![]()
|
|||||||||||||||
| 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: |
| Enemy of Enemies; Anarchs | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Friday, 15. February 2013, 22:11 (618 Views) | |
| Naga | Friday, 15. February 2013, 22:11 Post #1 |
![]()
The Sheriff of London
|
It was an evening quite like any other for the tripper. The atmosphere was as fiery and rowdy as ever, the bar buzzing with heavy drinking and the occasional matter that required settling outside. So it was only natural that the arrival of the Sheriff was both unnerving and unwanted, instantly putting a severe damper on the night. He wore a different face, although it fell upon the same frame. One could imagine this is what he looked like as a mere mortal: a clean, healthy face framed by groomed and straight hair. All signs of leprosy were erased, as too were his sickly diseased eyes which now resembled a shade of chestnut. Even his attire was a smart black suit with purple tie, surprisingly unsullied as he normally would be. Leather clad hands grasped a gold topped cane, which he relied heavily upon with each step. As soon as he limped into the establishment, the ill feeling that oozed out of him led most mortals to believe they had somewhere better to be within the first five minutes. As for the Cainites, well, they knew damn well who he was regardless of what face he was wearing. He had strolled in without a word, a book tucked beneath his arm as he made himself comfy in a corner booth. He lay flat his copy of 'Das Kapital' and gently cleared his throat. Eyes were upon him, generally when he himself was looking elsewhere. He would meet these side ward glances with a polite smile, before spreading the pages open before him. He had intended to make the acquaintance of the Baron this evening, but should one of the gawking onlookers be brave enough to strike up a conversation then all the better. The message was going to be clear, no matter who received it. |
You think that when you die you go to Heaven...You come to us.
| |
![]() |
|
| Vincent Tadeu | Saturday, 16. February 2013, 00:19 Post #2 |
![]()
Garbage Man
|
Sitting with his expensive black patent leather brogues up on the table in front of him, Vinnie rolled up a cigarillo; but for his dreads he was the very image of a 60s mod today, eschewing the more modern Brujah fashion of worn jeans and a t-shirt. He'd been sat there in the seat just next to the entrance to Nora's booth for the past hour doing his usual business of keeping an eye on the place while the Baron did her thing, and of course running his own dealings on the side while he did it. He'd just finished talking to a young hood who'd agreed to bump a dealer who'd refused to pay his dues for the laughable price of £100; the kid had a .32 in his hoodie and fancied himself a bit of a mobster, as far as Vinnie was concerned he was just another hood with more balls than brains. Still if he got the job done and didn't get caught it was £100 well spent. As the sheriff entered Vinnie thumped the wooden partition which he was leaning against twice to let Nora know there was company. He recognised that figure and that sickening aura easily; Vinnie had been working around the law, both mortal and immortal for years now, long enough to be well aware of just who he should look out for. Having thumped on the wall one of his boys Terrence opened the door to the cellar by the bar; if things went to shit he wanted to know they had the Bear to rely on and the less obstacles were in his way the better. Keeping his eyes on the sheriff as most of the people in the place cleared out he noticed the bartender shuffle awkwardly behind the bar; he was with the 'Narchs and was packing heat under that bar, much like Terrance. Vinnie himself had a sawn down lever-gun hidden in his overcoat which was hanging from the back of his seat, well within easy reach. He'd rather not use it in the Tripper; that would attract precisely the kind of attention he'd rather avoid but you never knew with these Capes, especially not when it was the sheriff. "Yo, otario," Vincent cocked his head at the Sheriff to get his attention, "The fuck do you want; ain't no Cape got business coming in here." |
| [ | |
![]() |
|
| Naga | Saturday, 16. February 2013, 01:17 Post #3 |
![]()
The Sheriff of London
|
