Friday, February 17th 2012
”Cantor”- 7:30 pm
In an earthen basement beneath a crumbling church in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, you stir from your slumber in the earth. In the pitch-dark you stretch, the call of the Beast and its desire to feed distant in your mind, your mostly satiated hunger not giving it much room to sink its claws into you. The insistent sound of your cell phone's message alert is the only thing to disturb the breathless calm. You flick on the standing lamp close to hand to reveal your weathered desk and stacks of books, wooden chair salvaged from the priest's office upstairs, jacket draped across the back and your backpack nearby.
Your chair creaks under your weight as you sit and disconnect the phone from its charger. 1 new message- looks like it's from the Sheriff's secretary.
”Hello, Mr. Cantor. This is Erika Neil calling for Mr. Al-Asmai. Just letting you know that Mr. Al-Asmai will be joining you for drinks tonight at The Firefly in SoHo; I've arranged a private booth for you at the club for 11:00 pm. If you need to reschedule before then, please call him personally. Thank you!”
Julian Preston- 8:20 pm
From your comfortable nest in your walk-in closet, you emerge into the night. Hunger twists in your stomach, your mouth dry and ready for some sweet vitae. For now, however, you push it aside. Much like Louis XIV, you have a formal bedroom to go with your informal sleeping bedroom and it's here you head first. Clothing will have to be chosen for the evening. Messages will have to be answered, since the world didn't stop while you slept. You cycle through your messages disinterestedly- your lawyer, representatives for New York Fashion Week seeking to book an event at The Firefly, various hangers-on thanking you for waiving the tab and ensuring a fine evening... and one from Jenni.
”Hey boss.,” she purrs,”Erika called today to book your private room for a meeting with Qadir at 11. I told her it would be fine. Lemme know if you need anything prepared.... or anything else.” Her voice is husky in your ear and you feel her eagerness and her desperation over the phone; an addict hoping for a fix. Tonight you'll have other matters to attend to, it seems.
Bradly Maurer- 9:00 pm
You feel lethargic, laying in your dark closet. Your mouth is dry, your veins sluggish and your stomach empty. The instinct to pound down your apartment building's hallways and just find blood, any blood, courses through you in the absence of vitae. The part of you that Maximilian called The Beast prods you but you tamp it down. Not yet. Not yet.
You step from your closet and into your apartment, flicking on the light switch. On the floor, slipped under you door, is a notice of a Tenant's Association meeting in the building. Older tenants are pooling resources for legal representation to avoid being pushed out by the developers in favor of younger and more well-off tenants like yourself. Seems like your apartment should have been left off the flyer delivery schedule, but whatever.
The view from your back window encompasses the lake in Central Park and a large section of the Upper West Side and east into Queens. You can see the running lights of airplanes arriving and departing from La Guardia overhead. The view would take your breath away if you still had any.
Though your hands shake a bit with your hunger, you take a quick glance at your email on your iPad. Kelsey's got some updates on her job, Uncle Brian and the end of Wolfgang's deployment. Though she knows you're very busy, your sister would definitely like to see you soon. An email from Erika Neil, Qadir's secretary, catches your eye.
”Hello Brad,
Mr. Al-Asmai asked me to confirm your appointment with him tonight at The Firefly in SoHo. I've arranged a private room for you and the rest of your associates. Please call Mr. Al-Asmai's cell number if you need to change your plans.
Best,
Erika Neil”
Damien Talbot- 9:00 pm
Damien dreams:
You wake in your haven to the smell of Cynthia's joint from the living room. Your mouth is dry and your limbs feel leaden, veins and stomach bereft of nourishing vitae. It takes what seems like a colossal effort just to rise as your herd's music penetrates the more insistent beat of the Beast's rage in your temples, demanding to be fed- to hunt and to take sustenance.
Stepping over the discarded bottles and other detritus of your “sacraments” you spy a note that Cynthia's left for you on the door to your shared bedroom.
The Firefly, Al-Asmai, SoHo, 11. followed by the Sheriffs cell phone number. Seems Qadir needs his Hounds tonight, but that will have to wait until you've had a chance to feed.
Damien mutters to himself, seeing the message from the sheriff, "Just what I wanted to do tonight..."
Trying to make himself a bit more presentable, Damien calls out to Cynthia, "Cynthia, send Alexis and Di in. It is time for their offering."
Waiting as patiently as a hungry vampire can, he continues to prepare himself for the night's activities.
Seeing the two "supplicants" enter the room, Damien simply states, "It is time. Give me your wrist." and he begins to feed. Having taken a bit of vitae from Alexis, he repeats the process with Di.
Having finished gathering his flocks "offering" for the night, Damien prepares to head to The Firefly, off-handedly mentioning to himself, "Still a bit hungry, perhaps a bit more blood on the way to the club."
Family first.
Brad took the flyer with him into his bedroom with its carefully disturbed sheets, quickly running an eye over them to be sure they weren't gathering dust, and sat down at a cheap, prefabricated computer desk to boot up his waiting laptop.
While Windows chugged along Brad eyed the flyer and made a quick calculation. He would have to be a little bit more careful with a younger building, but Brad was always careful. Except for the night of his Embrace he'd never killed. The elderly might drop dead for any reason without causing suspicion. A thirty year old lawyer would be just the opposite. Brad could handle that, since a strange death would almost certainly end up on his table, but working on his neighbors would draw attention he didn't need. It was just the thing to turn his ordinary medical examiner eccentricity from charming to suspect.
Still, Brad could handle either outcome without much trouble. Young people living alone did not differ so much from old people living alone. If they brought some children with them, no one would look twice at a teenager who slept more than usual.
Brad had yet to sample adolescent vitae. Did all the hormones make a difference? Mrs. Nowak's grandson was staying with her this week. They'd met in the elevator on Wednesday. Tall and muscular, Jason stood by politely as his grandmother related his track and field accomplishments and Brad made the proper noises and a lame joke about how he couldn't run without being chased. That pale skin with its pulsing arteries beneath...
For a moment Brad imagined himself chasing Jason around a track like the one around the football field where he went to school. Blood raced in his veins. The teenager looked back over his shoulder, face stretched in terror. Then at last his body stiffening in shock before softening into the Kiss as his vitae flowed across Brad's lips...
