[ This thread will remain open until the the end of Saturday, August 3rd, at around midnight. That will be the night the event will take place IC. Independents, Anarchs, and Camarilla will all be invited one way or another. Post away! Arrivals, socializing, scheming and intrigue! Go at it. I will also accept requests for breakaway scenes that may take place in different corners of Richthofen away from the main group. Please post these requests in the System Scenes and Times thread in the OOC Forum. P.S. If you don't want to read the whole thing just jump forward to the last Saturday section. ]
Three Ventrue arrive in staggered fashion over the course of as many days.
Wednesday, 7.24.13.
Jonas Halder. Ancilla. A Continental Ventrue of Dutch and German lineage, though his English is perfect and practiced; any accent is stripped away to leave his words precise as the dictations of a contract. He punctuates every mandate, though, with compliments and kind words.
Embraced in the prime of his life, Jonas looks like he might have been an expert sportsman. It's easy to imagine him excelling at whatever contest of physical strength he might dedicate himself to. Or perhaps as a warrior or military officer in some bygone era.
Over six feet tall with broad shoulders and a lean waist, strapping in his sport coat, vest and slacks, blonde hair combed to a part and back. The first Ventrue's features are chiseled into a white marble face, large cheek bones and a sloping forehead with full lips to soften these otherwise Neanderthal feature, parting in a smile to show perfectly straight and white teeth. His entire personage lights up in an inviting manner and his laughter comes easily. No matter the gravity a conversation is lent he seems cool and detached from its outcome, allowing him to steer its dialogue and subject matter almost effortlessly with most he speaks to.
Thursday, 7/25/13.
Jun Oka. Ancilla. Appearing to be a Japanese woman in her early forties. The second Ventrue looks to be a flat five feet, though her five inch heels make up no shortage of ground. She dresses conservatively in a silver and black dress the first night, covering her chest, shoulders, and down to her elbows, the hem just below her knees. Jun is quiet when she arrives, allowing Jonas to do most of the talking even after her introduction to those he has already made acquaintance with. Until someone – a Brujah neonate – makes a comment about the sudden increase of Blue Bloods in the city.
“Expect more,” she answers, summoning a wink and reassuring laughter from Jonas, before elucidating with vigor on the stabilizing effect of the clan and its contributions to Kindred society following the burning times. She continues reciting case after case of the clan's history as defenders of humane and progressive vampires everywhere with a heady mixture of academic skill and the fierce rhetoric of a true believer in their cause.
Friday, 7/26/13.
Wenceslao. Distinguished Elder. If Jun is an unwavering and extreme (if understated) loyalist, Jonas the more approachable of the three with his open conversational style and politically correct (intractably diplomatic) manner, then Wenceslao seems above either forms of interaction with the most of the Kindred present. Appearing to have been embraced in his late forties, his introductions are short and vague. They focus on his arrival via the Canadian border and travel South to Denver.
Those Camarilla Kindred who stay attuned to the Sect's history and politics will recognize the name. A European Elder. Iberian, yes, though having cut his teeth in the old cities of Eastern Europe against the Tzimisce and later in its burgeoning economic and political climate. No less than three centuries old, though perhaps older. Of course, that could have been another Wenceslao.
But probably not.
This Wenceslao seems most interested in hearing tales of war with the Sabbat. How the siege is being weathered, the names of Kindred lost, etc. He returns with first hand accounts of recent successes in the Czech Republic, Brazil, and the Arab Emirates. His Iberian heritage is plain, his accent distinctly of Old Gallacian origin, though he speaks English well enough. Even when his grammar becomes broken it seems because he is above such a young tongue's idiosyncrasies and adds character to his words. His complexion is dusky, his build firm, but otherwise average, perhaps five feet and ten or eleven inches. He wears a handlebar mustache with its edges twisted together and pointed sharply, a trimmed salt-and-pepper beard that is similarly gathered together into a broad sword's point.
And when he arrives, he introduces himself only to those Kindred that approach him, and when Rasmussen finally does so, they make a brief public exchange before retiring to one of the Brujah Primogen's sitting rooms. They do not emerge from its privacy for the remainder of the night, and when they finally do as morning threatens Wenceslao makes his way directly to his waiting town car and leaves.
* * * *
Saturday, 7/27/13.
Though her entourage of Ventrue is present and growing in the halls of Elysium the three days preceding her arrival, Lady Adelaide does not immediately make her pilgrimage to Richthofen Castle. Not that the countdown is made public knowledge to any of the Primogen or other Kindred of Denver. They simply go about their business in a way similar to the other new Kindred entering the city, never mind how they got around the Sabbat war packs still stalking its borders and never mind why they would decide to join their Lady in visiting a city under siege.
Those who are cornered into that sort of conversation, this being no easy feat, simply state that they are here to accompany Lady Adelaide and make her visit as productive as possible, once announcing the imminence of her arrival to and through Lucille de Dampierre. They introduce themselves to the various Kindred, giving their pedigrees when asked, elaborating on their backgrounds when inquired of, and asking the same polite questions in return.
And after three nights of arrivals, their clutch of dragons grown to a trinity, they disappear. It begins to filter out through the Nosferatu and Tremere that they are making their havens at the Brown Palace Hotel, having rented out an entire floor for their small village of retainers and support staff. Even this revelation seems deliberate. Word also filters out that Lady Adelaide has finally arrived.
Their blood-fed mouthpieces politely refuse most meetings and announce that within the week – the first Saturday of August – they will all make an appearance at court under the hospitality of Primogen Rasmussen and his Council of Elders, requesting the presence of all Camarilla and extending an invitation, with the Brujah's blessing, to any and all Independents who also wish make an appearance in Elysium that night and meet Lady Adelaide.
* * * *
Saturday, the 3rd of August.
It comes around as it must.
Richthofen Castle is the Keep of Denver and home to its most staunch and lauded Camarilla pillar. It stands as Elysium, named so by that unwavering Brujah Primogen Rasmussen in the first burning nights of the siege. And now it will host the visiting Ventrue dignitary Lady Adelaide of Geneva.
The security is now a mixed bag of Lady Adelaide's private guard and Rasmussen's usual cadre of ghouls working in cautious concerted effort.
The Keeper of Elysium, Lucille de Dampierre, Toreador Primogen, has spared no expense on her gown or in bedecking the castle with finery. They will find that many of the extraneous contents of the hall have been stripped away, leaving seating arrangements of couches and upholstered chairs and only the choicest pieces of artwork:
Hopper. Basquait. Koons. Marin. Bluemner. Haring. Many American greats, encased in bulletproof glass sealed with large bolts. The back window is covered by a mammoth photo print of the interior of a 99 cent store by Andreas Gursky, 99 Cent II Diptychon as read on the placard beside it. The other walls have been redone in silk some time in the past twenty-four hours, a navy and lighter blue floral pattern with geometric shapes imposed behind them. She greets Denver's guests as they enter its front foyer.
The Sheriff, Narcisa Rulfo of the Malkavians, is present, though she sticks to the periphery, coordinating security with the ghouls and other vampires assigned such duties.
The Rat King Gotfred, Primogen of the Nosferatu, is present with his own coterie of Sewer Rats, all present with varying levels of comfort and wariness within the keep's halls.
And of the Independents, all those known are present:
Samit Jalil of the Assamites an imposing figure sitting at the piano as he pounds out the Prelude and Fugue #4 in E minor of Schostakovich's 87th Opus. His fedora sits beside him on the piano bench, though his ever present sunglasses remain.
Oliverio Giovanni stands beside the piano with another man to his left. A large man who looks to live and breath, in a suit of a less expensive cut, and therefore no doubt a ghoul. Maybe a body guard.
Kamal Moussa, Follower of Set, and his childe, Atef Karim, are also present. Where one is the other seldom is not, and that is evident in their close proximity as they entertain a number of Camarilla neonates with a largely academic conversation on methods of influencing the kine. Jonas Halder stands a few steps away, though seems to be listening intently as well.
Jun Oka and Wenceslao stand with Rasmussen as they await the arrival of Lady Adelaide.
And the majority of Anarchs? Well, there are none present as of yet, at least none of the fourfold coterie of Levi, O'Neill, St. Germain and Darmon, though few would expect them to show and kiss the ring of the Ivory Tower's Ventrue luminary.
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - tithe - 07-26-2013 03:31 AM
Every king should have a Jack in his court.
Especially Rat Kings from Under-the-Ground.
Here is Jack of the Nosferatu, present and accounted for: why, of course he is. Hideous Jack, with his monstrous visage, his wretched curse-twisted face belied by the honey-tongue voice and the bright star-gleam of his sharp eyes, absolutely Nobody you want to look at twice, abso-tive-ly the cringe-nightmare of what the vampiric soul might be warped into if one isn't careful, oh, if one isn't full-of-care, though he isn't all rags-and-bones or trash-and-sludge. No, Jack is impeccable and immaculate (it makes it worse [more horrifying]), as far as these things go: a boogeyman-monster dressed like a gentleman Jack.
Now.
Here he is.
But where is here?
He does attend his primogen. Yes. But he is politely comfortable in Elysia and among non-Sewer dwelling kindred. He is serene in the face of Those-Who-Can't-Meet-His-Eyes and he is serene in the face of Those-Who-Do-Too-Deliberately, like, See-I've-Seen-Worse. He is serene: sure. But rather more, he is affable, and friendly, and oh so available.
At a certain and precise moment, the moment of tableau-setting, Jack is oh so available at the piano by the imposing Assamite and the less-imposing Giovanni.
