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The Kindred Chronicle
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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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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.

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All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy; Open, AU
Topic Started: Monday, 21. October 2013, 22:08 (5,586 Views)
Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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High school Halloween party~ Characters are in high school, and mortal, set in modern nights. Hop in as you please and have a good time!

Happy Halloween!
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This Halloween was gonna be a fuckin' blast. Why? Because for the first time in Aguirre's short seventeen years, she'd been invited to a party. A big party, thrown at some rich girl's house, something she would have crashed anyway without the help of the boy in auto shop who'd asked her to be there. Free booze, she'd heard; at least two kegs and everything a rich lawyer's liquor cabinet could offer, expensive brand names the likes of which a poor kid like herself had never seen before. Food too, maybe. Perhaps she hadn't been invited by the house's owner herself, but wasn't the guy from class a friend of a friend of the hostess? Anyway, as little as she was interested in living up the high life with a bunch of bitches in play boy bunny uniforms, she wasn't going to stand this guy up; especially considering how he'd suddenly turned into butter fingers and dropped a rotor on her foot when she said she'd go. Luckily for him, she'd been wearing steel toed boots, the very same ones that completed her costume and made the awkward situation in class easily laughable. This was probably her favorite holiday of all time, mostly for the fact that she got to dress up as whatever the hell she pleased for the entire night. She took pride in her ability to throw together a decent disguise on short notice, and even more talented still with a decent prosthetic and makeup kit, maybe a vial of spirit gum. This year, she'd planned in advance, and taken trips to every thrift store she could find.

The girl had fixed herself up in a somewhat interesting mix of things, having used the prosthetic kit in her possession to glue two small horns to her forehead, surrounded by convincingly painted gore to make them look as though they'd freshly sprouted from her skull. Her eyes were surrounded by ugly grays, purples, and blues, causing them to look bruised and tired; she'd found a really neat t-shirt that had the torso of a skeleton painted on the front and back in detail, fitted, and leading down to a pair of leggings of the same nature, leading down into the aforementioned boots. The best part about the bone suit? It glowed in the dark.

Being at this party dressed like the skeletal Antichrist probably wouldn't score her any brownie points, but who gave a shit? She could take the dirty looks, the sneers, the noses being turned up by girls who wore skirts that were barely even certifiably clothing. Honestly, they were more like belts than actual skirts. Apparently covering one's skin was just an unsightly thing to do when you could parade around leaving nothing to the imagination. If Aguirre had learned anything from high school so far, though, it was that if people like those barbie dolls were off telling their girlfriends that the 'creepy girl who broke Nina's nose' was there looking like she'd been hit in the head with a shovel, then truly, she was already winning the race. While they were focused on gossiping, Aguirre would make up for the beer they weren't drinking by guzzling it down herself. After all, if their mouths were too full of shit to be full of beer, they didn't deserve it anyway.

The house was huge, much larger than average, with a basement and a second floor bearing multiple rooms. From outside, the extent of decorating was already evident; the porch was lit with a black light bulb, covered in cobwebs, warning signs, and hanging bats. The windows were lit up with a red hue, which would insinuate that the whole first floor was done up with similarly colored lights. The front yard had been turned into a small cemetery, with cheesy names like 'Frank E. Stein' in the headstones. The windows of the second floor were dark, but that didn't necessarily mean no one was up there. She was sure the party goers were probably already drunk enough to sneak off with the first person who paid them any attention. The basement functioned as a spook house, probably not as good as it could have been with her own passion for gore and horror, but at least a good place to see if anyone felt like sharing their recreational party favors.

Most of the guests had taken to mingling on the first floor, which Aguirre discovered was extensively covered in Jack O' Lanterns, pumpkin string lights, and miles of police tape. She had to be let in through the front door, but it was another party goer who let her in rather than one of the rightful inhabitants of the home. She made her way to the kitchen, where she assumed the kegs would traditionally be stored, polishing off a full solo cup of cheap-ass beer in minutes before going back for another. A defined buzz clouded her senses after finishing the second, at which point she realized she hadn't seen the guy who invited her.. Not yet, anyway. It wouldn't effect the night in a dire way if he decided not to show up, but it would most definitely have been a plus to have someone she knew to hang out with while she attended this clusterfuck of drunken peers. Aguirre wandered out through the main rooms of the first floor, keeping her eyes peeled for the familiar face she was looking for.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Monday, 21. October 2013, 23:08.
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We are all museums of fear.
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Mr.Gar
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Rhys stood outside the party and considered it. He was trying to figure out if he actually wanted to go in or not. He'd gotten his costume from a prop shop he was working at, boss didn't know, but that didn't bother him. At 5' most people wouldn't think stealing from a Kids Costume Shop would have benefits. Either way, it worked. Besides, every time he saw a white boy dressed like Rufio it made his brain melt.

He lifted the clove to his lips and lit it with his other hand, flipping the black zippo closed and sliding it into a pocket and he drew in the spicy cigarello. 15 and smoking, winner. Then again, if your Dad smacked you as often as his did, you might smoke too. Hard to be the half-blood son of a pure German man. Sort of, sits wrong on his pride.