And enough of that. Had Mrs. Nowak said anything about needing help? Or Jason having homework? No, enough. Brad needed to feed, but he wouldn't let himself be controlled by impulse.
The log in screen stared back at Brad. He forced vitae from his thoughts and entered the twenty character password he'd generated by taking the third character, discarding repeats, of any text he saw on his first night and appended the date, in scrambled order. Brad was careful and the laptop did leave the building so he never left anything dangerous on it. The Pad was due for a factory reset too, but that could wait. In a moment a billowing American flag took over his screen.
Kelsey's email came first.
Kel,
Things are still crazy here; it's killing me. I thought sleepless nights were over when I finished my residency. I might be able to get a night off but Dr. Eisenstadt told me flat-out I couldn't have a day right now. We could do a video call like we do with Wolf, but it would have to be late.
By the way, did he send you his latest pictures? That statue must have been amazing before the Talibans got their hands on it.
-Brad
Brad didn't bother to read Erika's email again. He deleted it at once and wiped it from his Pad. Those things should never be left sit. Someone could start making connections and wonder what Bradley Florian Maurer, MD, had to do with Mr. Al-Asmai. And then what about other known associates?
Brad turned the laptop off and carried the Pad with him into the kitchen, where he filled a pot and boiled some water. While it heated up, Brad selected the oldest vegetables from his fridge, tossed in a piece of pre-sliced, pre-cooked chicken, and dumped the lot into the pot. He let it boil over while he read the news, then swore quietly as he pulled it from the heat and poured the lot down the sink, letting the garbage disposal run for a minute or two. Brad tossed in last night's congealed fast food. Now the kitchen had been used, as Brad used it two or three times a week just to keep up the habit and leave behind all the little traces of a person who ate.
Not for the first time, Brad considered taking some plasma bags home with him from work. It would be easy enough. He'd cultivated the image of a man who got a bit lonely working long nights in the morgue and sometimes came up to socialize with the nurses on the night shift. His movements would not arouse suspicion and Brad knew how easy it would be to help a unit or two vanish from the records, especially after a blood drive or after a firefighter or policeman needed it and half the department came in to give. The nurse miscounted. But Brad knew someone could come into his kitchen when he was away and find those plasma bags in the fridge. That might not technically be a breach of the Masquerade in itself, but came far too close for Brad to take the risk.
Heading back to his bedroom, Brad changed out of the clothes he'd slept in for two days straight, then ran the water in the shower. The cold bathroom quickly filled with steam. He ducked in just long enough for a quick lather and rinse, so he would smell like soap and shed any of the grime he'd picked up from cooking and being out and about.
Feeding. With an act of will, Brad forced his fangs to retract as he consulted the address book on his Pad. Mr. Loewen needed a software update. Mr. Ambrose had a virus. Mrs. Kowalski needed help with getting video of her great-grandson off the smartphone her son gave her. Mr. Holland had a growth and, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, could Brad come look at it? He didn't want to go to a doctor for nothing. Brad had promised each that he would be over when he had the chance.
It occurred to Brad that he could create these problems. Look them in the eyes and set up a word that would prompt them to call him asking for help or remember that they'd asked him to come over. Why hadn't he thought of that before? He could set up a schedule, two or three calls a week.
Given the email, Brad suspected tonight would be a working night. Best to be full and Brad should have the time to feed, clean up the memories, and still be at the Firefly early. He cleaned his glasses and then selected one of his Nice Young Man outfits: a soft blue button-down he buttoned all the way up, dark khaki slacks, and a dark blue sweater vest. Brad was an inoffensive, awkward young professional who meant well but didn't get out much and was bad with people. Everyone could see it.
Bard turned the lights off on his way out of the apartment, a vintage doctor's valise in one hand containing his Pad and the usual instruments. Just before he opened the door, Brad did the customary check. Phone. Wallet. Keys. Smelled of soap. Hair combed. All the proper clothes on and in the right place. When one didn't get as cold as one used to it was easy to forget.
Maybe he could catch someone in the elevator and- That was hunger talking, not Brad's brain. You should never feed in an elevator. If it's stopped it could trip an alarm and people waiting would wonder. If the elevator did not stop, it could open up while you were in the act. That would be a great way to greet the sun.
A short ride on the elevator later, Brad found himself coming up on Mrs. Nowak's door. It was right on the way to Mr. Loewen. He could knock and then have her remember she needed his help. That would get him inside the door. But how would he deal with two people at once? Her reaction to Brad's influence might strike Jason as strange. But it would be two drinks in one stop. If Jason answered the door it would be easier. That reaction would be awkward because Jason didn't know Brad and Mrs. Nowak was used to him.
Brad made himself go on. A work night was no time to invite extra complications. Mr. Loewen first. If he had time after making his rounds, Brad could come back and try the new item on the menu.
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Waking to the blood, to him more akin to being shocked back to “life” than waking. The wild song, the symphony of his blood’s blood, that primeval call still echoes in his mind as he rises. The Beast, not the savage bloodthirsty monster, but the animal, hears the device beeping. Still lost in oblivion for a few more moments as his humanitus, regains power.
Rolling off of the stone coffin, he lands with a thump on the soft dirt below, mimicking the living with a stretch similar to a wolf just rising from sleep. A gesture of yawning, though he no longer breaths, or has need to at least, follows, part and parcel of the behaviors his Beast and Blood demanded of him when he let go and allowed them to take over the wheel for a while.
Reaching out, in the nearly perfect darkness, he grasps the object radiating it’s soft green glow, the only illumination besides the charger attached to it and the occasional spark of the rigged wiring to provide power to the device so required in this modern world of mortals.
Blindly, I walk towards the chair a few feet away and sit down, disconnecting my cell, and open it to retrieve the message it irritatingly insists is there with it’s little “yarp, yarp, yarp” tones.
Interesting. How is it that someone made, what I presume is a bar after the greatest tv show and I didn’t know about it in my own city. . . he thinks, having fond memories of a certain mechanic, or at the least the actress that played her. . . .
Gathering my typical items, my coat, a stake or two, just in case, and keys, bag with a few maps, my charger, and begin and go to the spot. There are only two locations that allow my gifts to transport me from the world below to the lands above. The rest of the earth is to cluttered with material that prevents melding. Calling on the Beast, I will become one with the very earth, vanishing even from telepathic and magic observation for a moment until I return to solidness in the louder, more vivid reality of the world. Looking about to make sure no one was in his pseudo-Haven, the kindred that went by Cantor dusted himself off before exiting the degrading building. Invoking the powers of the Beast began to aggravate his hunger.
