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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. Create Your Account! If you're already a member, please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| The Sewer Rose; Attn: Sawyer & Toran | |
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| Topic Started: Tuesday, 10. December 2013, 06:47 (1,879 Views) | |
| Margo Moreau | Thursday, 19. December 2013, 01:11 Post #21 |
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Rebel Toreador
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Margo shrugged. "Okay then." She was not sure what his criteria was for a good job. Perhaps he had set the bar so low for Margo that at she needed to do at this point was not get Toran killed. Okay, well perhaps not that low. The little Toreador sloshed along with Toran, following him into the tunnels. She brought up her Auspex and listened carefully. Margo also used the Toreador gift to peer into the darkness ahead and behind them. She could not see in the dark, but she could make better use of the light that was available. Such as it was. Margo wondered how her Auspex compared to the NV goggles Toran was using. Margo was not very stealthy, but she did her best to to move quietly. Toran was much taller then her, with longer legs. Hopefully he slowed his pace so she did not have to quick-step. It would be even harder for her to keep quiet. As they picked their way through the old veins of London Toran's silence was welcome. It helped her stay calm, and she started to feel less fearful of the big man. There came a time however, where that silence started to wear out its welcome. Margo wanted him to say something. To offer a plan, some piece of advice. Even a grunt. Far as she knew, the plan was to get used to walking in the sewers, then scout out some of Sabbat territory. Basically one long live-fire exercise. Margo kept up with Toran best she could. The silence started to get unbearable. It made her tense. Tenser. Margo looked up at his face on occasion, trying to read the man. She wanted to see his color's but she didn't want to distract herself. All she needed right now to trip and fall because she was watching Toran's aura. Margo chided herself and tried to focus. She decided to concentrate on what she was hearing. That was the one thing she was pretty sure she could do better then Toran. Well, that and paint. The underground walk seemed to be taking forever. Margo pulled out her (silenced) phone to quickly check the time. She cupped her hands around it to minimize the glow. The last thing she needed was to be trapped in the sewer when the sun came up. Edited by Margo Moreau, Thursday, 19. December 2013, 01:17.
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![]() English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion | |
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| Toran | Thursday, 19. December 2013, 01:23 Post #22 |
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The Formerly Hated
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Toran stopped dead, his first reaction. His goggled face turns to look to the side and down, straight at Margo's phone. Then back up at her. His black beard blended in disquietingly well with the black bandanna holding his hair back and the goggles took up the rest of the room on his face. Yet his meaning seemed to be clear as he pointedly looked down at her phone again. Then he sighed, quietly. Clicking on the crimson light he checked the map, then turned it back off and resumed walking. His long legs did a fair job of carrying him over the worst of the puddles and messes, which he somehow always arranged to have on Margo's side of the tunnel. His boots did thump softly as he walked, but he made no extra noise. A stubborn man used to doing time in solitary, he was used to being inside closed stone spaces, the weight of London over his head didn't bother him, nor did the tight stone walls on either side. Solitary confinement was called the Hole in a lot of prisons for a reason. It takes quite a while to walk 10 miles of tunnel in the dark. Longer when you're completely quiet and checking the map every dozen paces or so. He never announced when he was going to stop, he simply did, clicked on his light, check his map and returned to walking. The tiny blue flame and constant fffsssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh of the flame on his right hand's fire proofed glove the most consistent steady noise he was making. He didn't offer to let Margo see the map, didn't offer advice. Aside from turning his goggled face to look at her whenever she produced a light or made a noise, it was almost like he had forgotten she was there. |
![]() Toran's Voice Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me.... | |
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| Margo Moreau | Thursday, 19. December 2013, 02:32 Post #23 |
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Rebel Toreador
