Talking to Boone "That would be an accurate assumption, sir."
Talking to Sam "It's Sam, actually." Then he points, recognition blooming in his eyes. "You're the guy! The other...the guy!" He reaches out and pumps Elliott's hand. His is warm, as though he's abusing the Blush of Life.
He points to the sign. "You do this? This is you?"
Alex: +1 Herd. 8 Weeks. Staking nothing.
Rook: +1 Linguistics. 8 Weeks.
Echo: +1 Status. 8 Weeks.
Elliott: +1 Resources. 9 Weeks. Staking 1 dot of Resources.
Echo: Attempt to add Allies. Failure. Enemy energized. She has accidentally recruited a potential rival for control. Zachary Sand is too dangerous to allow into her confidence.
Over the course of the following week, a pall descends over Santa Cruz. Though it would be difficult to pinpoint precisely why, it is there. It is in the gray clouds that blanket the bay just barely out of reach. It is in the flocks of crying seagulls that are everywhere. It is in the furtive way the kine moves from place to place.
Of course, for predators, these are not necessarily bad things.
Advancing projects 1 week. While you may continue any conversations/scenes you were already in, you may also assume that your character gracefully excused themselves without undue offense. Do not alter your Hunger.
Elliott:
Feel free to make your puzzle roll again.
One evening, as Elliott and his loyal ghoul work on the escape room, taking the pieces of it too easily solved by the clientele and improving them, Elliott happens to glance outside of the lobby. He sees Sam loitering on the street, staring up at the building.
As always, the young-looking Kindred could easily be mistaken for any one of the aimless hipsters in this town. He is dressed as he always is, in old jeans, battered Chucks, his vintage Tootsie Pop t-shirt, and has added a mechanic jacket on top of it.
Alex:
Alex has turned his attention strongly to building his herd, bouncing from club to club, hunting for new reliable hookups. One evening, he heads for Delicacy, a place he technically shouldn't go--it's across the river in Santa Cruz proper, and thus the Prince's demense--but what Don Bartolomé doesn't know can't hurt Alex. Delicacy is perhaps the best club in the Rack simply because people go there for a single reason, and it's one that works for Alex.
But when he arrives, he finds that the front door is webbed shut with police tape. A uniformed officer stands outside, warily and wearily watching the rubberneckers on the street.
Echo:
Over the past week, Zachary Sand has proven to be a popular addition to the church. He is welcoming and friendly.
Echo may roll Intelligence + Insight here.
Rook:
Allegedly, the Prince's childe can be found at one of San Jose's Elysia. What remains is the question: will Rook go at all, go alone, or try to recruit companions to assist her?
Echo, Alex, and Rook receive a phone call from Boone one evening informing them of a parcel awaiting them at Elysium.
This is not an unusual way to deliver mail, as a Kindred's haven is often a closely-guarded secret, and Elysia are convenient, neutral, and safe places. In larger cities, this would usually fall to one of the ubiquitous vampire nightclubs like the Succubus Club in Chicago or the Black Rose in San Francisco, but Santa Cruz is too small to support something like that.
"It would be my pleasure to assist, sir. The Don is a more complex answer...I would direct you to Miss Echo. And as for Mr. Garfield, I am similarly ignorant of where to reach him. I would be pleased to inform each of them that they've a parcel awaiting them at the art museum, if that suits your designs?"
The young woman is practically running by the time her bare feet hit the planks of the stairs. She takes them quickly, pulling herself into the crowd. Her body is tensed to the breaking point. Her movements, as she scans the crowd are jerky, preylike. Then she makes a beeline to a pair of women by the bottle toss. She's talking to them, and now they're hunting the crowd, fear beginning to bleed into them as well.
Jittery, she approaches the pier. Beneath, Alex spies big, sticky black shadows. Places he could drag her and she would never be seen.
Rook:
My rule of thumb has always been 1 dot for automatics, 2 dots for stick
Quote:
"Stunning." She is still mad at Boone so does decidedly not get wrapped up in the beauty of it, even if she wants to. "Letting me see her up close does not, however, get you back in my good graces." She tells him. "When did you and he take her out, last?" She asks, fully intending to take a look inside the vehicle, in case there's a clue left behind.
"Lest memory betray, a fortnight past? It pleases the Don to inspect his demesne, though from the comfort of this vehicle."
Quote:
"Do you recall any recent purchases that are out of the ordinary, or that strike you as unusual in any way?" she asks, since he has insight into normal transactions.
"In point of fact yes," Boone says. "The Don purchased a door late of a monastery on the Iberian coast. Though I am no great authority on antiquities, I believe he overpaid quite substantially for it."