The small kid regards the party and thinks. He figures he'll sit outside for a while, finish his clove. See who shows up. If it was just a bunch of lame cake eaters, he was out. He took his old man's flask out of his pocket and took a sip of his scotch. Ah well, maybe someone fun would show up.
Gar's Antham

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Caston Kane
Don't Be Jealous.
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Caston Kane's Junior Class Picture


Outfit, Pre-Costume


It was night time in the suburbs on Halloween, and Caston and his buddy Moshe were on their way to a party they'd been invited to. Notes in lockers were a tacky way to give an invitation, but they were indeed invited! There was supposed to be booze, music, maybe some food, and hopefully good people. He got along with pretty much everyone at school.. okay, that's a total lie, he could be an asshole when he really wanted to be... Okay, okay, fine: he got with most people at school.

It was the first party he was going to since starting junior year, and the fourth party he was going to since he finally got his driver's license. They were taking Caston's car because Moshe still hadn't passed the test yet. He elected to take the long way to the party so he and Moshe could inhale some of their own fun before they got there. Caston navigated through the checkered grid of suburban streets with ease. He'd recently turned 17, and felt more comfortable driving now that he'd done it for almost a year.

In the backseat, his trusty backpack. It's contents: Small bottle of SoCo, a quarter ounce of weed, and a bottle of fake blood that he got at the mall. He planned on finding the nearest bathroom when they got there and smearing the red liquid all over his face; he was going as a zombie! Or a murder victim. He was leaving it open to interpretation.

He turned up the street where the invitation said to go.

"Seriously man, he's the weirdest freakin' kid," he said to Moshe as he exhaled the smoke from a rather large hit, following it up with a short cough. He lowered the volume on the car speakers so that he could be heard above the song they were listening to. Caston was talking about his brother, fourteen year old Vincent, who did not know about the party, and who was definitely not invited. Caston passed the glass pipe and lighter to his right, handing it to Moshe, who was sitting in the passenger seat. "I knocked on his door, right? And I walk in and he's playing Black Ops, and after he kills all of the zombies and clears that level, he starts shooting his teammates."

They arrived outside the address, and Caston parallel parked the car on the street - successfully, this time! - and pulled up the parking brake so they could finish hitting the piece before they went in. When Moshe handed him the bowl and lighter back, he took another hit and blew out the smoke into the interior of his car.

"So I say to him, 'hey, you're shooting your friends'!" Caston continued the story while fighting off a laugh at the thought of how stupid his little brother could be. He passed the pipe back to Moshe. "And he says to me, 'I. Know," he said, badly imitating the cold, monotone voice his brother was known for. "And I'm like dude, what the fuck!" He laughed and shook his head, he was definitely a little baked already. "He's so friggin' weird. I swear I'm adopted."

When Moshe passed the bowl back to him, he spotted headlights coming up the street from behind them in his side view mirror.

"Oh shit! Cop, dude! Get down, get down," he said, 'mom-belting' Moshe across his chest and sliding as far down into the driver's seat as he could, to try not to be noticed. A moment passed by and so did the other car. Caston sat back up, leaning forward with his hands gripping the steering wheel as his eyes squinted to get a look at the vehicle that had passed them. "Oh.... Not a cop."

He looked over at Moshe, his heart slowing down from the quickened pace it maintained a second ago, when he thought he might have just been nailed for possession... and he giggled. "Sorry man, I'm so high right now, ha!"

He turned off the car, silencing the speakers and the awesome tuneage of New Found Glory. He put his bowl in the pocket of his hoodie.

"Alright, Moshe. Ready?" he asked him, switching on his interior light and leaning forward to see how bloodshot his eyes were in the rear view mirror. He was looking forward to the party, but he hoped that it was a good group of people and not everyone and their cousin from Green Creek High... Especially Paul Kuhn. 'I hate that guy'. Caston thought to himself.
--------------------------------------
Caston's Battle Music
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Victoria Scott
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
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Tory blocked the phone and started hurling a good bunch of all the swearwords she had learned in her 16 years of existence that she recited with the devotion of a nun being sodomized by a priest. The phone vibrated again.
Whatsapp
 

JA: "C'mon don't be like that, just try to have a good time girl it's gonna be an awesome party."
TS: "Go fuck yourself, you traitor bastard."
JA: "It wasn't my fault! :(
TS: "What?
I can't heard you amidst all this awesomeness in front of me.
Actually I'm starting to get that weird happy feeling in my stomach.
I think I'm trembling with delight.
Aw, forget it. It was heaves.
JA: -___-
TS: .l.
JA: Whatever, back to work.
C'ya tomorrow Ry.
TS: Fuck you.


It was the backstabbing of all backstabbings, that Jack had left her ass hanging in front of that possy asses party when it was actually his own idea to go there. She lighted a gasper and tried to figure out how the hell Jackie meant her to have a good time surrounded by that idiots. A fucking Judas he was.

She didn't even brought a costume to the party, not like she gave a shit about teen etiquette. Anyway, the first moment she'd step into the house everyone would tell her how awesome her Lisbeth Salander's costume was, because it seemed like the hacker turned out to be the only goth-punk girl possible, and the real trailblazer of all the goth-punk girls from 2009 and on.

She stared at the house like a pig looking at one of that slaughterhouses disembowelment doomsday machines and lighted another coffin nail even before the one she was smoking consumed entirely. "What a pitty tobacco doesn't kill THAT quickly."
Edited by Victoria Scott, Tuesday, 22. October 2013, 01:25.
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Mr.Gar
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Rhys regarded the goth standing in front of him and exhaled his fragrant clove smoke.

