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 (1,499 Views)
Toran
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The Formerly Hated
* * * * * *
"DAMNIT"

The big man roared in pain and leaped to his feet, his voice like a thundercloud. Pain exploded through his system and adrenalin raced up and down his massive body, fueling the instincts he learned in prison. One foot mule kicked back, snapping the back off the booth and sending it skittering across the floor. His free hand shot towards Mac's head, aiming past her ear, ready to grip the braids and drive her face down into the table.

"DAMNIT MAC!"

He wasn't even really conscious of the warning she had given him. Pain had exploded into his mind and was crackling up and down his arm like fire. He couldn't even clench his wounded hand into a fist, when his fingers curled reflexively it had felt like knives across his tendons and even drunk, he was sure that was a "bad thing."
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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
* * * * *
Oh, what? He expected her not to expect him to get all riled up? Damn straight she was expecting it. She wondered when he'd actually hear that warning, probably not till after they finished this bar fight. Oh yeah, night just got so much more interesting didn't it?

Although his hand would fix into her dreads like an angry bull, she wouldn't snap forward like a twig. She was built to thick and steady for that, and instead she'd use the locked arm that was pushing his hand flat to keep herself up. All her weight he was trying to throw forward? Resisting on his hand. She'd spread the pressure around the glass though, pushing with great force on her fingertips instead of palm. She didn't want to put the glass straight through, because that would mean he would be able to use the hand for a loonnnng time. If he didn't want to ghoul, he would heal slow.

Her other hand though? Shot for his throat, trying to get up under the chin there and apply pressure. Lower was better to choke, but she didn't want to choke him proper. She wanted him to calm down, slight oxygen depravation might help.


"Give it up Toran. You may have gotten bigger but so have I, and I'm your friend giving you friendly first aid here. On your soul buddy."
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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
* * * * * *
His face turned slightly off color as Mac gripped his throat, his blue eyes gleaming under dark brows. The choke brought him slightly back to reality as the agony in his palm pulsed through him. She had a point, he knew he couldn't out muscle her, not with the suck head blood in her system. He'd remembered what it had done to his own body. A faint smile crinkled the corners of his lips. He saw red from the pain in his hand, but he also recognized she was holding back or it'd have crushed his hand straight through already.

So he decided to use her downward pressure to his advantage. His big, steel toed combat booted foot snapped up and then down into the central column holding the table up. Snapping the wooden dowel near the base he used his thick arm and her downward pressure and his own extended knee to drive the table and their own weight down, at an angle, towards her ankles.

At the same time he extended his bleeding hand down along the falling table and rolled towards it. Trying to use his rolling motion to break out of her grip. He knew it would leave him flat on his back in the middle of a mess of broken wood but he didn't care. He just wanted to see the look on Mac's face when the table slammed her feet. Because he remembered something... about how she hated hard shoes for the noise they made.

His face lit up with a drunken demented glee and he actually let out a deep chuckle. Even as the bartender started heading towards them, a baseball bat in his sweaty grip.
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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
* * * * *
She'd let him take his hand when he kicked out the table leg, the pressure of her pressing him in causing it to topple in her direction. It skimmed down her shins with skin peeling force, slamming into her arches with a bruising crunch. She snarled, but it would only make her grip around his throat reflexively tighten, but he slipped from her grasp when he threw himself backwards. She saw red a moment, ripping her feet up with the table propped up on her toes and sending it flying out of the booth area and into the bar.

People were yelling at them, and it registered in her mind briefly her stolen bottle of vodka must has shattered when the table went down. Awe, alcohol abuse Toran! That poor innocent bottle! She'd leap onto him, one knee aiming to take advantage of him being on his back by trying to capture his throat, the other aiming for his groin to keep him down. She'd shoot a hand for his injured hand again, this time to grasp it while the other tried to pull the glass out if he hadn't turned into a flailing son of a bitch by this point.

"You're a fucking big baby."
Edited by Mac, Monday, 21. October 2013, 19:45.
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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 landed on his back with an oomph! The combination of dizziness, alcohol and impact stunning him for more than long enough for Mac landing on him. Toran released a sort of grunting HONK noise as her weight came down on his throat... and his balls.

He felt her pulling the glass out. He didn't even notice the flipped table flatten the bartender. He stared up at the ceiling for a while and started to chuckle, a deep, throbbing rumble.

"Can't. All. Be. Superwoman." He gurgles out from beneath her leg. "Sorry. Prison. Instinct."

He managed to croak. But the combinations of shocks had calmed him down enough to just lay on his back and laugh as best he could with a heavy woman resting on his throat. He managed to keep his knees from curling up but he did thump his heels slightly into the floor to release the pain in his groin.
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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
* * * * *
"Wonder woman. Diana was way cooler than that whiny twat Supergirl."

