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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Topic Started: Thursday, 7. November 2013, 02:47 (1,078 Views)
Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
Only the smallest set back had slowed her schedual that day, and despite being slightly off her master plan of fuck all for the night, she wasn't bothered. She came into the laundry Mat with a large bag over her shoulder, which hung heavy and full like an overstuffed duffle bag as she sauntered through the quiet but not entirely unpopulated facility. She swung the bag down on top of a machine, the loud thunk ringing across the empty machines top and causing it to buckle slight with a metallic snap, like the popping of a jar when you crack the seal.

She flipped open the top of the machine next to it, unzipping the bag and beginning to stuff all the clothing in handfuls at a time. What, separate your lights and darks, separate load for delicates? No. Stuff it in, all of it, and hope the soap fits in too. That's just what she'd do, and when it was all stuffed in? She'd start peeling off what she was wearing, the black wife beater sliding away and revealing her heavily tattoo'd flesh, long and muscular limbs patterned with scars. She wore a black leather bra beneath, with a thick banding harness beneath it, covering a few inches of her sternum below her rather impressive rack, the leather band holster inch several small flat blades and showing several extra clips with nothing currently secured in them. She stripped off her jeans to, which were significantly worse for wear and splattered in god knows what. She wore a pair of black boy cut spanks beneath, as it was laundary day and her usual things were all in the machine In front of her. Beggars can't be choosers, not on the worst day of the bimonthly cycle. Her sheets were the main bulk, as really she owned a ridiculos amount of wife beaters, and only a few pairs of jeans. Her sheets had been splattered with blood, and church's red hoodie was in there as well. She added in more soap than necessary, because she was a dirty mother fucker in her line of work, and would take all the extra oomph she could make it provide.

She stood in her underwear, calf high military boots laced tightly up her ankles. She twisted on one foot, leaning over the machine to plug in the quarters to make the fucker do it's magic. She waited, listening for it to begin it's metal grind and fill with water. Then she'd slip up on the machine, cross her legs all fucking lady like and enjoy it's vibration on her backside as she read the paper, and enjoyed the plethora of Polish Vodka in her flask, which she pulled from the near empty duffle bag.



Edited by Mac, Thursday, 7. November 2013, 02:56.
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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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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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* * * * *
So maybe Aguirre hadn't been invited to join Mac in her little late night laundry trip. Maybe she also hadn't quite so ... accidentally... slipped out of the apartment while Sawyer and Church got distracted, talking about someone like, god, some college player? Somebody famous, somebody in football. Aguirre could appreciate football and all, even rugby sometimes, but mostly the only 'sport' she really enjoyed watching was cage fighting... That was, until her favorite fighter retired. Either way, whatever they were discussing had her falling asleep, and she needed to get out and stretch before the whole night just wasted away in front of her. Things were calm for tonight, even the sky was clear aside from the pollution in the air that turned the sky orange. The air was even fairly mild. There was nothing happening, no fucking drama for the first time in weeks. Just a serene breeze and the smell of cigarette smoke as she puffed away on a clove.

It was also by complete accident that Aguirre happened to see a half naked Mac sitting on a washer through the windows of the brightly lit laundromat a few blocks away. Considering how often the Brujah ran into Mac, she had to assume that she lived in Enfield, or at least somewhere on Anarch turf. Disturbingly enough she was never very far from she and Church's home, but she trusted the other woman enough for that not to be as alarming as it should have been. After all, she hadn't swung anyone at her since Brent. Surely that counted for something?

She smirked slightly--Mac could always be depended on to provide some kind of entertainment when one was bored, or at least maybe make some crude, awful joke that Aguirre could snicker at among the sea of empty washers and dryers. Hopefully she was in a good mood, 'cause if she wasn't, she would really only expect harsh criticism and maybe a punch in the nose. The boys would be just thrilled for her to walk through the door with a broken nose. That was the chance you took when one of your closest friends was a hunter, though.

