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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Just looking for a Pint (ENDED)
Topic Started: Monday, 14. October 2013, 17:37 (1,496 Views)
Toran
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The Formerly Hated
* * * * * *
Toran leaned back in the chair and regard the thing he had made. Simple, non-conductive glove, a thin shaved brass knuckle plate and a couple of high charge batteries. One punch stunner. Rolling his big shoulders he picked it up and walked to the front of the apartment he was hiding out in.

"Here you go, what you asked for. A taser glove." The 6'4 tanned man managed to keep his voice free of the stupidity he thought anyone who used this had to possess. But, if the gang banger was gonna pay, who was he to complain?

The punk shifted back and forth on his feet. Gold teeth, leather coat, tiger stripes dyed into his buzzed hair. The pale little guy was twitchy. Toran figured it was 50/50 that the crook would try to stiff him. "Alright man, so give it here." The punk shoved one hand into his coat. If he was smart, he was grabbing the cash... Toran had his doubts.

"Cash first. 5K was the deal. After all, it's a custom job." Toran's voice was deep, a rolling wave of velvety sound. The punk scowled and pulled out a knife, flipping it open to threaten him.

"GIMME THE GLOVE!" At 5'10 and decently built, the punk probably managed to intimidate a lot of people. When he snapped his hand forward with a knife to threaten Toran he clearly wasn't expecting for arm to get caught in a grip like a vice. The look of surprise when Toran's other first sailed in and slammed into his stomach was priceless. The punk curled around the fist and started gagging, sucking in air.

"Hey, hey! No vomiting on my floor!" The big ex-con caught the punk by the back of the neck and lifted him like a kitten. He patted him on the shoulder. "Take a moment, catch you breath. There ya go. Now, my money?"

The punk made a sort of gurgling noise, reached into his coat and pulled out a manila envelope. He dropped it on the floor and whispered a curse when Toran slapped the glove into his hands and tossed him out the door. "Nice doing business!"

Toran sighed and rolled his eyes as he scooped up the cash and started counting. Almost 5K, not bad. Locking most of the money in his safe he dropped a couple hundred into his wallet and headed out.

At 6'4 and nearly 260 lbs, almost all muscle, a lot of people expected Toran to be dumb and slow. The jaw length black hair, stubble beard and bright blue eyes made them think he was handsome, and dumb. The wife beater, cargo pants and combat boots left people figuring he was handsome, blue collar and dumb. For the most part they were right, except for the dumb part. The ex-con stuffed his scarred hands into his pockets to make sure his collapsible batons were there and then headed for a local pub. He needed a drink after dealing with that stupidity.

He took in the almost empty place and snagged a seat at the bar. "Whiskey, in a glass." He requested, dropping a bit of cash on the table so the bartender would know he was good for the real stuff.
Edited by Toran, Monday, 14. October 2013, 21:11.
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Toran's Voice

Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me....
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
"I'll have a double Vodka, on him." She'd slide out of a dim booth, moving with that panther like silence that always put people off. She could suddenly be standing right behind someone, off to the side in a blind spot, and they never knew. She weaved the bar quietly, having spotted the man on his way through. There was no mistaking that deliciously large build, and that excellent posture. She hadn't seen that mother fucker in years.

She was dressed like she usually was, which wasn't all that different than Toran's wear. Black wife beater, ripped up jeans, and black and worn to shit sneakers that she always stood on the fronts of. Her dreads were pulled up atop her head, twisted and piled and then banded down with a thick black headband to keep them in place. She looked worse than he'd remember, coming off the coat tails of such a deliciously malicious beating. Her shoulders and chest were purple under the thick tattooing, her face still bearing the last of what had to be a gorgeous shiner.
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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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Toran
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The Formerly Hated
* * * * * *
Turns at a lady's voice and then sees Mac. "Ah, and I thought it was a beautiful woman to whom I might get laid by. But I see, it's you." His voice is deep and velvety, more than once people have assumed he was a gentleman on hearing it.