Naga had to suppress a smirk as the Brujah spouted nonsense in his vicinity, glancing up from the page he was on for only a moment before his eyes continued to move down the page. Because whilst everyone in there knew the identity of the Sheriff, Naga had made it his own personal point to become intimately familiar with the residence of London whether they liked it or not. Even new arrivals were scrutinized instantaneously. Anarchs and their rage were understandable, but perhaps somewhere he had hoped for their rational acceptance to their new enforcer. Partly because he wasn't truly a 'cape' and was un-corrupted by their greed and pride, but mostly because he wasn't truly a 'cape' and had little qualms in breaking tradition. He was above petty murder, but should the night take a turn for the worse he wasn't one to negotiate. "I would ask that you watch what you say, Mr Tadeu." his voice was different to normal, polite as ever but there was no strain to force his words out of a clotted throat. One might wonder why Naga didn't assume this graceful form more often. "Unless I am unaware of the fact that you are now acting as the voice of Miss Penvellyn, in which case I am very disappointed. I was under the impression she would be appreciative of what I did in Hackney." He turned the page with a strange delicacy, still there was no need to examine his enviroment. "I was rather hoping to have a chat with Miss Penvellyn, and assumed that she would rather do so here rather than Westminster. Though if she wishes, I'm sure such a meeting could take place." If his words were meant to be sarcastic, the Naga certainly wasn't good at it. But he finally put the book down for a moment and checked his cane as if ready to immediately make his leave. "Does that sound a more agreeable arrangement Mr. Tadeu?" |
You think that when you die you go to Heaven...You come to us.
| |
![]() |
|
| Vincent Tadeu | Saturday, 16. February 2013, 02:17 Post #4 |
![]()
Garbage Man
|
Vincent didn't move, or look up from rolling his cigarillo, he just patiently continued; he knew how the sheriff worked, a bit of intimidation here, the subtle application of violence there. It didn't bother Vinnie in the slightest, he worked the same way when he did his business, although he was mostly in the business of trafficking drugs, guns and blood dolls where the naga operated in the Camarilla circles. Unlike the naga though Vinnie was more than just an enforcer, he was as much a seneschal to the Baron as anything; let Sully or the Bear deal with the enforcement side of things - he preferred not having to mobilise his own muscle. So he offered the Naga a glance up from what he was doing and sucked through his teeth before speaking. "You ain't got no word in here babaca, no word at all; see you and me we're in the same business, 'cept my boss is worth more than the shit I scrape off my boot; you feel me?" He pointed in the direction of the open doorway down into the cellar, "You ain't goin' nowhere but down there without my word. You think any cabrão gets to see your 'Prince'? Its the same with us eh." He made a gesture with his hand to one of his ghouls who stood up and walked into the alcove beside Vinnie, "We'll know soon enough if she feels like talkin' to you." |
| [ | |
![]() |
|
| Naga | Wednesday, 20. February 2013, 00:23 Post #5 |
![]()
The Sheriff of London
|
The Naga let the frustration go now, heaving an empty and dramatic sigh out of his putrid lungs. He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head in disappointment. "Very well Mr. Tadeu, you do what you must." he said, clearly unimpressed with the reception he was receiving. Perhaps it was because he knew what they didn't, because while disrespecting a lapdog of the Prince was expected, the Naga was something 'more' than the usual enforcer. He kept London safe. Safer than it had been in over thirty years with the destruction of Monroe. And since his elevation from being enslaved not a hair on an Anarch head had been touched by him. If it wasn't for their zeal and over eagerness to overthrow any sort of coherence, the Naga would have perhaps seen them as righteous as they were free of the darkness that snatched at the hearts of Camarilla and Sabbat alike. But alas, most were like Vincent; Naga had never rubbed Brujahs the correct way. He laid down the book now, to reach for his cane and get to his feet. Still there was the air of unease, of disdain towards him: a feeling he had burdened in ample supply for the entirety of his death. He almost relished in it, and certainly did not turn away from it. "Suppose I were to say that my coming here tonight is undoubtedly of mutual benefit to both I and your very good selves. All of you." He gestured around the room with his free hand, the false smile still painted on. "But I have no time for your stubbornness, so let me be forthright: I'm looking for a man, a dangerous man indeed. You know him Mr. Tadeu, in fact, many people do. He was once Templar to Monroe, but has taken the throne for himself. You know him as Jack. And Jack is coming. He is coming here, and he will convert everyone of you to his cause...or dispose of you." He paused for a moment, sweeping a stray lock back into place as he let the words sink in. The younger generation likely didn't understand the gravity of the statement, but those who had been in London since the Sabbat invasion would know who Jack was, if only as the name of the bastard who let the East get consumed. No-one