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.

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Cold Comfort for Change?; [Toran]
Topic Started: Saturday, 9. November 2013, 22:58 (700 Views)
Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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* * * * *
Recent nights had been mostly shitty with a chance of hitting the fan--Aguirre's life was more than a little turbulent, left her feeling like she was riding on faulty equilibrium. A single straw, the final one, had broken the camel's back. It was someone else's turn to feel such a sense of inconsistency.

Night of Cancer, Not Even Once



It wasn't at all difficult to find Toran's shop, not that she'd found it before she found him. He was a man with a routine, and that routine happened to be jogging. At night. Proving how much of a fucking idiot he was, over and over again, and he led her right back to his front door the first night she'd seen him out on the sidewalk. Ever since the night Sawyer had come home so full of regret and missin' pieces, the same rage she felt back home had grown into a thirst for spilt blood. The thing about her temper, despite the fact that it didn't always come out when it should, was that when one finally found the big red button encased in warning signs and decided to push it... Shit got ugly, and it got ugly real fast. She wasn't stupid, and while she perhaps knew that this wasn't a wise decision, it made no difference.

One doesn't fuck with a woman's family, and Sawyer was so much more than just kin. This wasn't going to stand.

So she'd been watching. She'd found his jogging route within a couple nights of trolling the streets of Enfield, leaving the house with one excuse or another and returning when she decided that no, tonight wasn't the night to act. It wasn't even until her third night stalking the poor bastard that she'd finally started to get a grip on how she would lure him, whether or not she really wanted to hurt him, wrestling with her own conflicting moral compass on this situation. He made it somewhat difficult to track him some of the time, though perhaps unintentionally--he had some rather unconventional methods of training, and shit, for a cancer patient he was in pretty good shape. Except for maybe that muddled mind he was swimming in. The same muddled mind that had for some reason told him that pissing off everyone who was trying to help him was a fan-fucking-tastic idea.

These thoughts ran through her mind endlessly tonight, racing, leaving her no semblance of peace. She'd been waiting on his usual running route, halfway down an alley way facing the side of the road he usually came down, waiting for him to pass by. Sawyer had been trying like hell to convince her to dress less like a homeless youth, he'd even insisted on getting her new clothes, but tonight she had left the more.. colorful.. wardrobe at home. She didn't want to ruin any of it. Tonight, she was dressed in her traditional fashion; hair down, destroyed black jeans, new black boots, and a long sleeve black shirt. If she had to feel so doom and gloom, she'd be damned if she didn't look the part.

Toran would be coming soon.. and when he did, he'd feel a defined tug at his psyche. Something telling him to walk down it, to find the figure that stood with her arms wrapped tightly about her own thin shoulders, waiting for him. Perhaps it would even give him the illusion that she was here on a friendly visit, but he would be sorely disappointed if that were the case.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Saturday, 9. November 2013, 23:12.
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Toran
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Toran heard a whisper... "come here" and it just sounded reasonable, so he turned. He slowed slightly, strong willed enough to have some reservations but too at ease to spot the wrongness.

He spotted the slim dark haired girl, but despite seeming familiar he didn't recognize her. A slim girl holding herself in an ally. He felt anxiety, not towards her but aimed at himself. A dark beast lurking in his subconscious. A desire to slam her into a wall and use her. He faltered in his steps, pausing. He gathered his will and pushed the dark side away. He was in it fully now. Nightmares had brought dark memories to his mind. A guard at the prison, always on the night shift. Tormenting him, causing the others to try and kill him. Taunting him to savagery... and the blood. Enough to hook him, then nothing, stealing it from his memory and locking him in solitary to suffer the withdrawals. Conditioning the dark beast in his mind. The guard wasn't clear in his memory, he wasn't sure even of its gender. But vague memories of being tormented haunted him. These thoughts flashed through his mind and reflected as a nervous quaver in his voice.

"Miss, are you OK? Not the best area to be in a dark alley."

His voice was soft, and anxious. He worried more about those kinds because he sensed that part of him growing and it worried him. He had isolated himself after Mac and Sawyer and that night. Realizing how close he had come to death, in ways he wasn't sure anyone understood. His blood was clean, would be for some weeks. But he had watched his security tapes and seen how far gone his mind had gone. He wasn't ready to face Mac or her vampire friends. He had been running himself ragged trying to keep from tracking down that guy Sawyer to beg forgiveness and explain. Insane acts had cost him enough already.