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A flame on Toran's right hand, guaranteed that Margo was walking on his left side. It was a perpetual source of discomfort. Once she realized that the phone was lighting up like a flare to Toran, even when she was trying to cover it, she stopped checking it. Margo was preoccupied with the time tonight. Margo was out of her element and kept worrying that she wouldn't make it back to her haven. This walk was taking FOREVER. With every length of tunnel they passed, there was another length. And more tunnels, and more tunnels and then... more tunnels. Margo began to despair she would be able to get back to South London, to Tavin. Especially if she had to walk back through the tunnels. It was just not going to happen. Margo realized that this was perhaps the harshest lesson she was going to learn tonight. Not only was she not going to be able to get back to her own haven, she was going to have to beg Toran to help her stay safe for the day. If he refused her, Margo was in truly deep shit. She would have to find a place out of the sun, in unknown territory, and take her chances. She shuddered at the thought. The alternative? Abort the mission and run home. No fucking way was Margo going to do that. Even if she had to hide in the trunk of a car. |
![]() English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion | |
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| Toran | Thursday, 19. December 2013, 03:19 Post #24 |
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The Formerly Hated
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It was truly impressive how long it can take to go 10 miles. In a car in the city it's about a 20 minute drive, given the traffic. A good man can manage 4 miles an hour at a regular walking pace. Try the same pace in the dark, with water hazards, flushed debris, rusting pipes, chemical leaks, and mold growing everywhere? Well, it's awfully hard to maintain a good pace. That pace was doomed when they reached the first of the real hazards. ![]() The tunnel they needed to take, was one water flowed through. Without wasting time Toran jumped down into the thigh deep water, holding his blowtorch gloved hand upwards. Thigh deep for a man of 6'4" is not always the same depth for others. Toran sloshed threw the sewage, the waste water without saying a word. The map gave this tunnel a good mile before they could shift back up to a dryer path. That's all he really needed. He had rubbed Vics vapor-rub under his nostrils before coming down, so all he smelled was a nice healthy camphor. He couldn't imagine what the slug he was pushing through must smell like. Or feel like. The thick leathers he had on would need a serious cleaning, but at least they tucked into his boots and slowed the water seepage considerably. He'd only be moderately frozen from the winter waste instead of completely succumbed to hypothermia. Still, it wasn't that bad, really. The tunnel was a good seven feet in diameter, and the water only came up 3' and there weren't too many dead animals or random floating things to contend with. At least, compared to some sewers he'd been in. The dead dog was disquieting, if only for the way it's skin was sloughing off the head. It looked as if someone had smashed the poor animal's brain. Who the hell kills dogs in a sewer? Ah well, this was the life his Master led, so he'd remain silent and just keep going on. After all, they only had about 8 more miles to day. |
![]() Toran's Voice Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me.... | |
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| Margo Moreau | Thursday, 19. December 2013, 07:35 Post #25 |
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Rebel Toreador
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Oh, you have got to be kidding me Margo thought. That water would be well over her waist. Margo made sure her knife and gun were secured and moved her phone from her pants pocket up to one above the water line. She slid into the water. Margo didn't have to breathe, so the smell could be largely avoided. But the water was really cold. She didn't want to risk her corpse freezing so she burned some of her vitae, her heart beat once to move the warmed blood through her body. It would do for now. The time had come for her to talk to Toran. She whispered "At this rate there won't be a lot of time before dawn by the time we get to Hackney. I was not prepared for that. When we sneak into Sabbat territory like this, where do we spend the day?" It was clear that this was not a unique problem. The Nosferatu must do this, they moved through these tunnels much faster. But even so, after traveling through 10 miles of tunnels and having any amount of useful time on the other side... even they couldn't make it all the way back, assuming the Warrens were under Camarilla territory. They must have safe areas closer to enemy territory. Still whispering, she added "Did Sawyer indicate a place where we could stay through the day?" Edited by Margo Moreau, Thursday, 19. December 2013, 07:52.
