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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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Grand Chasms trace the sky; Chronicle: Four Nights
Topic Started: Wednesday, 25. September 2013, 05:39 (3,314 Views)
Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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* * * * *
From: Tom Sawyer

somethins very wrong, and this aint just kine stuff. keep an eye on your baron, shits gonna go down soon. warn her if u can. stay safe.

That was alarming, to say the least, especially after news broke about the Eye. What the fuck was going on? Ever since she decided to start leaving her flat again, she found herself asking that same question nightly, like she was running down a long corridor and just couldn't find her way to the door at the end for any answers. This shit was what always stressed her out, never knowing what was spliced for public viewing or what was a major masquerade violation. Her brow knit tightly as she looked over the message a few more times before finding her words and keying out a response.

@Tom Sawyer

You okay? You weren't in the area were you? What do you know? Sorry, a little concerned. Can you meet me somewhere?

-omw. where to

The Tripper. I know it's out of your way but this is a big deal. Buy you a double if you can get here quick.

-u better be srs

Run, Forrest, run!

-yes maam

Aguirre switched the screen off and stood up, clad in a soft white t-shirt whose logo read yippee ki yay in large black letters along her side. She also wore loose black jeans, the same boots as always present on her feet, and she hid beneath a curtain of dark hair that hung in her face. She would be at the Tripper in minutes at the pace she walked, hands stuffed deep into her pockets until she arrived at the dive. The Brujah found a somewhat private booth within, and upon sliding into her seat, she would watch coverage of the destruction on the Thames on her phone until the Nosferatu arrived. There would already be a double of Jack on the table when he got there.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Wednesday, 25. September 2013, 07:36.
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Sawyer
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The bar was nearly deserted when Sawyer forced his way in, clearly shaken. His face was grim as he slid into Aguirre's booth, and his eyes looked her over for any sign of harm, gaze dark with concern. She looked fine, if confused, and that felt like the first little blessing he'd had all night.

Wordlessly, he downed the drink, not particularly caring that it would inevitably come back up in a stream of bloody vomit in a few hours. Any brief relief would be welcome right now, however fleeting it might be.

"We fucked up," Sawyer said shortly as an introduction, eyeing her with an odd intensity.

He wasn't sure what was safe to tell her, really. If Henderson knew he was here, he'd have him skinned alive. If the prince knew... well, better to ensure he never found out. Besides, tonight London was going to need all the help it could get, no matter what sect that help called home. Sawyer certainly felt obligated to do what he could.

"Look, I... I really shouldn't be tellin' you any of this. But I can't stand thinkin' you might-"

His voice caught in his throat for the slightest sliver of a second before he promptly switched directions. "- thinkin' people might get hurt 'cause they don't know what's happenin'. That goes beyond sect, don't it?"

He shook his head, finishing off what was left of the whiskey. He lowered his tone until his voice was barely audible, and certainly out of the notice of any mortal patron of the place. "These bastards... they fucked up CamNet, got out this weird-ass memo about killin' the Prince and the primogens and causin' chaos and takin' back the night. You'd prob'ly be able to make more out of it than me, let's be real. But anyway... none of us took it seriously, right? 'Til now. Now we have to."

It had been a colossal failing on their part that left them in the dark tonight, without any clue of who their enemy was or how far they'd go. How in the hell that had happened, he couldn't rightly say. But it had cost too much to ignore Blackwood once. They wouldn't make that mistake again.
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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This was the first time Aguirre had seen such a foreign expression in those baby blues, one of actual panic. Sawyer was not his usual playful self, not by a long shot. What had him shaken up so badly, besides the impromptu demolition of the Eye? He obviously needed that drink, proven by how quickly he downed it before looking her over again like they hadn't seen each other in months. He seemed so nervous to be here that she thought maybe she should have just invited him to the apartment, but she didn't particularly feel like risking Church knowing he was with the Camarilla, since evidently this was Cammie business. She almost felt bad for calling him away from the Warrens or wherever he happened to have come from.