He stopped a decent way back from her. Outside his own long arm reach. At 6'4 and powerful in shoulders and arms, he knew he could be intimidating. He'd seen his eyes in the mirror. He wasn't sure what to make of his frosty blue eyes having paled to a bluish-silver, it wasn't a huge change, but he hadn't seen it before. The 280 lbs man was in a simple black button down, half open without a t-shirt underneath, knee length cargo shorts and a pair of loose black sneakers and ankle high black socks. His hair was a little shaggy at jaw length. His beard was trimmed to only two inches or so but his neck needed a bit of a shave.
Edited by Toran, Tuesday, 12. November 2013, 02:44.
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Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me....
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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Toran didn't recognize her. Was it the absence of the mouse makeup and dress? Maybe the shadows playing beneath the storm lights placed high up, few and far between on the walls of neighboring buildings distorted Aguirre's form. Maybe he was just as stupid as she'd initially thought and had the memory of a fish to boot. Whatever it was, it didn't matter; the punishment remained the same. It wasn't altogether clear to her exactly why she was so upset, besides the deep sense of disrespect she felt for his actions--but normally, she held that kind of thing under control. Didn't usually feed into the whispers of morose rage her beast fed straight into her brain. Then again, that was usually because the disrespect was directed at herself. She was plenty able to keep her trap shut and sit down when it was just her own pride on the line. She had none, not in herself. Sawyer, however? If she were capable of feeling any sense of pride at all anymore, she had it in him. She cared about him. She wouldn't have been here if she didn't, giving the loose end a swift kick in the ass. It was just strange to think that maybe she'd slipped his memory so easily.

Her head shifted upward, copper eyes staring him down with fire crackling behind them. Fucking hulk. If she were still alive, she'd be scared out of her wits to be caught down an alleyway alone with him. Wife beater and shorts when it was cold enough to snow? Not only did he have to worry about cancer, he was feeding his immune system to whatever flu or cold was going around at the time. It wasn't a big deal when one was healthy, but cancer took a hell of a toll on a person's immune's system.

Then again, when you were living on stolen blood, a forced bond, catching a cold was probably the last thing on a long list of worries.

He still wasn't quite close enough, not yet. Any sudden movements and she might spook him, send him into fight or flight mode. She could handle either one, but such a scenario might end more messily than she wanted. The slightest hint of a smile caught the corners of her lips, trying to be somewhat more inviting than she felt, though she couldn't quite extinguish the flames licking the expression still projecting from her gaze. She needed him to feel comfortable, slip into a lull that she could just as quickly snap him out of. A little more blood burned, and the words that came from what was usually the voice of reason sounded silken and cold, yet somehow still inviting.

"What, ain'tcha got any idea who I am? Oh well. S'pose it can't hurt to meet again."

Slowly, she outstretched a slender hand in his direction, as if reintroducing herself. It was only as he hesitantly reached out to clasp her hand that she gave a toothy grin, suddenly squeezing so that the joints of his fingers complained beneath her grasp, losing color as circulation was cut off, and swung him around into the wall. She twisted his arm up in an awkward and painful manner, pulling a knife quickly from a leather sheath kept against her hip on just such occasions as these and pressing the point to the base of his spine just hard enough that he could feel a thin line of blood dribble downward slowly. While it was true that she was absolutely no good with a knife, Toran certainly didn't know that, and she could at least count on the fact that with her strength, she was sufficiently able to drive a blade true and keep him from walking again if he acted up. From this distance, at least.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I'm just fuckin' fine and dandy. You oughtta be doin' well, huh?" she yanked up on his arm, coming quite close to popping his shoulder out of place.

"Boy, you'd think a smart guy such as yourself would wanna hole up for a while after causin' a ruckus like you did."

Aguirre breathed a small, sarcastic chuckle, knife pressing slightly deeper.

"But no. Here you are, runnin' round like you ain't done a single thing wrong. Not a single god damn thing."

Her smile was replaced completely by a glower unbefitting her soft features, something he'd see from his peripheral vision. He still had a free hand, but with the position he was in and the sharp knife Aguirre held to his backbone, it would have been unwise of him to try anything shady.
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The big man grunted as he ate brick, his arm twisted in such a way that if he hadn't been used to grappling, his shoulder probably would have dislocated. As it was he had a feeling his thumb if nothing else HAD dislocated. Using his fingers was going to be hell. His silvery-blue eyes narrowed as he went to work trying to put the pieces together.

