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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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| Beer, Knuckles & Politics; Sullivan and Rob | |
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| Topic Started: Wednesday, 14. November 2012, 23:51 (1,416 Views) | |
| Sullivan | Wednesday, 14. November 2012, 23:51 Post #1 |
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Sullivan wasn't in the mood to deal with finding Vinnie - who had allegedly gone dark - tonight. It wasn't his job to smooth things over with the Prince, but it was Nora's - and he knew she was going to hate every second of it. Just knowing how much bullshit and condescension she was gonna have to sit and smile through had made him start to feel that itch in his fingertips that always preceded his claws extending, and that didn't serve eithe rof them very well. So, he'd opted to take a night to relax and calm his nerves while he had the chance. He didn't know what Nora intended to do, with Chambers still doing his best to avoid her, but having him stomping around flexing his hands into tight fists and back again wasn't helping. Apparently, though, he wasn't alone and the Tripper, in his absence, had grown a bit of a night life. This would be fine if they weren't all arsehole kine who seemed to think a leather jacket and a compensation vehicle parked outside made them king of the place. The Irishman wasn't in the mood to tolerate some uppity young gang-banger who thought he was the shit, and a half-emptied bottle of whiskey - in one swig too, Sullivan had resolved to congratulate hismelf later - with the glower that seemed to be burning a hole in the bartop had kept the rowdiest group just out of arms reach. 'Good' Thought the Gangrel, his fingers rhytmically tapping the neck of the bottle before taking another hefty mouthful that set his throat on fire, 'The sooner they learn, the sooner they leave.' Hopefully they'd stick to their corner and eventually run out of money on cheap booze and an awful jukebox playlist. Leave the serious drinkers, loners and would-be artistes to brood in peace while ignoring everyone but the bartender as much as possible. The fact that he wasn't hungry or in the mood to deal witht he fall-out was the only reason he hadn't disembowelled the head of the group - a man Sullivan had mentally dubbed Knob-Jockey to keep himself entertained while they continued to play their head-wrenching 'music' - and stuck him arse-first onto one of the ale-pumps. |
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| RobAiken | Thursday, 15. November 2012, 03:02 Post #2 |
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Another night in London and Rob found himself in quiet contemplation. After the explosion a couple of days ago, meeting Leslie, and planning his next move he really just needed a quiet night to unwind and relax his would be aching body. With the revelation from earlier that night, Rob did wonder how he could wage his own crusade and yet keep other Anarchs out of the equation and now that Leslie was in the picture, he would have to ask himself what would happen to her if the Prince decided not to come after him but to come after the only person he could ever really considered a 'loved one' for lack of a better term. Things were getting complicated, a lot more complicated than Rob would have wanted it to be. He made the cardinal mistake, he got involved, he started to give a damn about others again. He was not about to end his crusade but he certainly would have to change his game plan to make sure others were not harmed because of him. There were many questions to be answered and questions that could not be answered in one night, questions that could not even begin on that hour. Now he just needed to clear his head and a walk to the Night Tripper might solve those problems. The Night Tripper was surprisingly busy that night. Most were unfamiliar faces to him. Granted he didn't know many that might make nightly trips to the Night Tripper, but still he was expecting in a crowd such as this to see someone he knew in the crowd. Suddenly he saw him from across the bar, the Irishman he ran into on the roof across from the Darkly Decadent, Sullivan. Rob knew this day was coming since their encounter on the rooftop and even then he had to force the urge to tear across the bar and punch him in the face. The man had insulted everything that Rob stood for and his whole life's purpose and now there he was sitting across the bar drinking casually. He knew this day would come, they were both Anarchs who lived in London, there were only so many of them around. However he did not expect the same seething anger boil up in him that he had that night on the rooftop. Relax Rob. He thought, attempting to reassure himself. Relax, you came here to relax. So what if he is here. Sit at the bar, let your lungs draw breath, and enjoy the evening. At that moment he heard laughter coming from across the bar. A couple of mortals were getting a little liberal with their festivities across the bar at the Tripper. Their yells and woos sounding like nails on a chalk board to Rob as they downed pint of beer after pint of beer. Their kind always disgusted him. Not humans, but pretentious little pricks like them thinking that all life was about was being the biggest douchebag you could possibly be. He had faced his share of them in the past and gladly beat the living hell out of each one of them. The Brujah anger was growing inside him more and more. First Sullivan and now those assholes. Fuck them. Rob thought glaring around the bar. You don't need this right now. Sitting down, Rob looked around the bar one last time. Just don't come over here. Don't give me an excuse to kick your ass. He spun around in his chair and attempted to let his breaths calm him down. |
| People should not be afraid of their government. Government should be afraid of their people. | |
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| Sullivan | Thursday, 15. November 2012, 14:40 Post #3 |
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Sullivan didn't approach Rob, despite his fast emptying bottle. The other man was threatening his plans to turn Harris over to their side by recklessly sending buildings up, but it wasn't the explosion that hurt them - it was marking it as an anarch act. Why give the enemy the proof they need that it was you? It seemed counter-productive when your best work would be done under the radar. Regardless, he was standing for what he thought was right. With a little bit more fore-thought, he might even be the one extra card in the deck that they needed to put some real pressure on the Prince. But no war on two fronts was ever won in all the history he'd ever read or lived through. Downing the last of his drink, Sullivan moved towards the bartender - he was nearer Rob than he woud've liked, but they didn't have to speak. "Barkeep - yer finest ale, if ye please." He drawled, leaving his payment on the bar. The Irishman was promptly jostled to the side roughly by Knob-Jockey and one of his friends, ordering a cocktail of drinks and wearing smiles that suggested they thought the act alone made