The bell above the door rung as the willowy woman tossed the spent butt of her smoke and entered, looking excited to see Mac for a change instead of meekly trepidatious, despite the fact that her friend was half naked. It wasn't exactly surprising at this point. Mac just really didn't like clothes. As long as they weren't talking about college football, man, whatever. She had always been an NFL girl herself, anyway. As one would assume, she consistently cheered for the underdog in every game.

"Hey, Mac."

Aguirre came to sit on top of the washing machine beside Mac's, fully prepared to get down and leave if Mac happened to tell her to fuck off and go home. Respect a woman's privacy and all.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Thursday, 7. November 2013, 07:51.
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
The paper was pretty much boring as all hell. There was very little in it to catch her attention, and she forgot everything as soon as she read it when it didn't have anything to do with leads to some delicious vampire scoop somewhere. Not that she needed the paper to find vampires in London, it was a wreck and mess of the fucking undead up in this place. As the bell over the door announced one sauntering in at that very moment. Her eyes flicked up out of the corners, licking down Aguirres form as she assessed the relatively happy expression and usual dress on the girl. Well, they were all creatures of habit now weren't they? Pretty much always dressin the same, she did it too and she wasn't even dead.

Her flask came to her lips, parting them to receive the blessed liquid that she so desperately clung to as a functional lifeline. The vodka was cool and gas like, quenching a certain thirst that she was prone to. Supplemental. She then capped it, and tucked it down in the open top of her duffle bag amongst a few other choice goods she was loathed to part with, even during an innocuous activity like laundry.

"Hey Aguirre... Uh... What's up?"

People ask that shit when they're trying to talk right? She had the urge to add Doc on the end, and imitate bugs bunny. She didn't though, as Doc has pretty much found itself exclusively linked to Church in her mind, an in joke you'd had to have been there to understand. She watched the young willowy creature pull up on the machine beside her, a slight grin tugging at her features. Her hazel eyes washed over the rest of the environment, checking the oblivious kine's reaction to the vampire girl sitting amounts them. They didn't really care about the deceptively innocent seeming creature, and most people were doing their best to ignore the unsettling Amazonian as she sat ignoring them.
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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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Marthereau
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Death of the party
* *
Washing machines. He would normally never have thought about actually finding one of those places here, but there it was. It was a good thing. It was cheaper than dry cleaners, although those did a good job as well, and more anonymous. An important point, especially for someone in his situation. Since he had cut his connection to Henderson, he had taken up living in the alleys and street, wherever his feet would carry him the night before. This life had its merits, after all. No one cared about those living in the streets, people avoided them, bribed them off to get rid of them, outright ignored them to keep the illusion of a happy little world up a little longer. And so they thrived, a constant reminder for those that were luckier then they had been. A warning what might happen in the drop of a hat. Yet, he refused to completely succumb to the stereotype completely. It was of coure necessary to kepp ome clothes in their uncleaned state to keep up the cover, but some part of him refused to bow to the low instincts that told him to completely assimilate to the group he had chosen to live among. The thought of living in complete filth and having no clean wardrobe at all ? His standards were no longer high, but they were there and that was not acceptable.

This led his steps towards the place where the machines were waiting to be put to use. He could see the people inside. Not many, but enough. They would probably stop and stare, as usual. Perhaps make a scene or try to get him out. Or perhaps not. Fear of what was different was wide-spread these days. He remembered the last newspaper he had picked up in the park a few days ago. He had only skimmed the headlines before dropping the paper again. It was not the frantic search for terrorists or whatever happened to be the monster of the week... month ? It wasn't the way the papers states their theories and guesses that had prevented him from reading the paper. It had been the reek of fear that oozed out of the words on the paper so strongly he almost thought he had been... infected with it. And this was all that they were nowadays. Afraid, always afraid of something. Had they been afraid back during their mortal life ? Sure. Had they been kept in a constant state of fear like this ? He couldn't remember that, no matter how hard he tried. But did it matter ?