Retrieving is phone, he begins to punch in Erika’s number, using one finger “granny-style” as he had never really had a knack for electronics. Erika, it’s Cantor. How ya doin’ dear? I just got yur message, and I was just calling to let you know, I am at yur service, as always darlin’. My pleasure. Um huh. I’d appreciate that. Yur the best, girl. An’ thanks a million. Always a pleasure. He never could tell if she actually did appreciate his attempts at friendly politeness or was putting on a face and he aggravated the piss out of her, but still, it was important to him to be hospitable.
I’ll swing by a phone book for the address on the way. It is definitely going to stretch his wallet, especially as he had no intention of taking for granted his employer, though they had a very good working relationship and what might almost be a friendship amongst their kind, would pay for whatever tonight had in store, and he was in some need of a “top off” himself, needed companionship, at least for a time. I’ll swing by and pick up an, um um . . . escort. [i]If it is official business, I’ll feed and send her on her way, well paid. I’ll not have blood slaves or soulless junkies as other of my kind prefer for their dirty works.
Walking to my little storage area, I’ll get on my bike and go find a newer phonebook to start heading there. I will scope out the joint first, then go grab a “date”.
Damien mutters to himself, seeing the message from the sheriff, "Just what I wanted to do tonight..."
Trying to make himself a bit more presentable, Damien calls out to Cynthia, "Cynthia, send Alexis and Di in. It is time for their offering."
Waiting as patiently as a hungry vampire can, he continues to prepare himself for the night's activities.
Seeing the two "supplicants" enter the room, Damien simply states, "It is time. Give me your wrist." and he begins to feed. Having taken a bit of vitae from Alexis, he repeats the process with Di.
Having finished gathering his flocks "offering" for the night, Damien prepares to head to The Firefly, off-handedly mentioning to himself, "Still a bit hungry, perhaps a bit more blood on the way to the club."
After a moment, your supplicants enter the bedroom. Alexis has bleached blonde hair and heavy eyeliner, skinny jeans. You remember vaguely that she's a student. Di's a bit frumpier, wearing a hooded sweatshirt with her hair tied in a bun.
"I want to go first," she says,"Alexis got to last..."Her statement trails off when you grab her wrist and sink your fangs into her. Her breath catches as the ecstasy of the kiss takes hold, her warm blood flooding your mouth and filling your senses. You drink as far as its safe for her... but you're gripped by the need for more. Digging your nails into your knee to snap yourself away from your feeding, you let go of Di, licking the wound closed. She breathes heavily, a bit paler but altogether fine.
The process repeats for Alexis and you dismiss them before stepping out into the night.
It's a cold night, but not what you would expect for February... not that the weather bothers you since transcending such mortal concerns. You follow West Fourth street toward the middle of Manhattan, passing the various bars and restaurants, parking garages and sex shops in the West Village. Humans walk the streets, alone or in groups, on their way to the night's activities. It's a clear night; should be pretty busy downtown. On West Broadway, you start walking south below Houston toward The Firefly. All told, you've got a bit of time to kill...
Brad
Shortly after your knock, you hear the scrape of the peephole cover from inside Mr. Loewen's apartment. The door opens shortly after.
"Oh, Brad. What brings you... oh, yes. Darnedest thing that computer. You don't shell out for the newest doo-dads and they shake you down. Come in, come in!"
The stocky Mr. Loewen steps aside to let you into his apartment. The wallpaper is faded and yellowing from years of smoking in the apartment. You pass the coatrack on the right toward his living room; a newer recliner sits in front of a color tv with the evening news blaring. Framed photos, some in clusters and other large enough for their own frames line the walls- the many years of the Loewen family's life, a younger Mr. Loewen smiling with his young wife in front of their new cadillac. Recent photos of his grandchildren. On the desk in the corner is his PC, the screen showing (of all things) a flying toaster screensaver.
Cantor
You spend a few moments and find a phone booth near the R train station, a phone book dangling from its chain. Unfortunately, it's out of date and you can't find anything on The Firefly. Reluctantly, you pass by an apartment building and find a newer one still on the stoop in its plastic. Furtively flipping it open, you find the cross-streets in SoHo.
Damien looks down at his watch, noting that he has plenty of time before having to meet with Al-Asmai. With time to burn, he wanders around the West Village, hoping to pick out a lone human in an attempt ease the gnawing hunger that still plagues him.
Picking out a vessel, Damien approaches a young woman on her way to one of the many clubs in the area, striking up an idle conversation with her. As the two approach an alley way, Damien asks the young woman, "Follow me, I know about this new club that just opened about a week ago. Seemed pretty cool when I was there a couple of nights ago."
Brad
Shortly after your knock, you hear the scrape of the peephole cover from inside Mr. Loewen's apartment. The door opens shortly after.
"Oh, Brad. What brings you... oh, yes. Darnedest thing that computer. You don't shell out for the newest doo-dads and they shake you down. Come in, come in!"
The stocky Mr. Loewen steps aside to let you into his apartment. The wallpaper is faded and yellowing from years of smoking in the apartment. You pass the coatrack on the right toward his living room; a newer recliner sits in front of a color tv with the evening news blaring. Framed photos, some in clusters and other large enough for their own frames line the walls- the many years of the Loewen family's life, a younger Mr. Loewen smiling with his young wife in front of their new cadillac. Recent photos of his grandchildren. On the desk in the corner is his PC, the screen showing (of all things) a flying toaster screensaver.
"Hi, Mr Loewen," Brad smiled. "Just here to help."
Brad closed the door behind himself, saving Mr. Loewen the trouble and trying to keep his skull in one piece under the onslaught of the TV. On the way across the apartment Brad put reasonable volume on the nightly news down under the positives for having younger neighbors. Should Brad ever develop the preternatural senses Maximilian said were common to Tremere, he might have to have words with David about how quickly the Sabrina could be gentrified.
Best get on with things before the television drove Brad to distraction.