His blue eyes looked up and down Mac, noting the tears and grinning slightly. The big man rolls his shoulders and chuckles outright at the woman who's almost as big as him. Rising to his feet he goes to scoop her in a massive bear hug.

"I'd say you look like shit, but a nut job like you probably loved every minute of it. Still playing with fictional critters?"

Toran had avoided getting into Mac's world, aside from the occasional design job for her and other Hunters. He'd had his month of accidental blood craving and hadn't liked feeling like a junkie. Besides, that shit was dangerous.
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Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me....
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
Not many people were allowed to bear hug the Rhino Girl, Toran was the exception to this rule. Mother fucker was an ace in the pocket where ever he was, and she liked to stay on good terms with him. She didn't really return the bear hug, as much as endure it until he put her down. Always the awkward type with the sentimental or affectionate shit, she didn't know how to deal with it, the vast majority of her childhood lacked any sort of appropriate human contact. She was grinning though, and she raised both arms above her head and tucked them behind her to stand looking so very at ease. She modeled her battered face back and forth, pretending she was being captured by the paparazzi.

"You know it, found myself some real good times here. What the fuck are you doing in the UK?"

She dropped her arms back down her sides, heavy. The weight of them made her chest hurt, the bruising thumping with a dull ache. She looked to the Bar tender, that hadn't yet procurred the ordered drinks because he was waiting on the nod from Toran that yes, he'd be paying for the ladies drinks. Her cold and rather deviant look at him told the bar tender to cut the shit and get to pouring, feeling herself start to get a rise out of the idea of fucking with him... But before she could really get going, he was moving to pour the drinks. Damn little shits with such weak will power, so boring. She turned back to Toran,
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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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Toran
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The Formerly Hated
* * * * * *
The big man backed off, knowing she didn't like to be touched; but 5 years apart deserved a hug so she could fucking deal. He settled back on his shoulder and made sure the tapper was filling the order and took a sip of his whiskey.

"Ah well, I came over for a vacation bout a year ago. Haven't actually left yet. Spent a few years in Marion Max Penitentiary before they took me as evidence and sealed the record. Decided I needed a change of pace and to avoid the fellows who might resent my... honesty."

His voice rolled out soft and deep, like a cavern emptying of wind. He shrugged again. "I'd have just done the time if they hadn't used my stuff to do some contract killing on the side. You know I stay out of the the hard shit when I have the choice."

He scratched his jaw with a large calloused hand, contemplating, as always, if he should bother to shave, and deciding, as usual, to do it tomorrow.

"What about you? When did you cross the Atlantic and what the HELL are you doing here? What are the odds?"

He searched his conscience. Trying to decide if there was any chance someone might actually have contacted Mac to kill him. He was pretty sure she wouldn't, but... only pretty sure.
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Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me....
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
"Ooooh you Snitch. Yeah, that'll get you out of a Country pretty quick... depending on who you were snitchin on. Anyone important I would know?"

Eh, unlikely. Although human crime and Kindred crime over lapped sometimes, she doubted it would in this case. Toran had always tried to stay out of the whole 'Vampires are real' world. Poor fucker hated his short stint at being a ghoul, actually decided to go clean... One of the few she ever knew that'd done it. What a lame thing to do, she'd never trade it up. Being a ghoul was the god damned life man, who wanted to give up being able to mind fuck someone, super strength, AND still be able to fuck and run around in the sunshine? It was the Ghoul life for her, till there was no life at all.

"Came over like, nine months ago maybe? Had a job to do and stuck around after I got it done. All the fucking accents out here kill me, love them. My favorites Welsh, can't understand a word those mother fuckers say... but they swear they're speaking english."

She laughed, her laugh hard and bark like. The sensation made her rib cage hurt, and she lowered it down to a soft chuckle to keep the vibrations humming and burning.
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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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Toran
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The Formerly Hated
* * * * * *
The big man grinned and held up his scarred hands like what-ya-gonna-do. "Chicago gang banger whose Dad was a museum curator. Dad got into trouble for some serious gambling debts and they decided to rob art stores. Gang contacts got them in touch with me. So I made them a couple of things to spoof laser grids, motion sensors etc. Figured they'd get caught since it'd have to be an inside job to know the security so well."