The Brujah watched him quietly with wide, worried bronze eyes, wondering just why the fuck she hadn't heard any of this before. Then again, she wasn't with his sect. She didn't actually have access to CamNet, and the likelihood of hearing about something so heavy on the street was slim to none. How much of this was he taking onto his own shoulders?

"You couldn't have known", she offered after a moment, a cold hand touching his own lightly, low tone matching his in an attempt to stay discreet.

"How long ago did y'all get the memo? I guess it don't matter much now... How could they even achieve somethin' so destructive? I'm glad you weren't there," she was partially questioning him, partially thinking out loud, somewhat like they'd stepped right into a bad dream.

"I mean... You're okay, right? Can I help you out? What can we do?"

She tucked the phone back into her pocket, her brows raised with muted bewilderment. It was stupid to ask, how was she supposed to help Sawyer track some professional bombers? However, if her friend was included in the trouble, she wouldn't fail to back him up.

"You got any idea who these people are?"

Aguirre didn't like the idea of some terrorist cell going after the Big Wigs in the Camarilla; the Anarchs would be likely to catch the blame if a culprit couldn't be found, something she would prevent if it were even possible to do so. Then there was the currently fragile state of her closest compadre; that wouldn't do, not at all. Surely there was something she could do to help set his mind at relative ease.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Wednesday, 25. September 2013, 18:56.
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Frederick
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Entering from the Primogen Meeting.


He needed to get out. Away. He had tacked up warnings about CamNet at the Chantry. He had done the talk-talk thing with his fellow idiot Primogen -- especially that inane Rose Cane, who had earned a very special place close to his old and grumpy heart -- and gotten outside. What he now needed was not the panicking Kine, running hither and thither and creating delays all over the city.

What he needed, he decided in very Irish fashion, was a Drink. A stiff one. And preferably in an area in which he was unknown to the populace. So he drove into the far North of teh City, seleted a bar at random and entered the premises. Incidentally it was called The Tripper. If that wasn't a bar for an Irishman, what was it? Especially he was looking for just such a person. One on a bender.

Sadly the place was nearly empty. One man and a woman were talking at the bar. A few other patrons were strewn about. But there was this nice young man with the pleasantly glazed eyes nursing a beer in the corner. Padraig got over to him and laid a hand across his hsoulders. Whispered in his ear. The man shortly after got up and went on the loo. Padraig followed with some pause behind.

The man and the small Tremere exited together. Not as in actually like partners but like people casually acquainted. Both had now slightly glazed looks on their faces, in their eyes that light which came from alcohol. Padraig, oif course, could have been drunk coming in. He probably had been. He walked right by Sawyer, not seeing him at all, and sat down at the bar, too.
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Sawyer
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* * * * * *
"No," he said shortly, his frown deepening. "We could've known. Hell, knowin' is sorta our business. I just don't understand why we didn't."

He shook his head yet again, more out of confusion than anything else. What would his next move be, anyway? There was no getting near ground zero of the attack- every emergency crew in the area would be swarming over it, and he doubted that Blackwood would've left any traces. Until ShreckNet dug up some answers on who the hell this guy was, they were all in the dark, and every move had to planned defensively and with any enemy in mind.

"I... I ain't sure what you can do. I just thought y'all deserved some warning. Whoever these folks are, they sure as hell ain't picky about who they hurt. This is only the beginnin'."

He went quiet after that, his expression thoughtful. Her hand was still resting on his, he noted, and he gave her a gentle squeeze and a weary smile. "Don't worry, I'm... I'm probably just bein' a bit paranoid."

His smile was still strained, and didn't quite reaching his eyes. He glanced around the bar, not quite up to meeting Aguirre's concerned gaze. Must seem like such a pussy to her. Stupid Sawyer Flint, getting scared by some internet troll, moping around in a bar like some dumbass coward crybaby when he should be out investigating.

It was quiet tonight, with the static hum of some old soul singer wafting out of a radio and through the room along with a few clouds of cigarette smoke. A single, small man was sitting at the bar, back to the Brujah and the Nosferatu, looking like he wanted nothing more than to drown his sorrows, but lacking a drink in his hand.