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - Howl - 07-27-2013 02:01 PM
Maybe no one expected the Anarchs to show, but as it happened at least two of them did. Lux may have been the more obvious of the two (Toreadors did so love their parties.) Everett himself had never been known to frequent such affairs. The lavish ambiance and ritual etiquette of the Camarilla's elite weren't exactly his thing.
But he was here now. Whatever his reasons. And dressed moderately for the occasion in a simple but flattering grey suit. The white shirt beneath was left unbuttoned at the neck - a bit casual perhaps, but it suited him. He and Lux arrived together and entered arm in arm like an old Hollywood power couple. And true to form, Everett afforded attention to all those he passed, smiling at the guards as they made their way inside the castle. There was a bit of a show of observing and commenting on the artwork that Lucille de Dampierre had placed on display, though Lux probably had more intelligent commentary to make on that front.
At some point, Everett caught sight of his clan's Primogen and offered him a nod.
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - Shayla - 07-28-2013 10:35 AM
The Camarilla in all its finery was present for the arrival of their lady, and even the more curious of the Anarch's had found their way into the halls of Richthofen Castle, perhaps one of the most surprising arrivals of the evening however, was that of the independent Mercy Comstock, still dressed in her hides and leathers, with her hair matted and tangled the Gangrel had come to the Elysium of the Camarilla, stepped within its bounds, and allowed herself to be suffused with the air of the civilized predator's...to be honest she found it rather funny.
She squatted, she did not sit, against a pillar or wall, in a corner or some dark alcove awaiting this alpha predator, because to Mercy, that is what Lady Adelaide had to be, a predator of singular ferocity and strength, why else would all the other predators scatter about in a hurry, warning others, preparing them to placate and fawn over this..Lady Adelaide. It was the only thing that made sense.
Mercy of course...was not here to fawn and scrap the floor with her nose in supplication to this predator, no she had been in Denver for far to long to bend her knee to any creature, be they kindred or otherwise, Mercy, who only met those unknown to her with narrowed eyes and a downward turn of her lip...was simply here to survey the competition.
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - Cellatus - 07-28-2013 06:27 PM
He is a new face, as the saying goes. Too bad he doesn't have much of one. Perhaps some would see the wild haired middle aged man entering elysium, but once inside and among his own kind (for as much as the collection of camarilla somebodies could be considered his kind) that man disappears. Instead a small cretin takes his place, wears his clothes, shares a somewhat similar eager to please smile. Only the head of wild grey hair is only a few greasy strands combed over an otherwise bald, misshapen head, which he nods nervously at people in a form of greeting, and constantly flashing that smile showing a set of crowded, ridiculously rounded teeth.
Ah! This must be the one they call Donkey Teeth.
He pays his respects to his Primogen as he arrives but does not linger. Members of the other clans are greeted cordially, but gingerly. There's something timid about him. Something reminiscent of a kicked puppy. He seems most comfortably around Jack, his better dressed but equally grotesque clanmate. The two seem to share some level of kinship. At one point Donkey Teeth's smile slips from nervous and defensive to inclusive mischief and he almost taps the side of his nose towards Jack.
Except Donkey Teeth doesn't have a nose.
Instead he puts a finger at the side of his cheek, tugging slightly under his eye. Those who catch the gesture probably wish they hadn't.
For the rest of the time, while they all wait, Donkey Teeth hangs around the piano, making no secret about how much he enjoys the music.
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - phil - 07-28-2013 06:54 PM
Samantha is present; how could she not be? The young Ventrue stands besides Jun and Wenceslao, dressed in an elegant dress of burgundy that hugs her figure and sets off her skin beautifully. After making some small talk with her clan mates, however, she detaches and drifts over to Lucille de Dampierre to compliment her on the state of Elysium, her words quiet, her smile sincere, and then steps over to the Sheriff whom she has not had a chance yet to meet. There she exchanges a few words, introducing herself formally, but not staying long enough to try the Malkavian's patience. Surely the Sheriff has other matters on her mind.
From there, she catches sight of Lux and Everett, and approaches. Her smile is polished, her eyes at once curious and yet distant at the same time. She stops a few paces from their side, and nods. "Good evening. I don't believe we've met." Her voice is tinged with a French accent, though worn down and subtle. "My name is Samantha Balbec, and I am but recently arrived in Denver."
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - Joey - 07-28-2013 08:56 PM
[ Anyone who missed the first round can feel free to post as if they've already arrived. ]
Rasmussen looks pleased at the arrival of Everett, returning the nod with his own and raising his fellow Brujah a smile before returning his attention to his guests.
Samit seems lost in the music his ebon fingers coax forth from ivory and ebony keys – whether he notices the separate approaches of the Nosferatu duo or not. He's intent on pounding out those notes, rocking into the piano and back with a poised nods of his head, eyes on the keys, though even they close now and then in a look of artistic revery.
Oliverio, though, turns toward Jack and gives the Nosferatu a nod. They've met (in passing) before, but perhaps Jack's recent exploits have finally put the Sewer Rat onto the radar of this particular vampire. It brings a passing acknowledgment of Donkey Teeth as well, and when he begins speaking, the wiry old Giovanni makes sure to include both satellites of Gotfred's clan into the conversation.
"Good evening," the necromancer begins, lips still thin, threatening a scowl, though eyes softened with interest. "It's not often we in the provinces get such visits. I wonder, would you have any idea what tonight’s program might include? Tragedy? Comedy? Horror? Or perhaps something with a more satirical flavor?"
It's Gotfred who steps away from the nest of vampiric vermin and toward Everett, Lux and the Ventrue, Samantha, who has recently joined them in their surveying of the art. The Rat King's skin has the look of fleshy and deeply fissured tree bark, as if his skin had been stretched like tanning leather, and released too early, left wrinkled in long striations. His mouth is a parsed thing, small and lined with six visible teeth, each sharper than the next. Two miniscule cainines and incisors set on the tip and bottom, and then three coming down like razor sharp stalactites from the upper hinge of the jaw, the lower a single broad blade that they clack against as he speaks.
This subterranean monster wears an ill-fitting suit that his willowy frame swims within, though without shoes, even his feet disfigured by the curse of his clan. The middle three toes are long as a bat's would be if the size were comparable, the two on the outside shriveled to ineffective lumps. At least there is a symmetry to the odd form, though.
He meets the three Kindred before Hopper's Conference at Night, making the intersection of undead a ghastly recreation of it. He looks most interested to talk to the Brujah Anarch, Everett, though, once he's through greeting the three of them. Somehow, with that twisted excuse for a face, the man seems able to speak easily enough:
"Tell me you've decided to shake off the dust of your retirement and will join us on the lines," Everett's reputation on the field against the Sabbat no secret, especially not to militant Kindred of Denver like Gotfred. "Even with their short memories – and lifespans – I'm sure the Sabbat still fear the childe of Greta Braun."
And there is Mercy, crouching (stalking) and scowling (snarling). Even she is unable to avoid interaction in this bloody watering hole for predators. Her positioning draws the attention of Narcisa, and with that attention comes proximity. A quiet approach, as preparations are settled, ghouls and fanged posse dispatched to their posts, and as she she finally begins to pay attention to the proceedings and arrivals it's near the Outlander that the Sheriff decides to set up as guard. Leaning against a wall, kicking one leg over the other and folding her arms over her chest against the entryway to the main hall, her Lunatic eyes circle the room, but always come back to the menacing Gangrel.
The Tremere filter in as one. Where they'd been seen before this point in trickles, popping up out of a hidden warren on hunts and errands (sometimes the two combined), the breadth of the clan's recent arrival into the city becomes evident.
Marguerite Hill, who some may know as their Regent and Primogen, is the first through the door. She is dressed in a black velvet dress and her hair is tied in a great braid of espresso locks, its tail tucked in and a red pillbox hat atop it that match leather high heels. She helms a motley gang. In her wake are Jeremy Cabot and the more infamous (and younger looking) Malcolm Redknapp, shoulder to shoulder in tuxedos, and behind them another woman, similarly tuxedoed, though hers is more form-fitting. This last woman wears her hair short chopped and is no less tattooed than Malcolm and Jeremy, ink marking the skin up her neck and down her knuckles as she joins the troop of grim penguins behind Marguerite.
They make their introductions short and to the point and stick tight together, and perhaps their late arrival is proof they'd wanted to cut down time for socializing (intrigue) and leave their attentions fresh for the main event, because only a handful of minutes later...
A few key members of the crowd – Rasmussen, the Ventrue emissaries, Marguerite and Jeremy – grow quiet and Lucille's back straightens as she composes herself. Flattens the front of her dress. If she still breathed, one might imagine the Toreador Primogen and Keeper of Elysium would take a deep inhalation at this time.
And through the front door comes a figure that can only be Lady Adelaide. Her visage is one of a stately and silver-haired older woman, crows feet framing a look that incises the Elysium laid out before her with an icy blue and sweeping gaze before relaxing to take in the autopsy of mechanisms and machinations unveiled in its wake. She meets a few faces directly. Lucille. Rasmussen. Lady Hill. Wenceslao. Her smile is assured to the point of elevation and radiates a calm sovereignty over whatever it's cast upon. She wears a black gown, cut conservatively except for an open back of alabaster skin visible through the sheer silk blouse worn open over it, some hair pinned to one side and its remainder flowing freely.
Lucille speaks first, "Lady Adelaide, it is an honor to welcome you to Denver and our Elysium," and at this, Wenceslao is already stepping forward to make formal introductions.
"My Lady Adelaide, please allow me to introduce you to Lucille de Dampierre, Primogen of the Toreador. Lady Lucille, please allow me to introduce Lady Adelaide of Geneva," he recites this as if the etiquette of such introductions are as much instinct as rote.