them better than anyone else in the place. It irritated Sullivan that they drank for the wrong reason, and too much. Drink what you liked the taste of, not what would force you to forget all that you'd done that night. As his drink arrived, he took it, and raised it up to his mouth, only to be jostled - practically shoved - again, the liquid flowing out from the airborne glass and catching first his face and then Rob. Slowly, Sullivan wiped down his face with a sleeve of his coat, shruggign the garment from his shoulders and glancing at it as he held it in his hands. Switching his gaze to Rob Sullivan wasn't sure what to do - he knew Rob didn't much like him, and he didn't have to, but this wasn't his wrong to right. Still, let it not be said that he wouldn't look out for the American if he could. The Irishman offered the coat to the other man to wipe himself down, his gaze becoming a knowing look. Rob wasn't new to bars, and he had a clan-given temper even if he'd been fairly laid back before it. They were both irritated by the same people right now - and this demanded an answer. "I believe ye owe me my money back - an' a damn good apology ta meself and my friend here." He said, loudly so as to make sure he had the kine gang's attention. The others sat at their table began to rise out of their seats, he noted, but their big man right infront of him with the current target of most if not all of his ire. "Or what?" The voice wasn't as slurred as his easy cocky smile implied he should be. He really thought he was something - or at least wasn't noticing the hard, flexed muscle lining Sullivan's arms and the ridges of sinew pressing against the torso of his shirt. The Irish kindred felt his fingers noticeably stop itching - the rules were different. Claws had no place in a bar brawl. For just and instant, there was nothing said - by either Sullivan or the 'big man' of the human group - but the ambience of the Tripper changed. The jukebox fired up again, finally playing a track Sullivan recognized. Cracking his neck from one side to the other, the Irish smirked, "Well, fer starters I'll take a chair leg to yer balls and grind yer face along tha bartop. If that doesn't work, I s'pose I'll hafta improvise." Silently, Sullivan hoped Rob was upset enough by the events to back-up his demand for an apology. He hadn't had a barfight in years, and the more involved, the better they got. |
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| RobAiken | Friday, 16. November 2012, 05:35 Post #4 |
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Oh fuck this shit! Rob thought, almost giving over to the frenzy boiling inside of him. He was already close to the edge coming into the Night Tripper and the mortals who had found their way to the pub had pushed him over the edge. He knew their type. He thought they were trash even when he was a mortal and they were certainly proving it. He looked at Sullivan who had just handed him a coat to wipe himself down, he was confused. The jester was surprisingly respectful to a guy who had disrespected him in every way a few nights ago. Sullivan had approached the group demanding an apology for the 'accident' if that is what you could call it. If simply going by the numbers, the gang had Sullivan. But for a kindred against kine it evened the playing field. Rob knew it wasn't his fight but even though he and Sullivan didn't see eye to eye, he wasn't about to leave a fellow Anarch to face any foe. Standing up Rob approached the group and Sullivan, dispensing with formalities Rob grabbed the man on the end of the table, using his powers of potence he lifted the man in the air by his jacket and threw him into his friends. "I would suggest you listen to him." Rob said watching as the man struggled to get back to his feet. Rob could tell that the man was intimidated by him, the look in his eyes was enough. But this was a guy who would not step away from a fight especially when their were any amount of female onlookers. He looked over to Sullivan and nodded to him, letting him know he had his back. "And after you give us the apology we deserve you can get the flying fuck out of our bar." Rob could tell he had struck a nerve with them, they were ready for a fight but so was Sullivan and Rob. Between the two of them, they could easily handle quadruple the guys they were facing right now. |
| People should not be afraid of their government. Government should be afraid of their people. | |
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| Sullivan | Friday, 16. November 2012, 13:30 Post #5 |
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(Jukebox track: Under The Phantom Moon)) Sullivan watched Rob join the arguement with a sense of pride that he hid well enough to avoid questions. In his earlier years, he'd felt the same indignation at slights made against him, but he hadn't had Rob's fervour to quite the same level. Rob, however, had an advantage - his sire hadn't been Alasdair. Still they had a fight waiting to get on with - the swinging fist of the largest kine made that obvious. Ducking to the side on his approach, the right hook glided cleanly over the Gangrel's shoulder and his hardened knuckles swung under, catchign the other man's floating ribs. To follow as the other man opened his mouth to scream, Sullivan's arm was tucked up into an elbow and smashed into his opponents waiting maw, at least one tooth coming free and flying from the strike. Shoving him back against the bar, Sullivan dug his fingers in against the cracked lower ribs, keeping his 'prey' on the ropes while he scooped up a bar stool in one hand and glared at the rushing kine that were hoping to free their friend. Throwing the stool across the floor to tangle their feet and slow them down, Sullivan's eyes fell back onto his prey, and they just about flashed red, "Sorry, lad... " He began, using his leverage on the other man's ribs, " ... But I don't play fair. Nobody's gonna help ye on this one." Pushing him back and releasing his grip, the Irish drew up his fists, mentally remembering the bob and weave of the ring, the dance of fists. "Ye still think ye've got what it takes?" With a smooth weave around his opponent's wild haymaker, Sullivan gripped the other man roughly and bounced his head off of the bar, leaving the poor bastard to whimper as he stood at Rob's back, preventing the Brujah from being attacked from behind. The kine couldn't do much, truth be told, but this was a preventative measure - they needed to be able to beat them back without using too much of their disciplines. Calling it the masquerade was a Cape idea, but keeping their nature on the down-low was in both kindred's best interests. In amongst the scent of aggression, booze and disturbed dust there lingered something, though - it reminded him of woodland, and it was coming from Rob, albeit faintly. It also notably wasn't a woodsy smell - neither cut grass nor overgrown thicket was present in the scent itself, but he had last smelled it there, and not on Rob himself. Something to think on when the fists weren't flying. Snarling at the lack of forthcoming opponents, Sullivan took a step forward, "Come on!" Edited by Sullivan, Friday, 16. November 2012, 13:32.