"I'm really sorry to ask this since I'm your guest and all, but would you agree to mute the TV, Mr. Loewen? I'm still recovering from my last all-nighter and my head isn't forgiving me yet." Brad asked in a slightly pained voice that didn't require much feigning, looking Mr. Loewen in the eye as he did.
Damien looks down at his watch, noting that he has plenty of time before having to meet with Al-Asmai. With time to burn, he wanders around the West Village, hoping to pick out a lone human in an attempt ease the gnawing hunger that still plagues him.
Picking out a vessel, Damien approaches a young woman on her way to one of the many clubs in the area, striking up an idle conversation with her. As the two approach an alley way, Damien asks the young woman, "Follow me, I know about this new club that just opened about a week ago. Seemed pretty cool when I was there a couple of nights ago."
Brad
Shortly after your knock, you hear the scrape of the peephole cover from inside Mr. Loewen's apartment. The door opens shortly after.
"Oh, Brad. What brings you... oh, yes. Darnedest thing that computer. You don't shell out for the newest doo-dads and they shake you down. Come in, come in!"
The stocky Mr. Loewen steps aside to let you into his apartment. The wallpaper is faded and yellowing from years of smoking in the apartment. You pass the coatrack on the right toward his living room; a newer recliner sits in front of a color tv with the evening news blaring. Framed photos, some in clusters and other large enough for their own frames line the walls- the many years of the Loewen family's life, a younger Mr. Loewen smiling with his young wife in front of their new cadillac. Recent photos of his grandchildren. On the desk in the corner is his PC, the screen showing (of all things) a flying toaster screensaver."Hi, Mr Loewen," Brad smiled. "Just here to help."
Brad closed the door behind himself, saving Mr. Loewen the trouble and trying to keep his skull in one piece under the onslaught of the TV. On the way across the apartment Brad put reasonable volume on the nightly news down under the positives for having younger neighbors. Should Brad ever develop the preternatural senses Maximilian said were common to Tremere, he might have to have words with David about how quickly the Sabrina could be gentrified.
Best get on with things before the television drove Brad to distraction.
"I'm really sorry to ask this since I'm your guest and all, but would you agree to mute the TV, Mr. Loewen? I'm still recovering from my last all-nighter and my head isn't forgiving me yet." Brad asked in a slightly pained voice that didn't require much feigning, looking Mr. Loewen in the eye as he did.
Mr. Loewen blinks, his eyes quickly glazing a bit.
"Oh, oh yes of course.",he says in almost a whisper as he grabs the remote and turns off the volume. A sudden silence falls in the room."Sorry about that",he chuckles,"When you get to my age, your hearing starts to go..."
After three tries, Julian settles on an outfit. It was a brand new black suit that had arrived from Italy only a week prior. Julian's tailor had the perfect eye to match his tastes.
"God bless that man." Julian shakes his head after allowing his gaze to hang on his image in the mirror for a bit to long. You've got arrangements to make, can't stare at yourself ALL night.
Picking up his cell phone, Julian selects Jenni from his list of contacts, represented by a rather scandalous picture that he had snapped of her late one night. She hated that he kept it, but it provided no end of entertainment when he felt like teasing her.
"Jenni my dearest, I'll be arriving early for my meeting with Qadir. I'm hungry and I'm sure you are too. If you could find it in that lovely heart of yours, pick out some lonesome creature and make her drinks a little extra strong.. and for christ's sake Jenni, do try to pick someone at least a little attractive this time. I nearly lost both of our dinner's attempting to drink from that last warthog that you chose last time."
With that and one last check in the mirror, Julian heads off to the Firefly for what should prove to be an interesting night.
You spot a likely target- a young woman leaning against a building opposite the Angelica Theater, restlessly playing with her phone before occasionally looking up and down Houston street. It takes a few minutes to get past her apprehensiveness, but it's nothing a quick suggestion can't fix.
She follows you around the corner and down a flight of stairs to a doorway just below street level...
Vincent- 9:30 pm
You rise from your slumber, blinking in the darkness of your studio. Flicking on a light, you note that your cell has a message on it.
"Hello, Mr. Lintini, this is Erika Neil calling for Mr. Al-Asmai. My employer would like to discuss some ideas you had about increased security for our Gowanus warehouse. Mr. Al-Asmai will be at The Firefly in SoHo at eleven tonight; he has asked that if you cannot make it, please do call his cell phone number to reschedule. Thank you."
About an hour and a half until you've got to attend to your "duties" with the Sheriff.
After three tries, Julian settles on an outfit. It was a brand new black suit that had arrived from Italy only a week prior. Julian's tailor had the perfect eye to match his tastes.
"God bless that man." Julian shakes his head after allowing his gaze to hang on his image in the mirror for a bit to long. You've got arrangements to make, can't stare at yourself ALL night.Picking up his cell phone, Julian selects Jenni from his list of contacts, represented by a rather scandalous picture that he had snapped of her late one night. She hated that he kept it, but it provided no end of entertainment when he felt like teasing her.
"Jenni my dearest, I'll be arriving early for my meeting with Qadir. I'm hungry and I'm sure you are too. If you could find it in that lovely heart of yours, pick out some lonesome creature and make her drinks a little extra strong.. and for christ's sake Jenni, do try to pick someone at least a little attractive this time. I nearly lost both of our dinner's attempting to drink from that last warthog that you chose last time."
With that and one last check in the mirror, Julian heads off to the Firefly for what should prove to be an interesting night.
Taking the elevator down from your apartment, your doorman ushers you out into the unseasonably warm streets. Couples and small groups of humans walk past, still dressed for work or made up for a night out. Traffic back up down Thompson street, horns blaring impatiently. Passing a few of the small galleries on the walk to The Firefly, you have to tear yourself away from the windows- doubly so for the boutiques.
The Firefly's neon sign (with the name "Firefly" spelled out with the insect's glowing trail) lights up the sidewalk where there are already several smokers gathered outside under the watchful gaze of your front house bouncer. With a nod to your man, you enter your nightclub. Hanging from the eaves are small round balls of gauzy material set with small red lights, spreading odd shadows across the floor and the walls. A small number of patrons dance to the music, while more crowd the bar and tables. The corner of Jenni's mouth perks as she sees you enter and she subtly nods her head toward a young lady in the corner. A lovely woman with dark skin and long fingers drinks a mojito from a straw, her dark eyes glitter slightly with the red light in the club. There's an empty stool next to her.