His deep voice rolled out smoothly as he took a sip from his whiskey. Then his blue eyes narrowed down to slit.

"Didn't occur to me those little gang shits would use my unlockers to kill a couple rivals off, including the guy they owned gambling debts too. So, it was do 3 years and turn evidence on them, or serve life as an accessory to 12 murders. I ain't doing life for a dumbass gang banger who can't grasp what it means to be professional."

His voice keeps calm, but 6'4 muscular man is pissed, his jaw flexing slightly under his beard. Like a lot of professionals he thinks killing and random violence is just fucking stupid if your goal is to make money. He can appreciate beating the shit out of someone. Getting a rush. But murders were sloppy and just bad business. And most people were too fucking dumb to get away with it.

"Heh, yeah. They are nice to listen to. I spent a couple months up in Scotland, visiting the family roots. Beautiful scenery, castles and shit. I admit though, I think about picking up the accent and just end up picturing Mr. Scot in my head. Besides. I just prefer whiskey to scotch." He drains his glass and taps it on the bar, pointing a big finger down to motion the tapster to start a refill.
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Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me....
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
She was a murderer. She was the kind of mother fucker that offed people to get ahead, and made damn good scratch for it too. Course, Toran didn't know a lot of the smaller details. He was privy to knowing she played unfairly with Critters, but he didn't know she did hits on Kine now and again. Less often, but still. She did them. They knew each other, but not in an intimate we're best mates sort of way. They got along, as best as Mac got along with anyone really... Still, there were some things you didnt just tell people.

"Still a Vodka girl myself." She'd say with a grin, sliding her hand over to the double the bar tended loaded for her and shooting it back. It slid down with the beautiful soft warmth that Vodka had, smooth and delicious. She's signal for another as the shot glass tapped down, glancing at her watch to check the time.

"So, what the fuck are you busying yourself with now?"
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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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Toran
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The Formerly Hated
* * * * * *
The big man sipped his drink as he studied Mac through his bright blue eyes. He was a clever man, for all his size and looks. He watched her but she was a pretty buttoned down girl. Given the first time he met her she had hacked a vampires head off with a machete and bottled it's blood, he knew her screws were rattling pretty freely. But, she was a great brawler and had her own... weird, sense of honor.

His deep voice rolls out, a bit husky from the whisky. "Ah well, usual. Making custom rigs for people. Here, I get a lot of call to turn zip guns into something more permanent. Or assemble actually weapons from spare parts. Gun laws fill the bank. Little banger just tried to stick me up after I made a taser glove for him of all things. Biker glove with a brass knuckle and stun gun combo built in. Ridiculous thing but he figured it would give him "street cred" or something. Asshat tried to threaten me with a 9" knife instead of paying. Only took one punch to the stomach before he decided to do the right thing."

He actually sounded a little disappointed. It had been a while since he'd been in a real brawl. The need to keep low in a foreign country and all. The MMA dojo he went too just wasn't the same. Besides, they were so... tiny. His beard splits into a wide grin.

"Course, the... cryptozoologically inclined don't know me around here. So I haven't had much call for specialty items like in the past. How's the harness working out?"
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Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me....
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
"You have a good punch on you, it's very convincing for some folk." She'd grin, waiting for the refill of her double before just reaching and taking the bottle when the bar tender turned his back. She'd then move back towards her booth, where she had been sitting in the still shadows all by her lonesome before Toran walked through the door.

"Actually, I could use another. I've hit a lot of... snags and shit along the way. It's taken some serious beatings, and I've given it a few patch jobs...There are some things that are harder to remove from leather than others, so a second would go a long way. Maybe two more, and this poor bitch can be retired." She'd slap herself on the thigh of her ripped jeans, to let him know she was currently wearing his beautiful creation beneath her clothes. When -wasn't- she wearing it? Almost never. She'd deigned to put it down at the strip club to don the school girl's outfit, but that was the first time in a long time she'd been without it.

