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In the Cards (Part II); SL Scene - Thaddeus, Helena, Rudiger, Caelum
Topic Started: Oct 20 2014, 02:43 AM (988 Views)
Storyteller
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Ancilla
[]
Letters had been sent to some of the more prestigious and interesting persons within the city, inviting them to bare witness to the marvel that was the mysterious Yvonne Oriel, medium and mystic. The gathering was to be hosted by the newly appointed Lord and Lady Dunmore at their estate located outside of York.

The darling couple were one of the fortunate few to have found love among the affluent pairings and their youthful joie de vivre was infectious to those who spent any time in their company. With the marked reputation of the fortune teller, it was rumoured that several of the wealthier families had already turned away the invitation for fear that they too would be scorned by Fate like so many others.

The large manor had been in William's family for centuries and while smaller than most, it was meticulously kept, renovations done often to maintain it's integrity. Internally, it was redecorated with the times and currently had a theme of rich greens, reds with accents of gold.

As the guests arrived by carriage, they would be greeted by a doorman who would gesture them inside. There they would have any coats or hats taken by one of the other employees who would then lead them into the main ballroom where the social aspect of the evening would take place.

It was a small gathering, only seeming to have half a dozen of people in attendance. Food and drink were provided, including some of the finest champagne only just arrived from France for this special occasion. Near the back of the large, luxurious space was a octagonal table with a reflective mirrored surface, velvet covered chairs settled around it.

Until Yvonne Oriel made her presence known, those in attendance were free to partake in the refreshments and engage in conversation.
Edited by Storyteller, Oct 20 2014, 02:43 AM.
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Helena Serieux
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Methuselah
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Helena prided herself on her punctuality and this evening bore no difference in that regard. She had not arrived at the opening of the party, no that was not for one of her station, but arrived a suitable time after and at precisely the time she had advised in her reply to the invitation.

This evening, the Toreador was attired in a long evening gown of midnight blue, with mother of pearl shimmering at the edge of her scandalous, cleavage baring neckline. Her hair was bound up and pinned into place to emphasize the arch of her neck. She bowed her head as she was introduced into the room, her lip twitching at the murmur her attire brought out.

Helena was perfectly comfortable in her own company and made no attempt to approach the established conversations. Instead, she made her way sedately to the food selection, gazing over the neatly presented morsels as if tempted by their offers.

She was not, of course, but it amused her to wait and see who would approach the scandalous new noble living in York.
Merits: Well Traveled, Refined, Natural Leader, Occult Library, Manor, True Love
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Flaws: Vengeance, Driving Goal, Infamous Sire, Sire's Resentment, Vengeful Childe/Jilted Paramour
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Caelum Taggert
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Childe
[]
As he approached the manor, the Scottish fellow couldn't help but be kind of amused. The place was large, and probably pretty fancy. Fancier than anything he'd ever set foot in, he was sure of it. With that thought on his mind he paused and glanced downward, a brief furrow of his brow marring stern features. His shoes were scuffed and a little dirty, since he had opted to walk here, rather than climb into a carriage. Caelum wasn't much for appearances, but he also didn't want to embarrass himself or his clan. He stooped down, rubbing his thumb gently against the edge of his shoe to remove the dirty scuff that was there. Another moment of inspection, then he straightened and resumed his walk to the door.

The doorman got a bit of a suspicious look from him, but all the same his had was removed and offered out, along with the outer-coat he had been wearing. He felt a little bare without his hat, truth be told, but he could hardly wear the worn, dirty thing inside and he wasn't ready to commit to something as serious as a top-hat. In a fit of rare vanity, perhaps due to his surroundings and no doubt the people that were waiting inside, his hand rose, digits coming back through his hair to try and tame the thick, dark locks. It was only partially successful, but at least his hair wasn't sticking out all over the place. Still, it kept the wave that suggested he often wore a hat.

He had actually found some clothes that were a little more formal than what he normally skulked around in. He had purchased himself a pair of nice trousers, black in colour. The shirt he wore was new as well, white and button down, with no tie or anything of the sort about his throat to finish the deal. That would of been a little too much. Nor could he find a jacket that suited his tastes - or perhaps he had simply decided the dress pants and shirt were quite enough - so all that covered the shirt was a dark vest, buttoned, alluding to the thick frame it concealed. It was absolutely not anything quite up to par with what folks might be wearing in here, but for a forest dwelling hunter, it wasn't so bad.