Quote:
Rook will spend time during the week to study the records, and she will contact the bookeeper to see if any of the cards are being used currently, and if the bookeeper (insert fancy name Boone used) is still sending money anywhere, or if there were large transactions recently and if so - where and when they took place, etc... She will of course also speak with the herd, and get someone more social involved in that. And she will also complain to Echo about Boone not wanting to give her information since she's apparently too young to be trustworthy.
Thoroughly searching through the Don's books will take several nights, but Rook has the time. What she finds is that several of the Don's accounts have simply been closed.
As for speaking with the Herd, refer to your previous spoiler. You were in the middle of it. As for finding someone else, you can of course excuse yourself from that scene and return later. Finding someone else to do it will require reaching out to another PC, but you have contact info for them so feel free to open up a line of communication there.
In terms of messages, Rook does not receive anything out of the ordinary. You can feel free to start a conversation with Anders if you wish.
Elliott smiles at her--"Sober kids first, Drunk kids can sign up, reserve the spot and come back in an hour--hopefully slightly more sober...The others...They can come back later, if they have the cash. Keep an eye out, though..."
Elliott tries to size up the groups--How many people are in each group, and what's their make-up? Jocks, chicks, goths, Barbie dolls, Flip Flop Spicollis or Nerds? Who looks like trouble, and who looks like they're about to pop open with fear/excitement?
The three groups are as follows:
1. Townies. Elliott might not yet be able to ID a Santa Cruz townie by sight (or for that matter, smell), but he can pretty well guess. These are the kinds of burnouts that collect when the entire nation is picked up vigorously by the East Coast and shaken until they collect along the ride of the West Coast. Subculture? Somewhere between gutter punk, surfer dude, hippie refugee, and straight-up homeless.
2. College Group A. This bunch is decked out in Banana Slug gear. Whether they're jocks or just real into school spirit, Elliott's not sure. Some of them certainly look the part. One guy is pretty beefy, and there's at least one woman who has the body of a competitive cheerleader.
3. College Group B. The counterculture types. This group isn't hardcore goth or hardcore punk or hardcore much of anything. It looks like a bunch of kids whose looks are starting to solidify into one of those identities. A lot of proto-subcultures, solidified around a mutual interest maybe?
Who's the most intoxicated? Elliott, with his no dots of Insight or Medicine, can't really tell. Group 2 is the loudest.
Alex:
"No, it's fine," she says, trying to speed up, but there's no getting away from him unless he allows it.
Echo:
Blue Dolphin
Echo wrote:
Echo stares at the wall, seeing but not understanding but always needing to know. Finally, she shakes her head, "If it was more portable I'd ask you to show Mr. Gray, to see if he could help you glean more from the puzzle you've connected."
She briefly catches Sam's eye, "But I won't ask you to violate the sanctity of your haven by letting in anyone that you don't want here."
"Yeah. I'm a lot more focused on your friend Rook never actually finding out what Syd looks like or where I lay my head. No offense, I know you like her, but she gives me the creeps." He pauses, thinking things over. "I got it. You know any of the secret masters? The real Illuminati types, you go talk to them. Me? I think I'm going to keep my contact with your...with our kind...to a bare minimum. I'm thinking I might start looking for a place around here, seeing as you're not planning to kill me."
Navan Rath
Echo wrote:
Echo approaches slowly, a quiet smile of approval as she listens to Ziggy talk to the new face. When she gets close she inclines her head to the pair, looks to see if there are any other new faces, and asks, "It's always so good to see someone starting on the path to enlightenment."
Both Ziggy and the new guy look up, and Echo feels a jolt at the sight of New Guy's face. Masculine lines, strong jaw, and yet depthless eyes that remind her of the Pacific. Eyes that understand pain. Eyes that know a path to healing.
"What luck!" Ziggy says. "Every road needs a guide, and this is ours, helping us all walk the path to our most realized selves. Zachary, I'd like you to meet Echo."
Zachary stands, easily, confidently. That's just what you do when meeting a lady. "Echo. It's an honor. If half of the things Ziggy has told me are true, I should be looking for a halo."
Alex: +1 Herd. 9 Weeks. Staking nothing.
Rook: +1 Linguistics. 9 Weeks.
Echo: +1 Status. 9 Weeks.
Elliott: +1 Resources. 10 Weeks. Staking 1 dot of Resources.
Echo: Attempt to add Allies. Failure. Enemy energized. She has accidentally recruited a potential rival for control. Zachary Sand is too dangerous to allow into her confidence.