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Cantor
That's what I wanted to confirm. I didn't want to rise and have it still be a little, . . . bright outside, a potentual risk of higher humanity.
Honestly, I mixed up this character with another one. Your right, it wouldn't be a good idea to bring a mortal to such a meeting, and honestly not in character either. I was thinking of an older character of mine, but this one I am planning on playing a little different. If you don't mind, I'd like to forget about that part completely?
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Once I have the cross streets, I'll go check the place out. I want to get there early, and make sure that there are some decent exit plans, and also take a moment to at least see what kind of security I can expect to protect my boss if anything does go down.
I'll pull up a little down the street, and place my bike in a garage (that link says it is a terrible idea to park a bike, even legally, on the street as people really are that bad of drivers), walk back to the place. I'll leave my coat and backpack in the bikes saddlebag, and actually try to pull off the most normal, human, mundane look I can get out of myself. once I leave the garage, I'll also invoke the Blush of Health. "Better safe than sorry, especially with these rumors of hunters on the rise".
"I understand. Thank you, Mr. Loewen," Brad said, letting himself drift nearer as the old man followed his command. Blessed quiet. In his mind's eye, Brad leaped on him and plunged his fangs into the man's carotid artery as they both collapsed to the floor. He fed and fed until Mr. Lowen was no more. Brad made himself push aside the thought. He really overdid it at the chantry last night.
Brad really needed to think about setting up some standing orders. Maybe Mr. Loewen could have computer troubles every Friday night. Better still, Brad could make him coffee and slip a little vitae in. But Maximilian had warned him that kine who received kindred vitae could display abnormal behavior. Brad welcomed Mr. Loewen and his other neighbors talking about how helpful and polite he was, but if that affection became too strong it would bring suspicion. Brad could hardly be the Nice Young Man if the way Mr. Loewen spoke of him in the laundry room sounded more like they were dating.
That thought mildly repulsed Brad and he had no doubt what the reaction would be from many of the older residents. Half the doors in the Sabrina might close to him.
It would wait. Vitae first.
"So what's the problem with the computer?" Brad asked in his friendly voice, listening carefully.
After checking his voicemail, Vincent checks the laptop he's used to hack into the building's security cameras to make sure nothing unusual has happened during the day. Once done, he checks his email via his tablet, and responds to anything of import.
He then calls Joe and Don, the two soldiers who roamed the halls that day to make sure nobody came by who didn't belong.
You spot a likely target- a young woman leaning against a building opposite the Angelica Theater, restlessly playing with her phone before occasionally looking up and down Houston street. It takes a few minutes to get past her apprehensiveness, but it's nothing a quick suggestion can't fix.
She follows you around the corner and down a flight of stairs to a doorway just below street level...
...where you round on her, ready to feed. She blinks large brown eyes, a look of confusion on her face.
"Wait- what the f*#%?", she says.
** spoiler omitted **
After checking his voicemail, Vincent checks the laptop he's used to hack into the building's security cameras to make sure nothing unusual has happened during the day. Once done, he checks his email via his tablet, and responds to anything of import.
He then calls Joe and Don, the two soldiers who roamed the halls that day to make sure nobody came by who didn't belong.
After making certain that nothing unusual went on- other tenants coming and going, your mail man, a UPS delivery guy and the super going about his business, you check your email.
Having Joe and Don on retainer to keep your doorstep clear come with some expectations, as is clear from your recent email from The Family. They just got a tip that inspections are going to get tighter at the airport in the next week- there's no guarantee there won't be someone paying attention to what some of the inspectors payed off at La Guardia are doing and there's a shipment due to come in from Chicago. The organization needs Bulletproof to hack into the shipping company's system and push the ship date back a week or so.
Once I have the cross streets, I'll go check the place out. I want to get there early, and make sure that there are some decent exit plans, and also take a moment to at least see what kind of security I can expect to protect my boss if anything does go down.
I'll pull up a little down the street, and place my bike in a garage (that link says it is a terrible idea to park a bike, even legally, on the street as people really are that bad of drivers), walk back to the place. I'll leave my coat and backpack in the bikes saddlebag, and actually try to pull off the most normal, human, mundane look I can get out of myself. once I leave the garage, I'll also invoke the Blush of Health. "Better safe than sorry, especially with these rumors of hunters on the rise".
After paying more than you would ever think fair for parking you walk around the block a few times, casing the place and checking out the security situation.
Under white and yellow light cast by street lamps, people walk alone or in small groups. You duck around a small cluster of college aged asian kids, out for a night on the town or fresh from class. They chat idly in their native language- the weekend is here and they haven't got a care in the world.
This far downtown the buildings aren't quite so tall besides the occasional condo complex or office tower. Older buildings have been renovated into storefronts, restaurants, bars and galleries. Based on the prices for parking, whatever the women passing you on the streets have in those shopping bags probably cost more than a blue collar joe would earn in a week back in Texas.
The Firefly, unfortunately, doesn't seem to be named for the tv show. It's a trendy bar with a smooth stone facing, the club's name spelled out in cursive by the bug's trail. The velvet rope is being stretched out in front, but there isn't a line forming yet. A large bouncer with an earpiece stands at the front, checking over a clipboard and chatting with some of the smokers outside.
"I understand. Thank you, Mr. Loewen," Brad said, letting himself drift nearer as the old man followed his command. Blessed quiet. In his mind's eye, Brad leaped on him and plunged his fangs into the man's carotid artery as they both collapsed to the floor. He fed and fed until Mr. Lowen was no more. Brad made himself push aside the thought. He really overdid it at the chantry last night.
Brad really needed to think about setting up some standing orders. Maybe Mr. Loewen could have computer troubles every Friday night. Better still, Brad could make him coffee and slip a little vitae in. But Maximilian had warned him that kine who received kindred vitae could display abnormal behavior. Brad welcomed Mr. Loewen and his other neighbors talking about how helpful and polite he was, but if that affection became too strong it would bring suspicion. Brad could hardly be the Nice Young Man if the way Mr. Loewen spoke of him in the laundry room sounded more like they were dating.
That thought mildly repulsed Brad and he had no doubt what the reaction would be from many of the older residents. Half the doors in the Sabrina might close to him.
