Edwin walks the halls of power here in Chicago. Not quite the Prime Chantry but what the child Regent was able to build, DuSable has improved upon, at least from what Edwin was told at any rate.
He heads to the Library and knocks on the door with a respectful cadence, "Regent, it is Edwin Wagner, here to see you".
"Good luck Mr. Wagner, Mr. Armarius." He looks to Calliope and Jack. "I'll meet you two downstairs in, say, twenty?"
K heads out to the streets and walks a few blocks before eyeing up cars. Something nice, but not too flashy. Preferably parked in an overnight spot, or a pre-pay ticket lot...
Navy Pier opened to the public on July 15, 1916. Originally known as the "Municipal Pier", the pier was built by Charles Sumner Frost, a nationally known architect (a ghoul at the time and would later be embraced by the Toreador) with a design based on the 1909 Plan of Chicago by Daniel Burnham and Edward H. Bennett. Its original purpose was to serve as a dock for freights, passenger traffic, and indoor and outdoor recreation; events like expositions and pageants were held there. As such there were a number of hidden passages and corridors put in place by the ghoul architect at the behest of the Prince of the day, Maxwell (Clan Brujah).
In mid-1918, the pier was also used as a jail for draft dodgers. In 1927, the pier was renamed Navy Pier to honor the naval veterans who served in World War I.
In 1941, during World War II, the pier became a training center for the United States Navy; about 10,000 people worked, trained and lived there. The pier contained a 2,500-seat theater, gym, 12-chair barber shop, tailor, cobbler shops, soda fountain and a vast kitchen and hospital.
In 1946, as the Navy was winding down from its mission, the University of Illinois at Chicago held classes at the pier. As the maximum capacity was exceeded, the school outgrew the pier and the university relocated to Circle Campus in 1965. After the university left, the Navy Pier became underutilized for both mortals and Kindred.
In 1959, the St. Lawrence Seaway opened and increased commercial shipping activity at the pier for a short time, though business died down and left for more modern facilities at Lake Calumet.
In 1976, the East End buildings were renovated and for a brief period the pier was alive again, home to summer events like ChicagoFest. But maintenance was not done and the pier went into decline, considered by the Kindred to be a failing of Prince Lodin.
In 1989, the City of Chicago had the Urban Land Institute (ULI) reimagine uses for the pier. The Metropolitan Pier and Exposition Authority (MPEA) was created; its responsibility was to manage and operate Navy Pier as well as McCormick Place. The MPEA undertook the redevelopment, incorporating some of ULI's recommendations. It was at this time the renovations began in earnest to make Navy Pier what is is tonight, a place where the kine are plentiful and blissfully unaware with enough of interest to make it a permanent Elysium - at least under Prince Lodin with the full support of Doctor Critias (Brujah) and Annabelle (Toreador).
"I trust you are here because of the Elysium tomorrow night? It is no secret that the House and Clan had fallen out of favor with Prince Lodin, even to the point of removing our spot on the Primogen Council after Nicolai's failings. The Tremere must show that we are united and supportive of Prince Jackson if we are to regain our standing within Chicago and hopefully regain our seat on the Council."
"Indeed Regent DuSable, that is exactly why I have come to see you this night. Well, that is one part of it anyway.
While I am aware that Clan Tremere is not as unified as it once was, I too believe that a unified front is critical. You and I have had brief but pleasant interactions since my arrival. As you know, I was fortunate to be close to the center of Clan power in Vienna until it was no more. Thus, I know no other way than that of the Traditions of the Council of Seven.
This part of why I am here, to understand, unequivocally, what you interpret unified to be. You are the Regent, I am subordinate to you based upon my Rank it is therefore incumbent upon me to follow your lead.
But I also have, what could potentially be considered a dilemma. In my own Coterie, there is one that is, to speak in vulgar argot, of thin blood.
Examining him is... interesting. Doing so outside of direct scrutiny I believed to be an interesting dalliance. Now, it seems that the Prince wishes to make a spectacle of his rise and have all who dwell within his Domain to recognize him. While certainly it is within his right to do so, my understanding, incomplete as it may be, is that the Prince does not favor those of such a lineage, if that is the correct terminology.
On the one hand, instinct is to hide this member, but if the Prince is aware of him, do we incur wrath or at least disfavor for not ensuring that he attend to the Prince? On the other hand, does bringing him to Court and presenting him also displease the Prince by mere association with his ilk?
I was hoping for your guidance on that matter as well. The Coterie and I believe the wisest course is to bring this one, as we don't wish to be seen as trying to hide our connections to him".
I wonder if current management is familiar with Maxwell's additions. Either way, no harm in my becoming more familiar with them.