truly knew the man as well as Naga, and as such he knew what the Malkavian was plotting; all had been quiet on the Camarilla front for weeks on end, that could only mean the new Archbishop had something planned for the Anarchs. He needed recruits, if only to crush Makie and assert his dominance in the territory. But more than that, no-one knew the Naga quite like Jack and for that reason, he needed to die. Quickly. The creatures brow furrowed at this last thought, fully aware that for every second his rival was allowed to exist, the longer he remained vulnerable. Both men were strengthened by their mysterious pasts and hidden agendas, if such knowledge were to slip out then either could find themselves endangered. The Naga had failed to mention this, but oh well. "Are you sure your Baron is still not entertaining guests, or would you be so kind to pass along that message to Miss. Penvellyn?" Again, as polite as ever, the Naga seemed unaffected by either outcome. His smile had gone, but something pleased him in the fact that either the Brujah back down or potentially have the blood of brothers on his hands. |
You think that when you die you go to Heaven...You come to us.
| |
![]() |
|
| Vincent Tadeu | Wednesday, 20. February 2013, 01:19 Post #6 |
![]()
Garbage Man
|
"You need to learn some patience man, I said we'll see. She gives you the nod to see her that's that but I ain't lettin' you in without her say on it. Feel me, cabrão?" Vincent had heard of Jack, of course he had, but that didn't mean he filled his pants at the mere mention of his name. If the bastard was really coming then Vincent was ready, Kindred or no a face full of buckshot was no joke and Vinnie was trafficking more the just buckshot these days. This news about Jack though did mean one thing, he was going to have to step up his operations; guns shouldn't be a problem, guns were easy even her in London; it was the heavier ordinance. He could get plenty of home made shit, but that wasn't nearly reliable enough - he'd heard that the Bear might have some bomb making skills but something about that guy scared Vinnie to hell, after having seen what he'd done to his warehouse and then to Marcus... Jonny and Barty had some fucking balls to stay down in the box with him and Daisy...shit she wasn't called Crazy Daisy without a good reason. "Fuck why can't you Capes just chill out - there's a way of doin' things y'know." If Vinnie was in any way troubled by the Naga's words he didn't show it - he might not spend his time down in the Box but that wasn't balls that was stupidity. No if Jack came a'knocking Vinnie knew exactly what he was going to do, just needed to make sure Nora was prepared for it too and that meant getting her some practice on the shooting range at the very least. Terrence fidgeted, he hated being on door duty and Vinnie almost felt bad for making him do it, but he was his ghoul and was as beholden to him and Vinnie was to Nora. |
| [ | |
![]() |
|
| Nora Penvellyn | Thursday, 21. February 2013, 05:29 Post #7 |
![]()
Rebel With a Cause
|
Nora had been listening to the banter between Vinnie and the Naga for quite some time before she made her silent appearance. She stood in the doorway of her private booth and watched the Sheriff address the bar of equally hushed patrons with some interest. Interest in the sense that she'd never seen anyone or anything actually render this crowd silent. She could hear Vasili's hulking steps pacing across the expanse of the basement below them. He'd said enough. "You have my attention, Sheriff." She finally said, approaching him with the best smile she could muster and an outstretched hand. While his presence was unnerving, the information he possessed was alarming. The last time she'd encountered that sick fuck he spoke of, she ended up with a back full of buckshot. She saw what he did to Sullivan's mind in those moments that she was rendered helpless. The man was as elusive and dangerous as the one that stood before her. Strange how that worked out. "I apologize for making you wait. Please, come have a seat. Can I offer you anything?" She asked, ushering the man to the booth she'd just come from. As she passed Vinnie, she motioned to the basement door. Vasili wasn't necessary...yet. But Nora had found it was always safer to keep the Russian on a short leash. Sitting opposite from the Naga, and waiting for the wood partition to slide closed, she sized him up some. Everyone heard the rumors about this man, but she knew better then to believe all of them. He probably started some of them himself. She hadn't gotten a good look at him until now. The last time they were even in the same vicinity as each other, he was feet below on a stage while she harked from the balcony. "I appreciate you coming here. Truly... I do. I met the man you're looking for not long ago. It was unsavory... To say the least." It took everything in her power to keep her social graces about her. Any other day, he probably would have been met with the same attitude Vinnie had given him, but Jack was a serious matter, and was apparently aspiring to make history repeat itself in the North as it had in the East. She'd die her final death before she'd let him take what she fought so desperately to restore. |