"A pleasure, Primogen Lucille," the Ventrue's response in what can most aptly be compared to a mix of Italian and French accents.
The interaction repeats itself, variations on a theme, the names of the recipients changing as she makes her way to greet each of the Primogen present, even the Nosferatu she avoided looking to upon her arrival, and as if unable to differentiate him from the other malformed monsters in his entourage without Wenceslao.
And by the time she is upon Rasmussen her smile has grown sharpened as the broad blade of a sickle moon. "A pleasure, Primogen Rasmussen," and more this time, "it is a beautiful estate your city's Kindred call Elysium. As a grieving dam who also suffered a terrible loss in this siege, I extend the whole of the Camarilla's deepest condolences on the loss of your childe," her accent, displayed more fully, illustrating she most likely learned English from time in the United Kingdom, or at least from a native English tutor.
And now, as her attention leaves Rasmussen, it will become evident that Adelaide has positioned herself at the center of the furthest wall of Elysium – the head of the table, as it were, and a position of unmistakable power. She turns to regard all the assembled Kindred.
"I am here to reaffirm our solidarity with Denver and its Kindred. I speak on behalf of the Inner Council and the Justicars of the Six Clans of the Camarilla. The Sabbat will find no permanent home here. Their days without rest, their nights numbered, each a trial they will fail, each moment under the threat of Final Death, I speak on behalf of the Ventrue," and at this, Jun and Jonas stand a bit taller, though Wenceslao had already set himself at her arrival and that straight back never wavered. "This city will not fall."
Wenceslao steps forward as Lady Adelaide falls silent, speaking next, "And to that end, with so many of the Blood assembled, we ask to know better what Kindred will be counted amongst the Camarilla or as its allies in this cause. What Independents wish to remain neutral. We ask for news of the Sabbat not already shared. Claims of domain so that we know what territories we fight for and who will hold what lines. And at the close, a Prince will be named, positions of governance filled, and a full Council of Primogen instated."
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - tithe - 07-29-2013 01:05 AM
Lux
Portrait of a Toreador Anarch, Entering Elysium With Her Brujah Compatriot
The creature is a fine thing, and terribly lovely, perilously beautiful. Look. Look. Look. The incarnation of what a Toreador should be. What it is to be a Toreador. There aren't many left after winter's siege, the clan of the Rose isn't flocking to pick-over the battlefield's leavings, is not flowering up out of the Vitae-soaked streets: those left must be the more tenacious species. Or perhaps they just knew to bow their heads when the scythe swished overhead and the next passage of the blade'll do for them too. Perhaps it is in tribute to her diminished clan and its unwavering support of form over function (aka, the Camarilla), but she didn't show-up in jeans, suspenders, a greasy pompadour and an insouciant grin, as she might've hinted to Everett she would.
Nah. Lux is wearing some short modern thing that knows where to drape and where to cling, where to anticipate touching the skin beneath, where to give in and touch it. Lux also troubled to turn herself into Art, and her right arm, shoulder, anywhere the skin is visible on her right side, the right side of her throat, across her collar-bone and curling at the delicate cut of her jaw is a painting, turning her into an illuminated thing in spite of the fire-season gloom of her gathered-up hair. The theme of the body as Art continues on her left calf, where there is a poem neatly scrawled, spiralling down to her ankle.
This kind of 'do isn't Everett's thing. But boy, did it used to be Lux's, and when you put a shark back into water, it still swims, right? And so when Lucille greets the Anarchs in the foyer, Lux does not linger very long, on account of the other guests naturally!, but she does linger a heartbeat longer than perhaps most others in order to pay Lucille her due as another survivor and her clanmate and the woman rising to tonight's social challenge. Lux's eyes are subtly tinted with wonderment -- this sharp sense of intent in them.
Lux definitely seems to be ready to be interested. Yay, parties? The art is indeed commented on. Then Samantha joins Everett and Lux, and -
--------
OOC: And I'll post Jack & Lux together from now on and respond to Samantha/Gotfred/Oooh, Fancy Ventrue Dignitaries & Donkey Teeth/Giovanni/Oooh, Fancy Ventrue Dignitaries beneath this post.
Because totally not gonna blow a chance to be Officially Artistic As F*ck did a few rolls for fine art body painting. Normally would go Dex + Crafts/Painting, but Celerity. So I did that w/ Celerity, w/ out Celerity, and then the next day while procrastinating on writing Lux into this thread I did Percept + Crafts.
Eyes = CC. Syll = Syllogy. Thank you witnesses!
for the art
Dice, Dice
[Dex + Cel + Crafts-for-Painting. 1 of at least 2 rolls, taking time.]
Dice: 10 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 6, 6, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 7 )
Dice, Dice
[Same roll, x2.]
Dice: 10 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 4, 4, 4, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 5 )
Eyes
Eyes see all!
for the poem
Dice, Dice
[Intelligence + Expression.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 6, 6, 7) ( success x 3 )
Eyes
Didn't even miss that. =D
alternate for the art rolls
Dice, Dice
[JUST IN CASE. 1 or 2.]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 4, 6, 7, 7, 9) ( success x 4 )
Dice, Dice
[JUST IN CASE. 2 of 2.]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 5 )
Eyes
SOMETIMES YOU FEEL LIKE SOMEBODY'S WAAAAAAAAAAATCHIN YOOOOOOOOOOU
or
Dice, Dice
[This one is Perc+Crafts. Blowing WP to be contrary!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 4, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 4 ) [WP]
Dice, Dice
[And a second, just-in-case?]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 5, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
Syll
[Witnessed!]
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - tithe - 07-29-2013 04:06 AM
Jack:
Jack did find Mercy's presence surprising, indeed more surprising than a pair of anarchs, when he noticed it. (Of course he noticed it. He's a noticing sort of creature is our Jack of Jacks. And certain creatures are currently more likely to attract his notice than others, the Gangrel being one of them.) But he notices when he does because of Donkey Teeth's moment of inclusive mischief.
Domino-effect: The little tug of cheek under his eye causes a nearby and jumpy Brujah neonate who happened to catch the gesture to turn away so sharply and with such an HRRK grimace that the sharpness of the gesture draws Jack's glance and then the line of the neonate's shoulder and perspective being what it is seems to point to Narcisa whose own eyes have just settled on Mercy and Jack's glance following the Sheriff's like a meek lamb.
Maybe it's less of a domino-effect and more like one of those arcade games where you try to get the ball into the right hole for so many points and then go again and again until the game's over, but Jack's attention is the ball. And maybe he uses his attention to push Donkey Teeth's attention that way, too.
And maybe that's all strictly game theory, doesn't matter. Because Jack seems to rather enjoy the way the Assamite seems to be as played by the music as he is playing the music. But Jack returns the necromancer's nod, and gives Oliviero and his shadow the lion's share of his attention.
This is wry: "I suspect tonight's main event will include all of the above. But," and now, a note of rue and knowing. "I also suspect the show will be such that the genre left open to different interpretations depending on the audience's mood. What are you in the mood for?" Like a waiter who knows all the subtle differences in temperature might say: how do you like your meat? extra-rare, medium rare, medium, medium well, well done, or carbonisé.
" - I wouldn't mind something light myself."
--
But enter, Lady Adelaide. Lady Adelaide, as all the kindred who were gathered to see what she would do: conversation trickles down as she makes her way to the head of the table as it were, and Jack rests his forearms on and leans against the piano when she turns to address the crowd, listening with an expression of -- eh? Oh, come now, who's looking at Jack?
Don't lie. You're not looking at him either.
Lux:
Lux's accent is invisible, or rather more accurately, television American. But when -- and see, an inclusive and welcoming gleam like light striking true silver through corrosion in her eyes -- Samantha introduces herself and Lux replies, dragging out the long (and Toreador) French name, her voice shifts to accomodate the accent and it's the audial equivalent of the visual of dragging silk through water or maybe just the sensation of fingertips dragging down silk: Josephe-Alix Xavierre etc. etc. etc., punctuated with a precise: "But 'Lux' is handier. Please."
Then she either introduces Everett as Everett Stone or Everett introduces himself and once he's done the Toreador adds, with that difficult to pinpoint but easy to recognize air of a native who is attached to her city, "Denver can be such an interesting, quixotic city. I'm so curious to see what all the most recent arrivals make of it! Did you arrive on the swell of Ventrue or Tremere?"
Lux doesn't notice Gotfred's approach until he's already there. No time for the young Toreador to flee grotesquerie! Horrors! But Lux: she greets the Rat King with a quick upturn of her lips, a tribute of lowering lashes, glance going sidelong and his name warm enough in her mouth. If only, and if ever, because when she was much younger, she used to highly enjoy the story about Henrietta and the dance of the seven veils. But it's hardly a surprise that she looks at Everett or Samantha during Everett's response.
--
And, at Lady Adelaide's approach, Lux briefly looks for Rasmussen, before her attention cuts back, and Lux quietly considers Isaac Winthrop's sire as she acknowledges and is acknowledged by Gotfred.
--
How still she is during 'the speeches.' How perfect(.)ly still except for at "this city will not fall" a sweeping lift of her dark eyebrows. Her eyes have not gone hooded: they are wide and watchful and the expression in them is certainly moved in some way, but
come, come
you're probably not looking at Lux right now either.
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - Shayla - 07-29-2013 07:06 AM
Mercy was fine where she was, there was no need to mingle, no need to promenade herself around the room to curry favour of those within the Camarilla. She partially expected them to start dancing or something like this was a court or dance hall of olden days...but that just shows how versed Mercy is in the tenets of the Camarilla.