"Scotch?"

He murmured in a light baritone. The small 5' native kid in his Rufio costume didn't really look all that eager to go into the party. The cherry of his clove glowed red and reflected in his green eyes as he took another drag.

He regarded Caston's car pull in and managed to hold in a sigh as the kids twitched inside as though they were being watched.

"Huh, thought people'd wait until they got to the party to get all fucked up."
Gar's Antham

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Victoria Scott
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She took the bottle and drank the longest of gulps until her throat started aching.

"Thanks Rufio." she said apathically. "Very thoughtful."

She swore she tried to look the friendliest she could. Well, not like she tied very much, but at least the guy seemed to be a little different from all the scum on her High School. She studied him for a minute, noticing the guy was even tinier than her. Not only because she was wearing the biggest soles she could find on her wardrove. She was pretty convinced he would still be smaller even without them. "You better leave Never-never land if you want to keep growing buddy." she thought. Good thing she was not drunk to the point of being too sincere yet.

"Huh, thought people'd wait until they got to the party to get all fucked up."

She smirked at him.

"Trust me Lost Boy, getting fucked is the one and only reason they are here tonight. Literally."
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Tzippy
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Ancilla
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Moshe was sprawled in the passenger's seat, booted feet crossed at the ankle and twitching slightly as he looked down at his phone. He tapped out a quick message to whomever he was talking to, nodding absently but not really paying attention to whatever Caston was chattering about. He'd heard this rant enough times to know it by heart. At some particularly familiar points, he even started to mouth along to the words.

He was paying just enough attention though to take up the bowl and the lighter when it was passed to him, taking his own hit and coughing gruffly. Unfortunately, his voice decided to crack at the same time, prompting a squeak that he hastily covered with another cough. His ears went bright red in embarrassment, Moshe huddling further down as he adjusted his dark leather jacket.

"Right. So, stepmom's on a business trip. Dad's got a late shift. So we're clear to go crash at my place. We might have to put up with Rich though. And no, you can't flirt with him. It's fucking creepy, okay?"

He glanced down at the phone again, humming softly as he tapped out one last quick reply.

"In any case, we're good to g-OOF! Jesus fucking Christ, Cas!!! What the fuck is your damage?!!!"

The smaller boy grunted as Caston's arm slapped into his chest before he found himself shoved down to hide from the passing headlights. After a few moments, blood shot green eyes flicked to glare up at the brunette from under a fringe of curls dyed a sky blue.

"Oh, yeah. The fucking soccer mom van. Cop car. Totally easy fucking mistake to make. Totally worth cracking my fucking chest for... Jesus fucking Christ, how fucking high are you?"

Rubbing his chest and gathering up the knocked over bowl before going on another tirade of curses as he searched the dark car for the lost lighter, the sixteen year old worried at a lip piercing absently, content to sulk for a few moments more. By the time they had pulled up to the (ridiculously nice) house though, he seemed to have gotten over it. The pot likely being mostly responsible for his relatively mellow mood.

"Crowds, ridiculous fucking music, and all my favorite people in one place. Woohoooooo."






Edited by Tzippy, Tuesday, 22. October 2013, 02:08.
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Dove
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Tramp
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"But Moooooom!"

"That's enough, Kenny. I don't want to hear another peep out of you! Do you want to spend every night for the next week in this room young man?"

Kenny Cooper shook his head slowly, eyes firmly fixed on the carpet. This was so unfair! His brother and sisters - older than his fourteen years, all of them - had been invited to the big party, the one that even now he could hear through the window of his bedroom. The same bedroom he was perilously close to being grounded in for the next week.

"No Mom."

"Good boy. I made cookies, you can help yourself to them later. I'm trusting you, Kenny. No funny business!" Mrs Cooper smiled at her youngest and... Slightly wayward son. "Dad and I won't be out long, and we both feel you're old enough to be responsible for a couple of hours. Don't let us down."

Oh, cookies. Right. Crush my spirit as well as destroy my social life, why doncha? Five forever in your eyes, Mom. Kenny sighed quietly as his mother left, chatting to her husband as they made their way out of the Cooper family home and got into the car. Driving off into the night.

Alone in an unfair world, Kenny Cooper climbed up onto the window seat and shut the curtains behind him, watching the party across the yard as it got up to speed. Somewhere in there his sisters and brother were having a great time.

Forever alone

We don't have to wait till the morning, the Sun will never go down. And we will be this way forever.
Dove stuff!


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Renard
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Master Chief

The car turned over at the crossroads and took a sharp left. Perhaps a bit too sharp and perhaps a bit too fast, but that ould depend on the age of the person deciding this and whether said person was in law enforcement or not. The elderly man on the passenger seat surely thought this would be the case.

"If you allow the observation, Master James, you seem to be a bit too fond to get to this celebration 'in time'. I should add that I think that the beginning hasn't really been announced in a way that makes it feasible to assume that there would be some fixed point in time at which this festivity would commence while locking undesired late guests out. Do you know the suicide pilots of World War 2 ?" The valet interrupted himself to take another look at the map. " The next street on the right would be the obvious choice for the routed way, Master James." He watched the street fly by in a blur. "But I think any of the next five should suffice for that matter."

