half a century shy of her Sire. She wondered if he could make his entire body disperse into a flock of ravens like Vry could. The thought painted a rather comical picture of Hitchcock's Birds in her mind, a smile forming on her lips that she didn't bother wiping away despite the seriousness of the conversation. So, he came for the Fiend that was executed before the Court? She remembered that night well. It was her first appearance in public as the Baron. Since then, it seemed her mission to rebuild the Anarchs had only become more out of reach. With Sullivan's sudden departure and Vinnie's silence, she didn't have many behind her working forward for the cause. Right now it seemed the only task she could actually succeed with was keeping the shit out of her territory, but even then in recent nights, that seemed like it was becoming impossible. A meeting of minds was necessary, and if this man before her was willing to take the lead in the Cape front, perhaps he was the ally she needed. She felt herself slip into the rather uncharacteristically proper part of her personality that rarely got to shine through all the craziness in her head. "Impressive. You've been here for a week and you know more than what probably half of the city's vampires are privy to. Everything is weak and disorganized. The staggering amount of Ventrue getting involved in the Camarilla affairs is concerning. It's easy to see their agenda is much different from yours or mine. I'm sure you're aware a storm is brewing. With the Archbishop gone, the Sabbat are practically folding in on themselves. It won't be the last thing we hear from them, though, not with the pack he left behind still intact." She paused, taking another step towards him, speaking more to him then anyone else. She didn't come here to preach excuses for the Anarchs' silence, she came here hoping she could find support, "I wish there was more I could do, but with the city in such turmoil, I can't afford to put my people at risk. Our free state was wiped out completely once. I refuse to let it happen again. This potential war is threatening to spill into our territory. Chambers won't give me the time of day to discuss a plan of action. I will never bend the knee to him, but without his resources, what I want to do will never happen." "So, you want to take the reigns? That's good and well for you. I won't challenge it, I have no reason to. You want to challenge the Prince's authority? Fanfuckingtastic! But will you help me or will you hinder me?" If this Matthew Harkness was true to his word, she hoped his title would open some doors. Being the only Gangrel involved in the politics thus far made things extremely difficult at best. Sharing blood with a Primogen that was practically an Elder had it's advantages, and she needed every single one she could get. "Help me, and I'll make the Prince wish he never took office with all the shit I'll drop on his plate. Hinder me, though... and we'll be at a stand still. He can't afford to lose either of us. Not with the amount of Sabbat in this city. They may have lost their leader, but they're still a threat, and the longer we stand here and just brace for impact, the longer they have to reorganize and come in force. I don't want that to happen. Do you?" Hearing Leslie's voice seemed to rock her boat, however. Knowing she was an active member of the Sabbat made having any kind of sympathy for her situation hard to keep. Nora simply turned to her, "It's a rather ancient tradition among Gangrel to leave their childer to fend for themselves after embrace. You aren't the first and you won't be the last. Unless you were originally a shovel head. Then you weren't meant to survive at all. Whatever the case, use these instincts you say you have to find the help and guidance you need. No one will ever simply offer it to you. Learning is a privilege, one that takes a considerable amount of time and dedication. You have to prove your worth before another of your kind will invest their time and knowledge in teaching you. She spoke with a matter-of-fact tone, looking back to Matthew again, she tried to reiterate her point, "When you have a Gangrel Elder as a Primogen as well as a Gangrel Baron, you'd be surprised how much leverage it gives our clan when the Prince can't afford to lose either of our alliances. He'd find himself sorely beaten if he made such a mistake. That's how we gain respect, and in turn, better position in society." She finally turned her attention fully back to Matthew, "Now, would you like to continue this conversation with words or claws?" She smiled brightly at the thought of a tussle, knowing she herself would have to prove she was worthy of alliance. She only wondered if he'd go easy on her considering the age gap. She hoped not. |
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| Sullivan | Sunday, 4. November 2012, 20:13 Post #7 |