Knobby knuckles rap on plexiglass. "Driver! A croak. "Take me to a pay phone!"
Alexander:
The driver gives you an odd look when you request a pay phone. "A pay phone? Are you serious? I wouldn't even know where to look."
Following an exasperated sigh of frustration, Alexander directs the driver to the closest one he knows of. After a quick call to Duncan McAllister, the night watchman at the Harold Washington Library Center on State street, you make arrangements to spend a portion of the evening rummaging through old newspaper clippings, studying up on Navy Pier
** spoiler omitted **
Need to be overlooked, focused and projected. Alexander moves silently through the stacks. Books, magazines, newspapers. Carefully taken down, pages delicately turned, carefully replaced.
I am of little use getting current information. But knowledge of the past... Face crinkles. A smile. That is a different story altogether.
Eventually, looks at watch. So easy to get lost in the written word. Put away periodical, shuffle to exit. To edge of campus. Taxi back to the church.
As he walks away from the church, K unfolds an old baseball cap from his inside jacket pocket and pulls it onto his head. Next his jacket comes off, turning his sleeves inside-out, and is put back on. Cheap sunglasses finish the look. Just like the songs.
He walks down side streets, head down, eyeing up street parking and parking lots. After ten minutes he finds what he's looking for: a "placard" lot, full, with one disinterested attendant playing on their phone. Mid-stride he hops the traffic cones and waist level chain that serve as fencing. Weaving between tight-packed cars, he stops at the front of a Toyota sedan stuck between two SUVs.
He stoops to the ground, as if having dropped something. He pulls a multi-tool out of one pocket, and a moment later the headlight casing is popped out an inch over the bumper. He pulls a USB speaker out of his other pocket, and after a quick snip of wires behind the headlight, the speaker is hooked up to the car. He turns it on and hits the 'play' button, and a few seconds later the door locks click open.
He quickly unhooks the device, twists the snipped wire back together, and pops the casing back into place. Standing up, he gets in the driver's side and brings the engine to life with a push of the start button. Delicately backing out of the spot, he slouches and waves at the attendant as he pulls into the street.
Once in the clear, he wriggles out of his jacket, re-reverses it, and puts it back on, one hand on the wheel and half an eye on the road. The hat and sunglasses he tosses out the window. Properly attired again, he turns on the radio and heads back to the haven.
Thirty minutes later K pulls up in front of the church in a white '22 Toyota Avalon. He texts Out front to Calliope and Jack, and plugs his phone into the audio system. Moments later Timecop1983's Night Drive fills the car.
As Jack leaves the church, he sticks his head out the door and looks back and forth, double checking to see if anyone was following him. It wasn't that he was scared of them, he just didn't want to spend the whole night dealing with her again. Or him. It was a pain, and time-consuming. Avoiding creating another mess like that is why he even bothered learning how to use the Ventrue gift of domination effectively in the first place. Once he determines the coast is clear, he moves languidly to the car.
Jack takes note of the new car that K was driving. It looked nicer than anything he had owned in life. Or undeath for that matter. He saves shotgun for Calliope, preferring to sit in the back anyway. "Thanks for the ride," he says, "Any idea which clubs we'll be hitting?"
Satisfied with her appearance for going to a club, Calliope brushes off some fluff from her shirt and follows Jack out after shooting Jack a reply that says, "omw!".
Calliope glances over the new car, raising her eyebrows and smothering a bemused smile before slipping into the front seat. She crosses her legs and buckles her seatbelt, shifting to be able to glance at both of her coterie-mates. "Thanks, K," She comments. Calliope hadn't really ever driven herself anywhere throughout her life, but she enjoyed riding in the cars...especially the ones that K snagged.
"Oh, I'm most familiar with The Succubus Club..." She says, trailing off as she shuffles through the various clubs she knows of for which would be the best to get a feel for the mood regarding their new Prince.
Calliope, Jack, and K:
With no real better suggestion, Calliope, Jack, and K speed off in K's ill-gotten car toward Michigan and Chicago Avenues, the former and once again location of the infamous Succubus Club.
Parking is difficult to find given the location of the club - other than valet parking of course.
Jack raises his eyebrow inquisitively at K, only viewable through the rearview mirror (he's no Lasombra), as he waits to see how K will solve this problem.
Calliope looks around at their parking situation and then glances at K. "Could just ditch it nearby and walk up," She suggests, eyes darting toward the empty key-slot. "Unless the valet is similarly talented, K."
K pulls up directly in front of the club. "You two go on in, I'll catch up in a bit."
Once free of passengers, K drives a few blocks away then either parks in a handicap spot, or failing that, simply parks illegally, turns on the hazard lights, and walks away.