Elliott has a soft open the week after he arrives. When he awakens for the evening--surfacing from strange dreams that he can't quite remember, but the scratching sounds of thousands of small wings fluttering--Kelly is pacing.
"We got a line, boss," she says. Throwing off the shackles of slumber--though not without that sensation, the sound of wings, tiny wings--Elliott makes his way from the basement he uses as his haven to the part that is the escape room.
The real estate was a find--thank Anna for that one--not three blocks from the pier. The sign's not quite done yet, but when it comes in, the purple neon will draw the eye, bring in the crowds.
Not that it looks like a problem. Elliott's got what looks like three separate groups: two of them he would guess from the college--and one significantly drunker--and one is the kind of burnouts that are on the wane as Santa Cruz prices out the weird.
"How you want to do this?" Kelly asks.
Alex:
Her shoulders tense. "I can't," she says, a quaver in her voice. "My friends are waiting on me." She begins to move for the pier, but the sand makes her steps sluggish. She would be easy to overtake.
Alex: +1 Herd. 9 Weeks.
Rook: +1 Linguistics. 9 Weeks.
Echo: +1 Status. 9 Weeks.
Echo: Attempt to add Allies. Failure. Enemy energized. She has accidentally recruited a potential rival for control. Zachary Sand is too dangerous to allow into her confidence.
The ocean of time is easy to get lost in, even for the newly embraced. It is so easy to fall into routine, to forget even the most important of tasks. After all, what truly matters in the measure of eternity? The answer is only the gnawing hunger in your guts that makes a monster of you.
A week of in-game time passes. Rook and Alex can continue in their scenes, and as Rook was kind enough to provide a sketch of her plans, she may continue her investigation. The rest of you are assumed to be falling back into old habits. The good news is that all Projects started (Echo, Rook, Alex all have one) have advanced by 1 week. Do not alter your Hunger. I'm still getting used to that rule and would like to see if this works. I will post a prompt for all of you below, and feel free to reply there or talk to me on the Discord for more detailed plans. I strongly recommend that those who have not started Projects do so.
Rook:
Rook can continue where she left off. I will assume a week's worth of flex time she can devote to the investigation, which should be more than enough to reach a conclusion of some kind.
Rook wrote:
"Josephine? Tell me about her."
"Miss Appleton? She is the Prince's childe. She served ably here, and I can only surmise she gifts the fief of San Jose with her presence."
Rook wrote:
If she narrowed her eyes any further they would be shut. "Sir, I am a Hound of this court, and formerly of San Fransisco."
Boone smiles. "Yes, do remember that when you venture into Elysium, Miss Iida."
Rook wrote:
She follows him, looking around for anything interesting as they walk towards (presumably) the garage.
They indeed arrive in the garage, where four vintage automobiles in excellent shape await. Rook does not know a thing about cars other than how to drive them (and then only automatics), but these certainly look nice to her. Museum quality even.
Boone stops by a car that Rook would call almost ostentatiously old-timey, but it's hard not to admit that is a beautiful machine and apparently in excellent repair. "Have you ever seen her equal?" Boone asks.
Rook wrote:
"So he does have access to either a credit or debit card. I will need those records to see what he's accessing." She states.
"Yes, I can provide you with the ledger. To be clear, in many cases, it was not the Don who purchased such things himself. It was I, or else the argentarius who did so. Such purchases generally confined themselves to objets d'art and the like, although we have an account for the care and feeding of the herd."
Rook can assume she has access to the records of the Don's accounts, or those Boone knows about. He keeps receipts in big books. Thanks to her 2 dots of Finance she can also actually understand what's going on there.
Rook wrote:
"What is his or her contact information?"
"Philip LeGrand, Esquire of the law firm Kellerman & Associates. Their offices are downtown. I will provide you his card, which has his home telephone number."[/b]
Rook is now in possession of a business card for a lawyer by the name of Philip LeGrand.
Rook wrote:
"Well, I will be checking in on them before I leave for the day."
Boone hesitates. "Please understand that, while I will allow you access to the larder, I must insist that you maintain the Don's confidence. Such matters are personal and I protect the Don's reputation as well as his corpus. Discretion, Miss Iida." He then nods to himself, admonishment given, and leads Rook out into the back of the property.
The Don's estate is expansive, climbing back into the cliffs. Rook can't even imagine the value of this real estate, and she can only conclude it belongs to the Don by dint of him being the first European to arrive and deciding he owns it. Regardless of his other fortune, the value of this alone would keep one in comfort. But then, it would involve leaving this behind.
The back lawn is wide and meticulously maintained, with spongy grass that makes Rook feel like she is walking on air. After a hundred yards, trees form a border, mostly local, though Rook spots palms and banana trees, transplants that do well in California's Mediterranean climate.