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| RobAiken | Friday, 16. November 2012, 21:04 Post #6 |
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Rob prepared himself for the fight as the mortals charged full force. Two of the men, including the man who he had just thrown into the others charged at Rob, one wielding a beer bottle he had picked up from the table. The man wielding the bottle swung first, aiming for his skull. Rob ducked with ease, the bottle not even grazing the hair on his head. With the side of his knee now exposed, Rob seized the opportunity and aimed for the side of the man's knee. As his boot drove into the side of the man's leg he let out a wail as the tendon's and ligaments in his knee began to tear. Now on one knee, Rob grabbed his head and slammed it into the table. His friend quickly came to his aid, throwing a punch at Rob. He dodged again and threw his friend into the other soon followed by another kick to the man's gut sending them both flying backwards. From behind Rob heard a war like scream, from his periphery he could see another man coming at him with another bottle aiming for the back of his head. Rob ducked and the bottle connected with one of the booths, shattering around him. Not even phased by the strike, Rob spun around delivering an elbow to the man's temple. As he staggered back dazed, Rob delivered an upper cut, connecting with the man's jaw. The sheer force of the uppercut was enough to lift the man off the ground as his body hit the ground limp. After the attack from the third guy he felt something hit his back. Rob spun around, ready to break the jaw of the next coward stupid enough to attack him from behind but found instead that it was Sullivan who was still going strong. Even in the heat of battle Rob couldn't help but feel a strange bit of respect or even kinship for Sullivan. He had been used to fighting alone for so many years that the idea of someone standing at his back who wasn't attempting to drive a knife into it. There were still a few men standing and it seemed like they were not about to give up so soon. "Not had enough yet motherfuckers?!" Rob yelled. "Come on!" |
| People should not be afraid of their government. Government should be afraid of their people. | |
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| Sullivan | Saturday, 17. November 2012, 15:43 Post #7 |
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Sullivan swayed around a round of punches thrown his way, his training from decades gone by returnign to his mind. Dodge, weave, sway - and above all, control the distance between you and your opponent. With Rob clearly capable, he nodded briefly to the other kidnred, and ducked under another swinging fist, launching his head upward against the other man's chin and gripping him by the ears, pulling his face into Sullivan's knee, once, twice, and a third time, before dumping him on the floor. Rob seemed to have an inherent flair to the way he fought - he was brutal, but he made it look good, lifting a guy off of his feet with a single blow, pulling a man down to one knee with a shove to his knee-joint. He was tactical, but his tactics had a crowd-pleasing angle, however unintentional. Maybe just a natural response to having access to the Presence that brujah had. His Irish ally, less so. Equally brutal, certainly, but with another lean away from a strike followed by gripping, twisting and pulling the shoulder out of socket, Sullivan had to assume either Rob was holding his anger for somebody else - no prizes for who that might be - or his naturally calm demeanour was winning out a bit more than even the Brujah might've assumed. Still, the remaining two of the rowdy gang of kine looked scared - as well they should be, even if they didn't really know why. His eyes tensely held on the one who looked more easily persuaded, Sullivan spoke, "Leave - or I promise ye, what ye've just born witness to will be tha least brutal thing ye experience tonight." With the movements of a dog with its' tail tucked firmly between its' legs, the remaining kine began scooping their fallen and injured friends from the floor. The Irishman let them go, despite feeling as though he probably should finish what he and Rob had started. He'd felt it since the events outside the city. Burning that bar down had been more than was necessary to slow Alasdair down, but he'd done it anyway. Likelihood was that the owners had either died or been injured due to him... And he wasn't coping with that thought well. The problem wasn't the guilt - at least, not of doing the deed itself. The problem was that he felt no guilt from burning the building down... Even though he was certain he should. Alasdair had always brought out the worst in him... Apparently, he still could. Glancing at Rob, and then the barman, Sullivan spoke, "Apologies. A replacement beverage fer myself, if ye would - along with whatever my new friend is havin'." He said, quietly nodding to Rob. He thought that maybe he should say something... But at this stage, he didn't know what exactly. What he did know was that provided Rob stopped labelling his attacks on the Capes as Anarch - better yet, did that and waited until after the Prince provoked the Sword somehow - then he was welcome to carry on. It wasn't a disagreement on the attacks being a good idea, but a disagreement on how much information to give the victim. Don't ever let the enemy know where you are. Don't let them know how much of their casulaties are your fault. Let them guess, let them wrack their brains tryign to find proof. If they want your head on a pike, make them work for it. |
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| RobAiken | Saturday, 17. November 2012, 19:59 Post #8 |
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Little punks didn't know what they got themselves into. Rob thought as he watched the mortals run away terrified. In the hands of one who was not sympathetic to the human race, Rob had no doubt that they would be nothing more than mismatch piles of blood, bone dust, and tissue that even a Tzimisce would look at and say 'there is nothing I can do.' With Rob's powers of potence and Sullivan's animalistic appendages, they would be dead in seconds if the two really had wanted to kill them. But as Rob calmed himself, his relaxed demeanor started to win over the beast inside of him. He had never killed a mortal before and was not about to start even if they sent him into a frenzy. Rob heard Sullivan from across the bar, offering him a drink and even calling him a friend. He had to admit that he was perplexed. The two went from being at each others throats over ideals to now having drinks together. A rather strange turn of events in his mind. I suppose as long as we don't get on the subject of politics we might actually be able to get along. Rob thought. They did make a good duo in a fight and at the end of the day they were on the same side even if they disagreed on how their side should handle situations. Plus they had a mutual respect for the Baron Nora, even though Sullivan's relationship with Nora went much deeper than that. With politics being their only divide, Rob thought that the two could get along. Sitting down next to Sullivan, Rob got the attention of the barkeep. "Whatever he is having." Rob said. "Thanks for the drink." He said to Sullivan, not sure what to say to him other than that. Not even sure how the conversation would go from there. Would the two reach and understanding or would round two soon follow but this time between two kindred. Rob hoped the latter would not occur, if he was going to stay in London he would need to get along with the other Anarchs. The only question was if the two could put aside their differences. Rob certainly hoped so. |
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| Sullivan | Sunday, 18. November 2012, 21:34 Post #9 |