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![]() English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion | |
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| Toran | Thursday, 19. December 2013, 13:40 Post #26 |
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The Formerly Hated
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The large man stopped and looked down at Margo from behind the goggles, then he clearly shook his head, a no, there was no safe place marked on the map. He gripped a ladder and pulled himself out of the water and back up onto the ground. His boots were too heavy to squelch when he walked, though he left a clear trail of water as it dribbled out of his leathers and boots. After pausing to check the map he headed towards their new tunnel. This one was a bit different, wide and spacious. ![]() It was an abandoned tube line. The steel grating along the side was rusted in a number of places. The fecal smell of homeless person's shit was prominent. There were even a few corpses of folk who had climbed down to find a place to stay out of the winter rains and found their deaths instead. Gnawed by rats of truly huge size. The animals were twisted and feral little beasts, easily the size of cats. Toran wasn't sure whether they were simply huge sewer rats or if they were actually ghouled beasts that kept the underground clear of things for the Nosferatu, either way he didn't plan on letting them get a chance to bite into him. Course, that was why he had most of his body completely covered in thick leather with canvas underneath. The next mile or two would be a simple walk down the tracks. The echoing space sending the sounds they made back at them. Of course, the rusted trackers were still dangerous, easy to trip over as the iron rails had shifted off their track and chunks of ceiling had come down. The huge round tunnel was a little daunting, like a giant throat waiting for them to reach the end and be swallowed. |
![]() Toran's Voice Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me.... | |
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| Margo Moreau | Friday, 20. December 2013, 00:56 Post #27 |
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Rebel Toreador
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Margo was wet to the tits by the time they were done swimming in sewage. She had to hold her phone above her head (though she turned it off). The Rose was clearly uncomfortable now. Her fantasy of a fun sewer adventure had been circling the drain after nearly being alligator food. And now it was completely down the toilet. "Please stop a moment" Margo whispered. She removed the waterproof boots she had just bought. They were full of sewage and she dumped them out and shook them. All of her clothes were completely soaked. All of her clothes were made of cotton. Jeans, t-shirts, hoodie and so on. Useless. Margo thought she would be better off naked then in clothes in this state. But she did not want to take the time to even take them off and wring them out. She got her boots back on. Margo looked up at Tavin after she regained her feet. They were put together as a team, yes. Toran was Sawyer's domain, yes. But she was still a Kindred and he was a ghoul. The matter of her safety needed to be addressed. "Toran, we need to make finding a safe place for me to spend the day a priority I can't assist you if I am ash." "My being ash will not look good for me, but it wont for you or your boss either. If I die at Sabbat hands, that is one thing. Dying because you and I failed to find shelter is entirely another." Margo hunched over her phone and hid as much of its light as she could. She sent a text to Tavin Acquire a vehicle, be prepared for possible emergency extraction for me from near Hackney. |
![]() English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion | |
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| Toran | Friday, 20. December 2013, 01:12 Post #28 |
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The Formerly Hated
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Toran turned to look down at her and then sighed again. He took out his phone and punched a button, bringing up the clock display. In small glowing red numerals it read 11:48 pm. Time had a funny way of freaking people out deep underground, and most phones won't work underground. He wasn't sure if hers was just badly sync'd or if she was severely anxious by nature. He DID know that there was no way a cell signal was going to make it out through the concrete, pipes and wiring underground. Though watching her text and expecting it to go through was sort of amusing. He contemplated pointing out the obvious, that they were underground. He contemplating simply pointing up at the solid stone tunnels above them and the fact that they were easily 20 to 30 feet below the surface of London at this point, and no sun could possibly make it down to her unless she was dumb enough to climb a ladder, open a manhole cover and take a nap directly beneath it. He didn't, however. What he did do was slip his phone into his pocket, sure of the time because Sawyer had told him how to sync it to the antenna amplifiers