A stone pathway, invisible until one is right on top of it, snakes into the trees. Under the canopy of vegetation, Rook makes out a collection of houses, ten in total. They could almost be a suburban neighborhood if not for the surroundings.
Boone finds his way to the first house, one that is slightly larger, and knocks on the door. A man answers, a wide frame but he's slender, and his skin carries an unhealthy pallor. "Mr. Boone, is it time to feed already?"
"No, Mr. Bruno. Miss Iida has some questions."
"Questions? What's going on?"
"Nothing to concern yourself over, Mr. Bruno. Miss Iida, if you would?" Boone gestures for Rook to begin.
Alex:
She turns to him, and yes, she could be an apparition from the '60s. It's a crime she was never on some folk rock album cover gazing wistfully at the ocean.
"Every night's a nice night for a walk on the beach," she says.
Echo:
Echo turns her attention to the cult...which is such a dirty word. They aren't a cult, they are seekers of truth. What truth? Why the truth. It's in all the literature, if you would just come this way...
She awakens one evening, her mind trying to grasp the idea of her Status, of it in relation to Kindred...should she call some meeting with Monterey? A diplomatic venture to San Jose? Show up at the Black Rose in San Francisco? That would get her name out there, but it would mean throwing herself to the legendary sharks of that town. Rook has connections up there...she might help. So might Weston and Elliott, but the question is, can they be trusted? Perhaps that's the question she should answer.
She is on the way to tend to her flock. They've gathered in the mess tent, a flapping white edifice open to allow the gentle Pacific breezes through. They're having the evening meal, some calories, but not too many, to keep them functioning and pliable.
She sees a face she had not seen before. He's still in his street clothes, though the outfit could almost work for her group. He's wearing a knit hoodie for the cold, old jeans, and a pair of boots repaired with duct tape. He's handsome too, Echo notices that immediately. Long, dark hair, and a face chiseled with hard work and healthy living. He's eating the thin stew the group serves and listening to Echo's Number Two giving The Talk, that spiel that lays the groundwork for induction but doesn't start with any of the creepy stuff. Not yet.
Valerie:
After the weirdness at the hospital, Valerie had to get away. She returned to her home, and she hasn't left, apart from visiting one of her boyfriends for a meal. It's horrible treating a human being like...a juicebox, but there's wishes and there's realities.
Times like this, Lucas is with her closer than ever. She knew him for such a short time, but he's there. In her veins, in every drop of blood. And when he is with her, she must write. That is all there is.
You may make a Wits + Craft (Poetry) roll to see if you came up with anything worthwhile
But now, perhaps it is time to re-engage with eternity.
Elliott:
Logistics. F+&%ing logistics.
The move to Santa Cruz went swimmingly as near as he could tell. And at just the right time, too. The past week has been spent getting the room up and running and now it's time to get some actual customers. It's time for a marketing blitz, to start drumming up some customers.
You may make a Manipulation + Persuasion roll to start getting people through your doors
Weston:
Weston never much believed in kismet until it happened to him. How else do you explain leaving the increasingly fashy San Francisco only to find that the Prince of Santa Cruz has up and vanished? That's valuable info too. Get that to the Anarchs, well, this place would become a Free State.
Of course, no telling what the others would think about that. And while Rook's fash, Echo and Alex seem like decent sorts. As decent as bloodsuckers get.
All Weston needs is a plan. And once he gets one of those, he can turn this place into whatever he wants it to be.
The shape on the beach is out of time. In the '60s maybe, she would have seemed appropriate, even into the decay of the '70s. But those years are distant memories for Alex. At his age he can no longer conjure the feeling of sunlight on his skin. These are the images of childhood, the larval childhood form of his larval human form, all washed out and tinted red and orange in photo albums with crinkly plastic protectors.
She is tall and slender, or it could be a trick of the light. Her long blonde hair reaches her waist. She is dressed for the beach, and even on an otherwise warm night, the wind off the Pacific can be bone-chilling. She doesn't seem to notice.
The few beachcombers who live full time here barely take notice of her. Alex notes the tent city beneath the pier, and a few more dozing right at the line between sand and rock, but she doesn't appear to be in any danger.
Until Alex realizes that he is the danger.
Rook:
Rook Iida wrote:
Rook says, "It's much to early in this investigation to rule anything out. I'm not saying that he is, but it's certainly a line of inquiry. Are there any records that might shed light onto the former ghoul's disposition?"
"No. However, if anyone has such information, it would be the Prince's childe, Josephine."
