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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: |
| Planning A Comeback; ((Open to Aguirre and Sawyer)) | |
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| Topic Started: Thursday, 2. January 2014, 10:53 (377 Views) | |
| Tzippy | Thursday, 2. January 2014, 10:53 Post #1 |
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Ancilla
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The more Moshe thought about it, the more hindsight available to him as the months dragged on, the more things consistently went to shit around him, the more one realization had become abundantly clear to him. Mot Khartoum really had been a forward thinking old bastard. The problem had been that his planning skills left a bit to be desired as far as execution. He did offer a murmur of thanks to the old Malkavian, wherever he was, when the plan initially occurred to him. He had been worried and fuming as he prowled the neighborhood around the temporary haven his sire had set up. Considering the political implications of a certain disaster of a gathering and other even less pleasant consequences, he had struggled with what to do. Unwilling to completely leave it up to the powers that be, to the elders that looked to be heading towards a nasty squabble at the very least. Mostly because he didn't trust the lot of them as far as he could throw them. Anarch, Camarilla, or Sabbat. Apathetic, belligerent, or ambitious, he was rather certain those lower on the totem pole (such as himself) would likely be the ones paying the price. Because wasn't that always the way of it? The important people talked and the underlings tried not to get killed. All the while ignoring the pieces that were moving over to the side, setting up something big. He'd never really had what he'd call a happy vision but the ones lately had put childhood terrors to shame. And despite his own stubborn optimism and Jane's talk of plans to cut off the threat before it even began, he harbored reservations that they truly could contain all the damage. So far, Team Eviller had stayed several steps ahead and he wasn't ready to discount backup plans. Not with how insistent both his and Jane's Sight was being. And even if they did succeed, there would be other threats. Whether from the politics of the three sects that held sway within the city or outside forces. And so, wrestling over his worries and concerns, he had absently had a wistful thought about a certain old theatre in the East End and the old man that had wanted to claim it. In thinking that it really was too bad that it hadn't worked out, realization had hit him like a bolt of lightning, causing him to freeze mid-step and nearly fall flat on his face. A slow, rather silly looking grin blossoming as he mulled it over. Why not try again? They had failed last time. Failed badly. But this time? This time, they would be prepared. This time they would have knowledge. Supplies. This time, there would be an actual fucking comprehensible plan put together beforehand. Of course, there was also the problem of convincing his erstwhile companions in the last attempt to have another go. None of them had come out unscathed from that incident and one hadn't come out at all. Moshe couldn't exactly blame them if it came to be that they were rather dubious about the whole thing. With that thought in mind, he threw himself into planning, fiddling and researching and jotting down notes. Working with an obsessive, almost manic glee for nearly a week, so focused that he had barely socialized even with his sire despite living in the same haven. He had studied the building. Its history. The history of the neighborhood. Committing details of scandals and tragedies to memory and notebooks. Looking over maps and blueprints before sneaking to the local library to print them off. Compiling lists both occult and mundane and gathering supplies to cache away. Making one teeth grindingly irritating phone call to New York City both for more information and to check in on family. It, unfortunately, had been short on lore and long on irritating old ghouls. Finally though, the rough outline of a plan formed. Nothing solid, Moshe fearing to make any commitments should more information or resources either be lost or become available. Not to mention the fact that the others he planned to bring in might have insight he'd miss. Now there was just convincing said others. He decided to start with the two that would be the easiest to coax to his side. And so, early one evening, Sawyer Flint and Aguirre Maddox both received a text message from one Moshe Klein. "I need to talk with you both. Eleven o'clock at the Firs Farm playing fields. I will be at the first football pitch you come to from the car park. If not tonight, then soon." Edited by Tzippy, Friday, 3. January 2014, 00:43.
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| Aguirre Efrain Maddox | Saturday, 4. January 2014, 06:00 Post #2 |
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Mouse
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A week had gone by since the Anarch gathering, but still, Aguirre felt the need to stay out of the public eye as much as possible. Sawyer had been doing absolutely everything to help her feel normal--Hell, beyond normal, he'd been doing whatever was possible to make her feel happy, excited, and she’d even ended up flattered. His invitation to the Gala and the gown he chose for her to wear were enough to at least make her less cautious at home, if nowhere else--which was mostly where she'd gone, with the exception of the aforementioned soiree. The activities on tonight's roster didn't deviate much from the usual plan--watch TV, bother Church some, receive belligerent yet affection texts from Mac, curl up with Sawyer and listen to him talk about... whatever he felt like talking about. She liked listening to him talk when it wasn't to take attention away from a humorless situation, especially when it meant she didn't have to. She was having trouble finding the motivation to do any of these things, though, as she sat staring blearily at the computer screen, trying to make her way through a letter written to someone by Ted Kaczynski. As much as she loved reading the thoughts of the Unabomber on today’s society, she couldn’t focus to save her unlife. Kazcynski went to Harvard? Damn, should I be glad I didn’t go Ivy league, then? Mighta lost my mind like that guy… Hah, too late. Ain’t much of that left to lose. Shoulda taken the chance if I was gonna lose my marbles anywho. The computer played a song somewhat loudly as Aguirre scrolled through the page she was reading, a band she normally liked, but at the moment… TURNCOAT! KILLER! LIAR! THIEF! Criminal with protection of the law! ”Shut up,” she mumbled as she hovered over the icon, clicked, and changed to a different playlist all together. Tool was safe, right? Tool was always safe. Knuckle deep inside the borderline. This may hurt a little but it’s something you’ll get used