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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That's two for flinching.; [open]
Topic Started: Sunday, 1. December 2013, 07:59 (964 Views)
Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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Mouse
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Dodging the consequences of stupid decisions seemed to be the only thing Aguirre was capable of anymore, and for fuck's sake, she wasn't even trying to do it this time. This sudden upset was just a reminder of how little she'd ever actually taken responsibility for. Killed the only real friend she had in college? Ran away before the cops showed up, because things just happen. Blew up Camden? Never talked about it again, and pretended it didn't happen in the presence of people who knew it did. Slipped into the Warrens without being fully aware of how stupid it was to go without her guide? Somehow walked out with a job, while Sawyer was offered nightly canings at her hands for two weeks, among other things. Seemed real fair. In fact, and she knew it didn't make things any better to be like this but, she found herself in need of the punishment she hadn't been receiving for every asinine thing she did. To have excuses made on her behalf sparked the fuel and ignited a fire that wouldn't be extinguished until she had paid for her actions in full.

Still clutching the journal in her thin arms like it was a life line, the willowy figure skulked down the deserted sidewalk with her brows knit and her gaze counting over each line as she stepped over it. Now more than ever, she could see that pane of frosty glass separating her from the reality of things, making her surroundings seem grey. It was the same detachment she'd felt for as long as she could remember, like she was watching her own unlife through a television screen. Aguirre needed to be grounded; more than anything in the world she just wanted to be grounded, felt as though she should tie weights to her feet to avoid floating away. She glanced down at the journal, noticing the marks Sawyer's claws had made in the dried blood coating the cover, and could hardly refrain from screaming at the frustration invading every single nerve ending, clogging every pore, filling her senses and coloring her vision red. She stuffed the notebook beneath her leather jacket; after all, wandering around with a journal covered in the blood of a saint would surely draw unwanted attention.

The Brunette looked up at the street light above her as it flickered and died, large snowflakes touching her cold cheeks as they came down without a care in the world; just a coincidence. Or a sign from some celestial being that she wasn't worth the light she walked under.

Oh, what the hell, man.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Sunday, 1. December 2013, 08:37.
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Church
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Snow in London? This early? Who'd have thunk it.

Not often does it managed to get all the way through the layer of burning chemicals and exhaust fumes that lie somewhere up in the unknown regions of the sky. While I don't like getting that high, nor do I know a fucking thing about how the weather works, I've spent enough Decembers here to know that a white Christmas is a fuckin' rarity. Good fucking riddance, what with the cold getting so bitter and sharp that it's got old Church shakin' in his boots and longing to get back home. What's changed? Nothing much of significant note, with the exception of the key on my chain. Church rented himself some storage space cause...well, despite how empty his flat his, he does have things in his possession, though they really wouldn't help spruce up the place. Unless you're the kind of person who likes to stuff redheads and mount them on the wall?

I'm ten feet or fewer away from the steps leading up to the flat when a figure storms out the door. That slender, willowy figure I am all too familiar with, though the kind of body language she's giving off sure is new. And does not suit her well. As she storms off in the opposite direction, seemingly not aware of my presence. Is she going out by herself, or is the boyfriend lurking out of sight? So Church...what do? Is it wrong that stalking her seems to be the most logical thing to do? I'm guessing the boy wonder has ruffled her feathers in the wrong way and she's getting the fuck out of dodge, but even so, what pissed this girl off? I never have...that I know of. Or maybe she's got hurt on the mind and is going to take down some notorious street gang...yeah right.

But then - after several minutes of contemplating whether or not I should start throwing my heart! Jebus my fuckin' heart! Or rather, if it was working it sure would've hit overdrive the moment that streetlight popped out and left her shrouded in the dark. Darkness is not something to be afraid of, but having seen an Archbishop perform the same trick, what else can I do but panic? What if something was crawling from oblivion to gobble up my Mouse? Not here though, surely. This here is my yard!

"'Guirre!" I call out, the feint silhouette of her figure the only comfort I can take right now, though I quicken my pace to make damn sure there's something solid there. "Where you goin' girl?" Cause, well, not like she's stepping out to get milk now is it?
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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Know what? Screw this street light anyway. I need to get the fuck out of here before I die of bad omens..

The Brujah gazed for a moment more up at the freshly expired streetlight before letting her gaze drop again to the sidewalk. It was a coincidence, right? Surely even if it was a bad omen, an anvil wouldn't drop from the sky directly onto her head, would it? Either way, maybe she shouldn't be standing still, just in case she found herself standing with a red painted X beneath her feet. Just as she began to pick up again, no more than two steps away from where she'd been hovering before, she heard the familiar shout of her intrusive-yet-lovable roommate and ceased movement again to toss a wayward glance over her shoulder. That fogged up pane of glass between she and her reality seemed to clear up slightly.