1. Vampire, female, strength and mind control.
2. Emotionally invested in recent events.
3. Connected to a perceived slighted party.
4. Clearly feels vengeance is required.

Conclusion, the one he couldn't remember. The one in a relationship with the one who bonded him. Potentially his killer.

"I'd apologize to you by name, if I could remember yours. The hypercalciamic psychosis the blood cleaned out of my system explains some of my behavior, but it doesn't excuse it. Do what you have to do. I've earned it."

His free hand rises slowly, the fingers spread wide and place flat against the wall, much like a convicted felon when confronted by a pat down by the police. He wasn't going to fight, or resist. He'd fucked up. Potentially damaged Mac's standing and position inside this city. Who knows what trouble he caused for the vampires. He knew part of his compassion for Sawyer was the bond, but he also admitted freely, he'd fucked the guys life.

"Sorry your boyfriend got shot."

He grunted out in pain. He figured it was one of those statements that would either remind her of what she was considering, or he'd be able to show he was sincere in his own awkward way. He meant it though, he felt responsible and his encounter with that tiny crazy vampire girl had just convinced him that there was a much bigger world behind this Mask Mac had tried to warn him about. Now he wished he'd listened.
Edited by Toran, Wednesday, 13. November 2013, 06:05.
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Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me....
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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"I'd apologize to you by name, if I could remember yours. The hypercalciamic psychosis...."

The what? What the flying fuck was he talking about? If there were any fun in this to begin with, he was killing all of it. What was this 'do what you have to do' bullshit? To boot, he really didn't remember who she was. It wasn't just the makeup, she'd been legitimately wiped from his memory. He couldn't even recall her name, for fucks sake, but did that change how much of a piece of shit she thought he was? No, not particularly. If he didn't remember, that just gave him less to be guilty about. Then again, it also meant that whatever he knew about them was limited at best. He was perfectly able to deduce who she was, who she belonged to, despite the fact that she hadn't given any specific description of whose behalf she had come on. Well, shit. She'd expected him to remember her, but now that he didn't, it seemed somewhat careless to give any inkling as to who she was. Still..

The stubborn voice in the back of her mind told her that she needed to go through with this, for the sake of consistency and a distinct hope to plant a heavy dose of good old fashioned fear into the bastard she'd pinned against the brick. No, she didn't plan to kill him... Just to make him absolutely miserable. To make him scared. It wasn't working. Even when she was quite certifiably on the edge of coming unhinged, she couldn't be taken seriously. Usually this would eat her up, make her consider that perhaps it was because she just wasn't the kind of person to strike fear into people; usually she give up, slink back home, and avoid Toran for the rest of his short life. Her passive aggressive, give-up-at-the-first-sign-of-doubt approach just wouldn't fucking work this time, especially when he wasn't even willing to fight back.

This was another motherfucking free shot. And how did free shots always end when offered to Aguirre?

Badly. Very, very badly.

The Brujah knew well enough not to leave bruises in plain sight; they'd heal, and they'd heal quickly, but for the time being it would work better in her favor if they weren't immediately visible. It would be hard for Toran to explain showing someone these bruises when he had to take his clothes off to do it. Aguirre seethed, stewed in her own rage for a moment before bringing a hard left elbow down into the man's shoulder blade, then throwing another into his side. They were from close quarters, so perhaps weren't quite as effective as they might have been if she had a little more room to move, but they would still fucking hurt. She wasn't aiming for permanent damage, but perhaps a bruised or cracked rib would leave her feeling slightly more satisfied with this already failed attempt to make a few boundaries very clear. How could she present boundaries when he didn't even remember who she was?

Fuckin' garbage. Why do I bother?

"Here's a lesson for you, you thick headed motherfucker," she growled through gritted teeth as she pushed Toran into a cozier position with the wall; if he wanted to fall, he could do it when she walked away.

"Saying you're 'sorry' doesn't make up for being a manipulative dick. Sure as shit don't save you any friends, and it ain't gonna save you any grief in the future. People been killed for less, just keep that in mind. You got clean blood now, huh? Maybe you oughtta use that to think before you go pullin' stupid stunts like you did the other night. Consider the consequences of your fuckin' actions. You obviously know enough to know you fucked up, huh?"