to. Relax. Slip away. ”Hnnnggghh,” Aguirre complained quietly, turning off the sound all together… Until the silence caused her to fidget uncomfortably, anyway. Why was she having such a hard time sitting still? Glancing around the room, she wondered idly why Sawyer wasn’t there; he’d been hovering since she slipped up, like she was a ticking time bomb he wanted to make sure he could disarm if the counter started. So was there a game on or something? She didn’t hear much from the TV. Bzzt. Bzzt. The Brujah’s attention snapped back to the phone, vibrating loudly against the desktop, then bronze eyes widened. She hadn’t heard from Moshe at all beyond the few times she’d deliberated very seriously that she should text him to see how he was doing, but he might want his space. She’d turned his foot the wrong way around for Chrissakes, why would he want anything to do with her? Having a penchant for being relatively indecisive made the process of finally sending the few messages take much longer than they should have, to be returned with short messages in response—‘I’m alright, thanks’ and the like. At that point, she figured he was just being polite, perhaps upset but trying not to be rude about it. She was excited that he wanted to get together, even if it seemed to be under serious circumstances. @MosheKlein We’ll see you there [: Aguirre pushed out from the desk and stood, taking her phone and pacing out to the living room, glancing at Sawyer as he came into view. He watched This Old House at a lower decibel than usual, ears twitching. Man, she would have loved a lathe like the one on this show, but she doubted they could haul a piece of machinery like that up six flights of stairs without either drawing a whole lot of attention, breaking it on the way, or both. More than likely both. She took a seat next to him, legs drawn up and crossed. ”Hi, baby. You checked your phone recently? Moshe wants to talk.” Enormous golden eyes looked sideways at her. He’d guessed as soon as he got the phone call after that shitty, shitty night that Aguirre would put herself through a world of guilt over injuring Moshe; when he was right, he was right, unfortunately. The fact that the tiny Malkavian was trying to get in touch with them had to be a relief—obviously was, considering the hopeful expression on his girlfriend’s face. ”Oh yeah? What are you thinkin’, darlin’?” ”…Wanna go out?” Didn’t matter either way, really. If she went, he’d probably follow, and seeing Moshe was more fun than admiring a several-thousand-dollar lathe she could only enjoy at face value. If they walked out the door now, they’d be able to make it to Firs Farm a little earlier than stated. Which, as it appeared, was exactly the plan—because in moments, Aguirre was geared up with her leather jacket and all the amenities that usually stayed in her pockets. Once Sawyer was prepared to leave the house, they were out the door and on their way to participate in a much needed visit with Moshe Klein. Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Saturday, 4. January 2014, 06:12.
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| Tzippy | Saturday, 4. January 2014, 07:39 Post #3 |
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Ancilla
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The playing fields, while large, were not in very good condition at all, changing rooms little more than shabby sheds with metal roofs and goalposts covered in rust and almost ready to fall over. Trees and brush lined the multiple pitches, while a residential neighborhood and primary school surrounded the whole lot, another park not so far away. Needless to say, security was a joke at best, having not even fences to block would be intruders who decided to stop by after hours. As promised, the first football pitch wasn't far from the car park that could charitably be called paved, asphalt cracked and full of potholes. A narrow path pointing the way to a field of brown grass interspersed with occasional worn patches of dirt. No lights illuminated the area, the only thing to see by the stars that peaked out and the street lamps and windows of nearby houses. As they approached, they could see a small figure, darting this way and that, a flash of white seen low to the ground. And then the figure turned, the streak flying past the two approaching vampires and revealed to be a football in the passing. "Oh! Shit! Sorry!" Moshe grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he scuttled after the ball. His movements were energetic, a sort of manic glee reflected in pale eyes. Retrieving the football and tucking it under his arm, he trotted back to face them. Though he didn't stand still long, fidgeting and pacing in small circles before seeming to remember something, moving away to pick up a backpack. All the while, he was chattering. "So, how are you? I hope you have been well. Sorry I have not been very social these past nights but you have to understand that I was distracted. Research, you see? About certain topics I wished to broach with you this evening. I tend to get fixated and then it is hard to get me to pay attention to anything." He tilted his head after a pause for breath he really didn't need to take anymore, brow furrowing in puzzlement. "Are you two alright?" |
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| Sawyer | Saturday, 4. January 2014, 09:41 Post #4 |
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Friendly Neighborhood Vampire
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"I thought you said we was goin' to a football field, Klutz?" Sawyer said, scratching the back of his neck in confusion. Certainly the wide-open green was not what he had been expecting. The Nosferatu knew football fields; he'd certainly spent enough time on them. This was not a football field. This was a soccer pitch. What the hell, England. His hand never left Aguirre's as they walked onto the field, two tall and solemn figures making their way through frost-covered grass. His other hand was jammed into the pocket of his leather jacket, shoulder hunched against the cold, hoodie covering his twitching, shivering ears. He should be used to London's dreary, bone-chilling weather by now, but he'd spent too many years in either high desert or the deep south to ever really get accustomed to winter. No such worries from the small ethnic child frantically chasing a soccer ball around the field. Shit, Sawyer wasn't sure he'd ever seen Moshe become quite such a bundle of energy, but it must be a good sign. His foot seemed to at least be pointing the correct direction tonight, which was sure to make Aguirre feel a little less guilty. With a gentle smile on his masked face, Sawyer listened to the Malkavian chatter wildly, wondering just what exactly Moshe could be so wound up about. "We're fine, buddy," he said softly, giving Aguirre's hand a quick and perhaps unnecessary squeeze. "Just been a rough week. What were you lookin' to talk about?" |
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3:18 PM Jul 11