"'Guirre! Where you goin' girl?"

Fuck.

Her feelings concerning this were a complete clusterfuck. On one hand, she was happy to see him; she usually was, unless it involved him walking in at the worst possible time. He was infuriatingly good at that. On the other hand, she was in no state to talk--not to mention the notebook hidden in her jacket, the contents of which he already roughly knew of. She couldn't have left it in the apartment, could she? She didn't feel safe leaving it there, not now. If Sawyer stumbled upon it by chance hidden between the slats beneath her box spring and the wooden mattress support itself, it wasn't a safe place to keep it. It was even less protected out in the open air like this, a fact that she was starting to realize as Damon drew up closer. Knowing him, he'd sniff it out somehow. Did she look suspicious? Shit. Probably. Church knew her guilty face, anyway. Hopefully all that was masked by how clearly out of sorts she was. This was why she'd just wanted a nice, quiet walk.

"Oh, just.. around the block," she replied in a small voice, clutching her jacket in closer as if she were cold.

"Just for some quiet. What's up?"

Those, of course, had been her honest reasons for leaving the house the first time around;, she just didn't want to answer questions.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Monday, 2. December 2013, 03:51.
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She's doing it again. She might be the worst liar in the world.

As glad as I am to hear those quiet tones, it's quite obvious they're a load of bullshit. Or rather, she ain't all fine and dandy as she would always like me to believe. That much was clear with the strut in her step and the intent to get the fuck out of that building. And since I wasn't there to piss her off...Even now she's closing herself off, shielding something, Like when I walked in on the young lovers and she expertly tried to avoid telling me the truth by lowering the decibels of her voice. Which, if anything, just fucked me off. Look me in the eye and give it to me straight, don't think that me not hearing is gonna save your ass the humility.

"What's up? Nothin' much. But I ain't the one who's given off a bunch of 'fuck you' signals." As I square up to her, my eyes squint suspiciously at her demeanour, look her top to bottom. "So what the hell did you do?" I mutter up close, stamping my feet a little to make sure my limbs don't freeze up and snap off.

"OR...what did he do?"
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"I ain't tryin' to give off any kinda signals. I'm just goin' for a damn walk," Aguirre sighed with clearly misdirected frustration, "And we didn't do anythin'. The apartment ain't been set on fire or nothin'. Stop givin' me that look."

Maybe her tone was somewhat biting, but it wasn't his fault, and wasn't directed specifically at him; that much should have been made obvious by how hard her teeth seemed to grind, a nervous tick he hadn't seen before that was limited to the few times she ever got truly upset--she was trying to cool down. Trouble in paradise, sweetheart? Yeah, there was fucking trouble, had been ever since she got Sawyer kicked out of the warrens--yeah, ninety-nine percent of it was her fault, she knew that. Did she want to talk about it? Fuck no, least of all with Damon, whose own relationship was a pit full of sparkles and bruises as far as she knew. Or at least, that's what Aguirre and Sawyer had speculated in idle conversation.

In either case, she was still keen on getting away into the wee hours of the morning, should Big Brother Church permit--unfortunately, that didn't seem likely to be the case. She didn't blame him, considering that since moving in, all her baggage had dropped on his door step. It was in his best interest to make sure his roommate wasn't being a complete dunce and drawing undue attention to him. Even while he knew very basically why she was upset, she didn't want to discuss it again. Besides, the last time she had, it was because she was pretty sure he was gonna kill her if she didn't.

Good times.

The Brujah let her free hand roam around her pockets, in search of the familiar tin that held her cigarettes while the other remained holding the jacket closely to her figure. Of course she'd forgotten it, right? The icing on the cake. Sure, she didn't have a physical need for them, but even so--an addiction is an addiction.. Is an addiction. The habit had a hand in helping her calm down since she was fourteen, even if it was a placebo effect now--to be missing them was just fitting when she added in the street light and Church's convenient appearance. Her expression drew into a state of complete exasperation as she pinched the bridge of her nose for a moment before letting her hand fall back to wrap around her torso.

"You look like you're about to turn to ice," she said after eyeing him back stubbornly for a moment. She didn't expect him to turn around and go inside, but she certainly wouldn't have stopped him. Normally she enjoyed his company, but she couldn't tolerate even the closest of friends when she had her mind on Magdalena. Church had never even been given a name to connect to the victim; she had no mind to give it to him now, nor another reason to dislike Sawyer.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Tuesday, 3. December 2013, 01:23.
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I know the place ain't burning down you wise ass, cause I just went past the fucking place. And I keep giving her that fucking look as long as she continues to beg for...a fucking slap. No Church, a bit much, but something about her lying in my face makes me wanna scream. Not in a good way. No, she really seems to get under my skin when she wants to, even though on some level I get the fact that I just get agitated by people not being able to get their shit straight out in general. Maybe I just don't like seeing her down. Fuck me, when did I become such a pussy? And frankly, that just pisses me off even more.