Wait, wasn't that-

Oh, damn it, it was. Good ol' Doc- the last time Sawyer had seen the guy, he'd been lobbing fireballs at the Sabbat. Since then, he'd had a little bit of a promotion, and somehow Sawyer had a feeling that a fuckin' primogen would take a little bit of offense to the fact he was essentially passing secrets to the Anarchs. After all, it wasn't even common knowledge among the Cam that Blackwood was behind the attack. For all he knew, the prince might decide to hush all of it up. That would be a stupid decision, of course, but hell, politicians weren't always the brightest bulbs, were they?

"Aw, shit," Sawyer groaned quietly, muttering more to himself than to Aguirre. "The fuck's he doin' here? Shouldn't he be at some meetin' or somethin'? He's got a fucking bullseye on his back!"
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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Sawyer was not at all in a good place with this tragedy. Even if they could have known, what would they have done about it? A memo on CamNet from whoever these people were surely wouldn't contain a forwarding address and phone number. As selfish as it was, Aguirre would have rather been comfortable in the fact that her compadre was safe than anything else. She had the feeling that wasn't what he wanted to hear right now, though, and she didn't want to argue with him; not right now, anyway. It would be like kicking him while he was down. Light pressure on her fingers and a faint smile meant at least he was trying to pretend he wasn't terrified of what would happen next.

"It was good of you to meet me, paranoid or not. I'm sure glad you came out here. We'll figure somethin' out."

She was a little bit crestfallen when his gaze fell away, though she followed it to the small red-headed man who sat stiffly at the bar, the one with the bullseye on his back. How did Tom Sawyer know someone so high up on the food chain? There had to be things about his position with the Camarilla she didn't know about.

"Hey, Sawyer, who is that guy?" she asked quietly. "He ain't.. Is he one of the big guys? How do you know him?"

Shit, maybe she would end up helping her counterpart tonight. If the same people destroying major landmarks were out and about after people who were in this small man's position, what was to stop them from dusting him right there since he was showing his face out in public? In Anarch territory? One would think he'd want to hide after having his life threatened. So which Big Wig was this? And why was he out in the open?
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Sawyer
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"Warlock," he said shortly. "Definitely one of the big guys. Did some work in Camden with him. Tougher than he looks. Stupid if he's out tonight, though."

Sawyer glanced back at O'Dubhuir, who had yet to notice the whispering pair. And why should he? They didn't exactly stick out in the same way that an angry little wizard dwarf did. He wondered vaguely if he ought to do something about this. Sure, the Tremere weren't his problem, but it would look... unfortunate... if someone tried to stake a primogen in Anarch territory. He couldn't quite explain the reluctance he had about getting Aguirre's sect in trouble, but he knew they'd be an easy target in the coming nights for the Prince's wrath. Better not to give Blucher another reason to burn bridges.

"You think we should, like, say hi?" Sawyer asked, cocking his head to the side and pursing his lips. "I mean, I do know the guy. Sorta."
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Frederick
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>>"The fuck's he doin' here? Shouldn't he be at some meetin' or somethin'? He's got a fucking bullseye on his back!"

Some part of him registered the words as he was standing at the bar. He wanted to nod to himself about their rightness. Yes right they were. And nod he actually did. Right. He had a bullseye on his back... but then again... what was it again that he was then again? He couldn't quite recall. Which was what he had wanted all along, so that was probably ok. All was according to plan... so it was good!

>>"Warlock," he said shortly. "Definitely one of the big guys. Did some work in Camden with him. Tougher than he looks. Stupid if he's out tonight, though."

His head stopped the nodding motion sharply. Something really nasty raised its head inside of him. Disrespect Must Not Be Tolerated... that something said. Loudly. He nodded some more. Yes. Must not be tolerated... Never! Also: warlocks was a really mean way to address his Clan. Sooo... with a sigh he got up from the barstool he had -- with some difficulty, as the thing was nearly taller than himself; it also kept trying to change places -- seated his frame upon.