Rook Iida wrote:
"Noted. I will speak to Echo. Do you have any contact information for the others you described?" Rook asks.
"None that should be used, forgive me, by a neonate. If you wish to speak with Josephine, I would recommend seeking her out in Elysium. She is unlikely to be present, but such places always have ways of contacting patrons in a timely manner. My knowledge of such places is far from complete, but if memory does not betray, Familia Winery would be what you seek."
Rook Iida wrote:
She thinks a moment, then asks, "What car does he favor? I'd like to see his vehicles as well."
Boone's eyes brighten. "Ah yes! The 1921 Rolls Royce, Silver Ghost model. A most excellent machine. I recall when we first purchased the device...wondrous! You must understand, I had grown used to horses and had only learned to drive scant years before, and here I behold a machine with beauty to shame Aphrodite herself! Yes! Yes, you must come with me." Boone happily beckons Rook along.
Rook Iida wrote:
"Shocked, perhaps. But lets not rule it out just yet. Does the Don leave his deeds or other documents in his safe?"
"Some deeds, but they are local. The Don believed in owning land, but he had begun to adapt to the more modern model of...ghost money?" Boone flutters his hand in the air. "Money that exists only in the minds of the infernal machines that stripmine our souls."
Rook Iida wrote:
She presses her lips together at his use of an unfamiliar word. "What and who is an argentarii?"
"From the Latin, argentarii, plural. Singular argentarius. Literally, silver-bearer, though I suppose a more prosaic definition would be banker. Modern laws being what they are, it is difficult for a kindred to retain wealth past a reasonable date at which they would be assumed to meet their maker. While it is possible to conceal money's ownership through byzantine mazes of paper, it must eventually lead somewhere, to a living person. An argentarius is such a person. Mortal proxies that hold the kindred's wealth in exchange for a life of leisure. Such practices are quite common with ancillae and elder."
Rook Iida wrote:
""Have you looked in on the Prince's herd?" She asks.
"Beyond a cursory inspection to ensure he is not lurking within their quarters, no."
"Leads to...?" Sam shakes his head. "This is an exodus. The secret masters are leaving. If power's all that keeps 'em here, then there's a promise for greater power somewhere else! It's not just those two, I'm telling you. They're signaling, all over the place, that they're leaving!"
Alex:
Alex catches a wash of blond hair, shimmering in the moonlight, carelessly tossed, heading for one of the wooden staircases that leads down onto the beach.
Alex starts out with the best of intentions. But it's really easy to get distracted, especially when one is at once as sexy as Alex and as prone to distraction.
He does discover another vandalized bus bench by the pier.
The pier, however, is its usual siren song. The buskers form a sweet cacophony at the entrance, and beyond, the various tourist shops and midway games call to the grimy locals and well-heeled tourists.
"You don't see it, do you?" The fire in Sam's eyes, Echo has seen it before. In her breathing days, back when this place was knee deep in apocalyptic hippies, paleo-preachers, and surf gurus. It's the flash of a man who has found The Truth, and he is about to share it.
"When I was still...you know...I knew there were those who lived behind the curtain, pulling the strings. These are them! They're the ones pulling the strings! This guy here, he lives at the place you showed me tonight!" Sam jabs a finger at the picture of the Don.
"Her?" Summmer. "She's been around here for...I don't know how long." His finger traces along a pattern only he can see, winding up at a sheet of poetry. "You ever hear of The Wavedancers? They were this kind of psychedelic proto-dream pop. They were from here! And I swear, their song 'Summer Nights' is about her!"
Sam is triumphant now. "They always signal to each other, talking in the language of culture, all around us. If you want to know why your boss is gone, the answer is right here!" He slams his hand into the display, and although Echo is certain this is happenstance, she can't help but notice he happened to smack an old box top from Boo Berry cereal
After Alex successfully seduces a young man for a quick meal, he heads home for a day of rest. See the Discord for an explanation of what I need from you. Otherwise, I'll come up with something much worse.
Rook:
Rook Iida wrote:
"How long has that been?" She asks. "Did you have a predecessor and if so, what happened to that person?"
"Oh, over a century. I assume I had a predecessor, but he is a mystery to me and I imagine on to his reward. Forgive me if I misinterpret the meaning behind your query, but are you concerned that the Don might be with a former ghoul?"
Rook Iida wrote:
"What about any other elders?"
"During my tenure? For certain. The founding member of the Eastern Watch, your Los Vigilantes, Septimus Grant. The Prince's grandchilde quit this place I believe to seek his fortune in Chicago. Or was it Boston? In any case, this was many years ago and he has not returned. His sire, Miss Josephine Appleton, departed as well, though my memory places her in San Jose. The Sheriff, though her people have the reputation of wanderers, has remained in the larger fief for her time as I believe her grandchilde does as well, though you should address this question to Miss Echo, for these are all of her blood, if not precisely her bloodline."