Once that's taken care of he makes his way back to the club.
DuSable scratches his chin, contemplating the quandary.
"A thin-blood, you say? I have not encountered one myself as of yet, but do find their use of their so-called alchemy...intriguing."
"My first instinct would be dispose of this thin-blood as any connotation of such is likely to get under Prince Jackson's...and more importantly his new masters's skin so-to-speak, but perhaps it could be sold as trying to understand these lesser creatures and as such make use f them. Do you believe you can bind this thin-blood?"
K drops off Calliope and Jack and goes off to find a suitable place to ditch the car. Having done so, he returns a few minutes later.
You find yourselves outside of a what appears to a be a surprisingly modern club, given the typical clientele.
The doorman looks over the three of you and with a somewhat dismissive nod of head allows you inside.
Inside the thumping of the bass line of the music is nearly unbearable it is so loud - God forbid you have any sort of heighted senses up and running as you enter the club proper. If the sounds didn't end you outright, the sporadic bright lights and laser show would.
The Succubus Club is quite busy this evening, but at first glance it is hard to tell what the ratio of wolves to sheep on the floor is at the moment.
Can we use it, perhaps improve upon it somehow? This remains to be seen but it cannot be seen if I cannot continue my studies".
Edwin contemplates the Regent's statement, "I don't see why I would not be able to do so. Probably the easiest way would be through a Ritual, though I do not possess the proper one. Still, through experimentation, I believe I can do so".
Edwin hears the Regent's statement about his new Master and touches the subject delicately, "Will the Prince be as subject to the whims of the Primogen as I have heard Lodin was, or is he a true tyrant as Prince with no one else to flatter in Elysium as it were?
I admit that my own delving into Politics is generally focused on the mortal world but I suppose now that I am resident in a city no longer solely dominated by Clan Tremere, I should have a better understanding of inter-clan dynamics".
DuSable frowns. "Pity, without binding him in some way to you, the thin-blood may be a liability to what we wish to accomplish."
Thinking a bit more DuSable adds, "If he can not be bound, perhaps he would make a fine gift for the new Prince..."
"No, Jackson will not be at the whims of a Primogen council. He rules Chicago at the pleasure of the Inner Circle itself - or at least what's left of it - so it may be difficult at best to knock this new Prince down the peg or two he surely needs."
Edwin grimaces, "I can certainly begin the bonding process before the meeting...I am loathe to give up such a treasure before I have had a single break through on their "gifts".
If the Prince is unaware of him then perhaps it is best that he is left out of the proceedings altogether. Then if he discovers the existence of him, I will by then have him as a bound Ghoul and claim him as a "test subject". Thoughts?"
Calliope moves away from the door and takes some time to take in the crowd, letting her senses adjust to the cacophony. Toreador owned and operated, The Succubus Club was a frequent haunt for the artist. Despite that, she still struggled to filter the sound and light sometimes.
When her eyes adjust, Calliope begins to look around for any familiar faces--Mateo, other Toreador... or at least a place for the three to sit in the crowded club. People-watching was best done comfortably.
"Let's try to find somewhere to sit...unless either of you sees someone familiar," Calliope comments, waiting for a reply from either K or Jack.
If no one familiar is seen, Calliope will start weaving through the crowd to spot some unoccupied seats.
When her eyes adjust, Calliope begins to look around for any familiar faces--Mateo, other Toreador... or at least a place for the three to sit in the crowded club. People-watching was best done comfortably.
"Well what is left of it anyway." DuSable answers in response to the question about the Inner Circle. "Hardestadt and his Childe, Pieterzoon are both dead at the hands of the last Brujah Justicar. Neither the Brujah nor the Gangrel claim a seat any longer, and you are well aware of the state of our Clan, but none-the-less the Camarilla as a whole takes a strong interest in Chicago. It is still the Camarilla's crown jewel in the States."
"I suspect your plan will work, but do be careful, Edwin."
I shall be careful. We must risk much for the quest of knowledge. The other Clans simply do not, perhaps they cannot understand.
Before I take my leave though, I want to make sure Regent that I am following your instructions as closely as I am able, is there anything you wish me to do or say, or not do or not say, to ensure that we begin our rise again within the city?"
"Simply present yourself as a loyal, Tradition fearing, member of the Camarilla and back any play made by me. Is that understood? If so, you are dismissed, Herr Wagner, I shall see you tomorrow night."
I am with you".
He steps out of the library and out of the Chantry seeking Ladislav. "Quite the dilemma my friend. I will need to consider how to play this properly.
Messy, messy, messy indeed".
