Vampire The Masquerade RPG
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The Times
The Kindred Chronicle
Key Figures
THE MONSTER OF EALING
Last night, several people reported the sighting of a "screaming red monster" in a quiet neighbourhood of Ealing. After a power shortage in the area, a building caught fire. It was then when, what was described as a "man shaped, footless creature" emerged from the flames, leaping, running, and screaming. One woman has told our reporters that the man had "teeth like a wolf, and the face of the devil". Police officers are still trying to get to the bottom of this; neither the power shortage nor the fire have still been explained. A spokesperson from Scotland Yard has stated that the "so called monster" might be a wounded person, escaping the fire.

TRAGEDY IN TOOLEY STREET
The police has found the bodies of three TFL workers in the construction site at Tooley Street. One of their colleagues raised the alarms last week, when the three workers didn't attend their shifts. The bodies of the men have been found in a deep hole, uncovered by the refurbishment works that are taking place in the area. According to the Police, the bodies were horribly mutilated, which has led to the wildest speculations. The names of the three workers are being kept anonymous, following the wishes of their families.

HOROSCOPE
MARCH 8 - PISCES
You are used to making sacrifices, to prioritising the happiness of others before yours. Even though that is a noble attitude, there are times in life where the only healthy alternative is to embrace your own selfishness and allow yourself some enjoyment. Reserve one hour per day to do something you really like. Treat yourself! Your colour for this month is blue.
Echoes from the past ring back into London. Their intensity increases until they are deafening. What once was a faded memory of a glorious time, now becomes a shocking reality. The consequences of actions taken decades ago ripple into the present, altering the lives of everybody in the City. Unguided and blind, Kindred wander around, trying to make profit out of the reigning chaos.


The appearance of four mysterious figures turned the city upside down. Mistrust and jealousy became the official currency of London. Serpents and fiends rise to power, misdirecting the blaming eyes of the Camarilla towards imaginary enemies. Only those with clear vision and the ability to trust each other strive, while the rest run towards a shallow grave.



Across The Board
Current Chronicle: Dragons and Lions; Pride and Fire
Current Season: Spring
Controlling Sect: Camarilla



Index
Getting Started
General Information
Central London
North London
East London
West London
South London
Miscellaneous
Out of Character


Population: 31

Camarilla
Anarchs
Other
Ventrue: 1
Toreador: 5 (6)
Brujah: 2 (3)
Malkavian: 7
Tremere: 2
Nosferatu: 3
Gangrel: 1
Ventrue: 1
Toreador: 0
Brujah: 2 (3)
Malkavian: 0
Nosferatu: 1
Gangrel: 1
Setites: 5
Sabbat: ???


THE CAMARILLA

Prince

Nobody

Sheriff
Meredith Furlong
Hounds
Robyne Sheridan
Rosella Marie Allain


Keeper of Elysium
Davvad Bisset

Grand Harpy
Catherine Wilke

Primogen
Ventrue: Marcus Antonio Russo
Brujah: Thomas Krusen
Gangrel: Alexa Mallik
Malkavian: Ellora Reese
Tremere: Hannah Sundling
Toreador: Arsenio Pozzi
Nosferatu: Dogan Khojak



ANARCHS

Baron

Khoza

Baronets
Enfield: Leslie
Haringey & Barnet: Clarice Harris
Harrow: Jelena Korolenko

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Welcome To The Night

You find yourself in London on a dreary, foggy night like any other. But what lurks in the shadows is the stuff of fantasies and nightmares, far from mortal reality.

This game uses the cursed and immortal vampiric condition as a backdrop to explore themes of morality, depravity, the human condition, salvation, and personal horror. We are a writing and roleplaying community dedicated to telling complex and engaging stories.

Your fate is your own. Mingle among the ivory-tower elite in the Camarilla, join the fight of the discontented and chaotic Anarch rabble, or set out independently and attempt to survive in London's nighttime underworld. Anything is possible in our World of Darkness.

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In Search of Purpose
Topic Started: Friday, 23. November 2012, 08:37 (903 Views)
Retta Bell
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*
Annaretta's incredibly brief foray into the world of socialization had left her somewhat wanting. She hadn't entered the Tripper with any expectations, and she had been thoroughly pleased at the results she had garnered. It was the first even mildly meaningful conversation she had had in weeks, and she was grateful for it, but there was still something missing. When she had left the pub (or bar, as her cultural norms corrected) she hadn't initially returned to her vehicle; she first sought sustenance, which she quickly found.