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Ancilla
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The pidgeon that sat in the tree's clutches overhead remained still, but very attentive. This was something he'd hoped to plan before he'd recieved word about Alasdair. He had wanted to tell Nora something, but she'd been busy and he didn't want her help to deal with Alasdair. Of course, Jack had been back on his radar too - a quick stride among the fledglings in some of his older, rougher stomping groudns had brought the name back into focus - but he'd needed to head off his sire before he planted roots in London again. A gather would've happened, with or without his influence being behind it - as evidenced by the current event - but for it to go the way he'd have preferred, Alasdair had to not be there. They'd met in a bar - dusty and nearly derelict, sat by a roadside like an abandoned child gone feral. Sullivan had seen him from afar originally, and had intended to deal with him from that distance - but then, if he had seen Alasdair, the likelihood of his presence being known was high. He'd begun this with his own claws - he'd felt it best to end it that way, one way or the other. Alasdair had struck first - he always had been quicker on the trigger. Sullivan had taken the blow and sprawled across the rough floorboards, coming up into a crouch with splinters caught in his mane and his sire's clawed fingers thrust throught he bartender's throat. The rest he didn't remember well, the former tangled mass of his hair now a leonine mane as a result of the frenzy. Tidier perhaps, though trimming the wild strands of hair at his throat and even his face had become a necessity. Despite the desire - and when the frenzy had ended, the ability - to kill his sire, though... He hadn't. "Return when ye can take me alone an' without assistance - an' not before." He'd slurred between heaving drags of air, more a compulsion than a requirement. With that, it was done - for now. And so he'd returned to the situation with Jack - but had opted to attend the gather first. The moment he'd set foot back in London, the rats and birds had spoken of it - and to try to organise a gather of his own, only to find one about to start upon his return? Sullivan knew he hadn't done enough to get others to attend, and so he had to see the new kindred pulling the strings for himself. Fluidly he assumed his more human form, itching the tufted tips of his ears and remaining rested within the branches of the tree. "Claws don't solve infightin' - they just start it." He drawled, his smile lop-sided and leaving his motivation for even being here as difficult to place as he could make it. Nodding his head toward the winged one, Harkness, he spoke again, "I doubt any of us will stand in yer way - but if ye want our support, ye'd best tell us how ye plan ta earn it. We've had a hard enough time stayin' in one piece as it is - with the Ventrue breathin' down our necks, a false promise is likely goin' ta win ye little in the way o' friends." |
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| Matthew Harkness | Sunday, 11. November 2012, 01:26 Post #8 |
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Arimathean War Dog
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Matthew chuckled as the younger vampire chimed in after his little speech. He shrugged both Nora and Sullivan's comments off and sauntered over to Leslie. He threw and arm around her shoulders and gently, but firmly, walked them into the middle of the clearing. “Kid,” the Texan said, “You look around here at each and every face. Ain't a single one of us who hasn't got your back; so long as you put this clan first. Trust me, we've all been where you are, but this... the gatherings, makes it easier.” The older Gangrel let his arm fall away, but still kept Leslie tucked behind one of his outstretched obsidian feathered wings. He smiled at her before turning back to Nora, where the kind expression fell from his face. “Y'all got a strange way of doin' things 'round here; always looking to pick a fight. Fight the Prince, fight the Sabbat, and where's it gotten you? Too impotent and powerless to save one, single life. That's where.” He was still bitter about the loss of the Tzimsice, and it helped him to direct it in the direction of a Baron whose job it was to oppose tyranny. Considering that she had stood by while the Prince slaughtered someone's lover and, from what the Toreador Primogen had told him, a repentant soul, Matthew's feelings might not have been misplaced. “So, no, I'm not gonna stand in your way ma'am, but this ain't about the Anarchs, or the Cammies. This is about Gangrel everywhere needing to stand up for their rights. That's starting right here, right now.” Matthew broke off his gaze so that he could better address the crowd. "What I'm promising here isn't the sack of Rome, fun as that sounds. I'll work, with your Baron, to stick in the craw of the Prince and every other stuck up aristo-vamp in London. Y'all have to decide if you're willin' to take the risk that I'm lying to you." |