Once he was done turning over his coat and hat to the doorman, he ventured deeper into the estate. Despite being just a little in awe of his surroundings, his features maintained the same look they always did - stern, as if he were a split second away from frowning out right. The food and drink really didn't appeal to him in the least, but he did as Helena had and wandered by, inspecting as if he would be selecting something eventually.

He drifted away from the table with the refreshments, cobalt blues scanning over those who had already arrived. He figured he had done fairly well - he wasn't the first one here, but he didn't think he was the last, either. The first and last to arrive tended to draw the most attention.

In his glance of the room, his gaze slid over Helena and past - then stopped and returned to her. One dark brow inched upward, just a hint. She was the opposite end of the spectrum as far as their clothing had went. His was fairly cheap, an obvious attempt to cloth himself in such a manner that he might fit in at least a little bit - easy to look at and then carry on, whereas hers was expensive, eye catching - though was that just the cut? - and likely expensive. His head lolled off to the side just a fraction as he inspected her, however it didn't last long. He sincerely doubted he wanted to get caught staring at her, so after half a minute, he looked elsewhere and the next poor soul to fall under his scrutiny, did so with a bit of disappointment.
Edited by Caelum Taggert, Oct 27 2014, 02:03 PM.
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Thaddeus Augustine
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Thaddeus stepped down from the carriage and took a moment to straighten his clothing, his vibrant cobalt eyes taking in the exterior of the building and those that were currently milling about or entering, before his long legs carried him towards the entrance as well. He received some odd glances from the periphery, his attire not particularly festive. Though tonight had allowed him occasion to don some of the finer pieces he had available to him, he was dressed, as he always was, in unrelieved black.

Removing his tophat gave him a moment to consider the party-goers from a distance, time taken to remove the leather gloves he wore and relinquish them as well, before handing the pieces over to the attendant. He kept his cane in hand, though as he walked there was little indication that he needed assistance with his stride. Taking a lazy path towards the sound of tittering laughter and the clink of fine crystal, those long, elegant fingers combing through his thick, dark hair, an attempt at making it look somewhat presentable, though the moisture in the air had cast his chin-length ebon tresses into a deep wave, curls licking at the tips.

The buttery interior lights of the manor gleamed against the black silk of his cravat and the curling, filigreed brocade of his waist coat, the double row of ebony buttons keeping the material wrapped snugly and flatteringly around his leanly tapered torso. The weather of his new city allowed him to indulge in his favored long coats, and the hem of his impeccable black wool frock coat fell to just above the knee, brushing at the simpler flat front trousers that wrapped snug around his long legs.

Gleaming black dress shoes, shined to a near-mirrored polish, carried him around the edges of the party, until that sharp gaze landed upon a familiar face. "Ms. Serieux. How lovely to see you." He offered in an entirely polite tone.

Merits: Entrepreneur, Coldly Logical, Magic Sensitivity, Hideaway, Occult Library

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Rudiger Blumenthal
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The limited number of invitees surprised him. The circumstances of his meandering travels prevented him from creating meaningful relations and thus he found himself appealed to only the more permissive of parties -- rarely did he have the pleasure of attending such modest gatherings. Perhaps it was a sign? A cosmic intervention from “fate” itself in its attempt to inform him of some ambiguous message? The Rose laughed under his breath.
Absurdity.
The notion of fortune-telling was ridiculous to him, and yet he could not help but curse his existence for demonstrating that ridiculous “things” could still exist in this world. At the very least, he felt a sense of connection for being one of those “things” whispered in hushed and fearful voices. The question was, would this Yvonne Oriel be a genuine confrère or a hoax?

It occurred to him that his appearance was quite unusual. He was wearing some of his best clothes; fine silks, velvets, and patterns layered beautifully together to display a man exuding both comfort and sense of fashion. And yet, for all that, his long curly hair was an affront to the short, well-kept style of his contemporaries; his youthful appearance gave no explanation as to why a boy could afford such exorbitant clothing. This curiosity towards his appearance did not bother him, however. He dressed himself out of self-appreciation, not for the appreciation of others.