Retta moved almost entirely on instinct, letting sensation cloud her logic. Everything looked the same as she pushed on, each section of the ground no more telling than the last. Her mind kept only vague track of where she was; it was far too focused on what she was doing. At some point she simply lost track of her actions. Her feeding was a transcendent event; she refused to enjoy it as she had been told to, so she disconnected herself from the act. When she came back, so to speak, she felt truly human again, but she knew that no matter how she clung to that, it would fade.

She let her hair down and shook out the messy tresses. It was only a few minutes of aimless wandering before her mind caught up with her. She stopped, there on a dimly lit side street, and looked at herself. Her jeans were intact, but there were dark blotches on her already dark tank top; they were damp against her skin. Her sandals were simply gone, perhaps she had just stepped out of them somewhere along her less than arduous path, not like she needed them anyhow. Retta touched her face to ensure its cleanliness and found it to be satisfactory.

When the truth set in she came to see what it was she was missing. Purpose. She had always had a purpose, a job. She was her sister's keeper, Arthur's conversational savior, a cog in the pseudo-academic machine, but now? Now she was nothing. She needed to be something. As much as Retta despised labels and titles and 'organizations,' she understood their necessity. If you could ignore all the blatant corruption, they were there to give meaning. She had thought that living alone, with no obligations, would be just this side of heaven, but she saw now that she wanted obligations; she wanted someone to depend on her.

Anarch, Brujah, these were some sort of belonging, right? Right. "It's a start, at least." Retta muttered to herself, but her thoughts were soon overwhelming. Her posture changed; she became visibly upset, her head hung low, her shoulders drooped and she slouched. She never slouched. She might have cried, had she not coined it a weakness, at least publicly. Instead, she backed up to lean against the cold face of a nameless building, mindlessly running the fingers of one hand over the imperfections in its surface to soothe herself.

Retta knew that eventually, she would have to go home, but for now, she simply stood there in the dull, artificial light.
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Sullivan
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* * * *
"But where that start'll lead ye is the real question, no?" Came the lilting Irish drawl.

Sullivan had noticed the woman around lately. Well, not directly per se - but her scent was faint, even when new. Fresh scents were never faint - it was a curiosity that he'd opted to sate, both as a way to figure out whether all the barman's talk of new 'one o' you-types' was true, or whether the nameless guardian of the Tripper's booze stores was drinking his own wine.

Ontop of all that, there was the challenge - a faint scent in London was easily lost, easy to overlook as it dropped lower and lower under layers of polluted air, car fumes and bad drainage. He hadn't expected a woman - hadn't really known what to expect exactly - but curiosity killed the cat, and he wasn't as far from feline as he used to be. Sailing a hand through the wavy, thick mane that governed his features these days, Sullivan crouched casually on the lowest level of the building's fire-escape - following from the rooftops was a favoured tactic of his, whether hunting down prey or eavesdropping. It lead to as much or as little interaction as he desired - staying on the same level as the target, frankly, left them on far too even a footing for his liking.

He didn't imagine he was quite make the best of first impressions... But then, Harris was a fairly trustworthy man as far as he'd managed to gather, and he'd done much the same thing then too. As such, the 'follow them until I get bored' technique remained a mainstay. Itching the sleeve of his greatcoat, the Irishman continued as his hand migrated to toying with the small braids in the lower section of his mane - something he'd opted to keep doing after Nora had made the first few. "Sullivan's my name. Ye feelin' alright? I don't imagine I'm seemin' normal by any means, but ye seem a little out o' sorts."
Edited by Sullivan, Saturday, 24. November 2012, 12:06.
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Retta Bell
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Annaretta was understandably startled by this new presence; in her experience it wasn't often that men just dropped out of the sky, or off of rooftops, or whatever unknown source he had come from. She let out a barely audible gasp at his opening question, somewhat embarrassed that he had overheard her. She stood up straight and surveyed him while he spoke; he wasn't grotesque, in fact, he was far from it, and his voice was exponentially more tolerable than what she had come to expect.

Sullivan's initial question reverberated in her mind; where was this start going to lead her? She hadn't really thought about it. She knew what she had wanted in life, but the 'gift' she had accepted to achieve her dreams simultaneously made them impossible. She wouldn't ever be a professor or a doctor, an architect or an engineer, so what else was there?