"Don't fuckin' tell me how cold it is." I wear four pieces of clothing, and that's couting my boots seperate. Five if you wanna put in the 'wristband.' My voice has plenty of anger, but even so it seems to come out in a shiver. I pull my zipper up as high as it goes, but it's already there, so I just yank it around and briefly hide my grinding teeth. "Making me wonder wha'so special 'bout this walk, huh?" I put a hand on her shoulder, leaning closer as I feel the tenseness. I'd offer a smoke but I've cut down to almost nothing. Doesn't stop me wanting one though, especially in when I'm trying to deal with some bullshit. In the cold. Jebus, cold is cold but when it's gonna turn me to ice. Jebus.

"What are you tryin' to hide toots?" It's dark, being between street lights you'd expect it to be. But my peepers, while tired as fuck from shit I've seen and I wish I could gouge the damn thing out, I can see her gorram hugging herself, keeping an arm clamped to the coat like her guts are gonna fall out. "Literally, what'cha hiding?" I turn and 'politely' guide her with me down the pavement and closer to a source of light. Fucking giving me the creeps anyway, and maybe that's why I try to bring herb back the way we came.

"Clearly you don' wanna talk to nobody or be in the flat." I laugh a little. Or a lot. Like a fucking lunatic. Cause it's fucking funny, when you think about it. "An' I'm just fuckin' dyin' to know why." Seriously, fuck this weather and fuck her if she thinks about making me stand in it. Wearing a face like a slapped ass. I'm quite the whiney bitch tonight, ain't I? What the fuck is wrong with me?
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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"There's nothin' special about it, I just needed out."

This was... Mostly true. She couldn't effectively communicate exactly why she needed that journal around to Sawyer, not that he would have listened anyway--he wasn't concerned with the attachment involved, not to mention certain dependencies she had on objects connected to that part of her history. She knew he just wanted her to be happy, but it wasn't in her nature to be happy-go-lucky, relaxed, confident; when she started to get to a point where she felt like she didn't have to question every action she made, it always ended in her doing something simply asinine. Aguirre wasn't stupid, contrary to how hard her actions tried to prove otherwise. She could see the pattern she created and just couldn't seem to break it. Did acknowledgement of the problem make it worse or better when one didn't have the know-how to fix it?

His hand on her shoulder certainly made her tense at the touch, and even more so as she was led back toward the apartment and the light with the hesitation in her step. Whether Church liked it or not, the last place she wanted to be was inside that building, and he'd have to drag her kicking and screaming if that's where he wanted to go. He could, she just desperately hoped he wouldn't. If she could just get away long enough to find a good place to stash the notebook...

"What are you tryin' to hide toots?"

Her arms tightened ever so slightly around her midsection. Goddamn it. She didn't want to have to fight with her loved ones twice in one fucking night, but that seemed to be where this was headed. Church knew only the most opaque account of her embrace story, and she intended to keep it that way--then again, she'd intended the same thing with Sawyer, and just how well had that worked out for her? Pretty badly, but that sure was the understatement of the year.

"Literally, what'cha hiding? Clearly you don' wanna talk to nobody or be in the flat. An' I'm just fuckin' dyin' to know why."

Why was he laughing? This wasn't funny. This, in her mind, was a crisis worth hiding out for a day or two over, judging by how jittery she was made by being interrogated, and how obviously confused she was at his laughter. Then again, he had no idea. He didn't know what happened between them, but he did know essentially why it happened; she was afraid he'd want to see the journal. He would want to see the journal, and she couldn't help but thinking he'd look down on her for it. Church knew horrors the likes of which she could hardly imagine; so did that nosey fucking Nosferatu. What was this in comparison but the clinging sentimentality of a fifty-year-old woman whose mind was far to guilt-wracked to function properly, or a pathetic self-inflicted punishment carried throughout the last three decades?

It was the loss of a good friend. The blood on her hands, as well the pages. It was proof that Mouse Maddox was capable of losing herself in the worst kind of way. It was weakness the likes of which she didn't wish to share, least of all with one of the most no-nonsense motherfuckers she knew.

"It ain't fuckin' funny, " she said with a tremor, "He found somethin'... Very personal of mine. He wasn't lookin' for it, but he read it anyway, all of it. I don't know what to do about that other than be pissed off, and I don't wanna be pissed off in the apartment, or at anyone. Just wanna deal with it."

She attempted to step out from under his paw; looking at the people she hung around with, she sometimes felt so small in comparison.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Wednesday, 4. December 2013, 19:55.
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It is fuckin' funny. Watching lil Aguirre Maddox show a little of the feistiness she shrinks away from.