The boy he was adressing was too busy not to slip onto the pavement to answer immediately. He shot his valet an amused look as he maneuvered the car around a corner and brought it back into a position that somehow complied with the regulations of traffic and looked for the next waypoint.

"I'm just making sure Im not one of the last folks who make it there, Hargreaves, but I appreciate the sentiment ! I think I have heard about those guys before, although Im unsure what you're aiming at. What about them ?"

He checked the rear mirror before turning his eyes off the street and checking over his shoulder whether his passenger in the back of the car was all right so far. As far as he judged it, Leo looked somewhat OK, so he shot her a smile and a wink and returned his attention back to the street. It had been quite difficult to get her to agree to coming to the party with him, even going to the party at all. To be honest he still wasn't completely sure she wouldn't flee at the last possible moment, but that would remain to be seen later on, for now, he was happy he had managed to get her here so far and what happened in the future, well, would be taken care of then. They'd have to get there first.

"Well, Master James, without any disrespect intended, your current way of handling a vehicle makes me think it would have been a viable career choice for you. But if you keep practising, you should at least know what not to do as soon as you start to acquire a drivers license."

James replied with a shrug as he followed the streets that led towards their destination. His father would probably fail to be amused if he knew that Hargreaves was willing to let James practice driving with this car. Well, practice... james had had enough hours behind the wheel to make sure he'd pass the practical exams easily. His only problem was that adhering to those rules all the time was simply... not fun. That and it was interesting to see how much he was able to get away with, of course. because even if he'd be caught, what were the traffic wardens do ? Not allow him back in again ? He had to grin as he thought about that. If this streak continued, perhaps he'd have to let himself be caught on purpose ?

But then, they were almost there and so he stopped some distance away to keep the illusion up they had been simply 'dropped off' by Hargreaves. Getting out, he walked around the car and opened the back of the car to help Leola out of her seat and then went to the trunk to acquire the rest of his costume. He was already dressed in the stereotypical outfit customary for the british fox-hunt. Shined black boots, the white riding trousers, white gloves and most prominent, of course, the scarlet pinks so associated with the sport. The orange and white colour that covered his face in the characteristi pattern was as much of a giveaway to the twist on this costume as was the fox tail emerging from the back of the trousers. Opening the trunk, he got out the missing headgear, a fox-head with a hunting cap on top. He checked the blank white eyes and the froth modelled around the mouth. Because what did the fox-hunter fear more than a rabid fox turning the tables ?

With a chuckle, his head disappeared in the headgear, his face poking out of the wide opened maw. Grinning in anticipation, he picked up the hunting whip, keeping it in his left, like a sword ready to be drawn. As captain of the fencing team, it came naturally and he almost automatically assumed a more straight bearing. Ready to roll, that was what the kids over here used to say, right ? Anyway ! He walked back to Leo to offer her his right arm and walk the last distance to the house while Hargreaves would be off at once.

"Excited ?" he asked his companion for tonight.
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Verba docent, exempla trahunt !
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
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Well, this was going to be a trip. Red knee high boots that should have clicked heavily on the sidewalk instead moved in a near soundless tread. Even running on the football field she was damn quiet, something in her feet since she was a kid. They just knew how to hit the ground and make the least noise possible. The blue school girls skirt was way to short on her long, athletic legs, she didnt even need to bend over to give pervs a good little view, the smooth curve of her ass hung at just the right level that when the pleats of the Sailor Moon outfit moved, she'd give a peek show of the white panties beneath. Her dreads were parted and put up in long pig tails, absolutely nothing about the girl screaming Love or Justice.

A huge toy (one could hope, as it had an uncanny realistic appeal) tommy gun was held in one hand, the other puffing at a large joint as she surveyed the huge house from the lot infront. Who the fucking hell could afford a place like this? Jesus christ, someone needed a cunt punt. To much money. She took a long drag, letting smoke circles roll off her tongue in a slow exhail as her eyes swept from side to side over the parking lot.

What kind of good time could be had tonight? She'd been promised booze, there had better be booze. The god damned swimming pool, because she bet there was one back there, better be filled with Vodka.
Edited by Mac, Tuesday, 22. October 2013, 04:56.
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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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TapestryofShame
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Queen of Love (wut?)
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She was strapped into both seat belts in the back seat, the appropriate over the shoulder belt from her right into the lock on the left, as well as the middle seat belt which she had taken upon herself to wrench free and tie around her waist due to James's absolutely terrifying driving skills. She was glad she didn't have asthama because she'd probably be DYING of an attack right now, the way her heart was all clamped up in her chest and her hands were digging into the seats. She'd never driven with him before, and was damn sure she would NOT DO SO AGAIN. Part of the panic may be not just his driving, but the reason they were there. A party.

As if high school wasn't enough pressure and fear, now she had to go to places where socializing was -expected-?! When James opened the door for her, her eyes beneath the hood were as big as saucers. This however, would go unnoticed because she had selected complete black out contacts for the evening. She had to untie the first belt before she could unclick the second, stepping out in her black converse sneakers. She nudged the hood back, letting it drop behind her head to reveal her rather movie quality prosethics and make up job. She was an art kid, she kid in the art room pretty much every lunch and tired to go unnoticed on the breaks between classes. This was her shit, and this scary ass mother fucking face she was wearing was her best chance at people being scared and not getting into her personal bubble. That bubble was unessecarily large. Her rotting pale flesh glowed in the lights outside, the necrotic festering gape of a mouth and crushed nose tip dripping with the freshly applied fake blood.