Aguirre let his arm go, backed away a few steps, would at least give him a chance to defend himself before she really laid into him despite the fact she just wanted to put his teeth down to the curb and stomp his head in. Delaying this, though, would only make things more ugly--which was why she was already biting down into her own wrist in preparation to pin it to his face and make him drink, to lay down some laws whether he remembered her or not, keep the stupid son of a bitch in line for Sawyer's sake. Her Nosferatu wanted nothing to do with Toran, but if Aguirre knew anything about being drawn, specifically to their mutual bond, it was that this idiot would eventually seek him out whether he wanted to or not. Unfortunately, this idiot also had the tech to do so, whether Sawyer wanted to hide from him or not. She'd known the convict was trouble at first meeting, but now they had to deal with him. Now they had to keep him on some kind of leash.

This in mind, she'd attempt to shove him with his back to the wall when he turned around, bury her left fist in his stomach to hopefully knock the wind out of him, and shove her leaking wrist into his mouth. At the very least, he'd have to take a breath, have to swallow the pain, something.

"You shoulda just let me help your dumb ass in the first place," she spat.

"Sure as fuck wouldn't be here if you had."
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Toran
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The big man grunted as an elbow to his back grazed him across the bricks, he felt a trickle of blood start from his nose as lights flashed behind his eyes. Something went pop in his back, under the shoulder blade, maybe a rib. Between his skull and his back fireworks of pain were crackling in his head.

He was trying to be polite, trying to take his lumps and apologize for the shit he caused. But he wasn't a punching bag. He was just gonna...

He was muzzy headed from smacking his nose off the bricks. His ears range and he caught a couple swear words. Just as his head started to clear he got slapped back into the wall, the back of his head cracking off the bricks with a thud. Then the first sank into his gut and his air went out with a grunted OOMPH. His silver-blue eyes opened wide and he sucked in air through a flame thrower. His abdomen shaking around her first.

OK... self-flagellation time is done. He was more than willing to admit he'd fucked up. He got that. But some shit was beyond his control. Like having cancer fucking eat his bones and throw his brain for a loop. This tiny little bitch wanted to dance. He'd go.

His lips peeled back in a snarl and from his position against the wall he suddenly lunged a snap kick for the center of her chest. His shoulder screamed as he used the muscles in his back to throw his body away from the wall. The huge man tried to take a deep breath, acknowledged his right arm wouldn't move properly.

"That's enough I think. You made your point."

His voice was a dark deep thunder that rumbled across the alley as he moved on the balls of his feet, his big hands coming up and curling into fists in front of him.
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Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me....
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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Finally, he chose to fight back. Good. If he fought, maybe she wouldn't feel so bad for kicking his ass anyway, because at least she wasn't kicking the sad little cancer patient he'd been playing since she met him. He still had some will, some survival instinct, and that was a plus--at least they weren't taking on a Kamikaze ghoul. The kick he delivered to her chest was effective, it hurt, it made her chest feel like it had collapsed--but she was dead. What did she care how her chest felt? She didn't need it for anything but protecting the artificially beating heart beneath the cage in which it was kept. As it connected, burned a little blood, and the world around her seemed just the slightest bit slower than it had been before.

As he went to pull that vicious hoof of his back, she attempted to catch it with a tight grasp and yank it out straight, bringing her palm down directly on his knee cap with just enough force to incapacitate him for the time being. He couldn't run away on it, he couldn't kick her with it, and he sure as fuck wouldn't be standing on it for long after she let it go and watched him fall.

"I ain't made my point 'til I fuckin' said so, but this sure seems like a good time to draw a conclusion," she'd breathe through a wicked grin.
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GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

He most specifically did not scream. His growl of pain may have sounded like a grizzly bear trying to eat a mountain of pain, but it was a manly scream. Not at all like you'd expect from a 6'4 280 lb behemoth toppling onto his side as his knee dislocates with a sickening crack and he tries to clutch it in his hands.

The spasm from the injury cost him his footing, knocked him onto his side and one elbow. His silvery-blue eyes were like icy flames staring at Aguirre even as he took in heaving breaths, trying to regain some momentum. A hint of fear showed in his gaze, just a touch. He shouldn't have given a vampire a chance like this. Stupid to think the woman couldn't take him apart just because of his size and skill. Vampires cheat. Huh... maybe that was what Mac and Sawyer had been so pissed about. His stubborn blockhead didn't get things through quickly sometime.