And ambled towards Sawyer and the other one. "Mr Flint..." His voice said... "... disrespect must not be tolerated." Well... that didn't come out right. He tried again, just to make sure. "Mr. Flint... call me Warlock one more time and I shall see you punished." Yes. That sounded better. More like himself, he thought. That was good. no?

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Leslie
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* * * * * * *
The Night Tripper!

Last time this young Gangrel was here was when she was still Sabbat. A shiver went down her spine while she thought about her time locked up in this place. The Russian Bear, Nora, the beatings, the carving in her chest that made the Sabbat sign disappear... ripped away by the Baroness herself like a fucking trophy but it had been a liberation for Leslie. Free at last and on the right path in unlife. During her time here she had cultivated a strange love or obsession for Nora just because the woman could have killed her and had every right to kill her but she didn't. The respect for the Anarch leader had grown more and more but Leslie knew that there was still a lot of work to do before she would be completely accepted.

Somehow she was scared to enter the pub. She might look confident and more than just pretty but she was actually hiding a young, fragile and scared girl. It had been so long since she had been out on her own. There were a lot of rules she had to obey. Sullivan was not an easy mentor and if she dared to fuck up he would kill her with his own bare hands. That was not a threat but a promise he had made. Leslie could not remember the last time she had felt like this. Her Embrace had been too soon but there was no other option back then. It was this life or a life in juvenile detention center. So even though she misses the sun and daily life more than anything she was pleased with what she had.

The smell of blood lingered around her. She had just been feeding. Her lips were still a little red. She licked them clean and took a deep breath before she entered the pub. First thing she noticed were some humans and her dress code caused those humans to stare at her. Leslie could be described as perfect but that was the work of a Tzimisce all to be able to play the game of hunter and prey. Humans see what they want to see and if they thought she looked cute or as an easy score then it made her life easier and especially her feedings were easier. Luckily she looked older than her Embrace age otherwise it would have been hard to pull certain things of.

Leslie walked towards the bar and glanced around the pub. There was a smell of cigarettes, joints, beer... a smell of humans. A smell of memories but she shook her head and pushed it all back. She was wearing a pair of black sneakers with pink hearts on it, a pair of shorts that reached an inch above her knees and a dark purple turtleneck sleeveless top. Her long hair was loose.

First night on her own. Butterflies were racing through her belly. Her eyes went from face to face. Human... human... Kindred... human... another Kindred... and not far from her another Kindred. A small weird man that creeped her out. She watched him carefully when he got up and walked towards two others that seemed Kindred as well. Leslie concentrated on them and listened carefully. The one called Flint had called the man a warlock and he was not happy with it. Wait a minute! Warlock! Tremere! Fuck, fuck, fuck. First night out and already hearing a damn Tremere threaten someone. Tremere scared her. She had seen them do things that were just not normal. She pitied the other two but for now she was going to keep an eye on them and stay on the side line.
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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"Sawyer, you're loud! Hush.." Aguirre said, casting a glance in the direction of the Tremere. Calling people from such an enigma of a clan stupid at a tenor they could hear was a mix of ballsy and incredibly messy. Not to mention he'd obviously heard them. Her eyes were glued to his small figure as he moved off the bar stool and shifted his awkward little self in their direction, and she offered with nervousness in her tone, "He beat you to the formalities."

The guy might not have looked like much, but it was always the ones you least expected that gotcha in the end. He was a little red around the ears... Was he tipsy on a night like this? His opening statement led to a belief that yes, in fact, he had decided to get a little sloshed. He would see that Sawyer was punished? What was nest, would he break out the paddle? Even a threat so silly made her jaw set sternly for a moment when directed at her Nosferatu companion, though she would try to be polite for his sake. She didn't want to get him in trouble. Aguirre would turn her analytical gaze into a timid smile as she offered a thin hand to shake, the same one that had rested upon Sawyer's until now.

"He don't mean nothin', his mouth just runs away without him sometimes. No harm meant, yeah? Can I getcha somethin' to drink?"