Stepping into the club, K draws another pair of cheap sunglasses out of a pocket and puts them on as he begins bouncing to the beat. He leans in close when Calliope speaks. Sit. Someone familiar. He nods and smiles, then melts into the dance floor crowd. Undulating across the club, he sees if he bumps into either someone he knows or a free spot that seats three.
[dice=Wits 2 + Awareness 3]5d10
[dice=Hunger]1d10
K looks around the club, not entirely sure what or whom he is looking for, one of the drawbacks of his thin-blooded nature. If he hadn't come in with Calliope and Jack, there is no guarantee that he wouldn't have been asked to leave.
Calliope on the other hand, looks around and sees a number of Kindred. In particular, Bret Stryker a Toreador Harpy and general cause of drama, Portia, the owner of the current version of Succubus Club, and one of Sheriff Damien's Hounds, a Malkavian known as Alexa Santos.
Stryker, taking note of the three of you, seems to be heading your way.
Ladislav and Edwin return to the group's communal haven to see Alexander looking through and studying a stack of papers.
"Quite the stack, what have you discovered my friend?"
Calliope watches Stryker's approach and puts on a charming smile, attempting to read the man's body language.
As Stryker approaches, it is more than obvious that he intends to put the three of you "in your place", particularly for hanging around a thin-blood.
Bret Stryker approaches you. The man is nothing less than absolutely gorgeous - well muscled, perfect bone structure, the whole nine yards. With a condescending smile on his face he says, "Oh Calliope, good to see you've managed to get away from that simply dreadful Sire of yours for the evening, but to sink to the level of cavorting with the likes of this?" gesturing to K.
The more experienced Toreador rolls his eyes, turning to the Ventrue. "Hi Jack, living up to the standards of Capone, I see."
[spoiler=Succubus Club]
"Capone is dead. I am not." Jack says simply. Then he takes a second to rethink. "Unless you're talking about criminal activity? I wouldn't know much about that. Maybe you could give me some pointers on how to get arrested at a 7/11?" Jack knows he isn't quite as beautiful as Bret. But he is aware that he is as muscled, and conventionally attractive as well.
Through the crowd K sees Calliope and Jack are talking to someone, and makes his way over to stand between and slightly behind his coterie-mates. Peering over the top of his sunglasses he gets a good look at their acquaintance, his eyebrows rising in awe.
Damn!
Assuming a posture he imagines to radiate suavity, he gives a nod and a smile to the vampire Adonis as he tries to get a vibe from him.
"Oh that's so cute, Jack, you're trying to upset me. I'd have to actually care about you in some way for that to happen. As far as my quip about your rather infamous ancestor, I was simply commenting on you following his example of being a f@@+-up and doing things that the Prince doesn't like." Stryker says, glancing meaningfully at K.
Alexander looks up from organizing papers. "Architectural blueprints." Syllables patter off dry tongue. "Revised floor plans. For Navy Pier." Carefully arranges several sheets, covering the table. Points. "Maintenance access." Points. "Bootlegger tunnels."
Beady eyes roam the tabletop. Gnarled hand rubs wattled chin. "There will be others. Prince Maxwell's passages. No records for those."
"If worse comes to worst, these may allow us to run. Or at least hide." Shrug. "Depends how well anyone chasing us knows the territory."
"It's strange," Jack drops any attempt at trading barbs, he knows he is outmatched here. "Everyone talks at me about my ancestor Capone," he muses, "Or god forbid, Lodin. But we're so separate in generation, attitude, and ability that I'm probably closer to K here," he gestures at his Thinblooded friend, "Than Capone. I mean, he was already in hiding by the time I was embraced. Never met the man."
He grins mirthlessly. "I certainly feel a greater kinship towards Prince Jackson than Capone. Stronger. Scrappier. More willing to get his own hands dirty. Stories go that he took out a Lupine with a broadsword in '93." He leans forward, seeming to forget about the animosity between himself and his Toreador elder. "You would have been around for that, right? Is it true?"
Calliope grins at Bret's comments about her sire, chuckling softly. "A pleasure to see you," She says, pitching her voice a bit lower and more sultry. She certainly appreciated beauty as any Toreador, and Stryker was no slouch in that department. Rather than interrupt the exchange between Stryker and Jack, she watched the conversation with interest.
In her few years as a vampire, she noticed that the male stereotypes only got worse with immortality. Their audacity was unmatched...but she felt Jack was handling himself well in the face of her clanmate's incendiary comments. She turned her head just a tad to acknowledge K's approach.
"Oh, I've heard that one about our new Prince," Calliope comments, her eyebrows raising with interest. "Is it true, Bret?"
K half-laughs in disbelief at Jack’s claim. Not due to any doubt about the Prince’s abilities with a sword, but because despite his own situation he still has a hard time believing werewolves are real too.