Somewhere amid the movement of the crowd Mercy's dark eyes lock with Lux's a moment of recognition payed to the woman whom probably didn't care to acknowledge or even look in her direction, but it is given anyways, made apparent. Jack would have received one of those looks as well, but the man wore many faces, and tonight he wore a face that the outlander had never witnessed and so he is passed over by those predatory eyes, considered only briefly.
Briefly because her solitary vigil is interrupted, Mercy may not pay much attention to the Camarilla, but she knew of certain monsters, knew of certain positions of importance within its borders and the small creature who strode casually up to stand at the wall so near to Mercy's hide made the woman round herself towards the Malkavian her eyes narrowing on the woman but remaining silent.
And then there was the parade, the arrival of more fopish human wannabe's and then...the supposed apex predator. Simply because her form is older does not make Mercy underestimate this newcomer, and though she does not turn her gaze to the woman, she listens carefully, taking in the tone and the intent, as one of Mercy's like would. Mercy's face developed furrows the more she listened, the woman displeased or perhaps simply uncomfortable. But she remained silent for now once Lady Adelaide had finished.
No instead she turned her gaze once more towards Narcisa before a deep harmonic growl like that of a bobcat whispered past Mercy's lips as the woman spoke.
"What...do you want?"
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - Howl - 07-30-2013 11:59 AM
Lux's body art had been duly admired by the Brujah upon meeting for the event, his gaze sweeping over the display with an appreciative smile and a "Honey, you look like a painting. Everyone's gonna want to steal you from me."
Now it would seem that the two of them had formed a bit of an unusual social circle, with the approach of both Samantha and Gotfred. The former received a brief nod and an easy smile from Everett, who held out his hand in informal greeting. "Lovely to meet you, Samantha. Everett Stone." His own accent sounded markedly more local, and it looked for a moment like he meant to ask the Ventrue a question, but then Gotfred approached.
Lux managed to look anywhere but at the Nosferatu Primogen's face. Everett, to his credit, looked the Rat King right in the eyes and held his gaze steady. A shift came over the Brujah's demeanor when Gotfred uttered that name (Greta.) No longer smiling. No longer open. The Nosferatu had asked if he intended to rejoin the fight, and Everett's answer was: "I am. On my own terms."
When Lady Adelaide entered, all eyes were upon her - including those of the Anarchs. When she drifted into their space to greet the Nosferatu Primogen, Everett held back politely and, if she happened to acknowledge his presence, would offer a respectful bow of his head. (Ever the courteous creature this evening, it would seem.)
He watched her move across the room, curious perhaps as to what she intended to do now that she had all their attention. Her speech, short and to the point, was met with a look of guarded approval. (There was a weariness to it though. So many years of politicians and their pretty speeches meant to cover selfish designs.)
Nonetheless, he stepped forward and approached Adelaide and Wenceslao. "I can't speak for all the Anarchs, but this city is my home. I came back to protect it and the people living here. The Camarilla can count me as an ally."
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - Samael - 07-30-2013 02:09 PM
Kali wasn't one who took it upon herself to miss big Camarilla events...or even small ones, if she could possibly help it. A member of an independent clan who counted themselves part of the Camarilla didn't get to rely on an affirmative action assurance that they always had a spot; they had to try a little (read: a lot) harder than any of the Big Six clans to make sure they were counted when the time came. And so for the Ravnos woman it meant that any time there was a large gathering, she would make sure that she was there.
And so she is. Kali has dressed to look the part; she isn't suited up the way she was for her visit with the good professor but she wasn't all leather and lace either. Instead she's chosen something in-between; a crimson bustier underneath a worn but in-good-repair leather jacket with a short skirt and knee-high boots. She's left her hair down to spill over her shoulders, its ever-present unnatural red more or less matching the color of her top. She moves from circle to circle, playing the social butterfly and delivering some witticisms along the way.
She gives specific time to a few people, of course. Mercy gets a grin and a little wiggle of her fingers at one point while the Rroma woman stands with a small group of neonates, listening to her prattle. Jack also gets a smile and a wink; she will certainly be talking with them soon. One particular man who, for some reason, the Ravnos makes the time to make herself known to is Malcolm Redknapp. She doesn't approach him, just catches his eye at some point and gives a seemingly warm, amused and knowing nod.
She also makes sure to head over to Lux and Everett to exchange pleasantries. Kali is as comfortable with Anarchs as she is the Camarilla and she grins as she walks up, giving Samantha and Gotfred a quick look and smile just before she leans in to kiss both of Lux's cheeks. "Hey there, my impromptu tattoo artist. You look awesome, of course. How are you guys...weathering things well?"
Of course, that would be when the big entrance happens. Kali takes the opportunity to move and find a spot to stand, watching as Lady Adelaide walks in. Kali is a woman for whom it is rare to find without a smirk, a grin or something approximating amusement, unless someone can knock her off-balance enough to wipe that smirk off her face (or it serves her best to be serious). Tonight...it serves her best to be serious. She's not solemn, but she recognizes the gravity of the situation and she treats it as such. For once.
When Adelaide speaks, she listens closely. She nods a little at the idea that the Sabbat will not find a home here; above all, that's something she agrees with. She isn't the kind to swoon and be swayed by flowery speeches, but she is a pragmatist and she knows when she can find points to agree on, and leave the rest behind. When Adelaide calls for Kindred to make their allegiance known, domains declared and such, she waits for Everett to finish and then she steps forward to speak.
"Lady Adelaide...I am Kali, from the Phuri Dae jati of Clan Ravnos. While most of my clan remains neutral, I count myself as a member-in-standing of the Camarilla by choice. I have been many places in my time on this world, but I now count Denver as my home and I have no desire to see it usurped by the Sabbat, so the idea that they will not find a home here is, frankly, music to my ears."
She cocks her head a moment, pausing. "I claim under my domain my financial assets and operation as a drug baron within the city, distributing all variety of such to the kine. Obviously I will fight any efforts by the Sabbat to assert themselves in that business and I can use my methods of bringing contraband into the city to help import resources if needed. I maintain an apartment within Denver and a warehouse in East Colfax which are both under my purview; my dealers operate all over town, though I don't claim where they sell under domain and would like to see them allowed to operate within those areas without violating anyone else's domain. The majority of my feeding is done in the city of Parker to the southeast. And finally, I claim a ghoul as part of my domain, a woman by the name of Bo. She is mine and I will contest any and all claims to her, as well as defend her."
It's not a threat, of course...merely a declaration, as Adelaide requested, of all her assets and territory so no one comes up to clash against her without knowing it. And this way, none can claim ignorance. That's an important part, after all.
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - Cellatus - 07-30-2013 09:58 PM
Oh, his eyes see many things. As much as he was enjoying the music, those eyes sweep over the Giovanni's suit, his shoes, his build, and finally that face with those thin, nearly frowning lips.
"Not comedy. It's never comedy." He says with a disappointed shake of his lumpy head. "The misunderstandings are hardly amusing, there's rarely any mistaken identity, and it never ever ends in a wedding."
Those eyes sweep around the room, to Jack and then, following Jack's gaze to the others. Oh...now those are interesting people.
"Tragedy now...tragedy requires two things: Fear and pity. Now the fear presumes that the audience is aware of the impending doom, but the protagonist stumbles into it blindly. Which forces you to ask yourself, are you the protagonist here, or are you just a minor character? No one wants to be a minor character."
No one usually wants to be a minor character. Which makes the one stuck to the wall, the one the Sheriff seems to be keeping an eye on, an interesting anomaly.
"And pity...well, pity requires we feel sorry four the protagonist. We have to like them. Well...I dunno how much of that is floating around this particular room."
Then, the main event begins. The real main characters enter and Donkey Teeth is watching with great interest. And a soliloquy! No, no. Denver will never fall. How rousing. How inspiring.
"Satire?" He whispers. "Uh..I...you didn't hear that from me."
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - Joey - 07-31-2013 12:37 AM
"Something light, and more of a short story than some drawn out epic. We can only hope," he nods to Jack, and then looks to Donkey Teeth as the Nosferatu finished his own analysis and predictions. "A minor role... Yes, I'd rather take part in the chorus. They spend less time on the ground playing corpses."
Samit only looks up as Jack's elbows come down to rest on the piano and even then he continues playing. The strength of the tune begins to taper off like the pulse of one whose veins are slowly emptying. By the time Adelaide is at the door he has withdrawn his fingers from the keys, swinging one leg over the bench and then the other so that he is facing the assembly and its newest and most dangerous addition. Will the Assamite refuse to rise for Lady Adelaide's arrival?
Of course not.
The assassin rolls forward onto his monk strap shoes, a dulled back hatch of woven leather. Circles to the side of the piano, to join with Jack, Donkey Teeth, Oliverio and the necromancer's nameless (barely seen and never heard) body guard.
As if he hadn't missed a step in the conversation, his smooth baritone voice finds an exposed moment to pierce itself into. "Oliverio, we both know you, as I, will take this more as the reading of a ledger."
The familiar tone he takes seems to hint he looks past the religious condemnation much of his clan might place upon the Giovanni in order to find a common ground. Still, he entirely ignores both of the Nosferatu, offering neither even a nod as his attention goes to Adelaide. He only seems to pay her much mind when she is through with her introductions and addressing the entirety of Elysium.
Then Donkey Teeth whispers his last quip and it manages to get a rise out of the Assamite, who fold his arms to hide the subtle shake of laughter is summons.
On the other side of the hall Narcisa seems almost glad for that rumble that emerges from Mercy, and even more so as it's followed up with a question. It's a distraction from the steady flow of Kindred now stepping forward to make their presentations, claims on domain, and pledges of fealty to Denver, if not to the Camarilla directly.