So it was the boy wonder, who would've thunk it? She's pretty loud and clear about what happened before even explaining the situation. Reading? Reading what? That erotic novel I snagged, did batty fucking find it? I don't think that qualifies as personal but - woah, woah, woah - as she takes a step aside I take one with her, blocking her ass off and stare her out. No, Mouse get's agitated, she doesn't get pissy. I know exactly what's bugging her, the same damn thing she's been atoning for all her freaking unlife. Fucking jebus, I thought I was the masochist here. But this shit is a different kind of torture, one she...yeah, needs to deal with.

"You ever considered just givin' that boy a slap?" It's a sensible question ain't it? Might make her feel better. Well, it'd make me feel better but to her it would be another fucking guilt ridden and regretful memory to loathe herself for. Of course, there is the fact that she can't. That cuddly scene I walked in on was something that could destroy her. It was a dark pact dressed up in fluff. Something I have no right to stop, I am powerless to end with conventional means. I sigh and shake my head. Maybe I should give him a slap? "Course not. Cause you an' him are stupid for each other. He wants to look after you, thas' all." The fucking nosey little dickweed. He's a jackass, I wish his head was as strong as his heart. "Flint don' like seeing you sufferin', an' dumbass enough to make it worse."

I myself am an expert of making things worse. Like this right now is probably making things worse. She need a hug? I'm not giving her a hug. I'm not a god damn touchy-feeling fucker just cause I don't like seeing her upset. I'll tell her the truth, or at least my version of it. I feel like I should have an opinion, but frankly my knowledge with it, all of it, is shaky. They did a mighty fine job of letting me find out myself in the most awkward way possible. Serves their fucking right for that night.

"He's a fucking goof for you. I get why, I saw that shit first time you brought him 'round. Next thing I know you're in love with the fucking goof. You're drinkin' his blood, you're devoted to him whether you like it or not really." Same for that moron. He was curious because he cared, but he could've done a better job not getting caught. More of it. More of making it worse. There's something in my tone that makes my displeasure about the whole situation clear. Cause I do sort of hold a grudge against Flint for what he's done, for what he could do. All the while I hope she can give me a good reason why she did it, said she loved him. It'll make her feel better...maybe? Or maybe she'll get so pissed with me she'll sprint back to the god damned apartment.

"Wanna, explain that?"
Edited by Church, Friday, 6. December 2013, 01:13.
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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What the fuck kind of question was that, anyway? You ever considered just givin' that boy a slap? Of course she had. She'd kicked his ass into a concussion before, just for giving her a free shot, a gesture that Church himself well knew usually warranted more than just a simple slap in most cases. After spending two weeks beating him senseless as punishment, though? The woman could hardly imagine ever hurting Sawyer like that again, even if the situation called for it--though they seemed to do enough verbal sparring now to make up for it. This would all pass eventually, or at least she certainly hoped it would; just seemed like every time they had the opportunity for things to get better, come close, something else happened to push them apart again. This personal trespass was, again hopefully, where the darkest nights were over and could be replaced by talking over Jack Daniels under the stars again. Jesus, things escalated so quickly, it nearly made her head spin.

They were stupid for each other? Yeah, that was probably accurate, though it wasn't like she'd ever been a cautious person when it came to matters of her own life. She still lacked the foresight to know that maybe bringing the documentation of her downfall out of the flat was a bad idea, until now anyway. She could fully understand that need to watch out for one another, an instinct she always had, but felt magnified by the application of the bond. She couldn't understand why anyone would want to know such painful memories, though, couldn't wrap her head around the fact that she seemed to notice tears trailing down his nonexistent cheeks. If he hadn't been so surprised when she came in the door, she might have even caught the pity in his gaze. Pity. The brunette would never be able to handle seeing that, least of all from Sawyer Flint. Damon knew that, which was why he was talking sense instead of attempting to convince her she'd done nothing wrong just because it was out of her control. If just one person could admit that she was fucking everything up, be completely honest with her instead of sugarcoating life to make her feel better, it would at least make the knots in her stomach ease up. Even when Sawyer was honest, even when he was steaming mad, he apologized and took it back. It wasn't genuine. As perfect as she would always ever believe her lovely Nosferatu was, especially in cooperation with his faults, this was the one thing she felt herself getting more and more impatient with.

Throwing himself under the bus for her would never be okay, regardless of how dire the situation was, regardless of how devoted they might be to each other. And if ever in the future they got into excessive amounts of trouble again? They'd do a better job of hiding it, that was for fucking sure. Being questioned like this was more than a little straining on the nerves, especially when she couldn't answer everything--the words were stuck in her throat, almost a physical restriction, perhaps a response to the fear that Church would do something to further worsen their bad luck and get Sawyer travelling up shit creek without a paddle. Again. He knew, in essence, what happened. The rest of the blanks were ones she couldn't fill in, but she had to give Damon something, right? Something coherent.. Why did he need to know? What was wrong with taking the basics and letting sleeping dogs lie? Caramel-colored eyes were already searching the cement below her feet for answers.