She looked at James as he asked if she was excited, and responded with a hiss that showed off beautiful fake fangs and a baring of her claw like nail extensions. They looked rather dangerous to be honest. She wanted to look scary, she didn't want to be shoved in a locker... or a closet.. or anything else like that, again. Her eyes alighted on Sailormoon in the parking lot, and she would duck behind Henderson. That bitch was always mean to her, and she'd never been stuffed in the trash can by anyone else.. Although other people did tend to take her scrawny form and put it other places. No point in giving James pleading puppy dog eyes to take her home, she doubted the expression could register on the face she was wearing.

(Costume under spoiler)
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"I thought... I thought that Mexico had chased such grand musings from my heart. That I wouldn't attempt to live so bold and that I would slide away into shadows. Standing here... the silence is so loud with potential I am deafened." - Upon entering the concrete shell that would become, Muse.
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Sawyer
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Friendly Neighborhood Vampire
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The basement may have originally been intended to be a haunted house, but the football team and their assorted female hangers-on had requisitioned it to use as their own. Clouds of smoke drifted around the den as Green Creek's popular kids lounged on couches, forming a tableau around one very animated, very freckled quarterback, who was currently railing on about something in an increasingly unintelligible southern drawl.

"God, you know that's bullshit, man! It wasn't a touchback, it was a fuckin' touchdown! Where the fuck is Mac, she'd totally back me up on this!"

"Mac doesn't even care about football, she just likes beating the shit out of people!"

Sawyer waved his hand in derision, cocking his head to the side. A cowboy hat was dipped low over his forehead, cloaking his face in shadows. He was pretty sure he probably looked like a badass right now. Or at least, he was really trying to.

"Whatever, man! You're full of shit, Billy! It was such a fucked up call!"

"You're in fuckin' denial, Flint, Jesus-"

"No, he was totally over the goddamn line. Or close enough, fuck."

"Close enough?! Fuck, man, it was totally a fumble, look at the fuckin' footage."

"I'm just sayin', instant replay? It's ruining the entire sport, the officials have shit for integrity, there ain't nobody who- aw, fuck it, somebody pass me that."

He grabbed the joint out of the hand of the willowy blonde who was currently trying to snuggle her way into his lap. "Easy there, Miss Cooper."

She pouted at him, and he shot her a wink as he took a drag from the joint, blowing a smoke ring in her general direction. Coughing, Lindy drew back and sat cross legged near his feet like a puppy desperate for attention. Okay, he had to admit it was more than a little amusing to mess with her, but he really wasn't feeling in the mood for that sort of thing tonight. He took another drag, leaning back, just as another of his friends stumbled down the stairs and poked her head around the corner, raising an eyebrow.

"Hey, cowboy, someone's looking for you," she said, giggling.

"I am no mere cowboy, man," he said with a huff, adjusting his poncho. "But anyway, who's looking for me?"

"Some punk chick. Freaky one? You into that now?"

"Huh? Oh!"

The girl from his shop class! Shoot! He had invited her, hadn't he? Well, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Drop a rotor on a lady's foot, you gotta make up for that somehow, right? Plus, if he got on her good side, maybe she'd start writing his papers for him or something. Wouldn't that be great? Weird girls were like feral cats, he reflected. Maybe they'd scratch you up a bit, but feed 'em and be nice to 'em and soon enough, they were yours forever. Shit, what was her name again? Aggy-Aga-something...

He passed the joint back to Lindy Cooper, hopping up from the couch with enthusiastic speed. "Right, fuckers, I'll see y'all later."

Billy threw a pillow at his back as he hurried up the stairs, which Sawyer caught effortlessly and hurled back towards his friends. He was pretty damn satisfied to hear a muffled "Fuck!" from Billy's general direction, and chuckled to himself as he emerged into the meticulously decorated foyer.

He glanced around, waving politely at several folks before his eyes finally settled on the one he was after. Shit, she stood out like a sore thumb in this crowd, but Halloween sure as hell looked like her kind of holiday. He nearly jumped when she turned around- damn that make-up was convincing! If he hadn't known better, he'd think she'd lost half her face, zombiefied as she was, with those creepy little horns poking out of her head! God, and wouldn't that be a shame for someone as pretty as... seriously, what was her name again?

Sawyer smiled broadly, tossing half of his poncho behind his back and tipping his hat in greeting. Aguirre, he remembered finally. Aguirre! He wrapped an arm around her shoulder before she could react, bubbly as ever and feeling like a million bucks.

"Hey! Hey! Shit, figured you weren't gonna show! What's up? Nice face!"
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Caston Kane
Don't Be Jealous.
* * * * *
Caston grabbed his backpack from the backseat and got out of the car, Moshe close behind. He swung the pack over his shoulder and as he walked across the street and up the sidewalk, he caught the faintest whiff of a very pleasant and familiar scent.

"What's smells wonderful?" He asked rhetorically, though he already knew the answer. He spotted a guy that looked a year or two younger than himself in a Rufio costume. 'Hook! Classic choice,' he thought as he walked toward the front door. "Cloves? Nice." He gave him a sincere smile before looking forward again, getting himself in the mindset to try his best to not appear as baked as he was. "And, here we go," he said over his shoulder to Moshe as he knocked.