The Malkavian turns and takes a few steps so that she's maybe a yard from where Mercy is crouched. She wears a linen blazer, black with only white stitching along its hem, lapels and cuffs to break up its darkness. It's her only nod to the formality of the event, a plain black t-shirt, a pair of dark navy jeans, and black jackboots rounding the outfit out.
She turns her head and returns the outlander's glare with her own. "I know you, but I don't know you. I'm wonderin' if you plan on bringing any of the wild from out there in with you, s'all."
Everett's assertion to Gotfred gets a nod, hands out and fingers open, from the Nosferatu Primogen. “Of course. From a childe of Greta's I would expect nothing less.”
When the Brujah Anarch advances on Adelaide and those accompanying her, all the arrayed eyes go to him as he is first to out-and-out break the (relative) silence in the wake of the Ventrue announcements and ally with the Ivory Tower. Adelaide returns them with a nod once Wenceslao has leaned over to whisper something into her ear. Rasmussen, on the other hand, again appears more moved by Everett's words and gives another nod and a pleased smile in his direction.
Kali's introduction comes with a more thorough regaling of pedigree and intent, and the look on Jun's face hints she may be the one chosen to take notes.
The Settites step forward next, as if in response to some measure of that intent and purview the Ravnos outlines.
Kamal stands at the fore, with Atef a step back and to the right.
"I am Kamal Moussa of the Settites, and with me is my childe, Atef Karim. We have similar assets and means of distribution to the Ravnos who spoke last, as do other Kindred in the city," and though that Ravnos is present, the Settite never turns to regard her.
"Where, outside of our havens and storefronts in Park Hill, our personnel come in contact with any who would impede our business interests we will leave the kine to settle the disputes by whatever means their bands find effective," his voice a harsh and gravely thing that continues reverberating through the chamber. "We find this an even playing field of power that does not endanger the Masquerade your Camarilla holds so dear."
"We are also pleased to see the Camarilla express such an interest in keeping Denver a bountiful city where all vampires can pursue profit and power undisturbed by the vagaries of war. We offer our own strength to this alliance," now one hand folding over his stomach, the other out, as he gives a bow toward Adelaide. Atef does not mimic it, only nodding – perhaps with even a little hesitation. The older Settite continues: "We hope that with it, the Camarilla will see fit to reverse its tightening of law enforcement's grip on the city, at least where it relates to those pursuits. It will allow us to bring our full strength to bear in defending our domain and Denver as a whole."
A few more neonates, a Brujah of consequence, a Toreador of notable siring, a Malkavian of laudable brevity, and still others step forward to claim this block and that game, this high rise or that office building, this vice or that business, until...
The three Tremere with Marguerite Hill step forward with Jeremy now at their helm.
"Jeremy Cabot of the Tremere, subordinate to Lady Hill," and first he gestures to Malcolm, "Malcolm Redknapp," and then to the female Tremere with her short cropped hair and tuxedo jacket, "and Anne Benton." His voice has a certain solemnity to it that seems uncharacteristic for such social proceedings.
"The Tremere claim Ives, Sullivan and Company, a publishing house of Lady Hill's, and the University of Denver with its surrounding territories – bars, dormitories, and other businesses – as our domain and feeding ground under the new established praxis, whenever it is decided. We are in the midst of establishing a chantry, but with the city at war it will be our haven, and we find it best to keep its location private." With this Malcolm finally returns that amused look from Kali with one of his own.
Probably because he knows what is coming next.
"We also thank Lady Hill for accepting us into her newly established chantry. We were placed in Denver for a reason. We are trained and ready to fight the Sabbat that harry Denver," and this time a look to Samantha, Jun, Jonas, Wenceslao, Rasmussen and finally Adelaide before he continues. "We are experienced in fighting the Sabbat because none fight them more than they fight amongst themselves. And all of us, Malcolm, Anne and myself, once counted ourselves amongst their number," letting is sink in, his hands folding before his waist, lips thin, and none of them are smiling. Even Malcolm has wiped that smirk off his face.
Adelaide first merely nods, as she waits for the ensuing din to die down.
Oliverio takes this presentation (announcement) as his cue, the Giovanni never stepping forward to make his own introductions, leaving his clan as neutral as before the Elysium's beginning. He gives Donkey Teeth and Jack a final nod and his own rasp of lengthy murmurs, lost in those that come from around the room at Jeremy's words:
"I think whoever wrote tonight's feature presentation is trying to surprise us, and using blunt force to do it. Not very effective; an ax where a pinprick might do," shaking his head. "In any case, I was mean to be more eyes and ears than voice. And I must now be going," turning toward the door and walking to leave, his bodyguard stays close.
And when the room regains a quiet semblance of order the eldest Ventrue speaks again. "We welcome you all," to Jeremy and the two ex-Sabbat flanking him, "and thank you for your candor."
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - Shayla - 07-31-2013 06:00 AM
So many of the Camarilla spoke in double talk, triple talk and sometimes beyond, their machinations were far reaching and deeply driven and as Narcisa approaches and utters her words Mercy seems to attempt to figure out exactly how much [if any] of that sort of skill that the Sheriff was employing at that moment in particular. She rose then, slowly rising off the ground without any assistance from her arms, relying entirely on the power of her legs until she was standing before the Sheriff instead of crouching.
She regarded the woman for a long, silent minute before an answer is forthcoming, the growl sightly reduced, the narrow line of her eyes however does not do the same.
"With all these predators, the Wild was here long before I arrived." She says with a gesture to the general assembly. But her features narrow as she takes two steps towards the Sheriff now, unconcerned by whatever social moors or power structures she might be insulting in the doing so.
"If you mean otherwise however, speak, your, mind." She says with intensity as she burrows her gaze into Narcisa's. It would seem Mercy believes the Sheriff is employing some of that double talk now. Oddly enough, the growl fades as she speaks these words, leaving a clear, concise and certain voice, if perhaps not the most friendly.
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - Kai Wren - 08-01-2013 03:34 PM
And... when did Eliza get here?
The 'young woman' (but who can truly know how old one is amongst vampires?) has projected an aura which seems to say 'no no, I'm not here, don't pay attention', but now she chooses to step forwards and make herself known. Short. Dark beret, cream jacket, slim. She's got a washed-out look to her, as though standing up in front of all these people is literally draining the color out of her.
"I am Eliza North. Childe of The Broken Mirror, of the great Family Malkav." She says, "I... I helped in Round Rock, and Kent. Even Spokane, where I could. I don't know that I made a difference... but where there are Sabbat, I'll be there, to cut them out. For fifty years I've done what I can, and until I meet my Maker, or see the death of the last of them myself, I'll keep doing it. That is my, oath."
The last word is spoken with a certain seriousness, and then she does her best to shrink backwards. But she doesn't completely disappear. Her eyes are focused on the Tremere who just announced he and his compatriots were of the Sabbat in the past. The meekness has fallen away from her features, and there is loathing there, deep and abiding. Her anger is making it quite difficult to become once again part of the scenery, with her whole form tense and disturbed.
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - Joey - 08-01-2013 10:49 PM
[ Anyone wishing to make a Perception + Alertness roll at difficulty 9 can pick up on this interaction with a success. Those with Auspex can make the roll at difficulty 8. ]
Narcisa looks like she's about to answer much more plainly, casting double talk to the wind, a flare in her temper evident.
She even begins to.
"Don't start any fuck-" and then, Oliverio passed, and catches her gaze for a moment. It might seem, to most eyes, he's simply amused at the interaction playing out between the Sheriff and the outlander. Though he doesn't venture to look in Mercy's direction.
Except for when his finger goes up to his nose. His index touches its tip for just a moment, a gesture of understanding, before he continues out of the hall and toward the front entryway into Richthofen, bodyguard still in tow.
It halts the Malkavian, though it's really only Mercy who's close enough to notice it, all the others in their clutches and fancy-worded struggles, or otherwise paying attention to the presentations going on.
"I don't have time for this," Narcisa continues a moment later. "Just don't start any trouble," a thick Mexican accent bleeding more profusely into her speech at her frustration and the splitting-in-twain of her attention, and with that she breaks her gaze from the Gangrel's, ready to head off and attend to...
Something.
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - phil - 08-02-2013 09:00 AM
Lady Adeleide's entrance eclipses all interest that Samantha might have had in the two Anarchs. With a fleeting smile, she steps away, and drifts to stand with the other Ventrue, such that by the time the elder begins to speak, she is positioned beside Jun, her chin raised, arms crossed over her chest. She listens avidly to Lady Adeleide, turning her attention away only briefly to take in the reactions of others: Rasmussen, Gotfred, Lady Hill. Finally, when the Ventrue Elder has spoken her piece, she seems to relax, as if the tension of having waited for this moment was heavier than the moment's actual arrival.
Different independents speak, and some walk away. Camarilla members make their claims, pronounce oaths of fealty, and still Samantha watches, gauging, attempting to divine the currents that run beneath the surface of the gathering.
When the moment is opportune, she steps forward, and inclines her head with grave respect to Lady Adeleide.
"My name is Samantha Balbec, of Clan Ventrue and childe of Nicolas Montmorecy, grandchilde Gustave Flaurent, and great grandchilde of Adelbert the White. I am but recently arrived in Denver, but lay claim to the fifteen buildings owned by the RedPeak Group, and to the Group itself." Here she tallies their names and addresses; all of them are residential high rises, some incredibly prominent in the downtown core, others more far flung.