She'd get off him, or rather, she'd be pulled off him as the two bouncers finally managed to interview on the scene. She'd let them pull her off towards the door, waiting for the fresh and cold air of outside to slap against her warm skin. She was laughing at Toran laughing, and the fact that as a lady the bouncers wouldn't rough her up the way they may him while they tossed them out. Course, they may feel pity for the poor man too.

Holy shit her feet hurt though, each extension as she was tripped off to the door causing a burn of pain. Was she limping? Got damn, she pushed hard into each step when she realized that, hurting herself even more but resisting the attempt to bitch out and limp. Absolutely not.

Then she was out the door, and she'd grab onto the side of the brick building and dog her fingers in to wait for them to eject 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
* * * * * *
Toran didn't have time to climb to his feet. The bouncers grabbed him under his thick shoulders and heaved. Then the bartender came to help as the 260 lbs man refused to help. He just laughed.

The bouncers tried to bend his arms behind his back to get better control over him, and failed as he flexed his thick arms and pulled them into a weird sort of embrace. The awkward quartet was forced to turn in circles to make progress towards the door and the 6'4 Toran started singing Waltzing Matilda in a deep voice, bellowing the song out louder when one of the bouncers managed to punch him in the kidney. His voice like night dark smoke, husky from the fight and the drink.

The four of them stumbled into the street and they managed to dodge away fast enough to drop Toran onto his ass. The big man muttered as his cargo pants clad ass came down on something wet, he rather hoped it was a puddle and not some drunk's vomit. He turned his blue eyes up to regard Mac.

"Bit, you're batman." He muttered as he climbed to his feet.
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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
* * * * *
She was the one with the limpety feet and he was laying on his ass in the street? Oh Toran. She looked down at him, grinning as he referred to her as Batman. Well, she could wish. If she had Batmans money she wouldn't be in this hell hole thats for sure, if she had endless resources...she also wouldn't be a champion of the people.

"Let's face it, I'm a crazy son of a bitch like Deadpool." She'd offer him a hand up, but... Meh, she didn't want it to be turned around on hr and result with her faceplanting into whatever he landed in. She heard the strange squishing splash.

"I mean that shit from earlier. You wont make it out twice Bro. You better fucking think about what you want.... Also, you're DRUNK as a skunk!"

Hazel eyes of dead seriousness weighed him, this shadow figure from her past she half regarded with trust and kinship. Mother fucker was going to get in serious trouble here, if he wasn't careful. If he wanted into a ghouls life? He'd have it, easily. Staying out of it? That was harder... Especially when you were as big and as attention scoring as 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
* * * * * *
Toran climbs to his feet with a grunt and grins at Mac a bruise already forming around his thick neck beneath his tan.

"Yeah, Deadpool sounds about right."

He grimaces and looks at the cut in his hand then tears a strip off the bottom of his shirt and wraps it around his palm.

"I hear you. I'll keep it in mind." He sways slightly before settling on his feet calmly. The adrenalin evened him out a bit. The brief scuffle having sobered him a tiny bit. "Naw, I'm not that THAT drunk. I've been way worse. Hell, once some friends got me to punch out a horse, like that scene in Conan. I felt bad, so we used a cow instead."

He bounced a little on his feet, making sure his limbs were all working the way they should. "Mac, I'll be 37 soon. I've got one, two years tops before I start losing my edge. After getting shanked, hell, it's a matter of time before some gang banger managed to stick me to take over my shop. What would YOU do?"
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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
* * * * *
"They got you to punch a cow? Mother fucker that's awesome... And yeah, I would have gone addicted a long time ago if I were you. Respect you could get clean once man, but... I'd never give this up after I knew it."

She'd laugh, that bark like sound echoing out as she moved to trump down the sidewalk to find a new place to haunt. She sure as shit wasn't taking him home, he hadn't earned that level of trust just yet. It seemed a little weird that he was in the UK at all, but... It was Toran, even jail couldn't make him turn on her right? She couldn't be sure. She was never quite sure about folk, Marco had smashed her trust to very very tiny pieces.

"You ruined my Vodka. Shall we sing a funeral dirge to it's fallen memory?"
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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 spreads his arms and makes a mock bow, his deep voice chuckling thunder.

"Punch a cow? Bitch, I knocked that cow OUT." He straightens and grins, a devil glint in his eye. "One moment. As I cost you vodka your, I shall make recompensation."

Toran rolls his shoulders and marches back into the bar. A heavy thud echoes. Followed by a crash. The slam of at least one body hitting a wall VERY hard. Followed by the sound of footsteps and yelling.

Walking back out of the bar, his muscle shirt town down one side he grins, a slight trickle of blood coming from his nose. He holds up a pair of bottles, one vodka, the other whiskey.