"I wouldn't particularly like to explain that, no. 'Specially not out in the open like this."

There. That was a decent excuse, right? Vaguery in the name of the Masquerade, or whatever the fuck.

"Besides, ain't none of it his fault, no matter what he says. He's full of shit, and as for the blood?"

Aguirre paused, just long enough for her gaze to meet Damon's own in a steady fashion.

"That was my decision, and whether it was a bad call or not, I made it. Jesus, I'm so sorry I tracked my nonsense in under your roof. Wasn't your problem, still ain't."

To be honest, she appreciated the fact that he hadn't booted them out when he walked through the door that night. They deserved no better treatment, and she was rather set on continuing unlife as quietly as was possible now that she'd been immersed so heavily in it and seen the results. Would he accept her word on that? Doubtful. Could she bring herself to fill him in on the details? Absolutely not, and not purely out of fear for her own hide this time. Somehow defending Sawyer right now felt like the right thing to do, despite how absolutely livid and unsteady she was made by his discovery of Magda's last moments. Spending thirty years under guilt-laden avoidance tactics seemed to be coming back to bite her right on the ass, and at the worst possible time. She had so much more on her plate than just her own petty secret... The solitary skeleton in her closet that resonated on such a profound level it left her bound to it for literally decades. Church knew, and he didn't give two shits. Sawyer told her to let it go, basically, and maybe it was a little twisted to keep a bloody memento hidden beneath the box spring...

Perhaps Damon was more effectively numbing the ache than he gave himself credit for, even if her mind was racing straight off the track at light speed and drawing it's own conclusions. Aguirre didn't expect him to let her walk away without some kind of explanation, of course, but she didn't have one to give aside from the truth--which no one could know, for Sawyer's sake more than her own. Her lips were sealed unless otherwise given permission to tell her roomie what happened.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Friday, 6. December 2013, 17:50.
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Not the answer I wanted to hear, not at all. I don't get it, she thinks she can hide these things? Think I'll let her? Damn, I'm all for privacy, like I don't want to see those two drooling over each other on the couch again, but things like this...she can tell me, she must tell me. She's gotta be able to justify herself, or she's just reaffirming my belief that they're two stupid kids. Her gaze shifts away, and each time it does I feel like she's the one needing a slap. That infuriating thing she does, to not dodge telling the truth, merely delay it. I feel like giving her lessons in lying, but given the shit that goes on without me knowing already, it would have disastrous results. I keep that one hand a-hovering, using to gently cup her face and guide her eye line to mine. How can she shrug off help and not even look her friends in the eye?

"Aguirre, at the fear of sounding like a dick, believe me when I tell you to shit or get off the pot before you lose your fucking mind."

"This shit ain't old - to me - but your ass needs to get it all out or man the fuck up." I don't know what it is, short of self-mutilation. To bear this burden alone, to suffer without complaining. She's a moody bitch right now, but that's cause swallowing down this bitter pill every time it comes up is gonna taste terrible. When she should just spit the fucker out, cough out all the toxicity from her body and never think of that terrible time again. Maybe she needs a friend to reach down, shove past her gagging and rip the fucker out. "That night I told you everythin', 'Guirre, freakin' everything. I've done terrible things, I could've done more to you the way I was all twisted up and hateful. But you listened...you stayed. I got that poison out of me, I left that shit behind. It haunts me every waking hour but I can live with it cause of you. Don't you get it?"

I sigh. Fuck, maybe I don't get it. Maybe nobody does. I ain't the prettiest sombitch with words, my frustration clearly showing as I try and put my feelings into words. Much more difficult than I had anticipated. So instead I relinquish my grasp from her, throw my hands dramatically and give it a 'fuck it.' I could beg and plead with her all night to let someone into this, maybe Flint would be good at it, let him in to help stop the hurting. Me? I just cause it. And as much as I love her for what she said to me and made my world make sense, I'm having tremendous difficulty channeling this good intention into something...non-violent. Hell, something niggles that giving her a beat down here and now would ultimately be for the best. Can't mope about the past when your teeth and getting knocked out, can you?

"Y'know what honey? You're right, go have a walk, clear your head. I'm cold though, I wanna go back. And I'll have a talk with Flint too, 'bout all this messiness. He's chatty at the best of times, got real chummy the other night so I'm sure he'll wanna spill it. An' if he don' feel like talkin...?" I shrug nonchalant, no big deal, what can I do about it? , though something in my expression tells a different story, my eyes are letting her know what'll really happen. Oh I can do plenty. If I'm forced to. And it ain't good. Not at all. Well, unless Flint loves not being able to use his legs for extended periods of time. My gaze lingers, challenging her with my brutal intentions. But then the cold reminds me how much I don't wanna be here no more.