"I am opening 1265 Downing on Capitol Hill and 515 Clarkson by Governor's Park to those in need of temporary accommodations on short notice. Primogen Rasmussen has indicated to me that we are sorely lacking in infrastructure and resources following the Sabbat siege. I hope that these two buildings may help ameliorate that problem. Those seeking shelter need only tell the front desk that they belong to the Harrowstone party, and will be shown to prepared rooms, free of charge."
A beat, and then unless anybody speaks up, she bows, and steps back.
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - Samael - 08-02-2013 01:18 PM
Kali doesn't quite step back after she's done as much as concede the floor to others. From there it's a more gradual slip backward to take a sideways lean against a vertical surface of some kind. She listens as the others declare domains, pledge their support...or don't. The point is, many of them are coming forward to be heard, which means that Kali has an opportunity to hear them all.
She grins a little, albeit with an arched eyebrow, when the Setites step forward to announce that their business is the same as hers. It's nothing new, but the fact that she is just "the Ravnos" seems to amuse her. As they announce that they will leave turf wars in the hands of the kine involved, the Rroma woman gives an acceding nod.
"Best way to handle it," she says during the break between her rival drug lord's sentences. Even if he refuses to pretend she's in the room, that's just not the way she does business. She'll impress that upon him later. She does take note of the way he pledges support...in vagueries. Something to take note of, because it gives the Setite wiggle room that Kali wants to make sure narrows some.
Then there's Malcolm, the Tremere and their ex-Sabbat status. To her credit, the Ravnos with her own, strong proclivities against the Sabbat does little more than narrow her eyes at the revelation as the din erupts around them. And even that is brief, before she smiles widely right back at Malcolm and offer her applause, ostensibly in support of the new Warlocks. She gives Malcolm a big, warm smile and puts her fingers up in mirrored 'L's,' framing him as if in a camera shot and tightening it in as if zooming. The meaning may not be clear to many, but it's probably clear to the two of them.
Ready for your close-up, shovelhead motherfucker? are the exact words that run through her mind, though not in that particular tongue. She certainly doesn't express it either; she instead just winks in a friendly manner to him.
Kali
[[Per+Alert for Elysium Scene!]]
Dice: 5 d10 TN8 (4, 6, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )
John St. Germain
[Witnessed!]
And as things die down, her attention snaps to a few hostile words from the Sheriff and the local Gangrel. Kali subtlely looks in that direction and then slips back to come to rest next to Mercy.
"I love the way you make friends, you know that?" Her gaze shifts to the wild one, grinning with the tease inherent in that statement. She knows Mercy isn't interested in making friends and the tone the Ravnos uses makes it clear that she's aware of it. "You have such a people person nature."
She leans in, speaking quieter this time. Others might wonder what a Gangrel and Ravnos, clans never known for being on particularly good terms, might have to whisper about in Elysium. It can't be good.
"We should talk later. You, me and Jack at the least. I got a translation off that ring we got of Baja's client, and it's not the best of news."
And with that she pulls back out of the Gangrel's personal space, though she remains nearby. Perhaps just to make people wonder.
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - tithe - 08-02-2013 03:17 PM
Jack:
Uh. Satire? Jack catches a chuckle in his teeth, turning it into a low snort, and as the clamor arises around the Tremere announcement, he looks for Kali again in the crowd, but says musingly to his clan-brother and the other piano-lover: "Ex-Sabbat, huh? Oh ho, so Denver is to be a work-release program."
Exit Oliviero. Jack's farewell is respectful, of course, because Jack is a courteous creature in Elysium (and elsewhere, too, let's not lie: he's polite, our Jacky boy). He says good evening like his mother taught him and he says that it's a pity eyes and ears don't get to take the voice out for a spin more often because the hand and the heart are greedy bastards, and he sounds like he's joking, politely!, like his mother taught him. He watches Oliviero go: just catches Mercy and the Sheriff, though that's not what keeps his interest oh no, oh no no, though it's more of once upon a time, more echoes of things going on (he thinks, he believes, with a mystic's surety), but it's Narcisa and Oliviero that makes him speculate. Still, he turns his attention back to the presentations.
The Nosferatu don't need to claim Domain. You know where their Domain is. Their Domain is underneath. Did you think that your Domain went deep? That those blocks and buildings weren't just scum floating on the surface of the Underground Kingdom, shadow and metal and stone? Darkness and rot and lost things unfound? Wet and rust and airless deeps? Secrets and shit and everything old? Maybe they fight amongst themselves for this stretch or that stretch. This is Denver, and the Nosferatu go above the surface as often as not: right? You just don't see them, lurking outside viaducts, hovering on the edges where nobody else wants to be, cropping up where everybody does. So Jack. Jack doesn't and doesn't mean to claim Domain. He stays just within the boundaries of etiquette.
Until, at least, something occurs to him, and he steps forward to make his bows. He introduces himself. Jack. His sire's name (Lily). All to the point. He makes the appropriate noise about the Sabbat being bad. He sounds very grave.
But then: "Should any wish to contact me who do not already know how, there is a 24-hour donut shop on [street] and [street], and whoever is working there Tuesday or Friday nights will take messages for 'Jack.' There is no need to deface public property."
That's all. He retreats.
Lux
Everett is one of the first to speak. Lux does not follow him in order to declare her alliances.
Not until the end, or near the end.
Let the Anarchs be Book Ends.
Lux hadn't much cared for the 99 Cent II Diptychon hanging on the back wall. But now, as Lady Adelaide speaks, she finds that it is haunting her awareness, those flattened and over-saturated colours, the forced perspective and the forced vibrance, the cheapness of what is actually depicted, 99 cent, 99 cent and everything in its place versus the silver-haired representative of the Inner Circle and the Ivory Tower + blue-blooded court. Appreciative Lux.
Interested, too. Interested in who comes forward and why they say they do. Court is for Toreador, and Lux looks like the perfect Toreador. The Tremere get a reaction from her. They officially claim their domain, and Lux leans in to say something in Everett's ear, though perhaps she is just guaging his reaction to learning that the Tremere are ex-Sabbat. Lux accepts the news of past allegiance without adding to the clamor and din. Easy target. Or perhaps she is just more liberal with her acceptance of creatures who would change their Sect allegiance.
Then: the end, or near the end. Lux steps forward and she is still the perfect Toreador. She introduces herself first and as she speaks her voice pitched smoke-and-silk low, just for those who are immediately there, not for the crowd -- let them talk among themselves or strain or look at the painting on her arm and side and throat instead.
"Denver is a city loved. Everett Stone chooses," (hey Everett, there might be something pointed about that choice of word), "not to speak for all the Anarchs, but if he had chosen otherwise I am certain that he would have told no lie. It is preferable to dwell in the kind shadow of a fantastical and stalwart Ivory Tower than the darkness of a festering and violent pit left behind once it has been razed."
"The leadership shown by this city's Camarilla kindred since the unfortunate winter has been such a thing of inspiration."
It's not that difficult to extrapolate the Fancy Anarch's version of Rasmussen for Prince 2013 from what she's saying. Then again, her tone is inclusive: she could also be complimenting the sudden initiative and descent of many others.
She doesn't claim Domain, she just leaves her implied support at that.
[ >.>
I'm totally gonna add more
Tithe @ 2:15PM
[Percept + Alert!]
Roll: 7 d10 TN9 (1, 2, 3, 6, 6, 8, 9) ( success x 1 ) VALID
Kai Wren @ 2:15PM
I witness that roll!
boom. For Jack who is watchy watching things with watchiness and also eyes. ]
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - Joey - Yesterday 06:04 PM
A relative silence takes the hall once the last presentations and claims are made. Conversations are still going on in insular pockets, a few last details being sorted out where domains intersect like the razor wire edges of Venn diagram fiefdoms. Most manage to retain the demeanor of order and humanity, the masquerade within the Masquerade that the Camarilla holds dear. And when Adelaide raises her chin, ready to speak again, most of these sidebars and conversations taper off completely.
"Helmer Rasmussen has called this city home longer than any here," that Iron Lady begins, her steeled gaze slicing from left to right, lending both that opening statement and the ones after a finality.
"He has served the Council of Primogen as the eldest and voice of its Brujah, a clan that has always defended it when others – even those of my own clan – had cut their losses. Fought the fight when it was not a foregone conclusion, a true testament to their bravery. When the city was on the verge of succumbing to the barbarians at its gates, he rallied those who remained and beat back those who would challenge the Camarilla's claim on it," holding her hands out, now, at the Elysium that surrounds them.
"If Richthofen is the Camarilla's keep, its inviolate bastion in these nights of trial by fire, Helmer Rasmussen is its foundation. And the Camarilla – its Inner Circle and its Justicars – ask that again he serve. This time as Prince of Denver, if he will claim it," and she looks to Rasmussen, the slightest inclination of her head as, arms still out, she steps to the side and he steps forward.
There are four vampires other than Lady Adelaide that seem entirely unsurprised by this announcement. They are Helmer Rasmussen, Wenceslao, Jun Oka and Jonas Halder. Even Lucille's eyebrows go up, though her smile is nothing but pleased at the decision. Gotfred's face is as unmoving as the fleshy knots of bark it resembles, though he folds his hands behind his back and those claw like feet flex to dig into the carpet. It is neither a positive nor negative reaction. But an intense one nonetheless. A soldier surveying the landscape and standing at a willowy height of attention.
Rasmussen speaks firmly as ever.
"Losing ground is no longer an option," his voice radiating through the crowd. It brings a quiet to those last conversations, ones that continued even at Adelaide's voice. Eyes are drawn to him and backs straighten of their own accord.