It would wait. Vitae first.
"So what's the problem with the computer?" Brad asked in his friendly voice, listening carefully.
"Well, I've been trying to get these photos my son sent of my granddaughter Emily's graduation... I told you about her, right? Joining the Peace Corps, bless her and..."
Mr. Loewen shakes his head."Anyways. The darn printer's not talking to the computer; said something about drivers. The whole thing's plugged in, though, I double checked that."
Looking at his computer, it's easy to see that Mr. Loewen does indeed just need some driver updates for his printer. After a few moments checking his operating system and his printer model, you've got his granddaughter's graduation photos printing.
"You're a miracle worker, Brad. Thank you so much.", he says, gently clapping your shoulder.
The Firefly's neon sign (with the name "Firefly" spelled out with the insect's glowing trail) lights up the sidewalk where there are already several smokers gathered outside under the watchful gaze of your front house bouncer. With a nod to your man, you enter your nightclub. Hanging from the eaves are small round balls of gauzy material set with small red lights, spreading odd shadows across the floor and the walls. A small number of patrons dance to the music, while more crowd the bar and tables. The corner of Jenni's mouth perks as she sees you enter and she subtly nods her head toward a young lady in the corner. A lovely woman with dark skin and long fingers drinks a mojito from a straw, her dark eyes glitter slightly with the red light in the club. There's an empty stool next to her.
Vincent sits down at his laptop and gets to work, he's used to these kinds of tasks so it shouldn't be overly difficult for him.
Specialties work differently in V20. They now grant two successes per 10 you rolled. Vincent has a 4 in both Int and Comp Hacking, so does that count each ten as three successes?, Also the above is not taking into account any extra successes for tens beyond the normal one.
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Give me a Perception + Larceny roll to see what you can tell about the security of the club; difficulty 6.
Perception + Investigation or Streetwise<3 Successes>
Perception + Larceny <2 Successes, 10=2>
I'll casually walk to the front of the line, pulling out a small wad of cash ($60 US) folded in my palm as I offer to shake the guards hand. Carter. I'm early., and also see if I can sell any gun oil on him, or the like while I'm at it.
Assuming I get in the door, I will continue to do a quick walkthrough, just seeing what is where, and head to the restroom, for a quick lookthrough for firearms hidden in the stalls. Whilst guns are rarely an actual danger to us, and especially my boss, being "killed" in public is no fun for the Masquerade.[/i]
Again, assuming get in and I find nothing to complain about here, or the rest of the joint, I'll return to my bike, (only wanting to pay for an hourish of parking), and then again later when I come back. Time to get a little food he thinks, and sets off for a little bit of a poorer part of town, when the evil will come to him. . .
Would it be an Wits + Streetwise roll to find an unclaimed slum that would make batman very happy?
I'll get there, and just drive downa a little allyway, trying to get lost in a place I shouldn't be, but too late to turn back. Parking my bike where I see no eyes watching me, I'll move a few dumpsters around to camaflouge it, and walk further into the night, but still within sight. I'll take out my backpack and unfurl a map, going out of my way to look like a tourist who doesn't know what sort of danger they are in, and completely lost. . .
"You're a miracle worker, Brad. Thank you so much.", he says, gently clapping your shoulder.Okay, I'll need your Manipulation + Leadership roll for your Mesmerize. Difficulty 5.
"You're welcome. I know how important it is to keep up with family," Brad smiled up at Mr. Loewen and caught his eyes.
...where you round on her, ready to feed. She blinks large brown eyes, a look of confusion on her face."Wait- what the f$@@?", she says.
No time for subtlety... Damien thinks to himself, as he grabs the young woman.
Julian glides over to the table with a fresh mojito and a smile.
"Jenni tells me that you've been sitting here alone tonight. My name is Julian. Let me show you around."
Julian will be showing the kine one of his exclusive back rooms.
...where you round on her, ready to feed. She blinks large brown eyes, a look of confusion on her face."Wait- what the f$@@?", she says.
No time for subtlety... Damien thinks to himself, as he grabs the young woman.
You dive toward her, but she pivots quickly away. You can almost smell her sudden fear beneath her perfume as you grab the back of the woman's coat and drag her into your arms. Before she can cry out or resist further, your bared fangs pierce the skin on her neck. She inhales sharply as the Kiss takes her, her warm savory blood coating your cold throat.
You pull mouth away before you cause any serious harm, licking away the tell-tale signs of your feeding. She staggers dizzily for a moment, her hands shaking.
Vincent sits down at his laptop and gets to work, he's used to these kinds of tasks so it shouldn't be overly difficult for him.
** spoiler omitted **
Answer:
With practiced ease, you cut through the shipping company's firewall and into their database and scheduling arrangements. Seeing that the package is already in cargo, you raise a red flag in the system and have the plane temporarily halted- citing a few confusing address changes logged onto the package number... and a good dozen or so others to make sure the plane is stopped. It shouldn't be less than a week getting that straightened out.
With your work dispatched for the Family in only an hour, you check in with the Joe and Don outside. The refrigerator sized men haven't seen anything out of the ordinary today and by now the other tenants know better than to be too curious (not that most needed much convincing anyways- this is New York after all).
All told, you're left with about a half hour to get down to The Firefly and see what the Sheriff needs.
"You're a miracle worker, Brad. Thank you so much.", he says, gently clapping your shoulder.Okay, I'll need your Manipulation + Leadership roll for your Mesmerize. Difficulty 5.
"You're welcome. I know how important it is to keep up with family," Brad smiled up at Mr. Loewen and caught his eyes.
** spoiler omitted ** ** spoiler omitted **
Mr. Loewen's eyes glaze over, his mouth slowly going slack from his smile.
"Stand there and do not move or make any noises until I next say the phrase 'Now it's all fixed.'"
Mr. Loewen complies, staring straight ahead as you roll up his sleeve. You find a vein in his wrist- not too close to the artery or it will be difficult to control the flow- and plunge your fangs into his skin. Warm and fresh blood fills your mouth and the animal part of you pounds in your temple, urging and demanding that you slake your thirst completely, consequences be damned.
He's old. Old people die. What's the harm... so hungry... and his blood is nice and warm and fresh...But you fight it off, control it. This is an investment in the future, you remind yourself; so long as he stays healthy, Mr. Loewen can provide meals for months or years to come. With clinical patience, you fight the Beast back down and stop yourself from taking more than is healthy for your vessel.