For a moment, he lingered in the ballroom with no real purpose in mind. It was then that he noticed her. Helena Serieux was a member of his clan, a scientist of ridiculous pursuits, and an enigma to only himself. He could not decide whether he enjoyed her presence or not. She was quite demeaning towards him, and yet that had served to bolster the pride he thought he had lost. It was a peculiar sentiment to have -- both ire and appreciation.
She appeared to have been joined by an oversized crow. The crow -- a man, on further inspection -- might have been a servant? A friend, perhaps? His mind involuntarily recounted Aesop’s “The Fox and The Crow” as he decided to abstain from interrupting the two, shifting his attention to the other guests in an attempt to identify one who was as equally available as himself. He found one, one who was situated annoyingly close to the Fox and the Crow.
“Beggars should not be choosers,” he muttered as he advanced towards the stern-gazed man.
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Helena Serieux
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"Master Augustine." Helena raised her brows in faint surprise. She was indeed mildly surprised at the Tremere's presence after his dismissal of her at the chantry. Far more than that, though, was her amusement at his attendance of the event. To her mind, that alone was was an admission that the mighty Tremere clan did not know all there was.

"Just yourself this evening? I must admit I am surprised to see you here. I would not have thought you or mister Pierce would be interested by the evening's chicanery." The Toreador's gaze moved on as she relied upon her peripheral vision to monitor her companion's response.

Her gaze soon lit upon the familiar, cherubic features of Rudiger and her lips curved crookedly. "Well, well," she murmured, well aware that Thaddeus would overhear her easily, "the Badger has left his set."
Merits: Well Traveled, Refined, Natural Leader, Occult Library, Manor, True Love
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Flaws: Vengeance, Driving Goal, Infamous Sire, Sire's Resentment, Vengeful Childe/Jilted Paramour
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Caelum Taggert
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The addition of the Tremere, who drifted towards the Toreador was noted but it wasn't enough to encourage Caelum to abandon his post. He did watch them for a moment, a passing interest in how the dark man carried himself around a woman that quite clearly stood out in the current crowd. It was really only because of her that he continued to glance back there a time or two, before regarding the room as a whole again.

He was giving some thought to the reason an invitation ended up in his hand, considering those here, when he noted that Rudiger was coming his way. He was near a wall, so there was no chance the Toreador was advancing to get at something beyond him. He didn't spare a glance over his shoulder just to be sure, either. Now cobalt blues were intent on him - not much changed in the look of his features, but at the last second a little bit of curiousity arrived, softening the almost-scowl. Perhaps he had thought to at least make some kind of impression that shaded towards 'good'.

Consideration was paid briefly to the garb the man was in, and even he could tell it was far more expensive than what he wore, which immediately placed Rudiger in a class above his own. Not that he would be treated any differently, unless some how a title was dropped (and maybe not even then).

If Rudiger continued his advancement and came near enough to be spoken to, Caelum straightened his shoulders and offered a short nod. Lips parted, deep tones, heavily accented and easily identified as Scottish. "Evenin' there." And then he stalled. Caelum was absolutely awful at small talk and for a fraction of a second, his lips remained parted as if he thought to say more, but it escaped him at the last moment. His mouth closed, jaw ticking once, perhaps a show of irritation. It was for the Toreador to decide who it might be directed at. Caelum made a mental note to engage in more conversations with people at the Tavern if he was going to be out and running into people frequently.

And so, silence from him. He stood and waited, watching with some expectation - like many others, Rudiger would decide to engage him in conversation or simply give the polite greeting in return and depart - the latter was often what the Gangrel was met with, and he seldom complained about it, either. For now, Rudiger held his attention, watching the rest of the room from his peripheral.
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Thaddeus Augustine
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Despite Helena's belief that the world revolved around her, the Tremere's presence had nothing to do with her own, and therefore should have no surprise that he was there in spite of their previous interactions. Her amusement, likewise, was rather oddly placed. The supernatural was the territory and purview of his clan, and it wasn't at all surprising to have one of their own to survey the likely charlatan in their midst. And so, as with many interactions between the arrogant Toreador on his clan, it became his position to correct her on the matter.