Rook Iida wrote:
"Does the Don drive, or how does he get around normally?"
"When the Don requires to move about his fief, I am his chauffeur."
Rook Iida wrote:
"Is there a record of his contact information for any of these people besides what's in the appointment book you showed us earlier?"
"I would be shocked to learn of such a place."
Rook Iida wrote:
"Are there any appointments that would normally be scheduled, where someone might miss him. Monthly meetings for example."
Boone brightens. "Not as such. The Don eschewed habit, I suspect thanks to hailing from the Inquisition's nursery. However he generally met with his argentarii quarterly, though no such night was ever chosen. He believed that, were they to cheat him, a danger with such people, an irregular schedule was the best way to guard against it."
And in answer to the final 2 questions, no and no.
Elliott:
Elliott makes his way back to his haven Which you may describe now and thus have on hand when players inevitably arrive. A Haven of 2 is about the size of your standard tract house.
The distracted and officious Boone will attempt to answer the questions in turn.
"No. The Don has not left his domain, to my knowledge, since I entered his employ."
"We've only the single Primogen, and I am afraid I am not as familiar with her affairs as those of the Don. To my knowledge, she has not left the city within my time here."
"I know of no secondary havens."
"I am not certain how to answer this question to your satisfaction. The Don indulges in many business relations. He is, in a real sense, the city itself. The ruling class of this place follow his directives, whether he states them or not. In essence, all in his fief are followers, whether they know it or not."
I'm not going to hold your feet to the fire in that way. I am completely uninterested in extracting some kind of "exact wording" from you to succeed in an investigation
Nope, you would need another 10 for that to be bad. Lower your Hunger by 2.
Elliott:
Piper is old enough that she doesn't use a cell. She doesn't even have a ghoul. She generally prefers messages via Animalism. However, Elliott does have Anna's landline, which he knows is secure.
"It was really nice meeting everybody," Sam says, waving goodbye. He gets into Echo's car, gives the wolf a worried glance and the two of them are off.
Echo:
Echo returns along darkened roads to the ruins of the Blue Dolphin. Upon arrival, Sam bursts from the car. "Come on, come on," he urges, slinking through the hole in the fence and jogging past the festering pool. He beckons her into the interior of the motel, and as Echo follows, she's overcome by the memories of this place. She can almost hear the voices of happy beachcombers, Deep Purple piping from tinny speakers, the air redolent with cheap grass. Now, it's gloomy, the oppressive stink of mildew heavy around every corner.
Echo loses Sam for a moment, but turns a corner and finds the door to a room standing open, a small quantity of light spilling out. "Come on, hurry up!" Sam says.
Echo turns the corner and finds Sam clutching a flashlight. This was an old room, but the mattresses are long gone. A sleeping bag is between the rotting frames, complete with a pillow and an electric camp lantern, which is providing the illumination, and making all the shadows jump to the ceiling. The windows are boarded up tight here.
"Look," Sam says, gesturing to the far wall, which once would have been where the TV was. Echo follows the gesture and finds that the place has been wallpapered. News articles form most of the collage, and all of them have been highlighted, words circled, comments scrawled on the edges. There are pictures too, some of people she doesn't recognize, but there is a single one of the Don, from far away, and another of Summer in the background of a newspaper article about the museum. Then there are pieces that look random: mazes from children's menus at the Nite Owl, ads with cartoon characters, a map of the entire bay.
Sam gestures proudly, as though the answers are right there, but all Echo sees is the chaos of a disordered mind.
Rook:
Rook returns to the Don's haven, finding it in much the same state in which she left it. Boone will let her in the front door.
Alex:
Give me a Charisma + Subterfuge roll, and you can add your appearance die and your Presence.
"Same s%$~, different night," she says, then drops her voice low enough that Weston has to strain to hear. "I know I don't have to tell you this, but the second word gets out that the Prince is missing, you're gonna be knee deep in claimants. Santa Cruz might be the sticks, but every ancilla worth their salt will want a piece of it."
"About ten minutes ago. He's in the back room, having a meeting with Webster." She pauses. Missing? How missing are we talking here? Missing no one's seen them in a minute, or missing they got ganked by parties unknown?"
"Don't you worry. Ain't another coterie in this city that can go heads with us. You take care of yourself now."
Weston:
Weston is not shocked that he can't immediately get Severin on the line. Even with his valet (a ghoul Weston sometimes catches Severin gazing at wistfully, as though remembering another time), Severin is at once busy and phone-averse.