He opened the door and stepped inside. The unshaven face looked over the people inside. Most pretended not to notice him, but he felt their eyes on him as soon as they thought he wouldn't notice. He didn't care, he had gotten used to it a very long time ago. His eyes slowly wandered over the available machines and settled on one near to two women. One was half-naked, showing off the pictures on her skin that made her look like either a sailor, not likely, but possible, or a convict. The other one was more fair to the eye and looked the part much better. She was also not carrying blades with her like the first, that had now settled in nicely in the 'convict' part. He decided to keep this woman in mind, she looked like potential trouble.

"Good evening, ladies."

He nodded slightly at the two as he arrived at the machine and started to stuff his clothes into two machines and added a generous helping of cleaning fluid. He studied the blinking lights and read what was written next to them before pushing some of them. After that, he settled into one of the chairs, his long legs in the jeans and the trainers extended, their other end disappearing in the long and stained coat he was wearing. He looked over to the two and then back to the laundry that started to move as the drum started turning, scratching the stubble on his chin. The two next to him looked curious. They didn't give off the frightened vibe he usually got from people. He wondered why this was the case.

"Not the worst of evenings, is it ?"
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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* * * * *
"Not a lot. You? Aside from, y'know, laundry."

There wasn't much conversation to be had yet, but that wasn't a huge deal. It was nice to get out from beneath the rambling about sports back at the apartment. She wondered if Sawyer and Damon had even realized she'd left yet, not that it would be a big deal. The most she'd get is probably a text along the lines of 'wtf?', to which a quick response of 'out for a walk, be back soon' would definitely suffice. Now that she'd been spending so much time out and about, it was hard to stay sitting still for too long unless she really felt the need to hide or got engaged in something that held her interest for more than a few minutes. Even her computer had gone mostly neglected, only used now to torrent music, check email, and outline what she knew about Lau--which was a whole lot of nothing.

"Good evening, ladies."

There was a man at the machine to her left now, a disheveled man, but probably nice enough. He at least had manners. Aguirre offered him a smile, feet swinging idly from the machine on which she sat.

"Evenin'. And no, it certainly ain't a bad one."

She glanced back at Mac, who was... more quiet than usual. Perhaps it had something to do with the few other people in the Laundromat, and the fact that they couldn't speak quite so comfortably as normal in the presence of oblivious kine. How did one even have a conversation in mortal life? Being who she was now, and having been that person for a year short of three decades, human life seemed almost... boring. Sure, it was fun to watch, but never would these people know about what actually happened in Camden, about why they suddenly woke up on the cement in alleyways so often, about who was actually responsible for the murder down the street. How strange to think that while she and Mac had a severely intimate understanding of how ugly reality was, they still lived in this one. The sounds of washing machines, which she heard every two weeks when she decided to collect her things for laundry night, buzzed in her ears. They were close enough to the dryers that she could smell the softener sheets from here. It was kind of disappointing--nothing quite beat the scent of fresh, humid Texan air on the sheets while they dried on the clothesline.

Then again, maybe Mac was just quiet because she hadn't expected to see Aguirre here.

You never call, you never write.... Unless you want me to ghoul your friends.
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AaronvRaugrafen
Fledgling
* *
>
Fill me up before you go go,
Don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo.
Fill me up before you go go... take me dancin toniiiiight
>

His own advent is quiet like the moon rising. At some point the older, distinguished looking man simply enters the laundromat, humming quietly to minself. A folk tune probably, by the look of his expensive tailored suit and the gleaming of his dress shoes. I his hand though he is carrying a simple bag which he proceeds to set down some distance away fromt he trio. The contents of the bag are fed, one after another into the bowels of the cleaning machine. Mostly white or off-white things. The door is closed. The quarters entered. Another machine adds its humming to the soound of the surroundings.