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The Irish laughed a hollow, humourless laugh. "Don't thank me yet, lad. I wanna get somethin' straight first - so we know where we stand. I think yer reckless. I think yer too quick ta give tha Prince a clue as ta who attacked him an' his - the more he has ta work fer his proof, tha better. But, whatever ye believe, an' whether I think it's right... It doesn't matter. What matters is ye believe it strong enough ta go ahead and send a buildin' up - an' belief like that, we're a little short on." Sullivan felt as if he were on unstable ground - politics was not an easy topic to discuss when you both knew already that you disagreed - but some of this needed to be said. The Gangrel knew he'd been too angry to properly articulate his concerns, to bring them to Rob's attention without first holding him at the edge of a roof with his claws aimed at the other kindred's throat. If either of them wanted to see their fellow Anarchs pull togetehr and do something... They needed to either get over that, or figure a way of ignoring it. "I'm not worried about my hide - I been lookin' after it fer long enough anyway. I worry fer Nora, Vinnie, you - despite earlier exchanges - an' any other kindred who calls 'emselves a 'Narch. If we do somethin' that says 'anarchs did this' right next to it... " Sullivan sighed and accepted his drink as they were handed to him, "Look, I'm no expert. But if ye put down a sign that says we're all responsible, then call us together beforehand so we know what's happened before the Sheriff comes callin'. That's all." Sullivan extended a free hand, first to gesture towards the drink that had been planted infront of Rob, and then to extend to the other man - and tonight, the hand lacked claws. "All that aside, enjoy yer drink, lad. Yer welcome - if we don't back each other, nobody else will." The smell that lingered on Rob was clearer to his senses now, not clouded by the shifting scent trails that had spooled together messily during the fight. It was as he'd worked out before - not a smell of the outside, but it was where he'd last smelled it. But who did it belong to. As the faces flashed before his eyes in thought, Sullivan tried to keep from raising an eyebrow as his memory eventually settled on the young Sabbat gangrel at the gather. So they'd decided to hang around one another after all. Well, that particular issue was somethign he didn't need to touch on. It was dangerous, but Rob clearly knew about danger. As for the young gangrel... Well, things would get complicated. But Sullivan knew complicated, an image of Nora flashing by his eyes as if in reminder. Boy, did he know complicated. |
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| RobAiken | Monday, 19. November 2012, 20:28 Post #10 |
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Rob had to fight back the anger boiling up inside of him again. Anytime anyone question his motives or the way he handled his own personal crusade was enough to at least make the beast stir inside him. Although this time Rob was doing his best to fight back the urge. For the first time in a long time he was finding a home in city. London was no longer a rest stop but a possible future for him and thus his strategy on how to handle the Camarilla. In the states Rob never had the opportunity to stay around long enough before the assassins came looking for his neck. He never grew attached to people, he never saw the long term effects of anything he ever did. Maybe he was reckless but it was the only way he knew how to be. Changing himself to fight the long term was an inner turmoil he had been dealing with since he came to London and realized he would be staying longer than expected. Rob looked down at Sullivan's hand, not knowing how to react. His instincts told him one thing but the new Rob was telling him something different. "Sullivan..." Rob said looking at the Gangrel. "I do not think you and I will ever see eye to eye when it comes to politics... And with our tempers I think it is best you and I stay as far away from the subject as we can. But I will tell you this... Staying in this town has made me think about some things, about what is important in life... unlife... whatever... My views are not going to change... Ever... But my methods on how I carry out my plans is changing. So if you are worried about random buildings going up in flames, you won't have to worry about me doing it. That I can guarantee." Rob paused... Thinking of the right words to say. Eventually Rob extended his hand and shook Sullivan's. "Sullivan I can get past our indifferences, if you can then I think we can work together, for whats best for the Anarchs." |
| People should not be afraid of their government. Government should be afraid of their people. | |
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| Sullivan | Monday, 19. November 2012, 21:22 Post #11 |
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The Irish grinned, pleased with the result of the situation. It beat having to solve their differences the hard way - Sullivan liked the Tripper, and what they could both do would seriously chew the scenery. Accepting the solid shake, he spoke, "Rob, I'm glad yer with us - we're at tha stage where we need numbers and a shot in the arm, an' yer doin' what ye can fer both as far as I can see. If yer methods are changin' in order ta keep somebody from gettin' hurt... " Sullivan knew he and Nora hid their familiarity badly - in his case, possibly even worse than that - but in this instance, it gave added weight to his statement, "Well, let's just say I've been there. More'n once." He took a mouthful of ale and grinned grimly as the fluid descended down his throat. He felt in his gut that at some point he'd have to breach the topic of Rob's connection to the young gangrel from the gather, but he also felt that tonight was not that night. The main point of contention they'd had, method and motives both, had been broken. He'd never expected Rob to change his motives, to just about-face and start hating the Sabbat. Certainly not to the level that Sullivan himself did. But it was good to see that even the Brujah sometimes had purpose behind their hatred of the system. Sullivan perked his ears up as the playlist from the previous occupants of the Tripper continued to something altogether slowly. Not relaxing exactly, but a nice blend of acoustic guitar and... Well, he couldn't tell what kind of singing it was, but the vocalist was making it work. "Huh... Looks like they had some taste after all. If they'd told me this was comin' up I might not o' beaten 'em so bad." The Irish glanced at Rob, and a thought struck him that forced him to chuckle. Not looking for another fight, he quickly raised a hand, "Wait, wait - s'not you, lad. I just... Heh, I just hadda thought. We get given immortality - or the potential fer it - an' despite that, we still go ta tha same dingy bars, get in tha same fights, and go silent thinkin' about girl trouble. I tell ya, if this was all I had left, I'd be happy an' all, but it makes ya wonder if the embrace goes a little bit wasted on fellas." Taking another drink, Sullivan continued, finding his old smile that he'd used more often when he'd first left the Sabbat - the Anarchs then had been a lot friendlier, though possibly due to necessity and lack of numbers, "So what brought ye here? I imagine yer tired o' tellin' folk, but I'm curious now that we aren't at each other's throats. Y'know, fer now." He said, a good-humoured twinkle in his eye. The Irish was willing to work with Rob, sure, but he didn't see their disagreements to be over exactly... Just more like aggressive debates instead. |
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| RobAiken | Tuesday, 20. November 2012, 02:10 Post #12 |