![]() We Salute You | |
![]() |
|
| Naga | Saturday, 23. February 2013, 17:11 Post #8 |
![]()
The Sheriff of London
|
The Sheriff had thought it best to leave; he became agitated with their attitude, and his message had been delivered. Still, he couldn't imagine much of a stand to be made against the Sabbat who, admittedly had their numbers reduced considerably, but remained a terrible threat. Not even Naga knew what had happened since the Empire was reduced to nothing, what Jack had done in terms of recruitment and munitions. The Malkavian was dangerous, and moreso with the circles he traveled in. He wasn't leaving this one to chance. However, it seemed he was finally worthy to bask in the presence of the Baron. He remembered her face so vividly from the mockery of court that was held; he saw things different from what she wore. Her true face, his eyes worked differently than most. He rarely fell for such petty illusions, but he too was forced to wear them for the Masquerades sake. "Miss Penvellyn, a pleasure." he smiled, though didn't appear to acknowledge an outstretched hand. He merely nodded his head in courtesy as she led him somewhere suitable to accommodate their little chat. Suddenly he found himself seated, laying aside his cane and patiently waited for her to say what she needed, reading the malice that he suppressed underneath: that was good. She at least had the sense to play nice when it concerned her own neck. And as she became reminiscent about her encounter with Jack, he nodded with an understanding expression painted. "Of course Miss. Penvellyn, for that very reason I knew you would want to hear what I have to say. After all, Mr. Tadeu wasn't the one who had a shotgun in his spine." something twinkled in his eye at a memory that wasn't his. "I am quite aware of what happened that night. Jack was busy training pups then, he had no real interest to see you dead. For that, you are lucky." Lucky. That was the wrong word. It was Jacks fickle nature that had ensured she had survived. Of course, had Vincent and Sullivan not staged a valiant rescue then she would have landed in the hands of the Archbishop and possibly suffered a worse fate. Jack was a Templar after all, and his philosophy meant not killing those who didn't need to die. The recollection began to stir something inside him, emotions that weren't his. "How much do you know of the fall of Hackney? Of what transpired in that time? You see..." he raised a finger, as he often did when he felt he was generously informing people for free. "Jack worked with the Anarchs of London for many years. He wasn't particularly important, but people knew him through word of mouth." His vision blurred, seemed to warp her shape in his eyes and then return to normal. He paused, quietly scrutinized what he'd just seen, then continued."They didn't know about his cell operating with him, two Cainites who unknowingly laid the groundwork for Monroe to invade. And thus the Sabbat came back to London after a long absence, the rest I'm sure you know. Jack vanished several months ago, but I know he is still in London...just not where. And given an attempt on my life by one of his packs, which quite clearly failed, he knows not to go after the Camarilla, regardless if I'm alive or not. He needs to strengthen his ranks, and have more holes to hide them in. He's coming here...I can smell it, yes." The darkness inside him had been stretching like an animal with such blissful thoughts, but that initial feeling had vanished what with it leading to Jacks betrayal. The hatred boiled his blood and burned his dead heart, causing Naga's face to distort into concern and look down, at his own hand. He turned it over, flexed it, worried by the sporadic finger movement he was seeing. They twitched uncontrollably, as discomfort swelled in his chest. His head became cloudy and heavy as he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. The rage threatened to tear him apart. He didn't know how long he had sat there, probably a minute or two, but even so it had felt longer. Agony had that effect on time. He crept his eyes open, blinked and looked back at her with a blank stare. Despite what just transpired, he was still and calm, his voice flat and unwavering. "Inform your people. Test their loyalty. Prepare them for the storm. And we will be watching, whether you approve or not. We want Jack dead and we will protect your people if none stand in the way of that goal. Is that understood Miss. Penvellyn?" |
You think that when you die you go to Heaven...You come to us.