The man is a quiet one. Not speaking, only humming his tune, the tones of which are slowly disappearing. He looks to be around thirty or fourty. Somewhere in that indeterminable stage where the first gray hair begins to materialize on a mans scalp -- and maked him look good. He is clean shaven and of average height. Nothing standing out really. Except that he is the wrong kind of person for the establishment.

"Good evening Madams, Sir." His voice intrudes slowly and fatherly into the circle of three at the machine. Everyone is graced with their own small nod of greeting. "I could not help to notice that you might perhaps be rather cold, Madam..." In his arm, on the expensive suit, lies a white bathing robe. It still smells fresh. Actually the man himself smells fresh. Slightly of expensive perfume. Nothing like Boss Aqua or any of the other fresh notes. no he smells of Books and Dust and the slightest hint of Tobacco and Vanilla. Pipesmokeß Not out of the question surely. "... so I felt compelled to offer you this..." The brown eyes flowing over Macs form full of understanding. No desire there. Just... a father taking care of his children.
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
She watched Marth enter, hazel eyes sliding around to all the good boys and girls doing laundary and trying to avoid looking at the massive man. He was coming right for the washing machines next to them of course, because that's how shit always rolled around her. The monsters always came knocking. How did she know? She just did, like a sixth sense with Fangers, able to pick up on the way they blinked inconsistent with humanity, they didn't breath proper, they were always slightly aloof and off in those fractional ways that most people would just fucking ignore. Crazy psycho's paranoid up the ying yang? She narrowed her eyes at him as he made his comment, but didn't acknowledge him verbally. Maybe if she ignored him, he'd just ignore them from there on out. Course, Aguirre's friendliness might kibosh her complete lack of social interest. She spoke to Aguirre instead, pretending Marth wasn't there, but keenly aware he was.

"Well Gorgeous, I suppose we gotta have a chat about the whole... My friend is a crazy ass freak show."

She shrugged at Aguirre asking her what was up back, because she really didnt know how to discuss everything that was 'up'. She didn't know how to do the whole small talk route, especially when she wasn't baked out of her gorde. She hadn't intended to see Aguirre tonight, or anyone really. Usually doing laundary was a completely mundane and boring event, that left her bleeding from the ears with wanting to smash her head against the machines out of sheer tedium. The gentle vibrations under her posterior were fun, but not nearly thrilling enough to do anything on a sexual level for her. She sighed a little, a hand coming up as she tapped her nose a few times while thinking. She was quiet, because she was thinking about how exactly to verbally vomit out what she needed to, without... coming off to emotional or shit. She didn't actually feel all to bad about the situation, but she felt like it was important to express some sort of... something right? Thats what people who wanted to act like people did right? The door bell rang again as another patron entered, this one humming as he mosied along.

"I guess I'm sorry I shot your boyfriend. I looked up Pragmatic...Probably shouldn't have shot him for calling me that. I was just all angry about the whole situation. Don't really know how to feel much aside from being a pissed off hulk. Sure would be nice if I could just turn Green so everyone knew when to skitter out of the way..."

Then, the new Fanger was standing infront of them and offering a ...robe? What the fuck... Her eyes went wide a moment, and her hand had at some point on Aarons journey found it's way into her duffle bag to pull out a small sports bottle of something, the top an easy access non spill rubber point, that you just had to suck back on to cause the flow to start, or squeeze the plastic bottle pretty hard to cause a jet. She held it in her lap, the liquid inside clear but smelling distinctly like camp fuel. Jesus christ, there were suddenly way to many Fangers in this establishment and they were all suddenly way to CLOSE to her for comfort. She was trying to tell herself not to be a crazy ass paranoid space case, but at the same time, logic and past exeperience dictated that this could be a very dangerous situation. What the HHEEEELlllllllLLLl? Since when was Laundry a dangerous occupation!?

"No."