"We should go. I imagine some Bobbies will be here soon." He says the British colloquialism like it was the most amusing word he'd heard all day and tossed the bottle of vodka too her. Starting to walk down the street.

"My place is couple blocks this way. You might like it. Bricked up most of the windows and entrances. Been reinforcing the beams with iron bracers. Old stone work. Took a while to get the back set up, and the upstairs is pretty spartan, but it's a place to sleep in. And word of mouth is getting around that I do business. Mother fucking tazer glove."

He pops the top off the whiskey and takes a sip, moving relatively solid on his feet. His voice a deep rumbling murmur. "Don't want to fade to dust Mac. Got nobody left. Family is all gone. Reputation is gone. All I got is my bones. Don't care to think about them getting soft and brittle."
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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
* * * * *
She accepted the peace offering of a new bottle of Vodka, by snatching it up and starting to high tail it as fast as her rather bruised feet could take her as they sprinted for his apartment. Why was he drinking so close to home? That's a no no. You never haunt places to close to where you live, it gives away your location. She made sure she only drank a good distance from her own apartment, which was no where near their current location.

They slowed down after a few blocks, and she listened to him Lament upon the slow aging process of mortals. Her face was pretty sympathetic, nose wrinkled back with a look of distaste at the idea of getting old.

"Well, Londons crawling with grinners. Unfortunately, it's a bit harder to get an easy meal here... Recently the best territory to hunt was flattened by... an earth quake. Not as many easy pickings left, sustaining independence here is a bitch. I'm down to my last jar of the last grinner I got."

Then again, on top of some Sabbat fledgling she'd picked off... she still had Church in her system. That she wouldn't tell Toran though, excellent way to ruin her fucking reputation to shit. She wouldn't be collared.

"Tazer glove? Really? ... Sounds kind of... bulky..."
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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
* * * * * *
It turns out that the big guy's idea of "not far from here" was 6 blocks or so. He regard Mac from the corner of his frosty blue eye and took a sip of the whiskey from the bottle. Not seeking to increase his drinking, but to keep the buzz going.

"So, you have to kill them and drain their blood? That's how you get the suck-head longevility?"

He was aware he was fumble tonguing some of his words. But he was pretty sure he was getting his thoughts across.

"Yeah, awkward as hell. Inner lining is made out of rubber. Then I basically took apart 3 stun guns and sewed them into a fireman's gauntlet. Slimmed down a brass knuckle plate to wire the stunners into and put in a thumb trigger. It'll drop you, but you've got no dexterity, no finesse, and it weights about 6 lbs. Not to mention if you tear the inner lining you might stun yourself. But, the customer is always right."

He mutters the last with obvious sarcasm. He wasn't going to tell Mac how much he got from the guy for it. He didn't want her getting any ideas about borrowing cash. He probably could have made the thing more elegant if he had wanted to spend the time and energy to do it. Modify a wet suit glove or something with metal prongs on the fingertips, but the punk didn't really deserve high tech shit. Strung out junkie.
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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
* * * * *
"Nah. You don't have to kill them. You can just knock them out and take their blood if you don't feel like getting a guilty conscience. Problem with that though is the bond. I told you about that before... anyways... If you let em live, you get all fucked up in the head and loyal and shit. Artificial love that'll drive you insane trying to please them. Its easier if you don't have to worry about that love and pleasing shit, cuz they ain't around to pull your strings."

She didn't get a guilty Conscience though, not for killing vampires. All the ones that met their end by her hands were the kind that fucking deserved it, and they could have gone out in a lot more horrible ways and still deserved it. Her footsteps padded quietly along side him, sounding like a ghost compared to his heavy gait. Ass length dreads swung free, free hand digging into her pocket for warmth as the other raised the bottle to her mouth to drink.

Vodka. Blessed vodka, taking the edge of life down enough to keep her functional. She wanted to press against the bruises on her collar bone, send a deep and sharp burn through her system to satisfy an underlying need for a shot of pain... Instead, she just flexed her feet more as she walked, and that sting from the table crushing them helped take the fix off.
Edited by Mac, Tuesday, 22. October 2013, 21:48.
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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
* * * * * *
His deep voice let out a rumbling grunt, regarding Mac as he sipped again on his whiskey, wobbling ever so slightly. The 6'4 man scrubbed a hand through his jaw length black hair, then scratched his trimmed beard.

"So, you drink the blood, get long life as long as you drink it, super strength, fall IN LOVE with them... what do THEY get? Because nothing in life is flee..."

He pauses, fairly certain he said part of that wrong, but unable to track down exactly where the sentence may have gotten away from him. He stuck his free hand into his pocket to make sure he hadn't lost his collapsible baton in the brief bar scuffle.