| |
![]() |
|
| Sullivan | Sunday, 24. February 2013, 20:51 Post #9 |
|
Ancilla
|
"He won't be findin' a safe haven on our patch - ye can count on that." Sullivan had spent a great deal of his time - more than he'd like - away from Nora and the other Anarchs. Folding his arms, he leaned them on the bar and gestured for a drink to be sent his way. While Nora had little idea of his actual activities - which in truth were mostly lone recon escapades - she knew that he hadn't ran out on her. Perhaps on her end, that felt better - he wasn't sure, seeing as they'd barely talked in a fair while. But that was how things were for now - when war loomed, Sullivan did his part. If anything, the situationw as becoming more and more like the ones he was used to being in. As it stood, he was in an odd position - away from the politics, he was Nora's mate - though he'd thought long and hard about whether she really wanted him, or just liked the diea and was thinking of dropping it soon. Here infront of the Sheriff, he was an Anarch hound, a dog of war to be let slip when the time came. The Capes had their own term for what he did - a deniable asset. Whether Nora intended to use him the same way, and let him be... 'Disposed of' when he became a threat to her power, he didn't know. But until that day dawned, he was an Anarch to the core, and he fought wherever their banner was raised. He didn't bring his rage down upon Nora for what she and Damon had done - and he knew enough to know that what he imagined had transpired was likely to be accurate. He didn't tear apart what they had purely because what he had done had caused her to hurt him. He didn't bring his rage down on others, because Vinnie was an ally and the last man to challenge the Sheriff was Monroe. He held his rage at a steady, simmering boil, ready to tip all over the first Sabbat sympathizer that set foot before his gaze. Because that was how things were. |
![]() |
|
| Nora Penvellyn | Monday, 25. February 2013, 05:46 Post #10 |
![]()
Rebel With a Cause
|
Nora listened intently to his small lecture on the chaos Jack had helped orchestrate in the East. It struck a nerve to say the least, hearing of the detail of deception, but she didn't let it show. She couldn't begin to predict where this conversation was taking her, "I honestly don't know much of what actually transpired in Hackney; I was...away when it happened. But I lost many friends that night. Word of it traveled fast. As you can imagine, it was unsettling to find out my family's home was now considered to be smack dab in the middle of Sabbat territory. I want to change that..." Her voice faded as she watched him look down to his hands, as if a battle were warring inside him. She knew the feeling all too well. When he finally looked up to her concern-tinged gaze, his deadly calm voice sent a tendril of alarm down her spine. It wasn't his presence or even him that caused this. It was the words he spoke. This was happening. Really, truly happening... and it scared the living shit out of her to hear it come from his mouth. She feared this more then anything else, knowing that a war was coming. No matter how much time she spent convincing herself she could step up and do this, the confirmation of her fears was unnerving. The only emotion that could be seen were in her eyes, still wide with alarm. She simply nodded. This was a lot to process at once. A few moments of silence passed between them before they finally spoke, "If I may, I was hoping while you were here perhaps we could discuss something else that's been on my mind?" She asked this with a tiny amount of uncertainty in her voice. It was obvious all the information he'd just given her was weighing on her heavily. Better now then never... "I've been trying to get in touch with Prince Chambers on a matter of similar gravity that you may be interested in, if you'll lend an ear," She began, trying to sort her thoughts, "I wanted to discuss these matters with him personally, but I understand he's a busy man. As far as Jack is concerned, I'll cooperate in any way possible. The last thing I want is for history to repeat itself. In fact, I'd like to undo it, if such a thing is possible. But we can't do it alone. We'll need help. Perhaps yours is what we need." She paused, wondering if he'd even be interested in what she had to say. Was he only offering protection and support for the means of ending Jack, or could this be the blossoming of a solid understanding between the two sects? While she couldn't stand the traditions and pecking order they upheld, she respected the Masquerade with some understanding. She and him lived in a much different world then the mortal realm that their's shadowed. Letting those two worlds collide only ended in tragedy or worse. While she wanted to share her prospect and dreams for her people in this city, she also didn't want to waste either of their time or her breath. So she gazed at him patiently, her hands clasped above the table. Everyone either feared or hated this man...and for good reason, but she hoped maybe for once he wouldn't be an enemy, but instead, an ally. |