the warrens used when he'd had to do it for Sawyer's own phone. Phone away he turned on the red light, lifted his goggles to regard the map with his silver-blue eyes and purse his lips. Finally he reached into a pocket and pulled out a grease pencil, then circled a spot on the map. Reading sewer blue prints that had subway tunnels, WW2 bunkers and other abandoned constructions overlaid on them was hard. Putting the grease pencil away after drawing a tiny sun and a number of ZZZZzzzzs he showed it to her. He wasn't sure she'd realize from examining the map that they were still about 7 miles away from the place he marked, but it was what she wanted to know. He hoped she was starting to get it. That this was a different world, a cold unforgiving world that did not have any kindness in it. A grimace of pain crossed the man's face and he reached down. A squealing sound echoing as he pulled a sewer rat almost the size of a cat off his leg, it's teeth red with the blood of the bite it just took out of him. Without saying a word he tossed the animal a couple of dozen feet away from him, turned and started walking again. A slight twinge of pain crossing his face every time he flexed his left leg. He didn't say a word, the entire time, not even when the damned ghoul rat had bitten him. There were things that listened in the dark. Sawyer had warned him. The Nosferatu owned most of the sewers, but sometimes shit got away from them. |
![]() Toran's Voice Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me.... | |
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| Margo Moreau | Friday, 20. December 2013, 01:45 Post #29 |
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Rebel Toreador
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Margo obviously could tell she didn't have a signal. But the clock on her phone was working fine. She was not currently worried that the sun was coming up. But she could do math. At the pace they were going and as far as she was told they had to go, the sun would become a factor. The text would go through as soon as her phone did get a signal. That is how she had it set. At some point she assumed luck would have it that she would be connected, even if only briefly. She also had assumed that before dawn they might actually make it to Hackney, in which case she would not be safe underground. That said. For a vampire, simply sleeping in a sewer tunnel was not safe. She could be attacked by a ghoul rat, just as Toran was. A Kine, like the dead bodies they had passed, could stumble down and discover her, possibly waking her and getting eaten. Toran's apparent dismissal of such things, in her mind, showed that she was not the only one that needed some education. Just being in a sewer was insufficient. The old bunker he pointed out, however, would be fine. Even if he left her alone. Margo actually had sympathy for Toran as she realized he was injured. She could not think of anything she could do about it. But she wondered why the ghoul didn't simply heal it, rather then put up with the pain. There was little else that she could do. Margo followed Toran. He was the expert. She reached out with her Auspex. The enhanced senses of the Toreador was at least one thing she could contribute. |
![]() English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion | |
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| Toran | Friday, 20. December 2013, 02:02 Post #30 |
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The Formerly Hated
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Toran continued walking for some time before turning on his light and checking the map. The next area required him to descend a rather tight ladder into a series of storm channels for diverting rain out from under London, to prevent the foundations from eroding. Many people didn't know that London was built partially upon a flood plain and only heavy storm drains kept those areas from sinking down into the Thames. ![]() The storm drains came up to his belly button, a heavy flow of hard rushing water caused by the winter rains. Toran lifted his arm and twisted a dial, turning out the flame from his glove. He shifted his backpack and pulled out a heavy ziplock bag, sliding his glove inside it. The glove would work fine, as long as the propane nozzle got oxygen, but water had a way of degrading the fireproof coating and he had no desire to find out what his fingers felt like at 3000 degrees. He pulled out a thick black nylon rope and looped it twice around his waist and tied it off with a metal clip that had a center that had to be screwed to open it. He tossed the length of rope back to Margo with another of the heavy clips. The meaning was clear. Clip yourself to the line. If she were watchful she'd notice a number of things inside Toran's bag, electronics of all sorts, all carefully sealed in vacuum sealed plastic bags. He'd obviously counted on the fact that they might need to go underwater at some point. He slipped off the night vision goggles and sealed them into another bag, using a disposable bic lighter to melt the seals of both equipment backs shut. Then he pulled out a pair of swimmers goggles and strap them over his eyes and a black mask to slip over his face, to keep the sewage from getting into his nose or mouth. A pair of filters sticking out either side of his face hinted that it once was a gas mask of some sort. He turned on the red shoulder light, then took out several glow sticks and snapped them to light, tying them onto the length of rope and letting them dangle. It would allow to track where Margo was if she got swept away by the current. The big man snapped the scabbard of his large knife to ensure the weapon didn't get sucked away and started lowering himself into the rushing current. It wasn't long before he was shoulder deep in the water, hanging onto the ladder and regarding Margo, waiting for her. |