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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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Toran
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The Formerly Hated
* * * * * *
The big man motioned for the tapster to fill his glass almost to the brim and picked up his whiskey, walking over to Mac's booth so he could join her. He let his gaze travel up and down her and grunted, his voice a butter smooth earthquake as he dropped into the seat.

"Looks like you've put on some muscle too. I can replace it. Have to get some quality materials for the belts though. If I'd thought of it I'd have designed them with fast remove snaps, so when something got a hold of you they'd break open instead of acting like a grab point.

How're your blades doing? I came across a new silver plating process that works great on the outside of blades. The edge is still steel but the silver cuts into the wound as well. Course, only some kind of weirdo would need that sort of thing."


He grins, his running firm disbelief in the mystical world a joke between them. Coming off that vitae had been hell for him. He hadn't meant to drink what splattered on his face. Hadn't know what the hell was causing his strength boost. Or what the fucking cravings were. Mac probably kept him from going insane at that point. He still wasn't sure why she'd given a fuck.

The ex-con engineer and weapon smith shrugged his big shoulders and took a gulp of whiskey. He was starting to feel a bit of a buzz, a faint blurring in his vision and a bit of a tingle to his fingers and toes. This, would be the perfect time to get into a bar brawl. Sadly, pickings seemed pretty bloody slim tonight.
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Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me....
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
"Silver is less effective these days, ain't done any furry jobs in quite a while...still, it's like a Condom I suppose, having it's better than not. Funny you mention the quick release, cuz I had a hell of a fucking time recently and could have used that idea."

She grinned, leading him over to the booth and sliding into the back with the bottle she had stolen from the bar and waiting for the bar tender to notice. There may be a brawl, cuz she liked to start shit when Toran was around. Why? Because it was fun. Hand to hand they worked rather good, and even if it didnt escalate because of a stolen bottle of vodka. She'd find some other way to get the night kicking before to long. She raised it to her mouth, tipping it up to empty a considerable portion of its contents. She packed it away like a champ, compared to her poor companion running on a mortal metabolism. Poor fucker... then again, cheaper wasn't it?

"So, any reason you've bulked up some yourself?" Oh yeah, tell her about -Prison- boy. She could smell it on him, the difference.
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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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Toran
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The Formerly Hated
* * * * * *
The big man grinned and shook his head ruefully at Mac. He leaned back in the booth and stretched his arms across the back, glass of whiskey resting in one big hand. His voice was a rolling thunder as he exhaled.

"Yeah, well, there's always someone in prison who wants you to be his bitch. Second day in some prison butch decided to try and get some love. Skin head had a lot of friends. Spent my years in and out of solitary. Nothing to do in the hole but isometrics and my katas. Used my exercise time to push the weights hard. Every time I got let out I'd get jumped by some nazi wannabe seeking revenge. One little shit gave me this."

He raised his shirt to show his stomach, the 8-pack lightly coated in short black hair. From his belly button across and up to his ribs was a scar, about an inch thick pale against his tan skin.

"Fucking sharpened toothbrush of all things. After the first year of putting these morons in the hospital they finally took the hint and started leaving me alone. By then, it was become dangerous or have them go after me again. Got into the habits."

He stops in thought and takes a long pull of the glass, almost emptying it.

"When I got out the FBI and NSA had me consult for a little while, but I was under house arrest. Still nothing to do but work out and spar. Part of my agreement was that I couldn't work with electronics. So, once they put me in Witness Protection I slipped the leash and came here."

The big guy looked down each of his arms as if considering whether he might need to lighten up and he chuckled softly.

"Besides, we both know there is shit in the world a lot worse than gang bangers and trigger happy cops right? I'm fast, high endurance, well trained. I might not deal with shit the way you do, but I don't want to be some freak shows meal."