She wondered, for a moment, if she should be wary of this stranger, and while she concluded that on some level she undoubtedly should, he didn't come off as hostile at all. Besides, if he had intended to be less than hospitable, why would he have introduced himself and given up a perfect advantage? And more so, she wasn't exactly helpless. She was irritated though, that he had managed to sneak up on her, not with him, of course, but with herself. Retta hated her sire, but his words echoed in her head nonetheless, 'And whatever you do, never find yourself on less than equal ground. For us, surprise is death, real death.' Hate or no, his advice was more than a little valid, and she had made a stupid, stupid mistake in forgetting to pay attention. She assumed that with how lithe this man looked, and how inexperienced she was, he would have crept up on her regardless, but her folly still didn't sit well with her.

She was surprised, however, that this Sullivan showed real concern, or at least what she pegged as real concern in order to give him the benefit of the doubt. She hesitantly chuckled before she spoke, her voice smooth, yet sharply enunciated, "I'm Retta, and no, if I'm being entirely honest, but I'll be fine." She was somewhat surprised at her own forthrightness, but figured honesty lost her no points, "And I wouldn't worry about seeming normal, everyone here is somewhat unusual to me." She meant it, too; she had met only one person she would call 'normal,' and that was only because he shared a cultural similarity and a familiar American accent. Retta was uncertain just how Sullivan had come across her; he hadn't exactly been walking down the street. She sounded more curious than anything as she continued, "Did you just happen to drop into this particular fire escape, or is this more than just a chance encounter?"
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Sullivan
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* * * *
The Irishman gave her question consideration - it wasn't an unfair request, to know where this strange man had come from or why he'd turned up in the first place. How he answered it without sounding like someone better avoided than associated with was the real task in play. Shrugging and moving the fire escape's ladder, he slid down to street level and spoke up, "Well Retta, ye leave a trail wherever ye go. Not in terms o' leavin' trash behind or anythin' - but everybody has a distinct scent. Yours is among the latest collection o' new ones. That, coupled with the barman at the Tripper tellin' me we had some new blood in town... Left me curious as to who'd arrived." He left out that he was curious as to where her allegiances lay - with Leslie wandering as free as she felt like, he didn't like to make assumptions.

He continued, gesturing towards the building, "As fer why I dropped down from the rooftops... Somethin' my sire taught me while we were still on speakin' terms. Whatever yer doin', whatever the reason yer doin' it - don't ever let them know where ye are." Smiling with a slight chuckle, the Gangrel finished with a quip, "Seein' as now I'm down here an' ye can see me clear as day, have ta assume I only listened so well."

He couldn't tell Retta's clan, but the smell of blood was attached to her scent, nearly over-powering it. It was no guarantee of being kindred, but a human had little reason to smell like blood on the outside, short of a serious injury. For all her obvious mental turmoil, Retta wasn't hurt. Seeing as they were talking Anarchs, Sullivan had to assume only a select few clans were viable - much as an anarch Tremere would be lovely to have as a back-up siege weapon, for a Tremere leaving the clan's Camarilla membership and staying alive were not easy tasks. So, he was looking at either a Gangrel - though he didn't see any tells - a Brujah, or a Toreador looking to slum it a while. Anything else seemed a little far-fetched.

That aside, though, he remembered how abrupt - and, to be honest, rude - Blake had seemed when he demanded to know clan and allegiance, and he didn't much want to be that guy. Having the haircut from the Lion King was more than strange enough for him to have to deal with.
Edited by Sullivan, Saturday, 24. November 2012, 13:02.
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Retta Bell
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Annaretta hadn't even considered trails or scents, and she was momentarily perturbed. She was not concerned that he had been following her, but rather, how long; she had just killed a man after all, but... maybe he knew what happened to her shoes! She denounced the awkwardness of asking though, the few dollars they had cost her back home wasn't worth him questioning her sanity. As soon as he mentioned his sire, it all came together. She hadn't even been thinking Kindred, and she really should have been, no mortal ever got the jump on her.

It wasn't upsetting, of course, if anything, his mortality, or lack thereof, was almost comforting, but with all the focus on clans and sects, Retta was certain he questioned her intentions. She was grateful that this wasn't a brutish interrogation though. There were many scales she used to weigh a person's worth, and so far he was doing in well in both honesty and tact.