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| Sullivan | Monday, 12. November 2012, 00:09 Post #9 |
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Ancilla
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Sullivan shrugged, slowly ambling down from the branches he'd been calling home - he only knew the other kindred's name, but he wasn't wrong. Fighting at every turn was getting them nowhere. Box clever or get comfy on the mat - it was a sentiment he'd held for a while. Granted, his response to Alasdair attemptign to get back in the city hadn't been smart in the slightest... But there was clan business, and there was a personal grudge. Everybody had one of their own. "If ye were gonna lie ta us, ye'd have no Gangrel ta be Primogen of. I ain't no convert ta tha Prince's law, but it's like ye say... Gangrel look after their own." Sullivan's gaze turned to Leslie, who he remembered from the rooftop fiasco. He'd not treated her well, being that he'd let his hatred of her sect show through more than their shared blood. "Be they Anarch or not... Kin is kin." He said. He didn't imagine it'd come as much comfort to Leslie - after all, it wasn't really an apology - but it made him feel like less of an ass for saying it, so that was something. Besides, he needed to go scouting before he threw around his old hatreds. If Leslie was the current breed of the Sabbat, or at least an example of it... Well, then it wasn't the Sabbat he'd known, at least not all of it. He thought she'd made the wrong choice, but without an explosion that threatened his unlife burning in a street below, he was a little less hot-tempered than before - it was still her decision to make, even if a mistaken one. Everybody made mistakes - he just hoped hers didn't turn into the shitstorm that his had. |
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| Leslie | Monday, 12. November 2012, 16:50 Post #10 |
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Flemish... furry... flirty... feline! (YODO) Perfection Purrs!
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Nora really started to piss her off but the moment she wanted to react, Matthew came towards her. She felt herself getting smaller while thinking he would have a go at her for speaking her mind but instead he put an arm around her and forced her to walk along with him. His words were gentle and so was his smile. It was almost as if she was sheltered away from the negativity of Nora in his wings. A warm glow went through her entire body, knowing he didn’t laugh with her. She felt like a puppy being tucked away under his wings. The feathers tickled her body and she got a strange feeling of safety. While hoping no one would notice she snuggled against the feathers. All her anger, rage and hatred she wanted to out towards Nora earlier now all disappeared. She felt no need to say anything anymore, she just wanted to listen and see what the others of her clan wanted from this meeting. The young one noticed Sullivan looking at her and she wondered whether he was talking more directly to her when he said kin is kin. It was strange because that night on the roof he had totally ignored her; this was the first contact between them. Leslie nodded at him as to say thank you. She hoped Nora would act in the same way; she had nothing against the Baron. From the beginning it was Nora who didn’t like her for some reason. |
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| Nora Penvellyn | Wednesday, 21. November 2012, 19:47 Post #11 |
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Rebel With a Cause
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Why did this night have to become so fucking complicated? Why, of all nights, did this one have to become a clusterfuck? Nora stood her ground, never faltering under the hard gaze of Harkness as he shielded a member of the Sabbat in his feathery grasp and spoke down to her as if she was the one that wielded the dagger in this Cainite's execution. He spat every word she'd just spoken back in her face and seemed to be doing everything he could to beat her down from her seat of power. It wasn't much, the power she had as Baron, but she fought tooth and fucking nail to prove herself worthy of it, and hadn't stopped fighting since then. Maybe she wasn't the ideal fit for the description, but what she couldn't believe, after spending months back home in this city and doing everything she could to make it better then it was before, was this outsider swooping in and telling her that everything