He still squeezed on hand into a fist and aimed a backhand at her ankles, though he didn't think the awkward strike would land.
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Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me....
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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"Cute", Aguirre would grumble as she sidestepped his attempt to catch her ankles. On the ground and he was still trying to fight. Maybe he wouldn't make such a terrible ghoul after all. He just needed a little posturing and a proper shove in the right direction... And perhaps some lessons in common sense and decency.

blood dripped from her wrist languidly, since she hadn't bothered to close the wound she made yet. The Brujah took this opportunity while she still had him on the ground to use the toe of her boot and shove at his shoulder, attempting to knock him flat on his back, then swinging the same boot over onto his other side and planting herself down on his chest with her knees pinning down each arm at his side. If she could manage to do this, then that might be it for Toran--she'd try once more to shove her bleeding wrist into his mouth and make him drink, the other hand tangled up so tightly in his hair that it threatened to rip out if he moved, keeping his head still and pressed down to the ground.

"Drink up, asshole. The quicker this is over, the quicker you can crawl on home."
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Inside his head he started to snarl at the indignity, but... he was an addict. A fresh one too. Just off the wagon. When the blood hit his mouth, he couldn't stop himself from drinking, even as his hands gripped his kneecap and through sheer supernatural strength managed to snap it back into place. Walking would hurt like hell, but he could manage it....

Unfortunately... he didn't actually want to go anywhere at the moment...just drink, enjoy the warm flowing into him. His body responded in ways he couldn't avoid and one hand rose as if to stroke Aguirre's back, but he had just enough dignity and sense of frustration at the entire situation to stop himself, his hand curling into an impotent fist that slammed down hard into the alley floor.

His lips moved like a nursing child and the first tendrils of fascination and affection began to worm it's way into his brain. His silvery-blue eyes narrowed as he studied every look on her face. But he wouldn't move, wouldn't fight, not as long as the addiction was being fed.
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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Oh good. She didn't catch his knuckles to her jaw before Toran finally stopped squirming around, which was a surprise, but y'know, fortunate all the same. Then again, she was fairly afraid he could kick her ass just like Mac, and probably would have if he'd had much of a chance; but she was faster. She was stronger, for now, and he... enjoyed it, anyway, not that she was exactly happy with that fact. Then again Aguirre knew addiction, she knew what that felt like, and she knew how great it could be to fall off the wagon. Ha, she'd never been on the wagon to begin with, what the fuck was she thinking?

She pulled her wrist away rather soon, having accomplished what she came here to do--and in good time, too. She felt drained, needed to feed herself and get home in a timely manner. She got up, attempting to wipe the large footprint he'd left on her chest off to no avail, and sighed before glancing down at Toran with a quirked brow and rigid posture.

"Geddup, wipe your face, and go home. You tell anyone about this, and I'll spend the next week turnin' you into human stew meat. Fuckin' Soylent Toran. Capiche?"
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Thursday, 14. November 2013, 02:56.
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His eyes narrowed and he shook all over like a bear. One thick hand wrapped around his knee, trying to hold the throbbing pain in his leg. His voice was a bit huskier from the raw pain and his lips were coated with blood.

"What was the point then? Beat me then make me yours? Planning on coming back the next couple nights until you've got me locked down solid?"

His voice was a hoarse challenge. He gripped the wall and started sliding up it with the pressure of one hand palming the stone. The muscles in his arm bunched enough to threaten the sleeve of his button down shirt, the front of which was torn open to reveal his curling black chest hair, thick muscles, nipple piercings and the thumb thick scar that went from his belly button across to his side and wrapped around to disappear under the shirt.