![]() Toran's Voice Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me.... | |
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| Margo Moreau | Friday, 20. December 2013, 04:02 Post #31 |
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Rebel Toreador
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Margo assumed that Toran, being as prepared as he was, had extra of those plastic bags. She made a clear request with a gesture that she would like one. Assuming he accommodated her, she would slip her phone in it. The phone was water resistant. But Margo was going to be over her head in the storm water that was waiting below. It had become quite clear to Margo at this point. That this little hike was not in fact the way the Nosferatu got around in the underground. This was basic training to get her and Toran to work together and show little Margo just what she really had in store for herself. She did indeed clip on. She was grateful to Toran for having the rope. And after seeing all his other equipment, she felt very foolish and ill prepared indeed. All Margo did was change clothes and buy a pair of waterproof boots. Now she had a useless gun, soaked heavy clothing, and had to beg for a plastic bag so she would at least have her phone. Assuming she got a signal at some point and it would matter. Margo descended down to where Toran was. At least she didn't have to breathe. But she still didn't look forward to being over her head. At the moment, the swimming lessons at the Y were looking a lot less annoying then they did at the time. |
![]() English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion | |
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| Sawyer | Friday, 20. December 2013, 08:51 Post #32 |
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Friendly Neighborhood Vampire
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While the ghoul and the Toreador struggled through the more unpleasant route to Hackney, Sawyer had slipped off to his preferred way- a set of mostly-abandoned maintenance tunnels that threaded through the underground like thin and vital veins. Stairs and the occasional locked doorway connected this drier, safer passage to the sewers below; its downside lay in a lack of visibility and space, as the corridors were completely unlit. It remained unmarked on their map as it formed one of many safe routes to the Nosferatu warrens themselves. He wandered along with the beam of his flashlight illuminating the way ahead, making better time than the unfortunate duo due to a distinct lack of life threatening hazards. The maintenance tunnels reconnected with the main body of the sewers near the infall chamber up ahead, where heavy storm drains let out their flow. If his minion-associates managed to fight their way through the bone-chilling water, they'd emerge on drier land to find a petulant and unmasked Nosferatu sitting in a convenient cranny, legs dangling over the edge, perched in a position that would give him a perfect view of their smiling faces. Assuming, of course, they were still capable of smiling. But alas, he had high hopes, and they had much farther to go without killing one another- a smile at this point, well, he'd take it as a wonderful sign. If all elementary school teachers were as serious about teaching the value of teamwork as Sawyer Flint, the world would either be a much more agreeable place or the entire educational system would fall victim to furious parents who were concerned about pesky thing like, oh, their children drowning. |
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| Toran | Friday, 20. December 2013, 14:30 Post #33 |
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The Formerly Hated
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The thick muscled ghoul was indeed willing to give Margo a ziploc bag for her phone. He kept one fist firmly locked on the ladder down into the water since the pressure current was strong enough to threaten lifting his very heavy frame off it's feet and send it slaloming down the tunnel. Something he wished to avoid. The lights on the rope danced in the current and gave a clear sing of where Margo would be on the other end. Given that he was thankful for his Potence in keeping his feet against the current he braced himself on the off chance she was sucked off her feet and left to dangle on the end of the rope. He did draw a pair of thick straps from his bag, wrapping them around his fists and wrists, a set of spikes on the inner side like