A guy he recognized from school - but didn't really know - answered the door in a Pulp Fiction costume. Caston held up the wrinkled invitation that had been shoved through the slits of his locker earlier that day at school. "Here's that," he said, handing it to him. "Costume's in the bag, and we brought booze."

'We brought booze'. The three words that got him into any party. He used the plural, 'we', to account for Moshe too because he wasn't sure if he had an invitation or not. It didn't seem to matter, as the Samuel L. Jackson wannabe raised his eyebrows in approval and stepped aside to let them in.

The house was pretty decked out, which he approved of. He blinked a few times, trying to make his eyes not appear as bloodshot as he made his way toward the kitchen and poured himself a beer from the blue solo cup he took from the kitchen counter. He turned to Moshe. "Hey man, you know that Julian Veith kid, right? From second period? If you see him.. you know.. give me a heads up or something."

He didn't know him very well, but the blonde caught his eye on more than one occasion. Of course, he always averted his eyes to something else the moment Julian had looked back in his direction so he wouldn't know he was looking, but if they were going to be social, and if he showed up, Caston would have to do a better job at hiding it. Or, you know, just not do it at all.

He sipped his beer and walked toward the main room and spotted Aguirre Maddox, looking like a bruised and battered devil woman. He gave her a nod of his head in greeting, consciously trying to hide how stoned he was.

"Sup," he said to her, taking another drink from his cup. They had Phys Ed together, and they spoke on more than one occasion, but seemed to run with different circles of friends. "Sick horns, Aguirre," he said, complimenting her costume with sincerity. "They look pretty legit."

Sawyer Flint was there, too. Shall Caston say a few words about the inhumanly good looking quarterback and king of the hearts of every female student at Green Creek? ...No. He wouldn't. Like Aguirre, he and Caston didn't socialize much, but whereas his social circle sometimes overlapped with Aguirre's, it wasn't even in the same solar system as Sawyer's. Perhaps it was Caston's own prejudice against jocks and how he was treated at his old school, but conventional thinking told him that the quarterback and the school gay guy probably mixed as poorly as oil and water. Although he couldn't recall an instance where he and Sawyer ever exchanged anything more than a hello with one another (and for all he knew, could be the nicest person on the planet), one or two of Sawyer's team mates saw fit to go out of their way to make sure that Caston knew what he 'was'.

Did he mention the inhumanly attractive part?

"Hey Sawyer, Cool.. erm... Johnnnn Wayne?" Was all his very high mind could muster. He was probably wrong. Watch it be somebody completely different. 'Cue Social Level: Awkward in 5... 4... 3... 2...'
--------------------------------------
Caston's Battle Music
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Tzippy
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Ancilla
* * * *

He had to jog a little to keep up, his shorter legs combined with the heavy combat boots struggling against Caston's enthusiasm. The closer they got to the party itself, the more he started to hunch up, eyes narrowing slightly as he surveyed the crowd. It wasn't really his sort for the most part. Sure, he might have occasionally brushed elbows with the jocks at one point or another, if by elbows, you meant fists in faces. Even though he had earned enough trouble that most didn't find him worth the hassle anymore, the instincts of a bullied nerd never quite faded.

His head ducked lower when he spotted Brad Wells and a couple of his friends around the side of the house, smoking cigarettes. The older boy was a senior like him, typical blond all American good looks. Though his nose was now slightly off center. An imperfection Moshe had been quite happy to give him the school year before.

Getting kicked off the soccer team had been worth it. The fact that the fight had also gotten Brad kicked from the football team even better. The fresh scar that now bisected Moshe's left eyebrow was enough to make him smirk at the memory of the look on Brad's face.

But it didn't mean Moshe wanted a fight every single time he had the misfortune to run across the asshole.

"Not too late to ditch this bullshit," he muttered half heartedly to his older friend, drifting along in his wake and using Caston's taller frame to stay out of sight. Caston wouldn't go and Moshe didn't really feel like leaving. Ever since the older boy and he had met up, they had been close to inseparable. A pair of queer kids from Williamsburg working class families. Though they hadn't known it until they started working together and got to talking. With all those similarities, hanging out together was practically a foregone conclusion.

Even if Caston was well liked and popular and Moshe was... Well... Not.

Waving weakly at Pulp Fiction, he drifted behind Caston into the kitchen. At the request, he grimaced, pouring himself a beer, "Dunno what you see in that guy. He's decent looking but he always looks like somebody took a shit right next to him. Plus I think he's a racist. Either way, he's a spoiled brat. Acts like he's better than everyone."

With a snort and another grimace, he took a swig of his own beer, sending a curt nod to Aguirre and a suspicious look to Sawyer when he stepped into the scene. Flint wasn't as much of an asshole as the others but he didn't quite trust him not to be a dick either. Aguirre was alright. Sometimes he'd see her on the roof, the broken lock on the access door an open secret at Green Creek High School. They'd rarely talk, preferring their own thoughts as they smoked or ditched classes or both.

Not that Moshe really spoke to anyone at school besides Caston.

"Maddox. Flint."

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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
She didn't put out her joint as she skipped up the stairs of the house, not bothering to knock or any of that polite nonsense. She just opened the door and pushed her way in, when the guy at the door who was imitating Samuel L Jackson tried to get in her way she held up the tommy gun, blew a cloud of smoke in his face... and let him choke himself as she just breezed passed.