"On the contrary, Ms. Serieux, observing fictional phenomena is well within our realm of interest. Nearly as entertaining as reading through infantile scientific observances." He offered that same polite smile once again, his sapphire hued eyes glancing out upon the rest of the room, briefly noting Caelum and his... rustic choice of dress, along with the near flamboyant choices of the man he approached. An odd pair, to say the very least.

He didn't pretend to comprehend her final riddle of a comment, and therefore remained silent, having no interest in further picking through the rubbish that Helena considered original thought. He'd had his fair share of that reviewing the document she had left with his clan.


Edited by Thaddeus Augustine, Nov 11 2014, 11:30 AM.

Merits: Entrepreneur, Coldly Logical, Magic Sensitivity, Hideaway, Occult Library

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Amelia Bradbury
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It was unclear how long she had been waiting there but it was probably not as long as it felt. She wasn't even sure why she had accepted to attend. Maybe she had convinced herself it would be a good way to solidify her standing with York’s finest and maybe encourage more patrons to visit her establishment. If you didn't know her by reputation you may well have thought she was another boring toff, her clothes certainly fitted the image but she was far more interesting.

Her attire constructed of the finest silk available in London; Her gown a deep blood red and corset over the top constructed from fine silk damask in a complementary hue of black with gold accents. Around her neck a chandelier of draped pearls. Her hair worn loose, swept around the back of her neck and over her left shoulder in delicate ringlets - A style which had taken longer than she cared to admit to achieve.

Watching the other guests as they greeted each other from her place at the edge of the room. Their fake smiles and forced polite conversation amused her as her eyes washed over the room, moving from guest to guest before stopping to watch a newly familiar face in the crowd.

Amelia knew how these things worked. People knew who she was or rather what she owned in the city and she had learned long ago not to approach anyone she recognised as it could end disastrously for them which was ultimately bad for business.

It suited her fine actually. People were such bores and gatherings such as this seemed to only exacerbate it. Though one person in the room fascinated her and she couldn't help but gaze unblinking towards them in the hope that they, of all people, would be the one brave enough to be seen talking to her.

Amelia smiled to herself as she realised that she must look out of her mind, standing next to the wall staring across the room at the same point for so long. She continued scouring the room and realised that she was not the only one attentively watching.

She couldn't help but wonder how long it would be until the event began. Amelia was more than just fashionably late as she had to make sure that things would run smoothly whilst she was away which seemed to take forever to organise though it was a hell of a lot more interesting than her current situation. Letting out a modest sigh as she glances around for somewhere to sit; though she feels fine, Amelia guesses that people would expect a woman such as her to probably not be accustomed to so much standing. A smirk spreads across her lips.
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Rudiger Blumenthal
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What at first seemed to be a plain fellow, now -- from a more meticulous inspection -- seemed to be quite a robust man. It reminded Rudiger of the manual workers whose sons he would often scuffle with, albeit there was one difference which set this man in a category of his own. This one’s gaze was not made feeble by the monotony of work or the abuse of alcohol, but instead it imposed steely resolution. If eyes were indeed windows to one’s soul, then Rudiger was quite interested in this one.

The Rose seemed slightly amused at the man’s words and expression, smiling in a seemingly kind manner before replying, “Yes, good evening,” just as he moved closer to the man, positioning himself so that conversation would be inevitable lest their distance be ill at ease.
“I see that inquiries regarding fate and destiny transcend all manner of folk. Please note that I do not mean this derisively, I am simply fascinated by those who have different… lifestyles, than I.” He stopped himself, then; lifting his eyes from the man in front of him and adopting an unsatisfied expression, as if he had sampled something quite sour. “No, I am being presumptuous. I apologize,” and just like that, Rudiger’s expression reverted back to the cherubic one he had often utilized before. It seemed as if he believed that his misdeed could be absolved by apology alone.
Extending his hand, he continued; “They call me Rudiger Uwe Blumenthal.”
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