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Rob leaned back, allowing his lungs to draw breath, Sullivan's last comment was a loaded one. The discussion of what the kindred did with immortality was a whole can of worms in and of itself but on top of that the story of his past. He had told it many times before since he got here but it was a story that never got old, mainly because it was the driving force behind his immortality. The question of what one did with immortality made Rob shutter to think about. He had two goals in his unlife now, thanks to his embrace. The first one, the one that had been around for years was the destruction of the Camarilla. But now more importantly it was attempting to make whatever was working between Leslie and him working and hoping it could last for an eternity. The thought of what he would do if Leslie disappeared or when the Camarilla toppled made him shutter to think about. He could take comfort in knowing that once the Camarilla fell he could help build a newer and better future for all kindred. But what he would do with out Leslie... He was not sure. He didn't know if he could now return to his old life. But for now... That was questions for another day. He had questions of Sullivan's to answer. "I don't know." Rob said. "In a way you could say becoming a kindred gave me purpose. Gave me a life. It is really strange that I had to die to start living. I guess that is irony I'll just have to look back at and think 'heh'." Rob ran his finger around the rim of the glass before picking it up and taking a drink. The act of drinking and eating was a cumbersome task now that he was kindred and one he learned to discard for the most part over his years after the embrace but tonight was a good night to pick up old habits. "As far as my past goes... I don't mind telling the story again. After all I owe my life to it." Rob said as he downed the rest of the glass. He did not feel the need to go into the detail he did with Leslie, he didn't need to spill his soul to Sullivan to give him a picture of who he was. "I was some nobody when I was human." Rob admitted. "Just drifting through life aimlessly. I met my sire in a cafe in DC. We played games of chess, discussed politics, and so forth. He must have seen something in me that I didn't see because he embraced me one night and let me join his coterie. There were four of us all together. They were nice guys..." Rob beckoned the bartender for another drink who was happy to oblige. He took another drink. "The thing was though... What my sire didn't tell me was he was a pretty nasty extremist in the vampire world, even more extreme then I am... Was... Whatever. He and his coterie were planning on assassinating the Prince of DC and destroy his whole network for that matter. Well the Prince was not happy with this and sent his assassins on us. It was my second day after the embrace when they raided the apartment. My sire and the other two were quickly killed. But I was in the room with a window at the time and was able to escape. After that the Prince of DC has done everything in his power to hunt me down and kill me. Ever since then I have been hunted by the Camarilla for a crime that I didn't even have the opportunity to commit... That I didn't even know exists. And I come to find out that the Camarilla back this up 100% because I was sired but they didn't have the Prince's permission. I cannot tell you how many towns I've been in, how many assassins I have had to kill and the whole while all I wanted was to be left alone." Rob downed another glass. "You want to know why I am the way I am? You have it right there. I have spent years in grimy slums, backwoods, and truck stops with a lot of time to think. After a while... You start to grow resentful to the people who are hunting you. Big shock right? I never did anything to them and yet they keep wanting to kill me because I'm a 'bastard child' or because my sire was a dick. I start looking at their laws and their doctrines and all I really see is a group of kindred who banded together during the Inquisition and after it was all over kept their power because they liked it. I can see the need for some of their laws... But the rest just feels like their way of maintaining power to do with what they want because they simply can. The future I see is a lot more brighter where we can work together without fighting over who controls what scraps of land. Granted a lot of my resentment is built from petty anger but I now honestly think I can fix a lot of the problems that we have with our society. Maybe I can't but I know for a fact that the Camarilla cannot either." Rob beckoned for a third glass. After picking up old habits they were hard to break again. "And that is why I am the way I am. But now that I am in London I'm starting to think of other things... Friends, someone having my back for once instead of having to look over my shoulder expecting some Assamite to drive a knife in it. Importance things like Leslie..." Rob had thought it might be a bad idea to reveal that he was with a Sabbat. But ultimately he had always been truthful and he wasn't about to stop now. "Important things like the other Anarchs. I guarantee that I have yours and Nora's back and I'm pretty sure you guys have mine too. The question is where do we go from here." |
| People should not be afraid of their government. Government should be afraid of their people. | |
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| Nora Penvellyn | Thursday, 22. November 2012, 09:27 Post #13 |
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Rebel With a Cause
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Nora found herself in a rather muted mood this evening. While she and Sullivan had kissed and made up...among doing other things, since he'd given her that leather bound book, she'd found herself at war with a side of herself that she hadn't been ruled by in years. He probably didn't understand what he'd encouraged, but it'd been a long time coming since she'd actually made the time to sit down and write like she used to. Hell, it used to be the only way she could communicate. Back then, it seemed like every time she opened her mouth, all that came out was either 'Fuck you' or 'Let's get spun out of our minds', so when her voice failed her, her words could bridge the gaps. It was hard to believe after looking at her now that she was almost finished drafting a novel-length of poetry and short stories she'd written while she was locked up in the hospital. She remembered the dimly lit cafe she used to frequent while she was in college, where a spiral notebook was never far from reach so she could write down whatever came to her mind while sipping on a cheap cup of coffee. Those days seemed to have been washed away in the mind tide, along with many other recollections that had blurred together and created what felt like a fucking Tsunami in her head every time she decided to stroll down memory lane. Her humanity was a fragile thing. Most of it remained in broken pieces lodged in her psyche amongst other things like blow...and being a good Baron... and more blow. Sometimes heroin too, when she really felt like getting her rocks off. God, she missed the days when weed was all she needed to get to that state of mind where nothing mattered. Sullivan handing her this blank book with pages begging to be written on had the same effect on her, it seemed. How curious. She strolled into the Tripper as non-nonchalantly as usual, though she looked nothing like she normally did. Having gone through all the things she'd left behind in her bedroom when Vry still called their current haven home, she stumbled upon a picture of herself before she became...such a fucking mess. It inspired her and her lost-but-once-again-found humanity to kick it a little old school this night. Literally. Her hair was up in a messy bun, her face bare of any makeup and her eyes looking strangely normal for once. Her skin still held it's usual dead pallor, but there wasn't a scale or drop of ink to be seen that could allude others to her true appearance. It was a mask that she'd learned to finely tune a few years ago, when she unexpectantly ran into extended family from her mother's side during her stay in Amsterdam. It was a mirror of her mortal