![]() We Salute You | |
![]() |
|
| Sullivan | Tuesday, 26. February 2013, 21:56 Post #11 |
|
Ancilla
|
Sullivan didn't make a fuss of 'Anarchs don't like Capes' when Nora began seriously discussing co-operation with the Sheriff. hell, Sullivan himself was no slouch - Alasdair had found that out twice - but the fact was if a Kindred was powerful enough to kill Monroe, there wasn't a lot that could be done in the way of resistance. More importantly, in a city divided - like London - allegiances won the day. It was just simple maths - and running the numbers, the Anarchs had more muscle than brains. With some good planning, they were a serious blow to the Sabbat waiting to be unleashed. If they remained a loosely associated rabble... Well, then their days were numbered in the single digits. Much as his support in-person had been sparse due to him playing scout and spymaster on the eastern border most nights, he wanted that to change. He remembered nights where Nora had held him tightly because he was an unfaltering supporter - and because he was there, in person and always on her side, no matter the circumstances. She needed him to do that again - more than she needed him to play recon. So, from behind the Sheriff, he held his gaze on Nora and nodded, the smile he gave her grim but genuine. With news that Jack was accelerating his movements, a grim expression was the only one that fit - but he was still someone she could rely on. As he thought about it, the more the Irishman came to the conclusion that in actual fact, he was a more ardent supporter of Nora's goals than he'd ever been. Another issue that had perhaps been made a great deal easier by this meeting was his affiliation with Harris - assuming the Brujah cape was still lurking around London to be contacted, anyway. With such open support - or at least warning - from the Sheriff, getting Nora to agree to a meeting and a combining of forces suddenly seemed a less daunting task. What he worried about now, however, was Rob. The american hadn't been seen recently - not even by the eyes and ears he'd been trying to set up. That didn't seem like a good situation to the Irishman - a missing Anarch who'd been involved with a Sword Sister? In some senses, it was good that he was missing - it meant nobody knew where he was or needed to answer for what he may or may not have done. But all in all, Sullivan smelled trouble brewing - and that wasn't good. He'd been there when the Anarchs were almost wiped out - he was fighting on the other side then. Now, he knew better - and he wasn't goign to let the Sword win twice. |
![]() |
|
| Naga | Wednesday, 6. March 2013, 00:25 Post #12 |
![]()
The Sheriff of London
|
He felt strange. Dethatched. Like he was actually floating above himself and watching the conversation below. It was certainly new, yes. And different, most definitely. But enjoyable it was not, a wave of uncomfort coursed through his veins and continued to reverberate, back and forth, each pulse building his unease. It made him tense, to the point of being nervous, but as if his face were a mask molded of flesh, it was suppressed, like everything else that had got in his way. And what makes her any different? "I fear you presume too much of me. I am the protector of this city only because I am strong enough. My words carry no weight with the Camarilla. My peers look upon me as what I am: Chambers' blunt instrument." He let loose a wretched chuckle, but was not smiling. "But that's fine. I do not wish to hide away in the tower and proclaim how high and mighty I am. I prove my worth with action, Miss. Penvellyn, and that is what I shall do now: I do not hold worth in petty labels given to those who were the most gifted at being underhanded. You however Miss. Penvellyn are given title by your peers. They trust you to decide what is best for them. In some shape or form, you have proven your worth to them." He looked around the bar, still eyes loomed and wished bad feelings upon him. Sullivan's words had seemingly fallen deaf on him, but he knew all to well who the Gangrel was. What he had done. Yet he sought what most would never achieve, redemption of the soul. And he had placed his hope in Nora to do this, even if he had the wrong motivation for doing so. Belief was a powerful agent. He turned back and stared hard at the table, the thought of redeeming oneself sparking old memories within him. Some his own, others whispering from the shadows. What harm could there be in being held in good regard by the rebels of the city? Perhaps if they ever managed to stage their coup d'etat he would be given even more breathing room for his personal projects. His great plans. So, he would play along. "I can certainly pass on the message Miss. Penvellyn, but depending on the matter in question, it may end up in my hands to be resolved. Tell me, what troubles you?" A cool stream ran through his raging innards, in almost an instance he had forgotten the suffocating feeling that had caused him to worry so. Now the smile was back, as polite and proper as ever. |
You think that when you die you go to Heaven...You come to us.