"Catch'ya later."
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"Catch'ya later."

"No, nono, Damon--"

She grabbed desperately for the sleeve of his jacket, anticipating him turning away--which was not a fucking option. There was no way questioning Sawyer about what happened was going to make things any better, especially with that look in Church's eye that denoted the need to put a hurt on the Nosferatu. He didn't fucking deserve it. He didn't deserve to have anyone else kick him while he was down, least of all their roomie. They'd become... Friends? Maybe? She could never tell, but at least they were on talking terms, and while she didn't want to endanger that, she also wanted to prevent the potential beat down that she knew he'd deliver should Sawyer say the wrong thing. Shit, given the opportunity in situations like this, she usually said the wrong thing. Still it was better explaining all this garbage herself than leaving it to her lover to do between kicks to the teeth. She liked his teeth, and would see to it that he kept them. She didn't mind giving up hers in the process.

Aguirre let her hand drop abruptly, instead running it through her hair in an overwrought fashion, trying to find the words. Surely telling Church the truth now would be better than having him force it out of Sawyer, right..? She didn't want to violate whatever privacy her partner-in-punishment still had, but if it meant that maybe a little less harm would come to him... was that even enough to justify it? She could never tell if the eldest Brujah in the house would take things with a level head or not, although at the moment, he was thinking more evenly than she was.

"You're right," she started despondently, shaking a thin layer of snow from her hair, "I know you're right. Fuck's sake, it feels like I already lost what was left of my marbles. Can't clear my head worth a damn, walk or not. Just.. I've buried this shit for so long, and it.. It shouldn't be a big deal. It ain't to you, it ain't to him--" she made a lazy motion toward the apartment "--but I can't forget it. I can't forget that last fuckin' image of her, torn up into fuckin' r-ribbons," she cut off--realized she'd started switching the weight from one foot to another, balled up her free hand into a white-knuckled fist. She took a deep breath of cold winter air, held it, exhaled slowly. She could still feel the notebook hidden in her jacket, eyes drifting down slightly.

"Magdelena didn't even get an open casket funeral 'cause of me. Her family had to identify her in pieces. How the fuck am I s'posed to atone for that shit? Take flowers to her grave? Showin' up at all would be just as well as spittin' on her memory. And, fuck, that ain't even the point. You really wanna know about it? Fuckin' here," she pulled the macabre notebook out of her jacket, shoved it at his chest.

"That's fine, I don't fuckin' want it anymore. Ain't no point keepin' it, 'specially if it won't ever be safe, if people wanna know about it. I don't want it. I don't wanna worry about it anymore."

Aguirre had to stop before she went on an all out tangent, started repeating herself worse than she already was. She covered her face with her hands for a moment, rubbed at her eyes with frustration, let them drop into her pockets.

"The rest... Fuck, the rest is worse. I got us in trouble with his Primogen, Damon. Got myself tore up pretty good in the process, but that don't matter, he got it the worst, two weeks of straight up canings. Til he couldn't hardly walk, til he was broken." Of course, she didn't feel the need to mention that it was her who had to deliver such brutal beatings, nor the bond to the Primogen. That was simply too much.

"No mask, kicked out of the sewers with nothin' but what was in his pockets, probably can't go back. He can't know I told you. He can't. You hear me?"

Finally, her amber eyes met with his again, wide and deathly serious, even pleading.

"It's important, paramount. Please. We can handle it. It was my fault. I can handle this," she concluded, almost as though she were trying to convince herself more than Church.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Monday, 9. December 2013, 08:41.
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Good! Violence sure does have a way of making people talk, and maybe I was a little bit of a dick knowing holding that threat over my mousey friends head, knowing full well it would work. But there, it's all out now, and I'm...fuck, It's unreal. Such clarity of that night, an image of her butchered friend engrained forever, it's difficult for me to grasp just how disturbing it seems to her. I feel guilt all the time, that big heavy ball of self-loathing setting in the gut area. It does make you feel worthless, feel disrespectful and jebus knows atonement is almost non-existent in this bleak fucking existence. Which is why from the outside looking in, it's so god damned painful to watch. Not the good kind of painful either.