She pondered the already established differences between his sire and hers, and concluded that they wouldn't get along, if, of course, his was still alive. Retta's sire had been quite adamant that secrecy and stealth were less than reputable ways to go about your business, and to some extent, she regrettably agreed. Unlike him though, she did not look on down on the more cunning methodology, rather she believed that if you needed something, it was best to be clear and direct. Her sire had told her, in the few months they had known each other, that that thinking would get her far, as there was nothing more terrifying in a one-on-one battle than an angry Brujah, but in the same respect, and despite the principles he claimed to value, he had been awfully full of himself.

Retta laughed with him, "I assume so!" she agreed, "but then again, I don't suppose every lesson is worth learning. At least," she decided that it was worth confirming what she was certain he already believed, "that's how it was with my sire."

She had to admit, she appreciated his curiosity; it was yet another trait she valued, as she was firm in her belief that one was nothing without knowledge. Her posture loosened somewhat, "So, Sullivan, do tell, has your curiosity been sated? Have I lived up to the barman's claims?"
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Sullivan
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The Irish grinned, and tilted his head a fraction, "Well ye certainly ain't a local, what with the accent - but then I barely pass if that were tha only gradin' standard, so I'm not entirely sure. On the other hand, ye may want these... " He said, fishing a pair of sandals from the deep pockets of his coat, " ... So I'll do ye a deal. Put up with my company an' ask any questions ye have, an' ye get this lovely pair o' sandals that somebody left on tha street."

He didn't go out of his way to push the invitation of company further - this was always an awkward stage with kindred, considering most sires told their childer to trust no one and fear the unknown face. But he had to figure having a friendly - or at least not an opposed - face offering information would go over better than had he simply followed and eventually slipped up without intention. "Fer tha record - I don't bow to no Prince an' I ain't some crazy motherfucker who squats in the ruins East-ways. Might not be a friend right off tha bat, but I got no thirst fer a fight."

He wasn't sure what else he could say - but Retta had something bothering her, and he himself had specifically spent the night so far tracking her down. Arguably, had he wished her harm, he would've tried that first were he of a mind to do so. Mentioning his allegiance seemed a worthwhile confirmation, and not really worth hiding from anybody. His clan... That seemed largely unimportant, and if she'd worked it out based on following her scent, obvious at the same time.
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RobAiken
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* * *
It had been a little while since he had met Davendra or 'David' as he would prefer to be called and Retta at the Night Tripper and Rob had decided to step out and take a stroll in the brisk night air. If anything he needed to clear his mind a little. Rob had been thinking a lot about the Anarch's as of late, with the introduction of a few new faces Rob thought that the Anarch's might have a chance now to become a legitimate threat in this city, rather than just holding on to the North with their mangled claws.

Suddenly turning the corner to his amazement there was two familiar faces having a conversation, one being Retta Bell that he just met from earlier in the evening and the other Sullivan.

Rob could not help but approach the two Anarchs. "Well good evening. Fancy seeing you out here." Rob said cheerfully as he approached Retta and Sullivan.
People should not be afraid of their government. Government should be afraid of their people.
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Retta Bell
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Annaretta was still easily excitable, and she absolutely lit up when Sullivan pulled her lost footwear from his coat. He undoubtedly knew they were hers, but was kind enough to refrain from pointing it out. His brusque claims in regard to his sect were appreciated, as well. 'No thirst fer a fight' was perhaps the most important to her though; she did not expect there to be any problems, and it was good to know he wasn't looking for them.

Retta found him to be rather inviting, between his frankness and his friendliness her initial opinion of him was high. She was usually quick to decide on the merits of people, but while her instincts rarely steered her wrong, she was aware of her ability to make mistakes. However, she had more important things to worry about than whether or not she was putting too much faith in a stranger, things like her shoes. "My hero!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together, "I seem to have misplaced mine, and I certainly wouldn't turn down company; you've got yourself a deal! As for me, well, I think life's just too damn short to spend it kissin' ass."

She hoped that cleared up any question about her allegiance, vague though it was. She might not have ever officially been a part of a group like this, but she understood the value of loyalty and dedication; she was supposed to be a woman of virtue, after all.