"How do you even find them, to kill them? I mean, the one I saw looked like a normal enough girl until she freaked out and tried to eat my face."


He grimaced at the memory and rubbed the scar on his collar bone again, more visible with the torn shoulder of his wife beater. His thick muscles rippled unconsciously as he flexed and released his body, trying to stay loose, even though the one who attacked him was 8 years dead.
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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
* * * * *
Her eyes would sweep the streets as they went, making sure the coast for such a discussion was clear. She didnt want to be overheard by kine, or by supernatural ears. Just talking about it made her feel like there were Sabbat at her back again, making her uneasy in the friendly atmosphere they had between them.

"They get you. They get your fucking soul Toran. Marco once asked me to carve a tooth pick out of my own rib. I did it. I was even PROUD that I could do that for him... Another time he wanted my eyes. I pulled them from my face, screaming... and gave him my eyes... and I loved him for it. I loved him for making me crawl across the floor with them in my hands, to find his body and try and find his hands to give them to him. He didn't make it easy. I would have been his bitch forever... If Marco hadn't fucked things up with his Bishop. Thats what kind of fucked up shit you do for them..."

She spoke dead pan, purposefully and horribly plain about it. She had to, because she was emotionally invested in those memories and she didn't want to let the horror back in. She had to keep the emotion out of her voice, and out of her body. Goosebumps would flush down the back of her neck and arms, and she'd bite into the inside of her lip as she so often did to push it all away. Little bits of pain to help her not get lost in her head.

"You learn how grinners work. I doubt I'd have known that one if she hadn't been on you, she was... fresh. I think you were her first pickings actually. Normally you look for breathing, blinking, standing to still....small things. It gets instinctual after a while, but at first it's a fucking nightmare."
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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 tall man grunted in thought and flinched. He looked a little green at Mac's description of what she did for... Marco. Then his face darkened and his eyes took on an even frostier glint.

"Someone does that shit to you again and I will burn every fucking thing that they love down to ash and piss in the ruins of their world."

His voice is... dark. Like a black rolling thunder grinding through the night. It was a part of himself he hadn't had before jail. Before 3 years of skinheads, gang bangers and yard dogs trying to grind him under. Before hospitalizing 39 inmates stupid enough to try and take him down. Before 300 hundred stitches and 20 minutes holding his stomach in one piece after a twitchy little bastard tried to carve him with a sharpened toothbrush.

He keeps walking, silent for a while. His blood thundering in his skull as he takes a deeper slug of the whiskey than might have been good for him.
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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 doubt I would leave enough behind to burn baby. Ain't like I don't know better the second time 'round. Or third, or trillionth. I don't let no one into me like that no more.... I'll die before I let artificial loyalty fuck me up even more, but you should know what's on the line if you take one as your donor..."

She drank another quarter bottle, vodka like water to her these days. specially the good stuff, way lower alcohol percentage meant it was mostly for flavor. The entire bottle would buzz her, but not get her hammed. She let him stew in silence as she followed him, the bruising of her feet settling into a quiet burn now... A burn that made her think on other recent injuries she'd sustained, and how ducking smart or stupid she'd been taking those risks.
Edited by Mac, Tuesday, 22. October 2013, 23:31.
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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 takes another hefty slug of the whiskey in hopes it'll calm him down. Rage running through his veins at the thought of someone torturing and tormenting Mac like that. But... she grew back her eyes? Dafug does that... how? He grunted again, trying to get his mind organized.

"Huh. You ever wonder what it'll be like to have your body rot away from the inside Mac?"

He murmurs drunkenly, his mind skittering a bit on a new tangent as he takes a long pull. He really should cork it and save the last half bottle for home. If he didn't he was liable to fall over pretty soon. At 260 lbs he was a big man with a long of tolerance, but he'd been pushing it tonight.

He looks up muzzily at the explosion and red rising in the horizon and points.

"The hell is over there? ... was that a plane?"
Edited by Toran, Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 00:28.
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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
* * * * *
What the fucking hell was that supposed to mean? She couldn't clue in to his earlier hints, her brain was simply not that astute. That comment however, drove it home and her feet stopped on the dirty side walks as she paused to look at him. His sudden change in world view on Fangers blood, on being a ghoul... He had been so fucking against it before, and now he was suddenly swaying just because he was getting a few years older? Bullshit.

"No Toran. I don't. I can drink as much as I want, I can smoke fucking tar...and I wont rot. Are you rotting?"

She remembered telling Church something, while he was dragging her broken beaten and poisoned ass into a hotel room that first night they'd met. She'd said it then, "When it comes to actually dying, people do all sorts of fucked up things to keep on living. " And this was Torans choice. Something was so fucking wrong he was going to do a fucked up thing to keep on living. Jesus christ. Mother fucker.
Edited by Mac, Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 17:08.
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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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