hooked cat claws. They would help him find purchase against the brick wall and hopefully keep them from being sucked down the tube like so much floating garbage, of which there was a disgustingly high amount. He started walking sideways against the side of the tube, using the climbing claws to keep his balance as he slipped further down the tube. In once sense, just letting go and riding along would be a much faster way of reaching the spillway. But given the inability to see obstacles ahead, tunnel forks and stuff he did not particularly want to be at the mercy of the current. Far to good a way to break a leg if you hit a sudden turn at speed. He figured the rope and his own weight would be enough to keep Margo from hitting anything that hard. He wasn't sure the small woman would have the muscle mass to avoid being picked up. It would be a long grueling slog down the tube and frankly Toran was very tired when he saw the infall ahead. His lips were turning blue and his muscles were shaking. There were downsides to being mortal. His leather protective gear and the clothing beneath were thoroughly soaked and acted like lead sandbags hanging from his body. He could only hope his equipment had faired alright. The floating shopping cart that slammed into his side had been particularly unpleasant. He wasn't sure if it had broken a rib or not, but for all that he kept going. He would need to take a moment to rest when they got to the infall, at the very least. He saw Sawyer's flashlight and raised a pale wrinkled hand to give his Boss a slight wave. Wearily trudging along towards the Nosferatu. He wasn't sure how Margo had help up to the brutal trip. He had no way of knowing until they reached a spot where she could touch bottom or the current dropped down enough to swim. The bobbing lights had remained the entire time, so she was most likely still there. He hoped. |
![]() Toran's Voice Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me.... | |
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| Margo Moreau | Friday, 20. December 2013, 15:28 Post #34 |
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Rebel Toreador
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It was one of the most miserable experiences in Margo's existence. She was more like an anchor pulling Toran along then a fellow climbing partner. Each time the water got too deep or she lost her footing it was very difficult to reclaim it. Burning some vitae for Strength did very little to help her. No matter how strong her arm, her mass didn't change. Without leverage, which she had almost none of, her quickened muscle was almost useless. Though it did warm her up some. Every time she was lost into the current she got battered around against walls, and ice, and trash and foul smelling things she didn't want to consider. All the filth of London was crashing into her tiny body. Finally, after a water hell-ride that seemed to last for hours the rapids slowed. It was all Margo could do to pull herself out of the morass hand over hand up the rope into the relative safety of the infall chamber. Once Margo got to solid stone out of the sewage she started to puke and cough out the water that had invaded her body. She looked utterly miserable, and somewhere in the wet and the dark one of her boots had been torn off revealing a bare and bruised foot. In fact, Margo's normally smooth, flawless skin was covered in welts and bruises, though most of them were obscured by clothing. Some of the visible ones quickly faded as she spent still more of her precious vitae. Margo was going to start eating rats. Margo wasn't physically fatigued. Her body was dead. But mentally she was nearing the end of what she could muster. And her body simply hurt everywhere. She was wet, everywhere. And she was cold, everywhere. Slowly she got up to her knees, then onto her feet. Margo looked up at Sawyer, misery etched into the Rose's face. All she could muster was a nod in greeting before she stumbled to a place she could sit, almost tripping over the line as she did so. Margo had been determined to see this through. But in this moment, she despaired. She was utterly spent. |
![]() English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion | |
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| Sawyer | Friday, 20. December 2013, 16:16 Post #35 |
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Friendly Neighborhood Vampire
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Sawyer smiled a Cheshire grin, bat ears twitching. With one clawed hand he unzipped his backpack and fished out two big, fluffy towels, throwing them towards each shivering, miserable drowned kitten. For Margo, he also had grabbed a blood bag, still chilled from the fridge- certainly not very palatable, but he figured she'd prefer it to rats. "Better heal up while you can if you need to. Honestly I ain't sure if you can heal the early stages of hypothermia, but, well, gotta be worth a try? Fuck it, I've lived in the middle of the Mojave desert for the past five years, I ain't got the slightest idea how to deal with storm drains. But it looks like y'all did so wonderfully." The Nosferatu hopped off of his perch with an agile grace