Without really considering it he brings a hand up to rub the scar on his collarbone. After 8 years it was hard to spot if you didn't know to look for it.
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Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me....
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
"Sorry you got pinned. I'd go nuts in the slammer, Jesus Christ I wouldn't survive it that's for sure. I'd hit withdrawal like a mother fucker and start killing folks."

The bottle made a hard ring as it hit down, the contents sloshing about inside and trying to escape. She had predicted this though, and held a thumb over the top to foil their attempts to become wasted goods.

"You got witness protection'd? Fuck man, what crappy name did they try and stick ya with? What was your back story?"

She'd laugh at her own invented back story for him, imagining him as a John smith or Harry Weston or something mundane and boring. Fuck no, his name was awesome, it sounded as badass as he looked. Jail time even made him that much prettier, damn fine genetics that boy had. Her too, fucking surprising considering what her roots where. Trash heaped with more trash.
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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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Toran
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The Formerly Hated
* * * * * *
"Roger Abbadelli, an italian automechanic from Boise Idaho."

He snorts and finished his drink, thumping the glass down on the table hard enough to make it bounce, a glint of amusement in his frost blue eyes.

"BOISE"

He shook his head and reached up to scratch his short beard, contemplating as he always did, to shave and deciding, as he always did, that shaving was annoying.

"Yeah.. I wouldn't care to detox off that stuff again. Once was hard enough."

A shiver ran across his big frame and his eyes half closed, his face contemplative. His deep voice rumbled thoughtfully.

"Got to admit. Felt good. Not sure I could deal with the cost though."

He picked up the glass again and rocked it back and forth between his fingers. He'd drank a bit faster than usual. Old habit from his time with Mac. He'd had... 2 fingers in the first 2 glasses, and a full 8 oz in the last. Even for a guy his size he was feeling a solid buzz. If he had more he might slow down if trouble happened. Around Mac, trouble usually happened.

He leaned his head back on the booth wall and grinned.

"Personally, I think they just wanted me out of the Max Pen because I was creeping the guards out. I put 39 inmates in the hospital wing, a couple crippled, one who'd never use his manhood again, more than a handful who'd walk with a limp or not be able to use their hands. But I never touched a guard. The one prison riot, they found me doing handstand pull-ups and got freaked when I waved."

Toran was fairly sure, at some point, his sense of humor was going to get him shot.
Edited by Toran, Friday, 18. October 2013, 01:55.
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Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me....
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
"39? And they didn't confine you to solitary for the entire stay? Christ, you're turning into more and more of a trouble maker as the years go by. I thought it was me that was the shit storm magnet, but that seems to have passed into you..."

She'd laugh, even her laugh a somewhat grungy and raggedy sound. Wasn't much girly about Mac, yet she still had a certain dominant beauty about her, sleek muscles and towering figure, great tits, feminine face of her mom on top of the genetic freak show of her pa. She reached over when his glass ran dry and poured in a healthy dose of Vodka, not Torans favorite ... But couldn't have an empty glass now could they?

"So, Roger flew the coop and here you are. You been avoiding my line of crazy these days? London's crawling with it."

A brow would raise, before her eyes would do a customary bar sweep just to regain a mental image of where all the players on the map were.
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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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Toran
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The Formerly Hated
* * * * * *
The big man let out a grunt which sounded a great deal like a small cannon going off. Without thinking about it he took a hefty swig of the vodka. His nose wrinkled but otherwise he didn't seem to notice the effects.

"Yeah, well, I dunno anymore." His deep voice softens even further, like a great wind blowing through an empty cave. "The world, I can pretend it's just white hats and black hats, but shit keeps getting more complicated. Now I'm living abroad because most of the crews back home want me dead on both sides of the fence. I've gone completely off the grid, cash only life style. But you know me. I don't do the crimes.. I just facilitate. Sure, the occasional brawl, but that's just blowing off steam."

His frosty blue eyes seem to stare into the distance.

"but those three years. Like an unending cage match. I put people down. Sure, I didn't kill anyone. But none of them are right anymore. I broke them. Why? Because I didn't feel like being a bitch. Then because they were too fucking stupid to get it through their heads that they couldn't beat me."