"Got an iiinnnnnvvvviiittteee buddy." She'd call back casually, aiming immediately to go and find this booze that she'd been told about. Then she'd find her team mates, because fucking with the Jocks in a sailor moon outfit was pretty much going to be the high light of the night. She was pretty much regarded as a dude in most ways, she'd got in enough scraps...and won enough of them, to find herself on the bro couch. Most of the time this was fucking perfect for her, but tonight she wanted to remind them... She was a girl, and yeah, this girl could kick their asses. She'd kick their asses and look like a mighty fucking fine Sailor Moon if they weren't careful, and she hoped someone would get handsy. Please.

Ooohhh! Booze! And the hot chick with the great tits, dressed as... Uh, a Zombie? Sawyer was a cowboy, which made her laugh out loud because it was so fucking corny that it -worked- with his terribley dominant southern drawl. When she hit the Kitchen proper and looked around, there was Caston and his little buddy Moshe. She used to pick on the short one, but then he started being less fucking annoying and getting high. People bond over weed, so she'd stopped putting him in lockers and shit.

"Hey Fuckers."

She brushed through, and would immediately find the nearest bottle of Vodka while tossing the butt of her joint into the sink. She'd open the top and take an immediate long and deep 1/4th of the bottle, before acknowledging everyone with more social intent. Needed to deal with the pasties, and soon... the munchies. She'd go to raid the fridge, while giving Sawyer a slightly conspiratorial look from the corner of Hazel eyes. Was he about to bang Tits there?

"Anything exciting happen yet? Or do we need to create some fun?" She'd wave the vodka bottle around to offer it, the beer being way to slow a method of getting hammed.

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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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Renard
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Master Chief

"I thought as much. Well, off we go !"

With that, he led Leo towards the house and the door that they would have to pass to get inside the magical realm of booze, weird music (at least until the first few drinks had been had, then, it hardly mattered anyway) aaaand... yeah, fun in general. Provided they got past that door, but that shouldn't really be a problem. At least to him and in his mind. He wanted in there and so he would... somehow. Preferrably the straight way, though. So he just stepped nearer and nearer towards the threshold. He was well aware that Leola was most likely not really looking forward to get in there, but hell, the girl needed to relax a bit and meet a few people. That never hurt after all ! He stopped walking when he noticed Leos aversion against the Sailor Moon knock-off. While he found it amusing that she had urned up as some kind of visible opposite to the rest of their... 'guys', he wasn't necessarily prepared to tell her that to her face. Not that he was afraid she would grind him to a paste, he wouldn't see it as below her to try, but telling her something like that was simply not his idea of appropriate. Not even taking into consideration that Leo would have no problem whatsoever if they kept a distance to those folks for now. OK, granted, she would have no problem, if they kept a distance to ALL folks, but that was not the point of a party, at least not for him.

So he waited until this person who had traded most to all what qualified her as female in the first place for... something, entered the houe before walking on, passing two figures on the way. He simply nodded to Victoria and performed a short mock-salute to her companion.

"Evening Miss, evening Rhys !"

In situations like this, he liked to overact what he liked to refer to as his foppishness. So he straightened even more the nearer he was to the door and stood at the height of his bearing as he adressed what was basically some sort of doorman.

"A very well evening to you, Sir ! I would like to announce and you to take note that Mister Henderson and Miss Mancini would like to grace this... fête... with their presence. I understand of course that the investigation of our credentials is obligatory, but I trust that you are of course well trained and that this procedure should not take too long. If you'd allow me ?"

With that he produced his invitation. He wasn't even sure whether Leo had her own. if she had, all would be fine, if not, she was here on his ticket. He pulled out the invitation, not the crumpled version someone had tried to squish into his locker, but the smooth and crisp version that Hargreaves had made it back into with lots of work and some technical tricks. James admitted it was a bit much fuss about a sheet of paper with only a few lines on it, but the faces of people when he went that extra mile were worth it every time !

He waited a short time after being cleared, grinning like a cheshire cat on the inside. Either to let Leo sort out her invitation or to give the girl a short breather before the real fun was about to start. With a short nod to hr, he stepped past the doorman and entered the houe, looking around who was already there. And perhaps already see where the restrooms were, just in case someone would need them quickly. And he already had an idea who that someone would be. He chuckled silently.
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Verba docent, exempla trahunt !
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Dove
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Tramp
* * * * * *
Operation: Fuck Cookies.

It had taken a whole three minutes and fifteen seconds for Kenny Cooper to decide that no, he really wasn't old enough to be responsible on his own at all. Funny business was afoot, and five minutes after deciding that he was sneaking out of the house and into that party, a costume was coming together.

Lindy Cooper had several pairs of really horrible (in Kenny's opinion) thick white tights. No matter his feelings on her fashion sense, they were perfect for what he had in mind. Since they wore the same size in shoe, she also donated that part of his outfit. Nice white ones that after tonight would never be white again.

Ellis Cooper had recently take a part time job at some dead end place. Kenny couldn't care less for the details, but her nice cream uniform was perfect for what he had in mind - once he'd hacked off the identifying badge and half torn off one sleeve, of course.

Louis Cooper had two parties to go to this year, and his outfit for the second one had been some generic mad slasher thing - complete with large, plastic knife. Not any more. Kenny nabbed the knife to use as his own.