She wouldn't need to say anything other than that really, she just gave him a cold hard look and shook her head slowly. Did he want to die? Did she not throw off waves of terror and danger? Usually people crossed the road to escape her when she wore an expression like that, lately though? It seemed to make Fangers want to sit down and become her friend... Or eat her. She was never sure which, except with Aguirre. She knew Aguirre wouldn't put her on the menu. Thank heavens. Her other hand materialized a zippo, out of the band of her black spanky underwear. She felt a hell of a lot more comfortable holding the beginnings of a giant fucking blaze in her hands, while her trap radar quietly beeped between Marth and Aaron.
Edited by Mac, Thursday, 14. November 2013, 19:56.
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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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Marthereau
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Death of the party
* *
"Indeed."

His eyes moved over to Aguirre, only glancing roughly into Macs direction shortly. By the looks of it, he was perfectly happy to participate in their mutual agreement of ignoring the respective other. That of course left Aguirre caught up in the middle of all of it, but then, that wasn't Macs problem after all. The entrance of the other person and the flask with the telltale smell coming from it, feint yet noticable for the alarmed senses of the Malkavian, put him into attentive mode on the inside. Not on the outside, though. He retained the tired, lethargic air that hung around him most of the time. Shot boyfriends weren't his favourite topic, but it pressed Mac even deeper into the drawer she had already settled in. Their interaction also moved the other girl into that direction or at least helped her drift over there. A shame really !

The man who offered the convict a coat ? It made him uncomfortable. Did the man make him uncomfortable ? Not as such. The bathing robe ? No. It was the gesture of offering it, so familiar and feeling so natural that made him aware that something was off. It was the right thing to do, of course, but no one did the right thing nowadays, so if someone caused Marth to feel... in synch with things, that meant that was because they had the same old-fashioned expectations. And that was one pointer that could lead to a kindred. A contributing factor, not even an important one, but one that had led to him avoiding this good kind of situations. Also a shame. He simply nodded at Aaron and kept his attention on Aguirre. The brightness of the room decreased for him as the first colourful seams and strands appeared on the persons around him and slowly branched out one line after the other to form other branches and patterns, slowly spreading around their forms to form an intricate net of colourful beams, and lines, finally blossoming into an individual piece of art that more matter-of factly persons like Lizzie would have simply put as 'aura'. He didn't think that did it justice, but as he studied the halos, he felt his thoughts trail off.

He hadn't heard from Liz for some time. He wondered if she was still in her position and how things were for her now that he had left the city, helping her strengthen her position. There was a small impulse, weakly rising in his innards, but hard to place. Was it... regret ? Concern ? It was hard to remember not the labels, the concepts, but what was behind it and so, he was at a loss and as the feeling died down, he was unable to place it.

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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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* * * * *
"Well Gorgeous, I suppose we gotta have a chat about the whole... My friend is a crazy ass freak show."

Aguirre's brow raised sharply--she sure hadn't intended to bring it up. Anyway, it wasn't Mac's fault that Toran was a fucking idiot, although shooting Sawyer in the foot wasn't entirely necessary, was it? It would heal, but limping home on it had to be a bitch. She knew what Mac was capable of though, and knew that the fact she hadn't just turned him into minced meat meant something. Either way, she didn't want to talk about it in the middle of a brightly lit, slightly populated Laundromat. And anyway, using 'pragmatic' to describe Mac? That was something Aguirre thought she might have never heard until now.

"I'd really prefer to forget about it. Most of the situation ain't your doin', anyway, and if Sawyer don't care too much then neither do I. 'Sides, ain't like I never pointed a gun at you before."

That was a blatant lie in more ways than one, generally speaking--but when it came to her thoughts on Mac's involvement? It was fairly honest. Besides, she had become a good friend of theirs, or at least Aguirre's. Toes grew back. People you could depend on to kick some ass when it was needed? Those sure didn't. The subject was quickly taken away, anyway, as a man now appeared before Mac with a robe. He appeared to have good intentions at least, though he seemed very proper and probably did it more for his own comfort as such. The slightest curl at the corner of her lips appeared, trying to contain how amusing it was to see someone trying to clothe the Amazonian. Seemed like he had nice intentions, overall, and even as he was responded to so curtly by her counterpart, Aguirre couldn't help but show a more full-fledged smile, elbowing Mac in the ribs.