Rob's appearance was unexpected, but not wholly unwelcome. "Hey you! How many years has it been now? Two? Three?" Retta joked, trying to push aside her previous concerns.
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Sullivan
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Sullivan grinned upon hearing Rob's voice, and glanced his way without changing the expression, "Fancy that indeed." He said, leaving Rob and Retta the task of talking while he stepped slightly closer in order to hand over the sandals. It was nights like this that made him feel like he could sometimes make up for what he'd done while in the ranks.

Oh, sure, he'd not even really done anything - just handed over some shoes and successfully navigated that most tricky of situations, the first meeting - but clearly Retta was cheered up considerably for it. Doing right by somebody helped him forget about what he was capable of... And considering he couldn't undo the past, that was about the best he was going to get.

Then again, doing right by somebody was nearly all he ever tried to do these days. Nora, Vinnie, Harris - and now Rob and Retta too. It never really made up for tearing apart innocents on command, or setting fire to the roadside bar... Or any of it. But he had to keep doing it. It was part of what he was... A monster looking to be something less and something more all at the same time.

He drew himself back down to earth as Retta's response to Rob made him chuckle some - she hadn't been here three years, nor Rob, so the response would have to refer to either a time they met before London - unlikely, given what Rob told him of his constant running - or it was a joke. Either way, he opted to wait for confirmation. "How ye been, lad?"
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RobAiken
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"Been pretty good." Rob said. "I was at the Tripper having a relaxing night and I had the opportunity to meet two new Anarchs in our friend Retta Bell here and another guy named David. I go out for a walk and here I find you two chatting it up."
People should not be afraid of their government. Government should be afraid of their people.
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Retta Bell
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Annaretta took her sandals, making a conscious effort to smile at Sullivan in approval, hoping he understood just how much she appreciated that he didn't question how she had lost them. "Thank you." she replied as she slipped into her shoes, grateful not only for something to separate her bare feet from the concrete, but also for the minute amount of money she wouldn't have to spend on a new pair. The thought crossed her mind that perhaps she should invest in something more practical, something with laces.

It was clear that the two men knew each other, but Retta couldn't be certain exactly how well they got along. As usual, she hoped for the best. She also tried to ignore Rob's mention of David; the man wasn't awful, but whether it was his air of superiority or just his general demeanor, there was definitely something about him that rubbed her the wrong way. It wasn't anything worth getting upset about though.

"Well yeah, I can't keep being a stranger forever!" Retta retained her new-found cheerfulness as she spoke, "So, I take it you don't have anything all that interesting to do with your night? Unless, of course, we count as interesting."
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RobAiken
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Rob shrugged his shoulders. "I had nothing to do all night so I go out looking for something. Knowing this guy," Rob pointed towards Sullivan. "It always leads to an eventful evening. I have not gotten to know you yet but I'm sure you are the same way."

Rob looked to Sullivan. Knowing that Retta was a Brujah gave Rob extra incentive to bring her into the fold of the Anarchs in London. Regardless of what cause they were championing, Rob knew his clan was full of kindred that were filled with fire and passion and unless she was a member of the noble class of Idealist Brujah that resided in Europe, which Rob highly doubted, would be a diligent soldier for the cause.
People should not be afraid of their government. Government should be afraid of their people.
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Sullivan
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Sullivan grinned placing his hand on his chest with a expression of mock-surprise, "Me? Eventful evening? Afraid yer a little late ta be seducin' me into actin' all disorderly. I already have a lady who does that... Though worryingly, she's also in charge."

His thoughts didn't remain on the topic of Nora for long - he had two new-ish kindred and had all but promised to show one of them the ropes, had she any questions within his power to answer. Rob, he was less certain he could outright help, but the man had spirit and goals to go along with it. So long as they didn't discuss political goals, his company was always a welcome addition.

That being said, it'd crossed the Gangrel's mind of late that they weren't coming at any issues from opposing sides - or at least not totally. They aimed their respective wraths at different camps, certainly... But then Sullivan had no designs on influencing sects beyond London. He'd lived here long enough that it was his home as much as any place could be. He wanted it for the anarchs - first he'd kick out the Sabbat, to avoid messy battle and to sate his personal grudges - the better to have a clearer mind when discussing future plans with his fellow anarchs. Then, he aimed to try and conquer the Camarilla with its' own tactics - subtle recruiting and indirect attacks to which no one anarch, or even the group itself, could be traced.