Give me a Perception + Larceny roll to see what you can tell about the security of the club; difficulty 6.** spoiler omitted **
That being said, when I say security, I do not mean literally security, as much as general safety of the place. Things out of the ordinary. I hidden room, security systems, the waitor NOT acting like a waiter, the drinks containing a little something extra, ghouls, the Sabbat especially. If you don't mind, I'd like to also make Streetwise/Investigation rolls (same dice amounts). I'm not including any bonuses as they may or may not apply here.Perception + Investigation or Streetwise 6d10<3 Successes>
Perception + Larceny 6d10 <2 Successes, 10=2>
I'll casually walk to the front of the line, pulling out a small wad of cash ($60 US) folded in my palm as I offer to shake the guards hand. Carter. I'm early., and also see if I can sell any gun oil on him, or the like while I'm at it.
Assuming I get in the door, I will continue to do a quick walkthrough, just seeing what is where, and head to the restroom, for a quick lookthrough for firearms hidden in the stalls. Whilst guns are rarely an actual danger to us, and especially my boss, being "killed" in public is no fun for the Masquerade.[/i]
Again, assuming get in and I find nothing to complain about here, or the rest of the joint, I'll return to my bike, (only wanting to pay for an hourish of parking), and then again later when I come back. Time to get a little food he thinks, and sets off for a little bit of a poorer part of town, when the evil will come to him. . .
Would it be an Wits + Streetwise roll to find an unclaimed slum that would make batman very happy?
[i]I'll get there, and just drive downa a little allyway, trying to get lost in a place I shouldn't be, but too late to turn back. Parking my bike where I see...
From the outside, you can see the front entrance. Off to the side of the entrance, you can see one of the many metal doors set into the sidewalk, padlocked from the outside to keep anyone from getting into the basement of the club without permission. Breaking it out from inside would be tough. You're almost satisfied that you've seen all the outside entrances until you spot something on the roof- looks like a black wrought iron ladder carefully concealed away from direct view leading onto the roof of the taller building next door. A black bubble just inside the door conceals a security camera.
The bouncer takes your cash without consulting the clipboard.
"Right on in, sir, thank you.", he says. You can't smell any gun oil on him nor any tell-tale signs of a concealed weapon.
Inside the club, round globes of gauzy material with red firefly lights illuminate the interior. The bar on the left is manned by a lovely blonde bartender and while the scent of the other club goers floods your senses you get a whiff of her as you pass closer to the bar- a familiar smell, another predator... but her skin is too rosy to be Kindred herself, so probably not that. Her gaze travels periodically to the well-dressed and unspeakably handsome man at the bar chatting up a woman that could be a model. You note the fire exit in the rear and another bouncer watching from gantry above on the second story before heading to the men's room for a quick glance.
Satisfied that there aren't any concealed weapons waiting in the commode, you head out and try to find a likely area to get a meal.
Actually, a lot of Texans are very rich, and not a few are "winter Texans", people that live up north in the hotter months and then come south to avoid winter. :)
Julian glides over to the table with a fresh mojito and a smile.
"Jenni tells me that you've been sitting here alone tonight. My name is Julian. Let me show you around." 6d10
Julian will be showing the kine one of his exclusive back rooms.
The woman smiles.
"Jenni, huh? So you "come here often"?", the woman laughs as though you had made the joke. She extends a dark hand, silver bracelets tinkling on her wrists. "I'm Cassandra, Julian. Nice to meet you... wait, you look familiar. Where have I seen you before?"
His hunger less controlling, Brad took a few moments to compose himself. Some childish part of him insisted he ought to wink or smile or make a joke at Mr. Loewen's expense but if Brad allowed himself to indulge those impulses, he'd just find a new and slightly riskier set he wanted to indulge, and then another until he was ripping the throats out of people at work one night.
"Thank you, Mr. Loewen," he said instead as he licked the wound closed and then dried it off. It wouldn't do if Mr. Loewen wondered when he'd drooled on himself.
Unnecessarily, Brad glanced about the room to be sure nothing had been disturbed and no Hunters or Sabbat or Lupines had arrived while vitae was the only thing on his mind. It never hurt to be sure and one of the first things Brad had done before starting to hunt on his own was to make a list of precautions. The smallest thing could lead back to him. Invisibility was not easy.
Peering into Mr. Loewen's eyes again, Brad began the subtle work of removing Mr. Loewen's memory of being commanded and fed upon.
"...and after I fixed your computer we talked a little bit about your granddaughter in the Peace Corps before you mentioned a slight pain in your wrist. I examined it, even using my stethoscope to listen to the blood vessels, after warming it up a little with my hands. I told you it was probably nothing but if the discomfort lasted more than a few days, you should see your primary care physician about it."
Wound closed? Done.
Checked for witnesses? Done.
Removed memories of feeding and control prior to feeding? Done.
Explanation for any phantom pain? Done.
Replacement memories approximately equal in time to the gap left by the removed memories? Done.
Satisfied, Brad made sure he had all his things and returned to his pleasant Nice Young Man voice.
"Now it's all fixed," Brad said in his Nice Young Man voice, with a smile. "It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Loewen. If you need help with anything else, I'm just a phone call or email away."
Vincent packs up his laptop, pockets his cell phone then heads down to the parking garage and hops on his motorcycle. He speeds off to the Firefly, zipping in and out of traffic, not caring who he cuts off. Arriving about five minutes before the scheduled meeting, he heads in to find the Sheriff.
"I do. And here probably, I own this establishment." Julian plants a soft kiss on the back of Cassandra's hand.
"So, may I show you around or are you.. waiting for another guest?" He lets a look of slight disappointment cross his face as he asks the last part.
You dive toward her, but she pivots quickly away. You can almost smell her sudden fear beneath her perfume as you grab the back of the woman's coat and drag her into your arms. Before she can cry out or resist further, your bared fangs pierce the skin on her neck. She inhales sharply as the Kiss takes her, her warm savory blood coating your cold throat.
You pull mouth away before you cause any serious harm, licking away the tell-tale signs of your feeding. She staggers dizzily for a moment, her hands shaking.
Damien quickly surveys the area looking for plausible excusses...