I take the book with a frown, not sure what exactly I was expecting to be hidden away there. A knife covered in lover-boys blood? No. That's too much hanging out with Mac for ya. '1984-1985 Aguirre Maddox, Happy new year!' This is, my frown turns into a saddened smile at the thought of young Aguirre Maddox buying said journal, but I know exactly where it's gonna end. I flick through a few pages as she fills me in on what exactly happened on that damned night. And as delighted as I am to hear that Flint got a few whacks for being such a stupid bitch and leading her down into no man's land...this journal. The odd page has a fleck of blood, a blotch that has soaked through. I open the last entry and back at her. 'I don't know what the fuck happened.' Fuck man. If I had any colour left in me it drains away thinking about her in that moment of terror. Alone and afraid. She thinks cause me and Flint have seen more that it gets easier, fact is I was exposed to it early enough meant it wasn't as bad to begin with. My fingers clench the stained pages tight as the sick feeling subsides and is replaced instead with fire, with a burning hatred for her cunt sire who left her to a fate worse than death.

"Okay. He don't need to know dicks." I promise her with my eyes more than my actual words. As little a shit I give about Flint's feelings, seeing as I've given him somewhere to hang his hat and, fuck, he's a big boy ain't he? But if Aguirre has taught me anything, it's that I can't fathom being in that other persons shoes. And maybe being a monster who has been rejected by his own gorram kind is as, well, devastating as it sounds. I just couldn't give a fuck right now. I lift the journal between us in both hands, trembling a little though the cold no longer bothers me. I tear it in half, in quarters, into tiny, tiny fucking pieces and throw it in the air. It's like the most horrific confetti ever.

"It's not your fault. Not all of it Aguirre. S'noble of you or whatever to say so but...you got the world on them shoulder, Sugar, an' no reason as to why." I make sure to talk before she can complain about my disposal of her memoirs…Wandering into Warrens is her fault, but I feel Flint had a hand in it. Killing her best friend is her fault, but if Luke had stuck around, given a shit, something-anything that could have changed things. Though I wonder...for the better? An Aguirre who never felt this hurt could have become something a whole lot worse. Whereas here and now, she strives to be a better person, strives for atonement. Maybe things worked out for the best, but I daren't throw that in her face. "I just want you to know that nobody cares about what you did. They care 'bout what it does to ya now though." I feel exasperated (holy fuck did I use that word right?), wishing I could say something to make it all better. But I can't. So I make things even worse. I hug her. Jebus, the only hugs I should give are bear-like ones, but I hope it just shows how much it sucks to see her like this as I lace an arm around her neck.

"I've already told him he's welcome to stay. But if he keeps pissin' you off, I will kick his ass." I try to change my tone into something more positive, which isn't hard when I'm thinking about giving a beat down. "Things been lookin' up ever since you came along, girl. An' I think it's 'bout time you had some good in your life. Don'tcha think?" I put a stop to all that hugging shit pretty quick. Damn, I gotta stop doing that.

"You're a good person, an'a good friend. I'm with you all the way, girl. I just...might not like it."
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Aguirre hadn't expected this kind of sympathy. She never expected sympathy, not when it came to her fuck ups; however Church was providing not only God's honest truth, something she needed desperately to hear, but also the kind of insight that only a good friend could provide. Friends could ask for honesty, but only a true friend could keep that honesty under wraps when they knew it was of the utmost importance. Friends could deliver whatever you wanted to hear, but only a true friend could shake you and make you listen to what was needed. A true friend would take the very thing that contained the willowy woman's guilt and rip it to shreds before her eyes, throwing it in the air to mingle with the snow and watch it fall. Copper eyes flitted among the pieces of bloody paper confetti, biting into her lip until it almost broke the skin, wanting to pick up every single piece and tape it back together until it was legible again--but she knew that was wrong. She knew she needed to listen to him, to purge all that self loathing from her system, find a way to cope, to stitch up those pieces of herself that had come undone and get the fuck on with eternity in good conscience. This, despite how awful it felt right now, was the beginning of things looking up. It had to be. What else could be done but to at least try and make things better? To try to enjoy what she had? She was surrounded by people who cared for her, who didn't want to see her hurt or scared or guilty. Damon was proof of that, and so was Sawyer. Once she'd calmed down, found her footing again, she'd have to apologize to her Nosferatu for overreacting...

It was still impossible for her to shake the sense of responsibility for the things she'd done, even if he insisted that they weren't entirely her doing. That's just who she was. Aguirre admitted to her mistakes, almost--no, definitely--to a fault. At least now, she had a way of getting over them and trying to mend instead of wallowing in a pool of her own self pity and dragging all the people she cared about down with her. This existence was no tar pit, no black hole, and she could pull herself out of it.

She just needed a little help, is all, even if she didn't always want it.

Besides, maybe Damon was right. He knew damn well that she'd been hiding in that shitty studio flat for years, keeping to herself, trying not to interfere with the goings on of London's kindred. Now that she'd decided to peak out of that mouse hole and do some damage, she needed to create methods of doing a little less damage, whether it was in the nature of a Brujah to do so or not. She needed to go about learning, getting involved, of preventing tragedies where she could. After all, she'd been given eternity in the form of a parasitic, viral existence; why not try to pay all that leeching forward somehow?