Admittedly, Rob's clan held in its' blood an impatience that made him disagree with those goals on principle... But then, asking a Brujah to not be influenced by their passionswas pointless, and Sullivan wouldn't ask that of anybody - kindred or otherwise. "Well then, with all of us a'gathered - shall we?" Sullivan asked, gesturing down the street with no real idea of their destination - but sometimes a walk and a talk was good too.
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Retta Bell
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In charge... Annaretta immediately made the leap to preferential treatment, though the rational part of her mind knew it was completely unfounded. Normally, she wouldn't have made that jump, she would have just taken Sullivan's comment for what it was, but her mind wasn't exactly what it used to be. She had begrudgingly noticed the slow changes; sure, she worked through problems much more quickly, but she now found herself incredibly prone to rash and illogical emotion anytime anything so much as nudged, even in vague or consequential subtext, at her admittedly somewhat self-righteous sensibilities. It was a shame she hadn't been prepared for these odd changes in character, but then again, she assumed that had she chosen to stay with her sire he would have walked her through it. As things were though, it was all a surprise.

Retta blamed it, in part, on her youth. She thought back to textbooks and articles on the elasticity of the human brain in its formative years, which she was still, and very well may remain, in. She wondered momentarily on how vampirism effected her biology, what changes in structure and design had taken place, but she managed to stop herself before her thoughts enveloped her consciousness. She knew quite well how her inquisitive streak could get away from her, and understood that right now, the most important thing was not science.

"We shall!" Retta replied after a noticeable gap in time that she hoped did not label her as slow. She turned to Rob as she started to walk, "And I'm afraid I'm probably not the kind of eventful you're looking for, unless this guy likes to talk philosophy and the magnitude, or ridiculousness more like, of anything with the word 'quantum' in front of it."

Retta instantly belittled herself for this admission of geek, but remembered that it was indeed Rob who had, not hours ago, told her to be herself. She chuckled nervously, pulling at her hair, "So, uh, how'd you two wind up here, anyway? You don't sound like natives."
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RobAiken
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"We will get along just fine." Rob said. "I am willing to discuss philosophy any day of the week. Do you like chess Retta?"

The subject of Rob's past being brought up again made him sigh. He had told it so many times to so many different people that the story was getting old even for him. He knew it would all come out eventually but for now he felt it would be best to be brief.

"Let's just say that I am not the most popular kindred back in the states so I decided to get a new start here... In London."
People should not be afraid of their government. Government should be afraid of their people.
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Sullivan
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Sullivan's pace hitched slightly at the mention of how he came to be in London, but he recovered well as soon as Rob spoke up. While you could complain that Americans were always the first to tell their tale, in this case Sullivan really didn't mind. He'd yet to encounter somebody, aside from Nora, who was fully... Accepting of his tale of blood, treachery and hatred. Claiming to have once been among the Sabbat's most storied enforcers - or so Alasdair often used to brag, the truth would likely always remain uncertain - was not the best method of introduction that the Irish had encountered.

He nodded to Rob with a jerk of his head, "Hate ta have tha stories sound so similar, but uh... Well, there's a faction in Vampire society that doesn't like me an' I don't like it. I didn't move ta get away, tho I probably should've... But London's been my town fer too long. I can't just accept bein' pushed out, not by them or anyone else... An' especially not after what they did. I expect it don't matter much whether it's the Capes or the Sabbat at this rate - neither side looks too favourably on us. But fuck 'em - I didn't set out in my unlife lookin' ta spend my time answerin' ta some Aristo-vamp an' kissin' his shoes every other word." He brought his hands up to his chest and squeezed his knuckles, the musical crackle of each hand granting his next few word weight, "She's a harsh city is London... But if ye got allies, the nights're easier ta walk through. Keep a friend with the Nossies if ye can - someone who knows 'em will do in a pinch, but knowin' one in person is better. Oh - an' this'll sound like I'm layin' it on a bit thick, but bear with me - any night where ye ain't doin' anythin', explore. Find the nooks an' crannies, the double-backs an' the alleyways that're set up just right fer a fight."

The Irish jerked his thumb in the direction of the CBD, almost universally Cape territory, "The Prince an' Archbishop both have their spies all over the place, an' neither of 'em like Anarchs. Easiest way ta not get pinned down is ta know yer home city. All the backroads, all the rooftops - sewer entrances if ye ain't squeamish. The more o' London's twists an' turns ye knwo, the harder ye make it ta pin ye down in some dead-end alley, y'know?"
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Retta Bell
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Annaretta hadn't expected a terrible lot of detail from the two, and while she certainly couldn't empathize with either, she could, even if it was in the most minute proportion, sympathize. The need for a new start was familiar to her, and at the very least, she understood why organizations like those she now found herself in opposition with were so grotesque. It was a strong word, grotesque, at least she thought so with all the stock she put in language, but it was a necessary strength to describe such a disgusting concept.