"Sorry about that, it looked like you were about to trip over that piece of busted concrete." he says vaguely gestering in the direction of some debris. "Then when I had you so close, I just could not help myself...I have got to remember to stop doing the 'X' before leaving the apartment. With that out of the way, shall we continue on to the club? I would understand if you chose not to go with me, but I would still very much like it if you would."
Vincent packs up his laptop, pockets his cell phone then heads down to the parking garage and hops on his motorcycle. He speeds off to the Firefly, zipping in and out of traffic, not caring who he cuts off. Arriving about five minutes before the scheduled meeting, he heads in to find the Sheriff.
Traffic is very thick- Friday night, after all- even driving aggressively you'll just barely make it before the meeting. As you weave through the cars on the West Side Highway (to a chorus of horns and shouted profanity), you feel a strange tingle on the back of your neck and instinctively check your rearview mirror.
Wits + Streetwise to find a place to go look for a bite:6d10
With an additional Cha/App (2) + Expression/Performance (0) roll to appear as lost and helpless as possible: 2d10 , if it matters.
Remembering what you've seen from one of the crime report aggregates you saw online, you head east on Houston toward the Lower East Side. Much of the LES is getting expensive and gentrified, but there's still hairy pockets that have remained dangerous.
You turn down Orchard street, fumbling with a large city map and doing your best to look confused.... only to see that it's busy with hipsters, college students and other people looking for a good time. Not to be frustrated, you take several random turns down quieter streets and heading further toward the East River. On a block of warehouses your luck turns and a large figure looms out of an alleyway ahead of you; from his posture, it's plain that he has every intention of robbing you or worse.
Then the wind shifts and you get a scent of cannabis, cheap cologne and the sound of a heavy boot on the pavement- another potential vessel.
"I do. And here probably, I own this establishment." Julian plants a soft kiss on the back of Cassandra's hand.
"So, may I show you around or are you.. waiting for another guest?" He lets a look of slight disappointment cross his face as he asks the last part.
Cassandra laughs lightly.
"Not anymore, I'm not. Lead the way, Julian."Jenni looks up briefly from shaking up a martini and catches your eye. "Four.", she mouths- meaning that room four upstairs is open.
Taking the lovely Cassandra by the hand you give her a tour, culminating in a walk up to the second floor and the private rooms.
You dive toward her, but she pivots quickly away. You can almost smell her sudden fear beneath her perfume as you grab the back of the woman's coat and drag her into your arms. Before she can cry out or resist further, your bared fangs pierce the skin on her neck. She inhales sharply as the Kiss takes her, her warm savory blood coating your cold throat.
You pull mouth away before you cause any serious harm, licking away the tell-tale signs of your feeding. She staggers dizzily for a moment, her hands shaking.
Damien quickly surveys the area looking for plausible excusses...
"Sorry about that, it looked like you were about to trip over that piece of busted concrete." he says vaguely gestering in the direction of some debris. "Then when I had you so close, I just could not help myself...I have got to remember to stop doing the 'X' before leaving the apartment. With that out of the way, shall we continue on to the club? I would understand if you chose not to go with me, but I would still very much like it if you would."
"Huh. Startin' early, are you? Uhm, yeah. I think I could use a drink... I feel all light-headed. Where is this place? What did you say your name was?" With your fingers on the back of her coat, you guide her back up the stairs to street level. Humans continue to walk by, oblivious to your feeding right below their feet.
Walking back toward Houston, your step on a manhole cover... and feel a strange shiver, like someone walked over your grave.
Vincent flips off some of the aggravated people he cuts off. He's been in the city his whole life and he's been dealing with New York drivers since long before he was embraced. Sensing some sort of nagging sensation he looks behind him.
His hunger less controlling, Brad took a few moments to compose himself. Some childish part of him insisted he ought to wink or smile or make a joke at Mr. Loewen's expense but if Brad allowed himself to indulge those impulses, he'd just find a new and slightly riskier set he wanted to indulge, and then another until he was ripping the throats out of people at work one night.
"Thank you, Mr. Loewen," he said instead as he licked the wound closed and then dried it off. It wouldn't do if Mr. Loewen wondered when he'd drooled on himself.
Unnecessarily, Brad glanced about the room to be sure nothing had been disturbed and no Hunters or Sabbat or Lupines had arrived while vitae was the only thing on his mind. It never hurt to be sure and one of the first things Brad had done before starting to hunt on his own was to make a list of precautions. The smallest thing could lead back to him. Invisibility was not easy.
Peering into Mr. Loewen's eyes again, Brad began the subtle work of removing Mr. Loewen's memory of being commanded and fed upon.
"...and after I fixed your computer we talked a little bit about your granddaughter in the Peace Corps before you mentioned a slight pain in your wrist. I examined it, even using my stethoscope to listen to the blood vessels, after warming it up a little with my hands. I told you it was probably nothing but if the discomfort lasted more than a few days, you should see your primary care physician about it."
Wound closed? Done.
Checked for witnesses? Done.
Removed memories of feeding and control prior to feeding? Done.
Explanation for any phantom pain? Done.
Replacement memories approximately equal in time to the gap left by the removed memories? Done.Satisfied, Brad made sure he had all his things and returned to his pleasant Nice Young Man voice.
"Now it's all fixed," Brad said in his Nice Young Man voice, with a smile. "It was nice seeing you...
In an instant, Mr. Loewen is back to himself, like nothing at all happened.
"Always a pleasure, Brad- thank you for taking the time out of your schedule. You let me know if you need anything- not much for computers as you can tell, but I've got a better handle on the plumbing in this place than those idiots the management hired..."Before he can launch into a familiar diatribe, you excuse yourself and check your watch. Still a bit of time before you have to leave and see the Sheriff.
Vincent flips off some of the aggravated people he cuts off. He's been in the city his whole life and he's been dealing with New York drivers since long before he was embraced. Sensing some sort of nagging sensation he looks behind him.
Storyteller Screen:
Looking in your rearview, you don't see anything that sets off alarms- no cop cars or nondescript white vans or bs like that. Out of your blind spot some a~%~%** in a silver Audi pulls next to you, leaning on his horn and flipping you off. The feeling passes.
The cybermancer memorizes the license plate number, for later fun. He then makes his way to the meeting with the sheriff.