that seemed surprising for a guy his size; the thunk that followed as he hit the concrete bottom of the chamber, however, was a bit more in character. Again he swung his backpack off his shoulder, fishing out a garishly colored, but at least quite warm looking, Christmas sweater and tossing it at Toran, followed by a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The sweater had been an aborted first attempt at a Christmas present for the ghoul; even Sawyer had to admit it was a bit too ridiculous looking. Still, at least it would be the right size. The rest of the clothes, though? Erm, maybe they'd at least be close... "Speakin' of hypothermia, though, this'll be the only time I say this... but Toran, darlin', you need to get naked. Those wet clothes'll only keep lowerin' your core temperature, and that's a lot more trouble for you than it is for Miss Moreau." |
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| Toran | Friday, 20. December 2013, 17:11 Post #36 |
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The Formerly Hated
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The huge man grunts and shakes his backpack off his back. He unbuckles the heavy leather coat and slides it off, the jacket making almost as loud a thunk as Sawyer did, the kevlar inserts adding a great deal of weight. Underneath he has a sodden muscle shirt which he peels off and lets fall with a disgusting squelch. His skin is pale and milky, almost translucent as he starts rubbing the towel across his torso. The tattoo on his right side stands out even sharper than normal, the twisted metal, cogs, gears and wiring looking apt for what he just went through. The man crouches and unlaces his combat boots and takes them off his feet slowly, the socks a sudden mess, actually looking decayed in some places. He peels them off and flicks them back into the sewage. Unbuckling his belt he carefully lowers the huge knife and the two cylinders on it to the ground and then unhooks his leather chaps. He sets those, also kevlar patched aside as he peels out of his cargo pants and boxers. Also pitching those items into the flow. Standing back up and quickly towels his naked legs and hips down without a word, then he looks around. Spotting a wall he pulls two spikes from his backpack and walks over to the brick. His muscles bunch and he slams one spike into the wall with each hand. Taking the leather chaps and coat he hangs from from the spikes and pulls a thick plastic bag from his backpack. It turns out to be a small salamander like the kind used to heat cars that freeze in the winter, only this one was wired into a battery pack. He starts it up, letting it blast warm air towards his protecting clothing. Nothing would help the smell, but the side wash of warm air helped him quite a bit. He slipped the sweater on without a word, then took a small pouch of his backpack. He pulled a straw off the side and punched it into the pouch and started drinking with his eyes closed. His face was composed as he sat in the heat blowing off the bricks and his skin started regaining some color. The clammy bite mark in the back of his leg began to heal slowly, scabbing over and then sealing up as he sucked the pint in. Once he had managed to get mostly warmed up and healed he takes a thick plastic bundle out, tears it open and reveals another set of cargo pants, underwear and socks. Grinning at Sawyer he slips them on and wiggles his toes. Then moves his boots into the path of the salamander, cursing at having forgotten to do so before. He leans back against the heated stones and just absorbs the heat like a lizard. |
![]() Toran's Voice Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me.... | |
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| Margo Moreau | Friday, 20. December 2013, 22:51 Post #37 |
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Rebel Toreador
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Margo numbly accepts the towel. She puts her clogged up gun and knife down, then simply strips out of her soaking wet clothes and drys off with no hint of modesty. She is in a bit of a daze. Since Toran didn't use the t-shirt that Sawyer tossed him Margo took it. The shirt was huge on her, but it was dry. She took her knife to the unused dry jeans and fashioned herself what essentially became a crude skirt. The only thing saved from her former clothing was her belt. She replaced her large knife in its sheath, and found a big pocket to secure her Glock in. The rest of her ruined clothes went into the water, following Toran's idea. She had only one boot, so she simply went barefoot. Then Margo gratefully drank down all the blood from the bag. That seemed to get her a little of her spirit back. Margo gave Sawyer a brave little smile, though her eyes showed her utter fatigue. She simply said "Thank you" Then while Toran continued his process and started to warm up, she pulled her Glock back out and looked it over. She started pulling it apart and did her best to clean and wipe it down on her new t-shirt. She was skeptical that it would be enough, but it was worth a try. To bad you couldn't ghoul a gun. Edited by Margo Moreau, Friday, 20. December 2013, 22:56.