Backroads, sewer entrances, alleyways... Retta flashed for a moment to the last few months she had spent with her sister, when everything they did had been at locales such as those, hidden from prying eyes and, more often than not, a decent sense of smell. She snapped back quickly though when she remembered that she had a conversation to carry on.

"Any day at all, Rob? Alright, but I warn you, I'm very opinionated." She spoke with a constant smile and was only slightly joking, she was at times tolerant to a fault, but on the other hand... "And no, I'm afraid chess is a game of reading people, and I'm just far better at reading books, but if you ever feel like winnin' a game, I'm your man." She accented the last phrase by sharply pointing to herself with her thumb.

Retta was already somewhat fond of Sullivan's demeanor; it wasn't theatrical, of course, but there was something about his use of syntax that struck the right chord, much like reading an old book. She turned in his direction but paused for a moment in the formulation of her reply. 'Wait, what the fuck is a Noss- Oh, yeah, colloquialism.' She shook her head away from the tangent, but now resolved, thought, "I wouldn't worry about it. There are so many stories, when you sum 'em up I'm sure most of them are about the same."

It startled her for a moment when she realized that she would undoubtedly, someday, wind up in a situation as he had described. Perhaps she should learn to enjoy it; what with how enthusiastic her sire had been about the 'art of battle,' or whichever of the overly dramatic terms he had used to describe it, maybe it wouldn't be so difficult for her to find pleasure in crushing a much-deserved fist into the face of her foes. Retta quickly scolded herself for this line of thought, but decided to think back on it later. For now though, she would simply take Sullivan's advice, "Oh, no doubt. I knew a good chunk of Seattle like the back of my hand; I'm sure I'll pick up on the area soon enough. I assume rooftops tend to be your forte?"

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RobAiken
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"Oh well, it was worth a shot." Rob said, thinking about her not enjoying chess. Rob figured that he would find someone some day that could play chess with him. Until then he would just be happy that he found friends.

"So is there anything you want to know about the city Retta? I am all ears." Rob asked. He was not a fan of the fact that when he first came to the city he had to learn everything on his own, he thought it would be nice to educated the new kindred now before she found herself waist deep in problems.
People should not be afraid of their government. Government should be afraid of their people.
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Sullivan
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(OOC: Well done Retta!)

Sullivan chuckled and nodded his head in confirmation, "Always hold the high ground, lass." He said, before drifting distant in terms of conversation - Rob was talking, and ultimately splitting somebody's attention to either side struck him as more predatory than friendly guides. Best approach this one at a time.

It worried him a little, that the new blood of the anarchs didn't know too much yet. Retta and Rob were both learning fast, and that was grand - but did that speak of the majority, or just them? If it was only two of them bothering to learn their streets and find escape routes, then the chances of survival for the recent influx of rabble wasn't going to last - and considering his plans with harris, that bothered Sullivan a fair bit.

You coudn't hold turf without manpower - simple fact. Currently, Enfield and even Brent were so well-guarded they were like fortresses, but that was because the Anarchs had more numbers than they needed for such a small stretch of territory. They couldn't expand far, no... But they still had a border with the Sabbat, and at least for Sulivan personally, that was a problem. So long as the Sabbat were breathing down their necks - and Sullivan was willing to admit that his bias meant he would always see it like that - then their course was clear. Fuck the dream, the free state, the rules and the law - rip the sword apart and burn all the twitching pieces.

The Irishman nearly sighed, but kept it back - that would lead to questions. Talking about the Sabbat made him even angrier than thinking about it, and anger couldn't help his fellow anarchs here. While he wasn't fond of working under the orders of any authority, be it Prince or Baron, in trms of the Sabbat both Chambers and Nora had it right - kill it before it breeds. Admittedly, with Nora, workign under a Baron's leadership wasn't his choice, and ousting her from power not an option - so he lived with the reality of the situation. Like it or not, they needed a commander. Rather the woman he loved than have the Archbishop swoop in.
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