"Leaving ground unclaimed is no longer an option. Our enemy has nothing to lose. This may seem to their advantage. But they have no investment in this city," the way his hand flexes to a fist, one he wields before him like a scepter of scar-knotted knuckles, shows that he does have such an investment. A grip on this place that will not let go, no matter how cold and dead his hands are. No, its seems they will need to be ash before he will release it, and one might imagine the entire city must burn for that to pass.
"To them it is a field to descend upon as locusts. To us it is home. To those that fight for it, it is home. Earn your place. Thrive in war, and you will thrive in the peace we earn with it," he lowers that hand and seems reluctant to go one to the next part of his speech. The final part of his oratory.
"You deserve to know the one who would be your Prince. I have no love for war. I have fought in life and after it. I have no love for the slow siege it lays upon the soul. But I have learned this: The time spent spilling blood, whether between sunrise and sunset or vice verse, is worth even a single moment of peace. I will fight a hundred thousand nights for one night of true peace," and if he had seemed reluctant before, the way his voice stirs at that last part brings it back to a raging fury. A vigor that echoes through the halls.
And if that part had seemed like reluctance, if only at first, it may be surprising how easily he delivers the next.
"Lord Wenceslao of the Ventrue will serve as Seneschal of my court. Lady Narcisa Rulfo of the Malkavians will continue to serve as Sheriff. Lady Lucille de Dampierre will continue to serve as Keeper of Elysium, which will continue to be held at Richthofen Castle. The election of Primogen will be kept the business of the clans they represent, and their advisement will remain a valued part of governance regarding the war effort. The floor is closed on matters of station and office, though Elysium will remain open for any business that still needs to be resolved," and finally, he turns to Lady Adelaide. His demeanor is no less stern and solemn even as he addresses her.
"Lady Adelaide, allow me to thank you on behalf of all Kindred of this domain for your presence and willingness to stand with Denver in these times of war and uncertainty," ending it with a bow that is returned with the inclination of Adelaide's head and a sharp smile.
"We thank you, Prince Rasmussen, and-"
"Enough."
A feminine and wantonly savage voice cuts through the air. The kind of voice that can no longer be contained or suffered to listen in on even another moment of this.
The look on Adelaide's face is not one of surprise. Not even one of disbelief. It all happens too quickly. Before it can transform into any of these expressions, it is only a narrowing of eyes. The moment of notice before what has just occurred even truly registers.
Because it must be a mistake. No one interrupts Lady Adelaide of Geneva, Strategoi of the Ventrue, Pillar of the Camarilla, Voice of the Inner Circle's Will. Perhaps some Malkavian tic, maybe a Malkavian bloodsucker named Tick that will pay for this slight for the rest of his or her unlife.
It is frozen by the vitae-coated spike of wood that emerges from her breastplate and through the high cut of Lady Adelaide's black gown.
She is there, a statue in pristine yule marble, before she is hoisted up unceremoniously on that pike and vaulted aside like so much trash pinned and picked from the floor by a custodian of some debris-strewn thoroughfare.
On the other end of that spike is a gruesome woman.
How many here would remember Henrietta in Rags?
It has been nearly half a century, but the tales told may stir in those who had heard them. Of a terrible woman who reveled in the curse of her clan, making it a strength she wielded as a part of her clout. Henrietta in Rags. How she got that name? Perhaps from a vindictive Harpy. Perhaps whispered behind her back before worming its way up to her ear. Until she embraced it, as well, becoming Henrietta of the Seven Veils. Henrietta whose dance on fated Elysium was so beautiful as to transfix Toreador, Harpies and even the past Keeper of Elysium as she peeled away sheet after waste-drenched sheet, each draped like a noblewoman's favor over her spineless tormentors with a laugh of delight.
She laughs now.
And she does not stand alone.
They are a grim host that surrounds a bloated and blood-drenched monster. A war pack. The kind of Sabbat cliché one might make jokes about to ward off the truth of their existence. The reach of their menace. Yes, there is biker garb. Yes, there is war paint of black ash mud and blood. Yes, there are the trappings of a Gehenna cult's military hand.
And closest to Henrietta, her right hand:
Gui Cavalcanti. Few might know the name. Many would recognize the carnage he has left in his wake since the siege's onset.
There he is, and in this moment his name is War. A dark-skinned man with hair cut close to a black film on his head, standing shirtless and painted in bloody hand prints, each flecked with ash. He has a shotgun in one hand that Jack will no doubt recognize. A shotgun that Jack, but no doubt others who whether the siege thus far, know he can use with vicious efficiency. And in the other a large machete. Clean and glinting in Elysium's light.
But this is no longer Elysium. Not in any sense of the word. This is a battleground. And the first shot has been fired.
[ Alright. Any and all PCs who simply flee, whether by Rötschreck or tucking tale with the plan of unliving to fight another day will not be punished. They can get away to elsewhere or the safe rooms and escape tunnels built into Richthofen in case of such a breach. There is ample private security available to allow for at least this. Scatter! Scatter! Scatter! You can go right on playing as normal with the dust settling and the fog of war still obfuscating the result of all this.
But those who stick it out to fight, convert, parlay, whatever, can consider their PCs paused. They will have an active roll in the result of this event and its effect on the system as a whole. I will be running two or three scenes over the course of this week for combat. Those who can't make scenes but can sit down to knock out a couple of rolls can also get involved. Until it's sorted out, consider your PC paused. Everything should be wrapped in a week's time (Sunday). Be warned that this is a high threat level, which is why I'm leaving participation up to each player's discretion.
Look to the System Scenes and Times thread for scheduling. I'll be leaving this thread open for IC reactions, reflexive actions, fleeing, freaking, and mood stuff, but no actual combat should begin yet. ]
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - tithe - 08-05-2013 03:40 PM
Jack
Jack is glad enough to smile (ugh, must he?) when Helmer Rasmussen is named Prince.The Brujah has always been notable for his support of Clan Nosferatu, even against Winthrop and the other scions of more fastidious clans. His gladness is mixed, of course. Because he doesn't look for an intensification of the war between kingdoms, the one just beneath the surface of the Day's world, the one which is more twilight or midnight than the deeper and lightless Abyssal dark which tastes of a different kind of blood, which is more blood-sport and blood-frenzy, which tries to subjugate the Day's world by destroying it. But Rasmussen is calling for a more forceful push. Still. Once upon a time all Jacks are soldiers, or were, and Jack is essentially a[n Optimist] visionary. One night of true peace. Would it be worth it?
Rasmussen names his Court and sharp-eyed Jack is not quite as interested in that. By the time Lady Adelaide opens her mouth to say something, his arms are folded on the piano's top, his posture relaxed, ready to spend the rest of the evening socializing before skulking off, except
Enough.
The tip of wood through Lady Adelaide's breastbone. The sudden appearance of a pack-of-war, a gruesome battle-vulture set of blood-rite monsters, the Beasts You Might Become, the Beasts You Must Not Become, the Creatures that Have Devoured their Own Spirits and are Hungry. Jack is quietly astonished: his eyes widen with revelation (the curling, fear-soaked whisper, Henrietta) and cold understanding. He knows that shotgun. Now he knows the whole face of its wielder. He knows that shotgun. Now he knows why he saw it in the Underground. He knows those Henrietta stories. There are so many of them. Now he knows who the mole is. Now he knows how they have seemed so certain and so sure and came out of nowhere again and again and...
It is never enough. What he knows.
Jack is a creature with a (good) heart. He flicks a quick glance over to Gotfred, his primogen, where last Jack saw him standing in his suit-that-is-also-armor, and for an instant -- his hands flatten, rigid, on top of the piano -- and the feeling which defines that quick glance is apology.
I'm sorry this is where the story's taken you.
But that was just a moment hiding inside another moment, unnecessary and unremarkable. His hands are flat on the piano. His blood is flowing, not to his strength or to his agility, but to his abiity to weather a siege, and although Jack is a Vanishing Jack, Jack is one of those Jacks who can erase himself from your eyes and from your mind between one blink and the next, he doesn't yet vanish. No. Jack turns immediately after that unnecessary and remarkable (speaking [feeling]) glance at his Primogen (and it had to scrape past Donkey Teeth, if Donkey Teeth was still there, hadn't ducked and covered) ... to the dark-skinned Assamite in dark-shades he just happened to be beside. Because it would be a squandering a potential opportunity to fail to at very least give it a shot. Because Jacks aren't cravens.
"I have a business proposition for you I know you're going to like no matter who wins."
(To believe in coincidence is to invite the hand of fate to steer one's course, after all.)
----
Lux
Just a handful of nights ago, what had she said to Flood? I don't know why you think you know so well what it's like within the Ivory Tower's halls, as anything other than Hannibal in Trebia of course. It hardly hurts at all to be stabbed in the back. It's annoying, at worst; interesting, at best. But having your head ripped off and your soul drained? That sounds like a shit shindig, man.
Now look. Lady Adelaide. A back. A stake. A heart. And what is shaping up to be one shit shindig. Hannibal in Trebia.
Lux is shocked by the sudden appearance of the Sabbat. Henrietta in Rags. The shock thrills through her, sings in her like the stars falling from their courses or a constellation peeling itself out of the firmament to lift a flaming sword. She is shocked. But that shock doesn't cause her to panic. No, panic was last night's special. Fury was the night's before that. Tonight?
The Toreador had [covertly] her cellphone in hand [modern vampires of the city] to text news of Rasmussen's installment to St. Germain.