The call to Sacred Grounds gets a "Sacred Grounds!" on the second ring. Weston recognizes the voice of Sarah Marchand, his "sister," who runs the Elysium day to day. She is a far more typical Toreador than Weston, though she still has a strong blue collar streak and too soft-hearted to make a good harpy.
"Ohhhh, okay. I gotcha. Let's see...I'm not 100 on who exactly you're referring to, but I think I'm close enough for horseshoes. Short version? I haven't heard anything about something like that, but I also wouldn't put it past them. Those two already have too much influence, and expansion's probably on their minds. I wouldn't worry, though. Got yourself a long term boss. Doesn't run as tight a ship as he should, but it's tight enough a couple of newbies won't capsize it. Not to stretch a metaphor."
Rook can hear the broadening smile in his voice. "You're the expert in starting a new life from Daddy. Maybe you give 'em some pointers."
"I'm gonna assume 'pants' means bad in some kind of nerd slang." Anthony laughs. "Now, I'm not following everything you're putting down...there might be some information that maybe you have that I don't, since I don't know what goes down in B.F.E. So spill, tell me what's got your panties all in a bunch and maybe I can answer your questions."
"Yeah, we're fine. Hang on." Rook hears the sounds of Anthony moving, and in the background the tinkling of a piano and the susurrus of conversation. Then, that sound recedes. "Okay, what's on your mind?"
The wolf gives Elliott a quick wag of the tail, but stays resolutely by Echo, watching the newcomers with wary interest.
"I used to use a Thomas Guide back when I was delivering pizzas," Sam says to no one in particular. "Minor miracle I got anywhere in 30 minutes."
Rook calls Anders and receives his answering machine. A minor miracle getting him to use one of those, and who knows what will happen when it finally breaks down.
"I'm happy to defend this city. And I hope the Don likes the gift." Weston looks among their faces. "I have to be honest, I thought that coming to honor Hospitality and declare my intentions to live here implied I'm here to fight for my new home. Forgive my ignorance of the subtle nuances of the traditions. Still kinda learning the finer points."
"It's cool," Sam says a little too loudly. "Lotta ins, lotta outs, the Traditions."
Now that she's talking, the two of you place Rook. A Toreador, she was part of the Judgment of Solomon, the nickname of the coterie that existed to exercise the Sheriff's will. That Sheriff, Solomon of Clan Nosferatu, arrived from Sacramento with Luther and was a loyal ally...or faithful hound, if you'd rather. They are both hardline Camarilla loyalists who believe the Traditions must be interpreted strictly and enforced without pity.
The Judgment is...not popular, especially among the younger Kindred. Depending on your views, they're either enforcers of order or fascist thugs. Rook was the junior member, the lover of Anders Chase, a Toreador ancilla from Sacramento, and another member of that coterie. Neither Severin, nor Christine, nor Anna (who is not as keyed into politics as the other two) had a good thing to say about Anders. For a neonate, Rook wielded a shocking amount of power as ally to the Sheriff and through him the Prince, but she was not well respected within Clan Toreador, especially the old guard. Christine, especially, was fond of opining quite loudly in Elysium that Anders and Rook, "Would be far more interesting if anyone were to tell them about art." Needless to say, the open Anarchs (none of whom reside in the fief of San Francisco, despise the Judgment.
Exactly how she wound up here is an interesting question. As the Judgment goes, she's certainly not the worst of them (that honor would go to Desmond Doyle of Clan Malkavian) but she is certainly no friend to the Anarch.
The name Elliott Gray also rings a bell, though not as strong of one. Considering two of Rook's associates in San Francisco, Solomon and Taube are members of Clan Nosferatu, and Elliott doesn't come from that section, she can reasonably conclude one of two things:
1. Elliott is not native to San Francisco, which is not unusual.
2. Elliott is somehow related to Piper, the Nosferatu primogen and not an ally of Solomon's. This has additional weight, as, if Weston is Severin's childe, Severin and Piper are (in)famously lovers, cementing an odd alliance between factions of the Toreador and Nosferatu.
The name definitely sounds familiar, but Rook has a hard time placing it.
When he reveals the blade, that's when she puts it together. Severin, the Toreador Primogen, had a childe who was a blacksmith. Other than his formal presentation at the Black Rose, she has the memory that he associates with a seedier element.
Weston & Elliott:
The pale, dark haired woman, Rook, though her name has only been mentioned in passing, is slightly familiar, but neither of you can place her.