"You sure? You are lookin' a little underdressed", she said, teasing tone completely evident.

The willowy Brujah didn't immediately notice Marthereau's fairly steady gaze, and wouldn't entirely have cared when she did if it wasn't for the fleeting and uncomfortable eye contact she made with the stranger. She'd never quite gotten the hang of eye contact, at least not with people she didn't know, and she definitely didn't know how else to handle staring than to direct her eyes down to the floor. The aura he saw on her was something translucent and spindly in places, colored in warm peach and reaching inward. There were blurred spots, almost like burns in places; it faded into dark red around the edges, though overall, it was quite faded. Whether this was to do with her status as undead or how withdrawn she actually was could be left the beholder.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Friday, 22. November 2013, 04:42.
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AaronvRaugrafen
Fledgling
* *
Mr. von Raugrafen was an oldbred gentlemen. Which meant, among other things, that he tried very hard not to notice the fact that the two women had been having a conversation already... because that would make that part of him cringe... and the content of that conversation as well... because listening in like this was just plain indecent. Especially with women talking amongst themselves. Well and with an ugly fat man for a companion. But he felt like a third wheel on the round-breasted wagon, so that was that. Obviously not part of the original group and therefore worthy of a different kind of consideration.

A second good look. Which made him think of something that had lifted itself out of a well-stocked garbage bin somewhere around here. Not that he was feeling snobbish much, it was rather that he had no great affinity for that kind of behavior. To give that a grain of salt... as a certified madman he had not much of an affinity with anything specific, that is to say... he had an affinity with everything.

He sniffed... delicately... at her consumption of what seemed to be an undignified amount of unsettlingly bad alcohol of one persuasion or another. It certainly wasn't something actually *drinkable*, as that tended to come in a number of amer or yellow colors. The water-clear substaunce made him think of paint thinner. Another delicate sniffle at the rejection of his perfectly well-mannered offering of another layer of clothing. Sniffle! Something quite unmanly these days.

He carried it off with a certain insulted dignity. Like your grandfather. Only younger.

His colors? They were the usual swirling and ebbing-flow of the crazy. The pale light of the very dead shining around him obviously. Light blue and lavender dominated. Which was not all that surprising, considering his manner. Though the stripes of brown and red might be surprising there. Maybe not though. So much for colors telling you things.

The knowing smirk he gave Mister Mathereau though... might be a bit unsettling for him. Nothing more. just a knowing smirk, his colors shifting to... amusement.
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
Her colors were all rather linked, purple as a dominantly expressed hue in her disco aura. Dark Lavender accents layered the purple, with a shift in the faintest vermillion twisted with silver, like afterthoughts rippling on the ocean. Within it all, hidden deeply, if one could pierce to those depths, was a core of pulsing blue and green, which created kaleidoscope of wild spots of flashing colors that came and went in the blink of the human eye.

She watched the flicker of distaste on the man before hers face, a lighting of joy at his discomfort. She offered a terribly off setting grin to him as she slid her hazel eyes piercingly on Aguirre. Did she really not realize the mind of folk that were sandwiching them right now? Why was she so at ease? Her brows raised, and she tipped the bottle of camp fuel in her lap around in a semi circle in her lap. As if trying to say take a real good look Aguirre...

"If you think I am under dressed I am more than happy to strip down the rest of the way just so you can be right. Even then, -I- would not feel under dressed."


The only way she would feel under dressed is if she were without weapons, more over without weapons and broken. That's when she started to feel the anxious tension of nudity, of being exposed and vulnerable. Butt naked but able to defend herself? That's just another night for her.

"If you didn't notice, we were having a conversation. Thanks but no thanks buddy, move along."
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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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Marthereau
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He followed the lines of the conversation, even though he had resumed appearing as not involved. Which he kind of was. The women - if one was willing to apply that form - were talking mostly among themselves after all, and after his particular thread had ended, he kept out of it for now. He didn't want to intrude too much after all, more than he already was.