self, and beautiful in a completely different and natural way. She wore a muted gray sweater that left her shoulders bare, jeans that surprisingly didn't have holes in them, and a pair of worn, slouchy suede boots that she hadn't worn in over five years. She looked like a ghost of herself thirty years ago, and it seemed not many people were recognizing her like they normally did here. This could be a good evening, for once. Apparently she'd missed some kind of action, watching her step as she stepped over broken glass and spotted...Sullivan and Rob? At the same table? Was she seeing this right? Sullivan...who couldn't stand Rob's logic...and Rob...who couldn't stand Sullivan's opinions on the subject...together? At the same fucking table?! Neither had noticed her arrival just yet, so she hung back and listened to their conversation with some curiosity before approaching. She didn't waver long though, "Looks like I missed a good show..." She said casually as she came to stand beside Sullivan, smiling down to him affectionately and tugging the hair on the back of his head gently so she could plant a soft kiss on his lips. She breathed in his scent and couldn't help but smirk, "You smell like you got into a fight." She stated with a tone of amusement as she made herself comfortable in his lap and motioned to the barkeep. He brought her the usual beer in a bottle, and as she lifted it to her lips, she let her eyes fall on Rob, dancing with mirth as she spoke again, "So," She said before taking a drink, "You're little friend isn't just a friend anymore, eh?" She giggled and set the bottle back on the table. This was definitely going to be a good evening, regardless of how he decided to take that. |
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| RobAiken | Thursday, 22. November 2012, 10:06 Post #14 |
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Neonate
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Aren't they adorable? Rob thought seeing Sullivan and Nora together for the first time. Sure he had seen the two of them on the roof together, but then they seemed to have more of a business relationship nothing more. Now seeing the two of them together was interesting to witness. Rob had to admit they seemed to be a pretty good pair for each other. "Hi Nora." Rob said, his voice nonchalant. "Just a problem with a few mortals. Nothing that Sullivan and I could not handle." He paused running a finger around the rim of his glass. He did not know how to answer Nora's question, mainly because he did not understand the tone of which she made the statement about him and Leslie. It did not feel sarcastic or resentful in the slightest but at the same time it was not a very cheerful response to the two ending up together. While Rob doubted she had any evil intent in her tone, he wasn't about to back down or downplay it. If he and Leslie were going to be together and he was going to get along with the Anarchs he would have to be upfront with them. "You could say that." Rob said, his voice slightly defensive. "We are... More than friends." Rob sat, looking Sullivan and Nora in the face waiting for their response. Sullivan had not had the time to voice his opinion about Leslie and him either. Rob wondered how they would react. The instincts in him told him to be ready for a confrontation, but he hoped it would not come to that. |
| People should not be afraid of their government. Government should be afraid of their people. | |
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| Sullivan | Thursday, 22. November 2012, 14:50 Post #15 |
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Ancilla
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So his senses still weren't lying to him. He imagined to another gangrel, that thought would sound a little bit ridiculous, but then they hadn't had the kind of... Upbringing that he had, assuming the word was really right for what it referred to. He let a smile hit his features and nuzzled the side of Nora's head. It wasn't often she did her hair up like this - often, he had to go searching through the layers of black strands before the colours showed through. He kind of liked it. Rob's situation wasn't one he felt qualified to judge. Leslie was on the wrong side from his perspective... But if there was one thing he'd learned while he'd been there, it was that you couldn't train a believer in your cause - somebody either was or wasn't. Now, this far down the line, it was hard to recall whether he'd fully believed - he'd spent so long hating the bond between himself and Alasdair that a lot of other things became a blur. Whether Leslie did... Well, it wasn't his place to tell her she'd made the wrong choice. She had to figure it out for herself, and even with the chance to do so, she might never. "It ain't an easy road ye've chosen, lad." He said, taking a sip of his drink. He felt qualified enough to say that much, at least. Nora might be an Anarch, but she had her problems, and he had his. Putting the two of them in the same place... It didn't make an unlife just smoothly run. There'd be hiccups and bumps and more than a few bruises. It was part of the ride. "I'll tell ye one thing, though - there's worse ye coulda ended up with. I don't think she's made the right choice o' allies... But that ain't my choice ta make. Beyond that, she's a gangrel. On that basis, I got no quarrel with her." With a smirk, Sullivan finished, "Oh, all the other Sabbat can go ta hell ridin' the ends o' my claws - don't take me fer a sudden convert or nothin'. But there's more at play ta consider than just who sided with who." Reaching for his drink again, Sullivan sent a smile Nora's way, "An' yes, ye did miss a show - I stripped an' everythin'." With a chuckle, he wrapped his free arm about Nora's waist. "Turns out me an' Rob can get on pretty damn well so long as we're beatin' on tha same people." He said, noticing the lack of Nora's tells and inkwork - even her cat's eyes weren't showing. He'd not seen her use her mask in a place like the Tripper before, and wasn't sure why she was doing it... But she seemed happy. With all the shit on her plate already, he though it best to leave the subject be. Besides, she was the Baron in public, even if privately they held equal footing. He wasn't one to question his leader if doing so meant he got a royal beating later. |
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| RobAiken | Friday, 23. November 2012, 20:17 Post #16 |
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Neonate
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"It might not be easy, but I'm into her and she is into me. We will make it work. The fact that she is Sabbat doesn't change a thing for me." Rob said, taking another drink. Sullivan's reaction to Rob's admitted romantic interests were slightly confusing, it was almost as if he was giving a warning to Leslie than he was speaking of Rob and her together. Judging from Sullivan's reaction and Nora's expression, neither of the two were too ecstatic about the Sabbat. He would even guess that he was to the Camarilla as Sullivan and Nora were to the Sabbat. Their reason's he could not pin down but neither were attempting to hide the fact that they were not fans of the extremist kindred sect. Suddenly the phone in his pocket began to vibrate. Rob pulled out the phone and was surprised to find that it was Leslie. She is in Enfield! Rob thought, reading the text. Rob was both excited and confused, wondering what it was to bring her to Anarch territory this night. He responded to Leslie's text: Great! I'm at the Night Tripper with Sullivan and Nora. Want to meet afterwards? Rob looked up from his phone, noticing the comment about Sullivan and Rob beating on the same people. "Well I don't remember you stripping, but Sullivan does have a point, apparently the two of us can get along as we are beating the shit out of people we do not like." Rob jested. Trying his hardest to sound cheerful and friendly. This getting to know people is harder than I thought. he thought taking another drink. |