As she asked the question her eyes flitted to a figure who had entered the bar only a few moments before, whose gaze followed the same route as her own--straight to the Wizard. The guy did draw attention, despite his stature. Maybe she was thinking the same as Aguirre, assuming that behind that little man facade was a creature that could eat them both up and grinds their bones to dust.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Friday, 27. September 2013, 03:30.
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Sawyer's blood ran cold at the Tremere's voice.

"Uh... evenin', Doc. Sir. Um. Sorry about that. Didn't mean to, um, offend ya or nothin'..."

His voice trailed off as he looked over O'Dubhuir. The primogen was a fuckin' wreck. Despite the authoritarian air that the man wore like some expensive cologne, his eyes were watery and his ears were blushing beet red. Frowning indignantly, the little warlock swayed back and forth, steading himself on the edge of the pair's table.

"You okay, sir? Anything I can, uh, do for ya?" Sawyer asked gingerly, a bit afraid of overstepping his bounds. Usually he'd just let Aguirre do the talking; even if she could be a little shy, she was a hell of a lot less likely to say something completely dumb. But a primogen wasn't her problem, and however much he valued her as a friend, he wasn't keen on the idea of involving her too much in sectarian politics. Which, even while drunk, seemed to matter to all these stuffed shirt bureaucrats.

He glanced around the bar; if O'Dubhuir was too wasted to watch his own back, then Sawyer would just have to look out for him instead. Maybe that would redeem him a little bit, or at least keep him from getting turned into a particularly charming gargoyle.

The place, blessedly, was free of suspicious figures. Only one face looked a little odd to him- a brown-eyed girl, seemingly too young to be hanging out in some seedy bar, was looking over at the three of them with a bit of alarm. As soon as Sawyer met her gaze, she turned away. Had she been listening in on them?
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Leslie
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Both of them seemed scared which was good and smart to do around a Tremere. Doc? Sir? Was this little man a big deal within the world of darkness? Were they even Anarch? With a sigh Leslie wished either Nora or Sullivan should appear here. She was not in the mood to get involved into a fight. Not during these disturbing nights when some idiot was threatening the Masquerade. Leslie had seen the news with horror in her eyes. She still adored the humans, maybe out of envy, so the London Eye falling and causing death to many humans had been shocking to her.

While she had been lost in thoughts she felt the eyes of tbe others on her. The Gangrel stared back without blinking. She meant no harm, not at all, and when she looked away it was not a sign of guilt but just because something had caught her eyes.

A door!

The door that lead to the place Nora had kept her as a hostage. A shiver travelled down her spine again. There was much more to this place than a casual pub and Leslie knew that all too well. It were those who do not matter to others that could jump out and cause the biggest bang. The Anarchs were a group many saw as just a nuisance and nothing important but Leslie had seen the other side. She knew better now.

Her brown doe like eyes flew back towards Flint, the nervous looking woman and the Tremere. Add Leslie the Gangrel and this could be the beginning of a bad joke.

Let's wait and see what else this mysterious trio had planned this evening... and the fact two of them were aware she was there and listening didn't bother Leslie. It was not as if she was doing anything wrong besides they shouldn't be so loud if no one was supposed to hear anything.
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Frederick
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It talked to her. The woman with the Nosferatu she talked to him. Addressed him. The small man with his red ears -- very red ears -- looked her up and down and up again. As if trying to find something that he had lost along the way to be a drunken bastard. Need to remember that woman. She has a foul mouth. That runs away with her. After the third up-and-down time, he giggled a bit., because... mouths running away...


the thought was verily entertaining. Also: He addressed her. From his vantage point below her breasts. Nice breasts, his brain noted. But covered by that really ugly tshirt. Die hard. Vampire was cheesy. If she was vampire. If not she was a really foul-mouthed Ghoul in a saggy tshirt. Which would be sad. Because then he would probably have Sawyer kill her. Killing people was always a sad affair, because then they were dead and couldn't be punished any more.