So he kept himself busy with listening to the latest criminal endeavours that seemed to be discussed, processing what he had seen while doing it. It looked though as if the other gentleman had been on the receiving end of a clear rejection. By the only mortal in their corner of the room to boot. His eyebrows rose a bit as a reaction to the smirk the other man gave him, but his overall appearance remained... lethargic.
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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The guy with the robe sauntered away, and the other seemed to tune out completely--neither of which had been Aguirre's goal, that was for sure. Seemed like Mac was feeling significantly more confrontational than usual--or the two men who had approached them were of similar ilk to herself. Shit, how was she supposed to know? She wasn't made or embraced to read people. That wasn't the nature of her clan. She [/i]did[/i] notice Mac's bottle shenanigans, to which she responded with a stare and an eye roll.

"Keep what's left of your clothes on, man, I ain't interested. Anywho, I ain't a fan of sparkles and gasoline either, so you'd have to refer to my roommate."

The Brujah flashed the slightest hint of a teasing smile, though her eyes fell back to the other faces of the Laundromat. She didn't really know how to do this whole.. hanging out thing, least of all with Mac--they were both women of few words, although that might have been their only common ground besides Damon Church; there were only so many times she could make small talk about him without it becoming repetitive, right? And hell, even if she'd wanted to talk to Mr. Normal and Mr. Not-So-Normal, the amazonian was pretty well set on repelling them with the might of having no tact whatsoever. Girl needed to calm the fuck down. Not everyone was automatically an enemy.

But, y'know, Aguirre sure wouldn't say that out loud. She didn't want to go home with a face full of mud tonight.
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Mac
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"Hahahaha...fuck yeah, the sparkles. Did he tell you about that? Or did he just grunt and run away when you asked about it? God, second best night of my life... Or third... "

Did her nights with church count as two seperate ones, or the same? Technically two, but so much of it was blurred and smoothed together in her mind, just thinking about it set her skin on edge with a layer of goosebumps down her neck and shoulders. Jesus. She shivered, giving a little shimmy of her shoulders to shake off the slithering feeling that were working themselves up inside her.

She directed her thoughts away from those nights shacking up in her warehouse, the current company wasn't the kind she felt like getting all glazed eyed with. "I was wonderin' where ya like, grew up and all. How did you end up in London?"

That was safe to talk about in present company right? Maybe everyone just needed to do laundry. The fat one was... But what the fuck was the other guy doing? If she wasn't worried Nora would come in and bite her fucking ass cheek or something, she might get a little interrogational on him. As it was, she hoped to ignore him while keeping her eyes flickering in their direction. Spider senses turned on, perhaps to high.
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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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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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"Mostly, he grunted, but it sure wasn't hard to guess. Surpriiiise, I don't wanna know," the Brujah said flatly, though with the slightest hint of that same teasing tone from before.

Although actually, when asked about why his eye sockets were full of glitter, he ignored the question--because bigger, more important things were happening. Like, y'know, walking in on what should have probably been a very, very private moment and proceeding to gape at said moment without a word. Yeah, that was a great night, wonderful to be thinking about it again. Aguirre's nose wrinkled the slightest bit, though luckily Mac was already on to different questions--so the sour expression didn't last long at all. Then again, she didn't much like talking about her past, either; but hey, Aguirre was more than willing to brag about her brothers a bit, and while she would usually have a bit of fun talking about her punk days, she doubted Mac would ever believe she was a rambunctious person in her youth.

"Southeast Texas, man. Ain't the best place in the world, but it was pretty decent back then. Got myself three brothers, too, little fuckers. Ain't seen 'em in a long time, though. Came here to London for school, kinda dropped out."

The brunette momentarily peaked out from beneath layers of her hair, brow raised slightly.