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![]() English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion | |
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| Sawyer | Saturday, 21. December 2013, 06:06 Post #38 |
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Friendly Neighborhood Vampire
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"Heh, at least you came prepared," Sawyer said with a laugh as he watched Toran go through ziplock back after ziplock bag. "Wouldn't expect nothin' less, to be honest." He'd realized a long time ago that Toran was the king of paranoia, a fact that caused him more amusement than frustration. After all, obsessive behavior like that could be useful- and it was hardly paranoia if the world really was out to get you, which Toran's luck totally attested to. "Okay, y'all. Right now we're under Haringey, 'bout half-way there." He took a quick glance at his watch, an expensive but simple Rolex that upon a closer look would seem quite out of place on his decayed wrist. "It's half-past one, so y'all are doin' just fine on time. Should be able to hit Hackney sometime past four if you keep a decent pace from this point on. Route's not bad, it's mostly old Tube tunnels, plus a couple disused ones from the mail line. Those are narrow as fuck, but at least they're dry. Gotta watch out for what else might be livin' there, though, and kine sure ain't shy about skulkin' around in 'em." Sawyer turned his attention back to the still-shivering Margo, a resolute, if strained, smile plastered on her elfin face. Her shoulders were hunched, arms wrapped around her for warms, dwarfed by his jeans and t-shirt. Gently, he returned her smile best he could, though his face wasn't exactly made for friendliness. "Now you- I know it ain't like you're gonna get tetanus or nothin', but it still is a shit idea to go barefoot. If y'all will hang tight down here, I'll go see if I can find you somethin'. And for future reference, well, there's a reason ya wear waders to go fishin' 'stead of rain boots." He took a critical look at Margo's feet, cocking his head to the side. "You're what, maybe a six?" He committed her shoe size to memory and gave one final, encouraging grimace to the brave explorers. "You bastards are makin' me proud out there. Just not bein' dead's an achievement! Or, erm, not deader 'n usual. You get my drift. Anyway, y'all just... stay and chat? Warm up? I'll be back in twenty minutes-ish. Right on!" With that, Sawyer vanished once again, shimming up the rungs of a nearby ladder and into the street above. |
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| Toran | Saturday, 21. December 2013, 10:21 Post #39 |
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The Formerly Hated
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About 20 minutes later Toran slipped his leather jacket, chaps and boots back on. He peeled the bag off his right handed gauntlet and with a faint click of the lighter started the blue flame on the propane torch hissing again. Then he slipped the night vision goggles back on, fished out the map and set off again. The tunnels weren't going to get any less what they were for sitting around. His color had improved and the warmth had done him a world of good. He had packed the battery pack and the small heat gun back into his backpack, which was rather a huge affair and starting walking again. His boots weren't perfectly dry because he'd fucked up and forgotten to put them under his heater for a while. But they were dry enough that with the new clean socks he wasn't in any danger from the cold as he had been. He flexed his right hand inside the fireproof glove to make sure it was settled right and then he was moving down the tunnels, heading along the routes Sawyer had marked on the map. |
![]() Toran's Voice Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me.... | |
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| Margo Moreau | Saturday, 21. December 2013, 21:29 Post #40 |
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Rebel Toreador
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Margo sat, enjoying the rest. She moved over to the warm area that Toran had made, once he had stepped out of it. She sat on the floor and leaned against the wall, closed her eyes. Sayer said they would get to Hackney at 4AM. That left a bit less then two hours before Margo would start to get very nervous about sunrise. Margo waited in silence, watching the ghoul get himself set up again. She gave him a curious look as he started to leave. Sawyer had requested they wait until he got back? Margo shrugged. Perhaps he was just scouting ahead a bit. She was not in any hurry to leave this warm spot, even if it was cooling very quickly. Edited by Margo Moreau, Saturday, 21. December 2013, 22:07.
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![]() English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion | |
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3:18 PM Jul 11