"What is it? And why does it talk?" He asked therefore the Breast-Person-Thing (nice breasts!) in his best disdainful voice. "Do you keep it because it has breasts?" He then asked Sawyer in a more personal inquisitive tone. Because everyone should keep something nice with breasts. But saying that would be impolite, so he refrained from that. No being impolite his father had always admonished him, and Paddy did what father had said.

Things were pleasantly spinning now. The world trying to rock him like the fishing boat had always done. Or maybe he was swaying just a little?

Then back to Mr. Flint who had asked something... yes? He wanted to do soemthing for him? Oh yes! He had just the thing! "Mr. Flint, find me something to drink!" HE ordered imperiously. Because.... he was a Primogen, no? He had to order imperiously.
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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The tiny man looked over Aguirre a few times like she was a piece of meat, which was just the first thing she didn't particularly appreciate. He was obviously sloshed, though, so it was something she might have let go--were it not for the fact that he proceeded to open his mouth and let a whole lot of garbage fall right out of it. She was apparently an it. And it with breasts attached. Sawyer's it, which she didn't exactly mind being called without all that other shit attached, and not by such a condescending little prick. The look she cast Sawyer conveyed these thoughts quite effectively as her hand--the one resting on the cushion of the booth--dug into the polyester upholstery which gave and made a distinct rrrrrriping sound beneath her fingertips. This was done in an effort not to thrown her fist straight into the man's smug face.

Just remember; he's important. He knows Sawyer, and could make things very difficult for him. Breathe.

"Mr. Flint, find me something to drink!"

That bossy motherfucker was about to have his throat ripped out, ordering her compadre around like that. No fucking respect. None. Not even a hint of common decency. Not only was this warlock lacking the common sense and basic survival instinct to hide away, he was so much of an ass that he was probably already on someone's hit list before the Primogen were ever threatened as a whole. She clenched her jaw in an attempt to keep from saying anything horrendous, solely for Sawyer's sake.
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Sawyer
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"Whoa there, Doc. You can't talk to a lady like that," Sawyer said, frowning deeply. "She is my friend, and you can apologize to her, and until you've done that, I ain't gettin' you nothin', sir."

His poker face was set in stone and his eyes were frosty as he stared the little man down.

Oh, he knew it was a horrible idea to stand up to a primogen, let alone a Tremere primogen. But for all of Sawyer's usual friendliness, he wasn't a doormat, and he certainly wasn't going to stand by and let O'Dubhuir insult his best friend. The hell was he goin' on about, anyway? Sure, Aguirre was an anarch, and that put her at the bottom of the Cam's pecking order, but she still deserved a certain amount of respect. Being sloppily drunk was no excuse; O'Dubhuir should be embarrassed of himself.

He looked across the table at his counterpart, who was stewing in barely-contained rage, clearly loathing the primogen with every inch of her being. He wouldn't be surprised if she smacked that infuriatingly smug look off of the man's stupid, blushing face. And hell, he'd deserve it, too.

Then it hit Sawyer- the primogen wasn't just trying to insult Aguirre, was he? No, he was just addressing her as if she wasn't there at all. As if she was something even lower than an anarch. As if she was Sawyer's ghoul?

Well, wasn't that fuckin' hilarious. He might've appreciated the mistake had he not been in such a godawful mood to begin with, and while he knew snapping back at the Tremere would probably have Consequences, Aguirre's dignity was at this moment much more important to him than life or limb.

"Miss Maddox," Sawyer said carefully, his voice much colder than usual, "is a member of our community in good standin'. Nothin' less, sir. And you should treat her as such and apologize. Then I'll go round you up somethin' else to drink."

Not that you need it, you fuckin' bastard.
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Frederick
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The small, swaying man managed to raise an eyebrow at Sawyer. His present state made the gesture rather quirky as well as more than slightly ridiculous. It was, though, a rather impressive show of muscle control under duress if you thought about it. And generally... a bit impressive that the small man was not spewing his meal all over them, or so his state seemed to be at present.