"What about you? I hear that Southern twang."
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Mac
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"School, like... College or University? Yeah, you got the brains... Seems fitting."

She was brainy. All smarts and innocent. Those big ambery eyes making you just want to puddle at her feet with their adorableness. God, her and Sawyer both. She could imagine them making those eyes at each other, and it made her sick to her stomach a little, like she's actually injested to many sweets just at the vivid mental imagery that popped into her head. She swallowed, shifting her feet so that her legs swapped crossing positions as the washing machine slowly vibrated under her near naked backside.

Brothers eh? There was a light in her face when she talked about them, endearingly calling them little fuckers. Obviously she loved them, which was interesting. It actually made Mac seem to lighten up, like Aguirre's almost smile spread over to her own features as she grinned back with a shrug when asked about her southern accent.

"Shit man, I usually keep it pinned underneath just a general american accent... but when I get all excited or shit, yeah... My southern comes out real hard. Grew up mostly around Tennessee. All over the place though, bounced around in the system. Had a few solid years in Memphis though. No blood siblings here though, although... I wonder now and then, cuz my dad was sure a diddler. I could have like, a fat, cupcake baking sister somewhere who's not quite as screwed up as I am. Kinda nice to imagine now and then. Maybe under different circumstances, I'd have learned to bake cupcakes or something."
Edited by Mac, Saturday, 7. December 2013, 22:17.
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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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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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"University. And... Thanks."

Aguirre's features lit up the slightest bit; it was nice to hear a compliment from Mac that wasn't regarding her ass, made her happy to think that despite drinking and fighting most of her college career away, she still came off as the type to fit the pursuit of a higher education. To be honest, she'd always wanted to go back, but a degree or two didn't mean jack squat when you were dead. Still... It was nice to know that just because she said so little, she wasn't assumed an idiot, though she had used that tactic to turn situations in her favor before. The Amazonian knew her a little better than she thought.

Mac could probably mask under Generic American Accent #1 most of the time, but any self-respecting southerner could hear that twang a mile away, and Aguirre was a self respecting southerner indeed. Even after living in London for three decades, she still retained her accent for the most part, with the exception of maybe a few new vocabulary words and the fact that she could understand even the most Northern of British accents after so many years. If it wasn't for some of her more obviously American tendencies, she might fit in pretty well with London's residents, habit of speech aside. The woman beside her, though? American all over. A product of the system, even. Well, that wouldn't have been a particularly tough call to make, but the Brujah tried not to stereotype. Stereotypes were for lawmen and over opinionated tools.

"I bet you got that sister somewhere, and I bet she'd make you cupcakes, too. You ever feel like findin' out sometimes?"

Aguirre had--but she'd done her best to avoid looking into her family since the embrace, at least until they started coming after her like the nephew she'd had yet to meet. Honestly, she was terrified. She'd left her brothers behind a long time ago, and it was fucking scary to let them back in.

"I wonder how many nieces and nephews I got.... Can't even imagine."

The subject made her thoughtful. Would the children of her other brothers join Cadence in pursuit of their long lost aunt?

Man, Marcus's kid must have been bored out of his skull with life to even bother.
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Marthereau
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The women, if he was willing to include both of them in this term, proceeded to petty talk, most likely to kill time. Or to distract. Perhaps both ? Although he still showed not many signs of following their conversation, he did. There was not much else he could do, right ? Not very socially acceptable, at least as far as the social norms he was used to were concerned, but times changed and so did conventions, even if it still felt a bit... weird. It revealed interesting bits though. It seemed as ifboth of the female participants were americans. This was not entirely unfunny, it looked as if one really couldn't throw a stone in the modern world without hitting an american with it. Apparently they were in London now too, Little New York or something like that. Perhaps he should start getting directions, even if that meant seeing the Prince. He wasn't too adverse to theidea, but also not too eager to do it either. Too many unforseeable elements there... Too many possible complications. So he kept his eyes fixed on the eye of the laundromat in front of him.

"Are there many Americans in London ?"
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