His thick, scarred hand flexes and his glass cracks. He doesn't seem to notice as he drains the last of the vodka. His voice a bit harsher, the alcohol giving him a growl that makes him sound like some monstrous bear.

"Can't say that a world of freaks, fangs and fur is that much different, now is it?"

His eyes focus slightly, the piercing study of someone who is thoroughly intoxicated, but still capable of doing dangerous things through practice and sheer willpower.

"And you, not a day older on the outside. Stronger, faster. Doesn't seem like such a bad trade off to face the things that go bump in the night."
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
She could respect that, respect not giving into being someone else's bitch. Fuck that shit, she wouldn't fall back into that role either. She'd have done the same thing, or died trying... Stubborn to holy hell sometimes.

"sugar, ain't no one right after they've been broke. physically or mentally, you're different forever."

She watched him get drinker and drinker, a grin of mischief crossing her face. Yeah, she could get drunk but not like Toran. Her body ate that shit up so fast, she was just buzzing perfectly while he was about to start slurring. Hahahaha, fuck yeah. Wait, did he just... Oh yeah? Boys starting to see the fucking light!

"Forever 18. Course, my 18 looks like most peoples mid twenties. God, if I ever detox and let the years catch up? I'll probably look like an old hag. No thanks, id rather die."

As she would. Die young and leave a beautiful corpse damnit, she was way to conceited to get old. She'd probably off herself, ain't no way she wanted to live like that.
Edited by Mac, Monday, 21. October 2013, 18:17.
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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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Toran
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The Formerly Hated
* * * * * *
He closes his eyes. Going over what he remembers of the detox, his brief battle with the blood addiction. It hadn't been fun... but the alcohol made the memories seem a lot less agonizing. Either way, a lot less agonizing than a 10" long slash across the guts. If his muscles hadn't been so developed it could have ruptured his organs. He leaned forward and dropped his elbows onto the table. His black hair sliding down to frame his face, jaw length, mingling with his short trimmed beard. The table bangs from his elbows and the glass explodes in his grip. His eyes shoot open and he spreads his fingers to look at the glass embedded in his palm.

"Well, fuck."

He looked around for a cloth or something. Then grimaced as he noticed the sliver stuck into the callous halfway across his hand. His thick fingers scrape at the glass, trying to pry the shard out of his palm. The alcohol robbed his normally nimble fingers of their grace however and his blue eyes narrowed in rage.

"Gods be damned stupid piece of glass." His voice was a deep rumbling snarl as he looked at the blood dripping palm as though it personally betrayed him. Carefully extending his other hand he wraps his fingers around the wrist of his cut member and squeezes with a flex of his thick forearm, clamping down on the blood flow.

"You don't suppose you can help a guy out?"

He looked up to regard Mac with a grin.
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Toran's Voice

Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me....
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
"You want me to pull that out, or you want me to find an innocent little grinner and feed you their juice so you can do it yourself?"

She'd grin herself, looking at the crushed glass in his hand with a sort of pleasure. Poor fucker. She'd reach for his hand though, and without any sign of being anything but helpful she'd take it in one of hers... Then however, she'd flip it upside down and smash it down on the table and press it there, pushing the glass into his palm further. She was stronger than him by far, thanks to her ghoulish abilities.

"You won't be able to detox if you do it again. You barely got through the first time Toran... And London? It's full of the drug we love best. You won't be able to stay out of the line of fire if you hang out with me... I'm a magnet. You gotta leave this city if you wanna stay clean, sure as fuck Toran... A sexy beast like you is going to fall onto someone's radar. All of us do."

Even her, and that's what she was trying to say. Toran knew we in some of her earliest years of independence, and while she was still sticking to it... There were certain Fangers on her mind these days. Life wasn't as simple, and she didn't want Toran to get snatched up by the wrong crowd if he was serious about ghouling again.
Edited by Mac, Monday, 21. October 2013, 18:47.
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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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