"Flint, you need to know when to grow that backbone of yours." Pádraig slurred at the Nosferatu Neonate, swaying dangerously into his direction. His breath was accompanied by a cloud of alcohol fumes that might have doubled as knockout gas in these concentrations. His swaying was so extreme that he had to use both hands to catch himself on their table to avoid the indignity of faceplanting himself right in front of... well...

oh. That had been a mistake, no? His ears reddened further as he became aware that he had indeed insulted the woman with Sawyer. Member of the Community in good standing. And he didn't know her? That cast some doubt on that. But well... she wasn't property. And not Nosferatu property as that, so an apology was indeed in order.

"I am sshorry, Mish Maddox..." He therefore articulated himself... "... for associating, quite crudely, you with Mr Flint...." Your breasts are too pretty for that, no? Oh he was still sober enough to not say that out loud. Though it was the truth for the matter. "... you don't desherve that. Though I have to admit doubt ash to your sthanding... I don't know you?" The latter was a question. He should know every member of the community in good standing. It made him sad that this wasn't the case, apparently. It made him also think that maybe... Mr Flint was lying about that, because... normally the Tremere knew stuff like this. No?

His hands were now firmly lodged on their table and every breath of his was accompanied by a nice whiskey-smelling cloud from his nose or mouth. The ears were flaming. The eyes slightly unfocused, yet glittering with that haughty air he carried around with him everywhere it seemed.
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Leslie
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That little bastard! So insulting towards the woman. Leslie had to try hard not to say anything. What was this? She hated where this could lead to... trouble. Only trouble could come from this. So Miss Maddox was the woman and she was clearly trying her best not to hurt the man. One could see the anger in her eyes. She hoped it would not end in a fight. There was no need for Camarilla fools to come fighting on Anarch grounds. Leslie watched the story unfold and sighed.

Then she grabbed a chair and swiftly she suddenly stood behind the Tremere and placed the chair right behind him. "Sit down you drunken old fool before you hurt yourself." she hissed lowly before she shoved her ass next to Maddox. Her deep brown eyes sparkling like chocolate stars went from one to another.

"Now I don't mind getting a visit from some fancy Capes but I do not like them to have a brawl here on our grounds. Don't you all have better things to do now that some rogue one is threatening everything? How foolish to play power games amongst each other right now. It is important to stand strong now... no?" she sighed dramatically. "But then again who I am to mingle in your business?" she added a playful grin before she leaned back so she could see all their expressions. What a shock it must have been to have such a young looking girl tell them to shut up and get their act together. Had it been better to stay at the bar? She would know soon enough...
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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Here Aguirre was, trying her damnedest to keep her mouth shut, but her compadre just happened to pipe up anyway. At least it was in her favor, but she didn't want to walk on the wrong toes, and certainly didn't want him to do it for her; after all, he was actually with the Camarilla. The people higher up on the food chain could cause him problems, regardless of which clan they happened to be from. Upon a second glance she realized that the little man was far less sober than she had originally thought. Whoever had put Sawyer into the mood he was in had also put the Primogen and all the people surrounding them under duress. Example A: Doc. She didn't think the higher ups were supposed to lose their cool like this. Maybe Mishter Whishkey really did have a death wish.

Heck, at least he apologized, anyway, after nearly face planting into the table. Wasn't like the short distance from his head to the table would cause much damage. There was also the fact that he was apologizing for all the wrong things, of course, but she would take what she could get. She wasn't so much in good standing as she was in nonexistent standing--she lived a little more underground, not usually in the midst of people with power.

"Naw, don't think we've met, Mister. You sure you don't wanna have a seat?"

Before he actually had the opportunity to accept the offer to sit, or even fall backwards onto his ass, the girl whose gaze had been on them the whole time shoved a chair into a safety net position just behind O'Dubhuir's knees. She slid into the booth next to Aguirre and berated they, who were apparently 'fancy capes', about playing power games in such a time of peril. While Aguirre wasn't a cape, nor did she actually know who the girl was, she was right about the misplacement of priorities. Did everyone know about the threat? Hadn't it been concealed even a little bit? The Brujah really needed to establish some connections besides her Nosferatu friend. Regardless of any of that, her first reaction was as simple as could be in response to the current situation; with a flat expression, she asked, "Do either of you have names?"