Alex Warfare wrote:
"The fifth," Alex says quietly, and starts counting on his fingers. He looks over to Rook, and mouths the word Accounting? with a look of mild confusion on his face.
"Can't be forced to testify against yourself," Sam--the skinny guy in the Tootsie pop shirt--murmurs to Alex.
"Did it not seem odd to you that he did not have any appointments going forward?" Rook goes through the pages to see if the appointments resume in the future.
They do not. "I am not in the habit of questioning my betters."
Rook Iida wrote:
"And these amounts of monetary withdrawal are unusual. Does he use any sort of traceable currency? Credit cards or checks, for example? Or only cash?"
"While I have been compelled to familiarize myself with the modern trend of ethereal money, the Don prefers to conduct his business the way he has for centuries, namely with cash on the barrel, as they say."
"Let me rephrase, who was he dining from, and is that being reachable?"
"I don't know which vessel he selected. All of them are in the larder."
Rook Iida wrote:
She makes no comment as to the secret drawers, but after checking the ledger and appointment book, "How far ahead does the Don normally shedule things? It's like he was planning to leave." She shows the ledger with the large withdrawal to Echo.
"As far ahead as possible. To a being as ancient as the Don, a year to you would be like a day to him. Although such things are constrained by the schedules of others. Modern business has a pace that often disagrees with the Don's staid person."
"I do not mean to sound indelicate, but if you want us to find the Prince, then I am going to need to see everything, and you will have to trust my discretion as a professional." Her lips flatten into a thin line as she presses them together.
Boone's mien softens ever so slightly. "I apologize for my brusque manner, Miss Iida, but upon the Don's return, I wish to assure him that his privacy was an impenetrable keep whose walls cannot be surmounted. The solution is not in the Don's private papers, but as you astutely note, in behavior and preparation."
Rook Iida wrote:
“You said he went to the larder – was there anyone with him?”
"No, it is the Don's custom to dine alone."
Rook Iida wrote:
Rook starts looking, first at the books, just in case there's something very obvious - an envelope sticking out, a note, a torn page, etc., and then at the desk, first the surface, looking at his writing utensils, how things are set up, what is on the desk, and then examining the thickness of the desk, in relation to the drawers, legs, and desk top, in case there's a false drawer or some other compartment - something quite common in vintage furniture. Of course she checks the regular drawers too, and their contents. She even checks the chair, and of course any vents, and behind paintings for a safe or some other cubby hole. Creaking wooden floorboard? Something rolled under the desk or stuffed under a cushion, etc.
Rook does not see anything obvious like she describes and is comfortable that she would have looked everywhere that might logically have one. The desk is in good order, with a collection of expensive fountain pens. Some are likely older than Rook is. With some investigation, she locates several hidden compartments. Two are entirely empty. The last contains petals of a dried rose.
The contents of the drawers include a ledger, an appointment book, a modern corporate checkbook, essentially the sorts of things that one might expect a wealthy immortal to have. Though the ledger and appointment book are both in shorthand, Rook deciphers it quite easily. There are no appointments after last evening, and none that immediately catch her eye -- it looks like standard business kinds of things. Keeping his fortune running. The ledger, however, shows several withdrawals over the past week, totaling a truly harrowing sum. Wherever Don Bartolomé went, he's going in style, with deep pockets.
The rest of her search in the office does not turn up any secret compartments or panels, and she is content that she would have found them had they been there.
In the car
Alex Warfare wrote:
"Anyway, that's a problem for Future Sam. And Future us, come to think of it."
The Santa Cruz Museum of Art & History is located in the city's modest downtown area. A modern edifice, its brutalist lines render it looming in the stark lighting. Meanwhile, expansive shadows pool every which way, providing ample darkness for a nocturnal predator to feed.
Los Vigilantes, the natives, arrive first. There are four of them, and while three will describe themselves, the fourth is a skinny white guy with a shock of bedhead. He's dressed in a pair of blue jeans, worn Chucks, and a faded t-shirt, possibly vintage, with the Tootsie-Pop owl speculating about the exact properties of his wares.
Weston & Elliott:
You may both make Intelligence + Insight rolls if you so wish.
And to Sam, "So what do you know about this kyriarchy you've entered into? Like, are you completely ignorant of Traditions? Or are you still in Don't Eat Me Mister Wolf mode?" Alex tilts his head toward Cailleach. "Man, it took me forever to get the hang of this, so just ... you know ... if you have questions, let's hear 'em."
"Traditions? Like leaving a seat empty for the prophet Elijah?" Sam asks.
Boone nods. Then, into the phone: "Sir? Please meet agents of your welcome at the Santa Cruz Museum of Art and History. You should find it most peaceful there."