The Coopers were sensible, down to earth people. They kept a well stocked First Aid kit in the bathroom, and it was this that Kenny raided for the finishing touches to his costume. The rest was easy. A little cold coffee spilled over himself for stains, watering down the food colouring a little to make the vivid red go a little further, some padding in the right places (and a quick trip back to Lindy's room for the necessary support). Kenny admired his efforts in the mirror - Not bad. He looked the part, and nobody would have the slightest idea who he was.

Kenny's Costume


Giggling, Kenny left the house by the back door and made his way to party central - surprising himself at how easy he could walk in Lindy's heels.

We don't have to wait till the morning, the Sun will never go down. And we will be this way forever.
Dove stuff!


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Ashley Amber
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Belonging to Miss Catherine!
* * * *
Halloween! Only good thing about this shit were the parties, the booze, the drugs and hopefully some guys to screw with. She hadn’t been at this new high school very long yet but she was already cheerleader and she was trying to get up the social ladder of high school politics. Fucking idiots! All they wanted to see was a pretty face shaking her ass and being able to do some athletic shit and the deal was done. She hated her parents for sending her to another fucking country! All in the vein hope she would stop messing around with drugs and boys. This place had more to fuck with than back home because here the so called ‘bitch from hell’ nanny was actually as easy to play with as a newborn puppy. Ashley just needed to smile pretty and flutter her eyelashes and all was well in the land of cotton candy and rainbows. That woman just took this job for the money and the free vacation.

Whatever! The blonde was going to make the best of it while she was here. She had found the perfect zombie bride outfit only the flowers were already gone. She had no idea where she had lost them but who cared? She already had a fag filled with weed and was pouting her lips around it to take nice long drags from it. The smoke twirled out of her mouth and she even made like circles in it. All she needed now was to get drunk and dance. Ashley arrived at the house which was huge but not really anything she wasn’t used of. Her mommy and daddy dear had enough money as well so these types of homes were pretty normal to her although she had not showed it to anyone yet. She was planning on just being the new girl... nothing more, nothing less.

With a flick of her finger she shot the sticky away on the street and walked up to the house. She got stopped at the door. Oh fuck! Where was that invitation? She had no pockets, she had barely anything on her except for a small bag of weed stuffed in her bra so then the invitation might just be there as well. Her hand went in her dress and she magically pulled out her invitation. She shoved it against the man and walked passed him without turning her head to see whether he was fine with it or not. Her eyes wandered the place, from one person to another. She walked around and saw a few familiar faces from some she had seen at school but she hadn’t really spoken to anyone. They all probably just knew her name: Ashley Amber, new cheerleader, transferred from Australia, lives with a nanny... basic information and that was all they needed to know for now.

So who could she talk to and get to know the right people for a great time?
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Mr.Gar
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Freelance Enforcer
* * *
The small Native kid nodded to Caston and let his cigarella dangling from his lower lip. He figured it made him look "cool" or something, like an old gangster. He would have gone with a mob gangster costume, but it was just another of those things he'd been convinced he was too "dark" to pull off by his old man, with a stick.

He grinned slightly at Jimmy and gave him a wave as he saved his scotch flask from Tory.

"Come on, let's enjoy before I get kicked out." His voice was a bit husky but a nice baritone. He knew he looked like a young kid, it annoyed him. He was probably tougher than half the kids in the school. He doubted any of them took the beatings he did. But, fuck it. "We can take bets on which Cheerleader nails someone else's boyfriend."

He sees James walking up and grins slightly. He was proud of being the only kid on the fencing team that could almost match the Brit. Course, he fought dirty which drove him nuts. "Hey Jimmy." He figured the Americanized name would drive him nutty. Then he tucked himself in behind him and his... incredibly freaky tag-a-long to ride their wake into the party.

The dark eyed boy took a slug of the scotch and shook the flask, then looked at Tory in surprise. THAT MUCH? Jeez...
Gar's Antham

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Toran
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The Formerly Hated
* * * * * *
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Toran climbed to his feet from the basement to follow Flint upstairs. With the cowboy gone he didn't particular want half the cheer leading team crawling into his lap and begging him to sing some god awful pop song... again.

The 6'4 teen shook his black hair behind his back and scratched the stubble he had grown for his costume. Not bad... maybe he should keep the beard. Makes him look badass. Or something. The 18 year old senior chuckled, his voice a deep rumble which always weirded his teachers out. He loved that he sounded more adult than they did. He'd even been practicing those vocal exercises the chorus teacher talked about, just to train his voice to be smooth.

He stopped when he got upstairs and his blue eyes widened at the sight of Mac, as sailor moon. He looked upwards, wondering when the lightning bolt was going to slam into the ground and kill them all. Not seeing one he shrugged and walked into the kitchen. The 220 lbs offensive tackle grabbed a keg and hoisted it onto his shoulder. He was pretty sure with Mac here, they were going to need more booze. Maybe he'd get lucky and she'd drink the beer for long enough for someone else to have some vodka, but he doubted it.

"Hey, Cowboy, out of the way." He rumbled as he sidestepped past Flint. Then set the keg down with a solid thunk. "I ain't tapping it. I moved it. That shit is on YOU. Nice ass Mac, forget the other half of your skirt? " He grinned.
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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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