she was doing was wrong. She wasn't raised to think kin was kin; Vry was too paranoid to let her associate with anyone that could have been an interloper of his finely spun web, so she'd always been taught to trust no one. Of course, at least some part of her, still held onto the natural instinct of kin...but she'd only come to trust two others of her own kind in all her 'winters' to actually let herself act on those instincts. Sullivan was the only other Gangrel, hell, the only other kindred in this entire fucking city that she trusted, and now he was gone!...Or so she'd thought. Until ten minutes ago, when he'd dropped in from a perch on the tree like he was becoming apt to doing lately. She didn't have the patience to even pay him any mind, so instead, she focused on the self-proclaimed Primogen. "Call it whatever you will, but it's how things have been for quite some time. The last Primogen of our clan this city saw was my Sire, and he's as paranoid and delusional as the next lunatic, so I apologize for not standing in his way either while he let everything go to hell in a fucking hand basket." It was obvious that she was irritated. If she had known that coming here was only going to earn her dirty looks and disrespect, she would have just stayed the fuck away like she had originally planned. "Riddle me this one, Oh Fearless and Mighty Ripper of Garou Throats, what do you plan on doing that doesn't involve a fight? I don't know where you hail from or what life's like there, but I do know one thing, London is a beautiful city that harbors some of the ugliest people and secrets I've ever had the misfortune of meeting or hearing of. Coming from someone that was born and raised here, every single fucking day is a fight." She was beginning to lose her temper, but it was inevitable. Her nerves were frayed before she even got here, and now they were unraveling. She returned Matthew's cold stare with one of her own, "Change that and I'll follow you to hell and back, but if you think all I want is a fight, fuck you and the horse you rode in on. I'm done here. If you want to find me, leave it with the birds. They know where my wings take me." Nora huffed, her eyes shooting daggers at everyone, including Sullivan, as she stalked away and let her body do what it'd been wanting to do since she came here: shift. She didn't look back or make a sound, she simply stretched her wings and headed for more peaceful ground...wherever that may be. |
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| Sullivan | Thursday, 22. November 2012, 02:22 Post #12 |
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Ancilla
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Sullivan's chest ached as she left, like a dead heart crying in its' cage. But dealing with his and Nora's... Situation, was personal. It wasn't something he'd bring into focus here, despite how much he wanted to talk to her. Thing was, talking to Nora after what he'd done was inevitably going to involve her hitting him, and facing Alasdair wasn't half as scary as Nora could be. He supposed it was context. He wasn't a coward, but Sullivan had never considered himself an inherently or outwardly brave man. In situations where courage was required, he was often already angered, and by that point it all became very simple - an individual had made him very angry, and he was going to teach them to not do it again. In a discussion of political opinion, honesty was often the best route, whether you expected to anger your opposition by stating the truth or otherwise. Besides, bravery didn't come into politics. It was entirely the wrong arena. Glancing at Harkness, he spoke to the elder gangrel, "She might be hot-tempered... But she has her reasons. More importantly, she has a point in amongst the vitriol. The Garou Fang? I'm impressed - seriously - but one o' the many reasons we don't tend to run into 'em to often is that tha kindred here? We're fuckin' savage. To each other, to opposing sects... The reasons, or lack thereof, often doesn't matter. Even if they should. Clan, as a rule, plays a near-constant second fiddle ta personal ambition... Fer better or worse." He turned from the other kindred, throwing a calm but inquisitive look at Leslie as he gathered up a small bag of things he'd left in one of the tree branches, "Oh, an' ye might want ta look into tha history o' how the Sword took the Eastside from the Anarchs. Alternatively, ask me sometime - I was there, however green I was at the time. Look after yerself, lass - in my experience, the Sabbat don't make it easy ta even do that." With that, he walked away from the group. He'd made his presence known among the local gangrel... If they wanted to find him, the recently acquired frenzy-mane wouldn't make it difficult. |
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1:48 AM Jul 11