He felt her, just like he did Sawyer. A second person he wanted to keep track of, to know where she was at all times. His emotions were a complicated tangle of hate, resentment and warmth from an addiction partially fed. His fucked knee couldn't straighten so he had to stand on one foot, his other raised off the ground. Part of him wanted to find a nearby piece of pipe and beat her until she no longer existed, other parts wanted other things. But he could handle this. He started martially his mind and his will. He wouldn't let this control him if he had a choice. In an act of pure stubborn will he brought his injured leg down and settled his weight on it. The cap had been replaced, but it was already darkly swollen and his face showed signs of rug burn from the bricks.
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* * * * *
"I ain't gonna lock you down unless you make me. You ain't mine until I catch you doin' stupid shit again, gettin' the people I care about in trouble. The point? You get your act together, you keep what's left of your freedom. I told you I'd help you before, whether your crazy ass remembers it or not, and I will--" Aguirre paused, eyes narrowing slightly, the flames behind her gaze starting to die out "--But I see Sawyer limp out of another situation that you were involved with... I will break you. Down to the very last bone. It won't be anywhere near as simple as Soylent Toran if he gets hurt again because of your fuckin' asinine decisions."

The Brujah's soft features turned to an impassive pout, though one corner of her mouth drew up into an almost sarcastic smirk as she turned on her heel and began to walk away. She didn't have far to go, and she wasn't displeased with the fact that he'd have to hobble home. He'd be alright. He'd heal, and then they'd see how he performed. Aguirre wasn't one to take on a responsibility and forget about it; she'd be watching every so often, making sure he wasn't acting up, wasn't causing problems--and if she ever found that he was tolerable, maybe she'd teach him the few finer points she knew about this place.

That was only if she didn't have to kill him first. She licked the wound on her wrist shut, wondering how she'd explain the footprint on her chest and the blood on her wrist when she got home.

"Good luck with the cancer. Also, button up your shirt", she muttered, a hand waving in dismissal as she turned the corner out on to the sidewalk.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Thursday, 14. November 2013, 03:29.
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We are all museums of fear.
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Toran
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The Formerly Hated
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The big man watched her go and faced a simple fact. He was a ghoul now. He could deny it when Sawyer had fed him. Argued that he'd been out of him mind when he took the blood. But not this time. He'd let her catch his mind. Then just sat there while she beat him and been near helpless. More, when she'd stuck a bleeding arm in his face he'd drank like a booze hound on his first bottle of the week. His stubbornness faded when she was out of sight and he leaned against the wall to get his bad leg off the ground.

He knew enough about ghouls to know if he concentrated he could make it heal. He'd had to work with some of them, force them to heal injuries while weaning them. But he chose not to. In a truly pointless act of defiance he stripped the shirt off and tossed it to the ground, his thick shoulders massive in the dim light. His right side striped with tattooed metal plating. The imagine of a clockwork and steel arm covering his right shoulder and traveling down to encase his hand completely. He looked down at the arm, to him it represented a loss of humanity. A need to remain in control.

But standing in that alley, he faced the fact that if she came back to beat and feed him again, he'd let her. He'd fight, but not that hard. Turning he limped back towards his house, his head hanging down. He'd leave the knee unless he needed it. He had a brace inside, and his dumbass seemed to need the reminder pretty frequently.
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Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me....
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Toran
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The big man limps through his door and into the back. Stopping at a shelf he took down a leg brace and wrapped it around his fucked up knee, grunting in discomfort.

Then he took down the thick fireproof glove he'd been working on and finished hooking up the finger triggers. You'd still have to light the torch to get it rolling, but that was easy and the propane tank could run on minimal for quite a while, it was a pistol grip and spring he'd put in to open the valves as long as you clenched your fist that made it dangerous.

Setting the thing on the table he dug out his cellphone and sent a message to Mac.

TxtMac


After he sent the text he stood and limps over to his fridge. Digging past the beer he pulls out a small bottle of Jack Daniels and limps back to his seat. Twisting off the cap he takes a sip and sighs as it burns it's way down his throat.
Edited by Toran, Thursday, 14. November 2013, 04:10.
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Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me....
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Mac
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@HarelquinRomanceCover: It'll take more than a broken knee and a flame thrower. Keep trying.
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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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Toran
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Snorts and takes a slow drink of the bottle. The whiskey warmed him enough that his knee didn't quite make him want to scream.

He regarded Mac's message and shrugged tossing his phone onto the table top next to him. Picking up the blood pressure monitor he goes back to trying to design an ankle cuff that'll shock him if he loses too much blood. Might not help, but if he fell under the spell of a pleasurable kill he wanted to have a backup to bring him to his senses.

Realizing he'd need quite a bit of electronics and hardware to make this work. He got up and left, focusing on healing as he went. Had to do some shopping.
Edited by Toran, Sunday, 24. November 2013, 17:31.
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Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me....
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