| People should not be afraid of their government. Government should be afraid of their people. | |
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| Nora Penvellyn | Friday, 23. November 2012, 23:50 Post #17 |
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Rebel With a Cause
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"Oh, well in that case, I'm glad I missed it." She snickered, leaning forward and cupping her hand on the side of her mouth as she whispered to Rob, "His lap dances suck, don't they?" She giggled and patted Sullivan's leg before laying back against his chest, letting his chin rest on her shoulder. She gazed at Rob thoughtfully as her lover spoke on his thoughts about Leslie. In the two times that they'd crossed paths with each other, she'd never been 'friendly' with the young Cainite. Nora had her reasons, whether others agreed with them or not was their problem, not hers. When she saw the Sabbat insignia tattooed on the girl's chest at the gathering, that was all the validation she needed to decide Leslie was a dangerous liability. She sucked in a breath, peering at him with pursed lips, wanting to share her thoughts but thinking against it as well. She didn't have much room to hate Leslie; she'd done nothing to earn the scorn Nora had been raining down upon her every time they saw each other. It wasn't that many years ago that she'd broken herself from the bonds of Vaulderie and finally got free, but it didn't sound like Leslie had plans of doing that anytime soon. Nora feared for Rob in the same way a sister feared for their brother. She didn't know him long or well, but she knew he was a good man, with an even better cause that he was passionate in seeing through with. "You know what I think?" She said finally, leaning forward with her fingers laced together around the bottle in her hands, "I think that I'd hate to see a good man get sucked into the psychobabble bullshit that is the Sabbat and their so-called 'family' all for a girl he's only known for, what? A month?" She sighed, finishing off her drink and motioning to the barkeep for another, "Neither of us has much room to judge her, we've both been there and done that. Fuck, Sullivan was deeper in the shit then I ever imagined being, but you know what the difference between us and her is? We wised the fuck up and somehow got out of it in one piece. Your girlfriend? She's marked." She paused as the burly man from behind the bar neared their table to replace her empty bottle with a full one, waiting until he walked away before continuing, "That means she's dedicated, and probably bound to every sick fuck in that pack. What you do is your decision, but I don't trust her, and I don't want her anywhere near here. Not with all the shit that's about to go down in Camden." The mention of Camden made her heart ache. She'd been back in London for over a year now, and she hadn't gone back to the house she once called a home since the first night she'd gotten here. It was smack dab in the middle of Sabbat territory now, and their presence was heavy there; fuck, she would have died if Sullivan and Vinnie hadn't came back and fished her out of the blood bath that was the pack of Shovelheads they'd run into... And to think, it used to be rabble stomping grounds. Nora shook the thoughts out of her head before she got too involved in them, bringing herself back to reality and the conversation at hand. "Do what you want, Rob. It's your life, not mine. Just be careful and keep her the fuck out of our free state. That's all I ask, because if I see her, or any of her 'brothers and sisters' for that matter, here..." She looked to Sullivan rather darkly before looking back to Rob, "I could give two shits if she's kin, a raid will be the least of their worries." It wasn't a threat, it was a promise. The tone she'd used the entire conversation up until now was relaxed, with just a hint of concern. But she made it clear she didn't want any of this shit on her turf. If she allowed Rob and Leslie to skip merrily through the streets of Enfield, it'd only be a matter of time before they all started using it as safe passage...and they were fuckin' high if they thought that was going to fly under her watch. She looked at him in silence for some time, the expression on her face playful, yet dead serious. She looked off into distant space then, wondering how he'd take it. Considering what Leslie had to say about her 'model leadership skills' she was lucky Nora didn't rip her vocal chords from her throat that night, but apparently the only person that at least tried to understand what she wanted to do was the man that was holding her at that moment. "Do you know why I took this position?" She asked out of nowhere, and speaking to no one in particular. She continued to stare off into space, lost in her thoughts as she spoke, "One night, three months ago, I was at a little 'social event' in Bromley with a couple other friends that I used to run with in Amsterdam. It's funny, because originally, I met them during my 'hospital stay' when I was just sixteen and still breathing. They brought the blood dolls, I brought the chocolate chip cookies, and we had a smashing good time." She finally looked at Rob as she was reaching for the bottle she'd forgotten and took a drink, "And in my nodding stupor, I couldn't believe what had become of this city, let alone the rabble. I imagined a free state that was actually safe, beautiful even, and not so vulnerable to being overrun and taken. Did you know the east used to be ours? Before the Sabbat came in and wiped out every Anarch in sight and took it for themselves? I lost a lot of good friends that night, and their blood is on the hands of some of those dirty fucks that still live in this city. My family's home was there too, but I can't even stand in front of the goddamn house now without being attacked by a pack of shovel heads and their babysitter. That's how Sullivan and I met, actually." One of her hands came to settle on the arm that was wrapped around her waist, "I don't know about you, but I'm sick and fucking tired of having to hide out in a shit hole bar just because we don't have the organization to take back what's ours. I could sit here and tell you stories all night about why I hate the Camarilla and the Sabbat, and in turn, why I hate your girlfriend, but I won't waste my breath. I'm not your mother, nor am I your keeper, but believe it or not, I give a fuck about what happens to you while you're here, and that goes for every single fucking Anarch in this city, whether they want me as their Baron or not. I want to be able to provide that kind of place for my people, and show all the other motherfuckers in this goddamn city that we are force to reckoned with." By the expression on her face and the tone of her voice, it was clear that this was something she was passionate about, whether it was inspired by a vision she had during a heroin binge or not. She was sick and tired of being underestimated and told that she wasn't fit to be the leader of this lot. She'd heard the door of the establishment open and looked over to see Linda, the tweeker she'd ravaged alongside Damon a week or so ago, hovering in the doorway with a dazed look on her thin, pretty face. Nora smiled at the girl and kissed Sully's cheek before sliding out of his lap. She looked to them both and back to Linda, "That being said, would you excuse me for a moment? I'll be back in just..." She glanced back to Linda again, and licked her lips, smelling the coke and hearing her racing pulse from across bar, "A second." She left the table rather abruptly, going to bar and climbing up on one of the seats to talk to barkeep, nodding her head back towards the back room as she whispered to him. He simply nodded, and the last that could be seen of Nora was her taking Linda's hand and leading her to the cramped office that she and Damon had frequented only a week before. In fact, his torn 'lucky blue' still laid like a used rag on the floor beside the couch. It was feeding time. |