| |
![]() |
|
| Nora Penvellyn | Thursday, 7. March 2013, 02:00 Post #13 |
![]()
Rebel With a Cause
|
The energy that oozed off the gentleman sitting across from her, sending a chill to her very core as he spoke so darkly. She wasn't sure what to think of what he was saying; was he complimenting the integrity of her power or was he insulting it? Nora peered at him with an elegantly quirked brow before glancing to Sullivan, the discomfort she was suffering clearly evident in her sharp expression and tight set of her shoulders. She returned his sad smile with one of her own. They'd make it through all of this. They just had to. As if flipping a switch, the same calm, collected man that had strode into the Tripper seemed to have returned to the table. Nora's attention snapped to the Naga cautiously, wary of the sudden polite and caring response he'd given her. She paused with pursed lips, wondering where to start, "I think we both share one common interest; our disdain for the Sabbat. We both have our own reasons, but I want to take back the East. They've soaked the streets with blood and defiled our rightful free state for far too long." She breathed. "I know you can only do so much, but I took this title for one reason: I want to make this city's shadow beautiful again. I want my people to be able to co-exist within these walls peacefully, without fear of a traitor coming in to rape and pillage everything we worked so hard to establish for ourselves." She stopped, looking down to the table and searching her mind for where she was going with this. What was she truly asking of him? His assistance? His advice? She couldn't be sure, "I think it's possible. I was not born to hide in a fucking spider hole for the rest of my years hoping some kind of balance will be found so I can actually walk the streets without fearing my own death. This city is my home, yet I can't even visit it without being attacked by a pack of filthy dogs and their deranged dogsitter." She sounded as if she were about to cry at that prospect. "I was born to do something great, and if that means restoring the balance in this godforsaken city and getting rid of those self righteous bastards, I'll do everything I can or die trying. I want my people to live freely and actually be able to enjoy their nights here in London instead of numbering them. What's the point in living if we're just waiting to die?" It was obvious the gravity of the coming storm were weighing heavily on her shoulders. This was the first time she actually confessed her thoughts and fears on the matter. God knew Sullivan hadn't been around to hear any of it; he'd been too busy distracting himself from the inevitable with his lone scouting trips he'd been going on every evening, while she stayed here, waiting to either fight or die and working as quickly as she could to prepare for whatever was coming their way. "I suppose what I'm asking for is your help, or guidance... something." She said quietly, looking away. She hated feeling so clueless and desperate for help, but the Prince wasn't going out of his way to hear her out, "I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. All I have is my instincts, and I don't know if they're right or wrong, and I don't want to steer all these people, who trust me to make the right decision, in the wrong direction." Her head sunk to the table in defeat. This was a first. She'd never felt so exhausted by the idea of failure until now. But what if she did fail? What if she didn't do everything she absolutely could to keep these people alive and lead them to greater things? What if they all died, including her? The thought was not only depressing, but terrifying. She never realized just how much she was responsible for until that very moment. And goddamn, was it fucking heavy. |
![]() We Salute You | |
![]() |
|
| Naga | Monday, 18. March 2013, 01:14 Post #14 |
![]()
The Sheriff of London
|