It was a valid question, directed at Doc and the chair-bringer. She didn't know them, all she knew was that Sawyer was stressed the fuck out and that the Eye had been blown to shit. The cherry on top was that apparently this was the work of kindred. This was their problem. Hoo-fucking-ray.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Tuesday, 1. October 2013, 13:03.
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Sawyer
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Score one, Mr. Flint. He'd managed to wring an apology out of the man and avoided getting a fireball lobbed at his head. Chivalry still worked! Granted, he'd probably be on O'Dubhuir's shit list for a while after tonight, but he had bigger problems at the moment, and Doc seemed the type to forgive, or at least forget if you got him drunk enough. And Sawyer certainly intended to get the guy black-out drunk in hopes of averting a crisis before hauling him back home to the chantry.

But perhaps O'Dubhuir was drunk enough to forget already, judging from the cloud of fumes following him around like a particularly bothersome eau de parfum. He nearly toppled over before the girl who'd been hanging in the shadows materialized and shoved a chair behind him before neatly sliding into the booth alongside Aguirre.

"Whoa, there, Doc," he said with a bit of gentle trepidation. "You sure you want me to find you somethin' else? You're, ah, drunk as a skunk, sir. Beggin' your pardon."

Huh, Sawyer figured he could get along pretty well with a girl who had the balls to call the primogen a drunken old fool. He cracked a grin in her direction, a bit of confusion playing on his face. "And you're, uh, suspiciously well informed, ma'am. News travels real fast around here, huh?"

He glanced over at Aguirre, raising an eyebrow as if to say, This one of yours?
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Frederick
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there really were some things rather unusual happening during this night. Him apologizing might be due to a drunken lapse in judgment. Him apologizing had to be due to one. He would have never done that otherwise. And he got sobered up rather nicely to see the results of his misstep by being touched from behind. Not only that, but also...
shoved into a chair.

His blood did not know whether to boil or to freeze. The result was him sitting very, very still for a moment, forgetting even to breathe for two or three long seconds. Long for those at least who could see his face. The rather unusual and unknown Miss Maddox. The rather usually southernly dull Mr. Sawyer. They could see something moving rather suddenly behind his eyes. Something dark and... dangerous. It burned blood to get rid of the Alcohol in its system.

Sawyer actually might have seen that thing moving before. During that fateful night when they had hunted people... that night when blood and brains had splattered the bodies of the fighters. When people had caught fire rather suddenly.

Very still indeed he sat.

"Mr. Sawyer, why don't you fulfill your social obligations and introduce Ms. Maddox and me in just a moment? Just to lift her out of her unfortunate, self inflicted ignorance, of course." He said, his voice so very much at odds with what the Nosferatu could see in his eyes. So dangerously at odds. His eyes said... that they would have a talk when they were alone next time. It was a promise in his tone. in his smile. In his eyes. It was like a pinky promise indeed... because all those things came together to form one coherent whole.... that could have easily induced nausea and sudden urges to be elsewhere... like the chair of a dentist to get a certainly painless root canal... from that hick in the alleyway behind the tattoo parlor... in his own subordinates.

He turned to the newcomer... the Gangrel -- a bit of Information he did not know -- with a sickening smile on his lips. So very sickening the mockery of all things good and right in the world. So sweet that voice, the poison freely flowing. "Should you, Missy, dare ever touch me again without my permission, I will have your head delivered to me by your own clanmates, whoever they may be." He promised in those very smiling notes... that made your soul want to perform wheels... of happiness.... "And speaking of it... my little nobody... do tell me your name and family.." It was the utmost in contempt to use the powers of the blood so freely on another kindred. Yet he did enforce his will on her using what powers were at his disposal. And if that would not be enough... a simple touch of his hand on hers... he stretched his fingers out already... would tell him everything he needed to know.
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