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| Sullivan | Saturday, 24. November 2012, 01:30 Post #18 |
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Ancilla
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Sullivan watched as Nora laid it all out for Rob. She didn't go into details - some of which he knew, and others he'd not had the nerve to ask - but there it was. Leslie had made her choice pretty obviously with the chest tattoo. To be fair, even such a defining choice could be unmade - he and Nora were proof. But reversing a choice like that... It broke you in two before it let you rebuild yourself. Arguably, he and Nora were proof of that as well. But that was the official verdict - Leslie wasn't welcome on Anarch turf. He didn't hold his grudge with the Sword the same way that Nora did - he liked to keep things personal if he could, even as he hated the way the sect worked - but he wasn't the Baron, and he hadn't the drive to be. Nora had her vices, but she wanted a better London. With a goal like that, it didn't matter what she had to do to keep her head on straight - at least not to Sullivan personally. He watched Nora as she walked away from the table, but only briefly. Glancing at the bottle she left behind with a barely audible chuckle, Sullivan spoke to Rob in an attempt to keep the peace - it was something he imagined he'd be ending up doing a fair bit of as the nights continued, "Well, it ain't a 'not on yer life'. Just not in her backyard. Take tha small victories where they count... I have to." He supposed that some of the statement was a little bit self-centred, but then he could only relate to Rob's experiences based on how similar they were to his own, "They're a little like whirlwinds, aren't they? Women, I mean." He gestured towards the door Nora had strode through, taking the thin young woman with her(they were all young women by his reckoning anyway), "She's got her problems. I won't give ye details - they aren't mine ta give. But she sometimes needs ta be supported, and sometimes needs me ta back off - an' ye can be damn sure I'm the last ta know either way. I used ta traipse through Camden lookin' fer my Sire, or traces of 'im. Fer years I found nothin' little hints, maybe, but nothin' solid. It even got to that point that the Sword barely paid me any mind - after all, ta the shovelhead packs I was a whole world away from what they knew... A different brand o' the same stuff." He took a gulp from his drink and crossed his arms, "What I eventually found was Nora. Two nights after that, I got confirmation o' what I had begun ta suspect - my Sire wasn't even in the city no more. But in the space o' thse two nights, I'd stopped carin'. Nora was everythin' ta me - still is." Sighing, the Irish tried to make his intent more obvious and less history lesson, "All I'm sayin' is that I know what it is ta be in yer shoes. Ta have chosen tha difficult path regardless." He shoved his hands in his pockets, not sure how best to put across what he was saying - at best, he seemed to be coming close to the point, but not cutting to the core of the matter. "I know we need ye... And so will Leslie soon enough. I got no grudge with her. Her brothers and sisters I'll shred like paper, and laugh all tha way through. But she doesn't know the Sword's history - what it did ta the Anarchs, or what it did ta me specifically. She can't hate them like I do, an' I don't expect her to. When ye see her next, let her know it ain't nothin' personal. We can't let her wander because other Sabbat aren't like her - aren't willin' ta live an' let live. We give 'em the impression that the North is OK with them, and soon enough they'll finish what they started." |
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| Church | Saturday, 24. November 2012, 03:43 Post #19 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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She must be there, where else could she have possibly gone? That’s my thinking as I stumble in through the doors. Mainly because I stalked her into here, but also fuuuck this town sucks. Paris was pretty shifty, but at least I wasn’t inbetween a rock and the hard place. In this case Sabbat and the Anarchs. Being practically suicidal has its benefits. Focus, there’s been a ruckus – A ruckus indeed. Blood was all mixed up with the booze. Now that reminds me of Paris. Hey people “Hey there Friendo’s!” I call out quite happily. It’s always nice to meet new people, and behold what have we here: Why it’s the dude from several nights ago, the American who had been chatting with Nora. “Hey I know you right? I don’t think I got your name, got kinda carried away last time-“ FOCUS! What did you come in here for?“-Fuck! I mean, listen did you just see a pretty little crack whore wander in here? She’s a friend. A good friend, you dig?” First impressions are important, and sure I’m reduction myself to the level of a jabbering idiot, I also honestly give a shit. Maybe if I ever live to be a truly old man, I will have learnt a harsh lesson. But I’m still young, and hope I’m long dead before I’m an old man. I sweep the room. Nothing I walk away from the chaps a few paces before stopping dead. I’m sure the establishment won’t mind me snooping around the ladies. I happen to be friends with the owner! I’m not sure if they’ve answered me, but I am a deranged ignorant asshole at the flick of a switch. I’m too busy calling my bitch doll on the phone. Ring Ring “Oh fuck you Linda, fuuck you” I groan down the phone. “Answer the fucking phone.” |
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| Sullivan | Saturday, 24. November 2012, 12:53 Post #20 |
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Ancilla
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Sullivan glanced at the newcomer, and felt his nose twitch. It wasn't a scent he'd followed for a long, long time, but it was there. He shot a warning glare at Rob - this one was an issue for another time, and he didn't really need their help if he had a phone. Buried underneath the layers of the jabbering man's own scent there was something else. It reminded Sullivan of long, long nights spent hunting, for information and blood both. It reminded him of fights in back alleys and spilling blood on the command of another. In one short breath, the tiny little remnant of where this man had been reminded him of some of the worst things he'd done with his unlife. He didn't say anything - there was no telling whether the distractable punk (or so he assumed with his piercings and hair the way they were) would overhear - but the thought rattled against his head like the beast against its' cage. Smells like an Easterling ta me. "Sorry lad." Sullivan said finally, pressing his fingers against his drink to try and ignore the itching sensation in his fingers, "Don't know a Linda." He wasn't going to start something here. He could, but the playing field was level - and Sullivan didn't like that when he knew he could wait for a better set up. To help with ignoring the presence of someone who smelled of Sabbat turf in the Tripper, Sulivan lifted hsi drink to his mouth, and downed the remainder in one. It didn't help, but the fact that he'd tried to make his irritation go away made him feel better. The Irishman kept telling hismelf that he used to drift into Camden ever other night and that smelling of the place - the specific smoke and ruin smell that the East had held since the Sword take-over - wasn't an immediate declaration of allegiance to them. But that on its' own didn't work. he needed proof before he could believe that... And he was a hair's breadth from deciding one way or the other whether he'd go and get it. To think seconds ago he'd been talking about a proven Sword Sister like she'd never hurt a fly in her life. |
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3:54 PM Jul 11