The text the fortunate non-guest gets instead is:
keep the chip
Her thumb depresses the call image as Lady Adelaide's body hits the floor. Not because she is going to hold up a finger and ask everybody to give her a moment while she makes a call. Not because she is calling for help. If the vampires here cannot help themselves than there is no point in calling for cavalry. This is the full weight of the city's Camarilla, of the Inner Circle's cavalry, this is a room full of luminaries and elders and Lux is not one of those luminaries or elders. So she's not calling for help. She's calling so that just in case they have some idea of what went on.
If her Anarch cohort answers the phone he will only hear the sounds of: whatever happens next. If it goes to message: the same thing, when he checks it. Until someone breaks the phone. Until the battery runs out. Until the message box is full. Until whatever happens next turns into what happened.
She casts Everett a look; she doesn't intend to die for the Camarilla or in a once-was Elysium with that 99 cent store photograph looking down. Abhorrence for the thought; it sparks in her crystalline eyes, it is the corrosion that makes them darker at the edges, that gets in her lashes like soot and delineates their brightness, and the blood moves through her too, waking and wicking. But there's also abhorrence [Rebellion] at the thought of allowing a well-timed surprise to wreck her on the rocks. As impressed as she was with the showmanship the Ventrue brought to bear upon Court and the City, she is just as impressed with Henrietta (though rather less keen to see the whole of this performance than she was to time-travel back and see that famous dance).
So Lux absolutely does not intend to flee like certain C words might. Retreat? Perhaps and probably. But not immediately: How could she? How could she, not knowing? And how could she just abandon her Sect-mate? Easily, but she won't. Does not intend to. Lux wants Rasmussen to win. He'd make a great Anarch Baron, and it would just really be the cherry on top of the ruination of her decade if Rasmussen was killed, the city locked once-again in a stalemate with the Sabbat having the upper-hand, and one of those Tremere sweeping in to claim praxis simply because they're the ones who survived.
Somewhere there's a Nosferatu who's turning to talk.
Lux is a Toreador who's reaching for a [make-shift] weapon, any weapon. Maybe she's taking her hair down, or maybe she's taking cover behind a couch in order to fineagle something. Maybe she's guaging her chances of zipping through the cluster of elders and war-pack to Adelaide, hauling the stake out of her heart, and using it to stab whoever comes to rip off her head.
Until whatever happens next turns into what happened.
---
tl;dr
Jack:
O_O;;;;
O_O;;;;
o_o
<.<
U:
Lux:
o_o
O_O;
>.>
V_V
>_<
---
ooc: If we can't manage to get scene times squared away (I'm sure we will), don't mind just banging out some rolls!
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - Howl - 08-05-2013 06:29 PM
In the wake of the attack, Lux was already planning her next five moves, calling her compatriot so that the Anarchs might keep some record of the preceding events and telling him: keep the chip. Everett didn't see the text, but if he had - if he'd known what it meant - his reaction would likely not have been pleasant.
Many of those gathered there that night were thinking about how to save their own skin. Most of them, probably. Idealists didn't last long in the world of the undead. They learned to adapt, or they flared out young, or they let the horror and disillusion drag them into a different, darker life.
Blame it on youth then, because what Everett did next was more than certainly going to mark him for an early death one way or another. (But he'd already done that years ago, so maybe it was nothing new.)
First: he whistled. High, shrill, commanding. Maybe it was meant to gain the attention of those around him, but the creature that responded wasn't one of the gathered kindred. It was a dog (a malamute, to be precise.) Huge and muscled and dangerous enough to give an enemy pause. It leaped out of the back of Everett's truck in the parking lot and came running to its domitor's aid. Perhaps it would find a way into the castle, or maybe it would find its way barred. Either way, it would try until its claws and teeth bled.
Second: Everett discarded his jacket and stepped forward, standing tall and bright and angry.
"If you care about this city, don't run!" he shouted across the hall, projecting his voice toward those on the fringes who were already slinking into the shadows. "If you care about yourhumanity. Hell, if you care about your fucking dignity. The wolves are at our door, and you're going to just let them in without a fight?" He pointed at the Sabbat, at Henrietta and her war-pack, and in that moment he was exactly what an Anarch and a Brujah should be: impudent and bold and lit with passionate fire.
"They would burn Denver to the ground and feed us all to the vultures. And look! They'll laugh while they do it. Because they think that our humanity makes us weak. Let's show them exactly how wrong they are! Stand with me!" He turned his gaze to Rasmussen and gestured toward the Elder. "Stand with your Prince!"
-----------------------
Everett
[Cha (captivating) + Leadership, +2 from natural leader, -2 diff from enchanting voice]
Dice: 8 d10 TN4 (3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 7, 9, 9) ( success x 7 ) [WP]
Tithe
[Witnessed!]
[Note: I also have a transcript and a screenshot of the roll if you need it Joey. Also, let me know if I should retract anything here - if, say, someone would just shoot him in the head once he started talking. *g*]
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - Samael - 08-05-2013 07:26 PM
The Ravnos looks up from her whispering to Mercy as Adelaide declares Rasumussen the Prince. It is an entirely expected development and it means the status quo will remain. There's a touch of sardonicism in her smile, but it is very faint. She has nothing at all against the man; she just generally appreciates it when the status quo is flipped. At least, unless the status quo has her on top.
To her credit, she nods a little to his words about not losing ground to the Sabbat. One of the primary reasons that the Ravnos is in the Camarilla instead of an independent like her clanmate Baja or so many Ravnos around the world is the fact that they are not the Sabbat. She hasn't spoken about her issues with the other sect with anyone here, but she's made it clear before her opposition to their ways, both in words and deed. So while she isn't swept up in a wave of propagandaic enthusiasm, she can acknowledge the man's words because they coincide (in part) with her own thoughts.
The announcements begin of Seneschals and Sheriffs...more calcifying of the new order. She vaguely listens to the names but little more, starting to lose interest. Primgen reveals mean nothing when, as the single member of an independent clan that claims membership in the Ivory Tower, you're not afforded your own spot.
Her attention begins to wander, until a single word splits the hall in which they stand and a wooden spike splits the heart of a Ventrue that they should all fear and respect. That is literally all the Ravnos needs and even as Adelaide is being hoisted up, she's reached behind her under that leather jacket and whipped out a gun. Her lip curls...she doesn't need to guess what's happened. The Sabbat have violated the sanctity of Elysium, which many within the Camarilla think is some sort of protective dome that can't be breached.
As Kali's weapon can attest to, the Ravnos feels very differently than those Camarilla members. Many of whom are now screaming and running.
She takes a quick stock of who's running and who's staying. She sees the Anarchs, Lux and Everett, stand their ground. The latter even tries to inspire like some sort of undead fuckingBraveheart re-enactment. To his credit, he seems to be topping Mel Gibson's speech. Jack is apparently not leaving either. Mercy, she knows, will not leave. Others she doesn't know are sticking around. And, for the moment, so is she.
"Typical," she mutters to Mercy as she cocks her gun. "The Camarilla needs the Anarchs and cast-offs to save the day." Not that Kali isn't considering when and where to make her escape if it gets too rough...but for this moment, she's holding off for many reasons. Hatred of the invaders. The opportunity to improve her standing in the Ivory Tower. The fact that if most of the people staying die, she's out of allies again.
"All right, let's be superheroes." She prepares to take aim. "Dibs on the Black Widow role. I'd look good in that outfit, and I got the hair to match."
RE: Elysium - The Coming of Lady Adelaide - Shayla - 08-07-2013 10:12 PM
Kali had quips, she always did, it was apart of the woman's nature, a very part of her soul. Mercy could not seem to fault the Ravnos these features, despite her normal distaste for such superfluous words she somehow accepted them from Kali.
But a retort does not issue from Mercy's lips, she does not growl or snarl or narrow her eyes as she spoke. No because the pretty, delicate things were talking again...and then there was blood, and pain, and fear. The room filled with terror as a Sabbat warpack invaded and defiled the sanctity of Elysium. To Mercy this simply seemed prudent practice, why seek one's prey high and low across the expanse of the city, when one simply need to go to one place and find all the prey you desire. It was a fault in the Camarilla's logic, thinking itself so mighty and untouchable that they could simply declare their court for all to know...and not expect to be destroyed for their hubris.
But while many of the Camarilla streamed towards whatever exits, whatever reinforced rooms of safety might be known or afforded to them...Mercy knew of no such places, and cared not to follow in the wake of the camarilla sheep. The Sabbat had made the mistake of attacking while she was present. Cornering her in a building of stone and unyielding metal. One did not force a wild animal into a corner, be it healthy, wounded, or near death such actions always proved ill for the cornerer.
Those who chose to stand and fight engaged in various acts of drama, Everett, chose to try and rally those around him, an Anarch calling the Camarilla to war...how delicious it would be for some. Kali readied a weapon she had secreted into the sanctity of Elysium, training it on whomever she chose. Regardless of what was done by whom, the only thing which Mercy noted, was those who ran...and those who stood their ground.
To Mercy this situation was simple, these creatures had threatened her with their displays of violence and supremacy. They had challenged her dominance with their cowardly act of grouping, none of the war pack choosing to stand on their own skill and power.
As Mercy's fingers warped and bent, bone shifting and growing until it pierced her flesh and curled into razor sharp talons, she let out a savage roar to match Henrietta's and the feral look of untold rage that tore all vestiges of humanity from her face. There would be no words, no rallying call. Mercy would show no flare in the coming moments. All that would mark her would be the unknowable savagery, the death and pain of those in her wake, and the blood that would splatter and smear like the calling card of a serial killer.
Mercy strode forward, fangs bared and eyes red with animalistic fury...death was coming...be it her's or their's it mattered not. The cornered animal struck...pity those who had cornered it.
No comments:
Post a Comment