Naga found himself at a loss for words, a rarity indeed. The more the Baron spoke of her fear and desire, the more she pushed him into uncertainty. Always he had never thought of himself as bound to the Camarilla cause, but loyalty had been ensured out of self preservation. What was he supposed to say about the future of London? That the Sabbat would stamp the Anarchs out completely? Or that the Camarilla would give them a choice equally as cruel down the line? What's more, he was never in control of the great machinations of those in higher places. And were those decisions in his hands, he wouldn't want to shoulder that responsibility. He watched her sink in despair at the thought, and something inside him twinged with guilt. A feeling that was smothered with a torrent of indifference and disgust, but it had registered nevertheless. His expression turned haunting as he stared mournfully at her. He spoke slowly, deliberately. "I am not a leader. I am not a general. I have very little use beyond an exterminator." He sighed, wondering what she wanted him to say. "But it is as you say; your people put faith in you as their leader, whether you like it or not. And while your courage is admirable, do not throw your life away for the cause. Sacrifice often does more damage than it helps." he noted, albeit conservatively. "I will be here to assist with the Sabbat matter. And I will have died long before Jack is allowed to set foot in new places. I cannot help you build a future, restore this city to what I once was. That is not something I can do." he was sympathetic and sorrowful, all too aware of what it was to have everything you knew taken. Ruined. "I can't create whatever it is you're after. But I shall certainly do what I can, if there is anything I can. You need only ask." He looked around the bar accusingly, not wishing to necessarily undermine the Barons authority by forging an alliance here. In fact he didn't expect her to take up his offer, but he needed her to stay in power all the same. Otherwise he would have to inspire hatred of Jack in others. |
You think that when you die you go to Heaven...You come to us.
| |
![]() |
|
| Nora Penvellyn | Saturday, 23. March 2013, 21:32 Post #15 |
![]()
Rebel With a Cause
|
What else was there to be said? Nora slowly raised her head as the Sheriff spoke, meeting his gaze with an equally drained and empty expression of her own. She composed herself with the few ounces of propriety her mother tried to raise her with, and simply stared at him with pursed lips for a few moments. She watched his eyes dart across the room, still trying to soak in all that he had said. What was he truly here for? To warn them or dupe them? It wasn't like the Camarilla to show such... concern. All these thoughts ran rampantly through her mind, but with Jack being the center of this man's so said concerns, it was hard to focus on what was really at play here. There was too much at stake to ignore him, and yet... could she really trust his words? "I'm the Captain of this ship. I appreciate your advise, but as you said, you don't hide in the 'high tower', and neither do I. It isn't in our character to hide from that which threatens us, but instead, to eliminate it. Another thing we have in common, I suppose. Call it what you will, but I can assure you of three things..." She leaned forward, her stoic expression hardening her features considerably as her fist came down upon the table, not to be mistaken for aggression, but instead, assertion. "I will not surrender. My people will not surrender, and we will never stop fighting for what is just. I may not trust you, nor you me, but if I ask you of anything it's that you keep your word. If you can do that..." Her gaze circled the room, passing over Vinnie and Sullivan passively before returning to Naga, "I can do the rest. If you could pass along a message for me, please let the Primogen know that I'd like to meet with them, and the Prince as well if he has the time. Nothing will come from our efforts if we aren't all on the same page. Until then," Nora rose from her seat and smiled, "It's been a pleasure, dear Sheriff." She wasn't sure what to take from all this. For all she knew, he could be playing her as a pawn in his own game of personal vendettas. Only time would tell where his true allegiances lay, but if his word was worth anything, they'd all see it soon enough. She could only hope that it was. |
![]() We Salute You | |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · The Night Tripper · Next Topic » |












3:54 PM Jul 11