"...But if he keeps pissin' you off, I will kick his ass."

The slightest tug in the corners of her lips could be seen at this; He sounded an awful lot like Marcus talking like that, though her gaze was still on the stray pieces of wet paper now starting to dissolve into the snow. Lines of red and hints of blue ink seeped out from what was quickly becoming pulp, leaving dirty marks in the snow. The sudden hug and the just as sudden back-off reminded her even more of her eldest brother, and for the first time in years, she could think about Marcus without the guilt of leaving her family behind gnawing away at the back of her mind. It occurred to Aguirre that she had a lot going for her here, the possibility of setting her unlife back on track. Still, she felt the numb ache of the panic she felt when Sawyer found the journal, the almost physical manifestation of pain at watching the memento of bad times past turned into bits of unimportant litter on the sidewalk, but Church knew best, right?

...Probably.

With every ounce of gratitude she could muster through the stress of the evening, she gave him a tight, half hearted smile, briefly letting her line of sight connect with his again as she said in a quiet tone, "Thank you. Y'know, that means.. That means a whole lot more than you think. S'been a real long time since I had people to fall back on."
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"Don't sweat it, darlin'. Just...remember that once in a while."

Life is good. Better than it has been. I'm not the greatest roommate, hell if I'm not grumping in front of the TV I'm usually out getting sore in some shape or form. But you better believe if she called me up I'd be there in a heartbeat, for damn near anything she could ask for. She's just...reluctant to do so. Probably thinks it's a waste of time. I'd say it probably would be, but given the shit she's pulling with Flint, maybe I should be a lil' more attentive. Anyway, who gives a damn right now? I somehow managed to coax a smile out of her, that's amazing enough to me already. Just to have the sorrow drain away from those copper peepers and be replaced by something, maybe not happiness, but a positivity warm enough to melt away that chill in my bones that threatens to break me down.

"That dummy Flint's no different. He's gonna catch you no matter what." Or else. Or at least he'll do all he can and maybe then I won't kick his ass. I look around at our feet, at the soggy paper shards that are dissolving into nothing more than red and black stains on the snow. If only memories washed away so easy, huh? Hell, maybe it's a start. Maybe she can let go. If she can't, well, she's got nothing physical to bring all that darkness back up and torture herself with. And if she has? I'ma burn it. Then I'ma slap her for succumbing again. I love the person she has become...even if she doesn't. Hmmm...maybe I'm selfish? "Just...keep on smilin', girl. So I don't have to say these damn things." I swear I'm going soft. I'll try and resist, but...wouldn't life be that much easier if NO-ONE fought? Boring, sure, but damn I like the peace as much as I like the ruckus.

"God damn, this snow." I lift the neck of my hoodie up to cover my nose, but seeing as I don't do layers, I'm greeted by a cold lash across my stomach. "Seriously, fuck it. I'm gettin' back to sanity. You comin' with?" She can finish her 'walk' if she wants, if she needs to , but I need to get back to the flat and give Sawyer the evil eyes. Whether she wants to come or not is her choice...god, I hope she doesn't ask me to join her on a midnight adventure into fuckin' Narnia.
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Don't sweat it, as if she could actually sweat anything anyway, ha. It's funny how many of the phrases she'd used her whole life became so silly in application to undead creatures such as Damon and herself, and the fact that she could think about something besides the journal, besides Magda? that was nice. It was a relief. For once in a very long time, her mind was somewhat clear without having to achieve that clarity through a fist in the face, even though she still studied the bits of a possession she'd held onto for three decades as they turned to mush on the wet sidewalk. It was gone now, gone for good, at the hands of one of her closest compadres.

It's better this way.

It had to be. Things had to start looking up before the stress, the tragedy, all the darkness that had been cast over their lives recently consumed her completely. Aguirre couldn't afford to lose her mind, not when there were two very important people in this city who cared about her, who hated to see her losing her mind the way she hated to see them doing the same. Not when her Ghoulfriends depended on her for assistance so often. Things needed desperately to start getting better, and this was a good place to start, wasn't it? Maybe with just one more thing off her mind, she could find her feet, get moving on the things she needed to do, and most of all, calm the fuck down. Her attention drew back up and Church made another complaint about the cold.

"Seriously, fuck it. I'm gettin' back to sanity. You comin' with?"

She paused a moment before answering, "....Yeah. It's too cold for this shit, I'm already soaked. Sorry for keepin' you out here."

Of course it took a moment to actually make her feet move, to turn back toward the apartment building and start for the front door--which she'd forgotten the key to, along with her cigarettes, and as she patted down to check, her phone too. Genius move to walk back out of the house without any of the things that normally filled her pockets.. They probably all sat quite comfortably on the bookshelf nearest the door, enjoying the warmth of the apartment without the shivering tenants.
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