David
Another night.
They're all going to be another night. The weather might grow cold and the weather might grow hot, it might storm or become windswept, but the texture of light won't truly change; it's all moonlight and shadow for Verna, now, now and forever.
The record store with its subterranean office and storage spaces, an unusual haven for a Ventrue, but nobody has ever accused David of being the perfect Ventrue except for one snotty Brujah but Brujah don't know anything anyway because they're disgusting rabble. Verna's room has become Verna's room, although David isn't against looking for another place for her (or more accurately, David's ghoul).
They wake. They live when they wake. They hunger but they live, no matter who tells them otherwise. David doesn't always stay at the record store and when he does he stays in the basement or the study, not caring enough to make his sleeping area nice or comfortable. It's so hard to be aware during the daylight.
Tonight, shortly after sundown, there's a knock on Verna's door.
Verna
These nights, she makes her way from place to place, trying to figure out how to slake her thirst, and these days she spends in a concrete, underground safe room. It's her room because she sleeps there, but like anything that is 'hers' it's only nominally so. She belongs to David, and so does everything else she 'has'.
So this is her life now, spending her time feeling like a whore, peddling ecstasy for food, and living in somebody's basement with nothing but an impending execution to call her own. There is one blessing to being unable to rise during the day -- it means she doesn't have to stay up in bed doing nothing but thinking about the utter wreck of her life. Instead, she spends her waking hours thinking about it, sometimes sitting and staring for hours that don't seem to pass like normal time. She is a sad and drawn thing.
That is not to say, however, that she has given up entirely. Her room has changed since she was Embraced in it. She couldn't stand to spend so much time in a place that reminded her of that night. The blood stains on the floor have been covered up by bright, happy-colored rugs (nothing happened here). The walls have been painted a soft bluish lavender. There's even a picture hung up on the wall, to make it less depressing -- an image of the mountains. If she makes her surroundings a bit happier, maybe it'll seep into her, slowly. Maybe if she can cover all the bloodstains on her soul, it'll eventually feel right again.
There's a knock on her door, and she's not quite ready yet, not quite perfected. Her makeup isn't done yet, so her face is decidedly too pale, and her nail polish has a chip, and oh -- what does he want? With her looking like this? Is there some problem, has there been word of any... anything?
She stands from her table with her evening ritual items of hairbrushes and makeup utensils scattered about it, and straightens out her dress -- blue over black tights -- and goes to open the door, slowly and cautiously, like she's afraid. Maybe not of him, but of what he might have come to say.
"Yes?"
David
David looks, and will always look, like a young man with a round hobbit's nose. His hair is longer some early evenings and sometimes there are piercings, sometimes not; always, the tattoos ghost on his arms, and they're as immutable as his flesh. He has tried to dress nicely for Verna to woo her over and when he has business he puts on sharp as sharp business suits and looks a different part.
Tonight he's wearing slacks and a gray button up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a watch on his left wrist that'll be a magnet for pick pockets who have failed to be streetwise. He's pale, because of course he's pale. His blood is not human blood his body is not a human body but it remembers his humanity and one wouldn't think that he is a corpse at first or second or even third looks. He has this half-anxious air, a line between his eyebrows, as he often does.
"I thought we might go somewhere new tonight, together. I have tickets to an event at the Museum of Science and Nature. Heh," and he smiles quickly, "Did you know there's an exhibit about unicorns and dragons there? Did you ever believe in those things?"
His hands find his pockets. He doesn't try to come into her space because he can leave her that much at least can't he? When things are pleasant.
Verna
David tries, doesn't he? Museum of Science and Nature. Like he means to make her feel better, by taking her out somewhere she could potentially be happy. It is a reminder of what she can't do anymore -- a stinging thing to go to that museum. But then, also, this is a sign that her sire cares. And so, she gives him a sad smile.
"Dinosaurs and narwhals, I believed in those," she says, and scrunches her eyebrows together. "How much time do we have? Can I finish my makeup? I'd look sick..."
Yes. Sick. Let's go with that.
David
"My sister was crazy about unicorns," David says. "I don't remember a lot about her but she had these unicorn socks -- whoof. I'd forgotten them until just this moment." He takes a step back, and another.
"We've got about an hour. I'll meet you upstairs, whenever you're ready." A beat. "How hungry are you?"
Verna
[Hungry? Roll +2!]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (1) ( botch x 1 )
Verna
"Hungry. Haven't been very... successful lately," Verna says, and that's an understatement. A few too many nights when she just sat by herself somewhere looking like she was about to cry, as the hours sped by?
Maybe he can see how overwrought she's been. Maybe that's the reason why he's decided to try to cheer her up. Anyway, her stomach feels like a pit into which she could throw the world and not ever feel full.
"I'm sorry," she adds, her eyes wandering off of him. She doesn't like failing. It reflects poorly on him.
David
"The Beast is a fuckwit, uh, pardon me... The Beast is trouble." He takes one hand out of his pocket to rub the palm over his forehead and back across his hair, like phew, wee, god. A meditation exercise. "We'll get you something if you're that bad off before we go to the museum, huh? I'll meet you upstairs."
He doesn't want to be cruel to her. He has already been cruel to her.
He's as good as his word.
--
Upstairs, in the record portion of the shop, sitting behind the counter and looking through a box of new vinyls somebody brought in. David would be happy to be a hipster; he probably identifies as an audiophile.
Verna
David curses and apologizes for it. Verna, for as long as he has known her, in whatever mental state he finds her in, does not say uncouth words. That's not to say she is an innocent whose ears cannot handle the slightest rough language, it's just not a thing she relishes, like tattoos or piercings for that matter.
So, she doesn't wince or react to the 'fuck' and just nods at him when he's excused himself. The thought of having a meal after her makeup is done leads to some corners being cut. She doesn't redo her lips when one side comes out a little off. She doesn't fix that chipped nail. She'll likely spend the rest of the night obsessing over those mistakes, but for right now? She obsesses over the blood he's promised, how good it will be to drink again...
When it's all done and acceptable to a hungry Verna, she hurriedly packs her things away in a little bag for tidiness and nearly sprints up to the elevator, wanting to curse at it for being so slow. But she's a good girl, and tries to look sane for David's sake once it arrives. No more sprinting, she holds it in, reigns in the hunger. But then...
"Do you have that... something? I am that bad off. I... I shouldn't have let it get this bad."
David
Some movement of the muscles of his face cause his ears to go up, some shifting of the planes of it. "Uh, yeah, I mean I was just going to, but sure. I'm full up tonight, I can give you enough to take the edge off. Get a cup from the coffee station?" The record store has coffee and sometimes herbal tea as a free perk just for coming in and there are paper cups beside this little station. David's sleeves are already rolled up. "Hunting is hard. Especially when you want to do it safe. Don't worry about it. Maybe we'll work on getting you a herd."
"Which brings us to tonight's excursion, uh, in a way. There's something you should know about the event."
Verna
A cup. Yes. He never feeds her directly anymore, he knows how uncomfortable that makes her. Perhaps it makes him uncomfortable too. Even still, there are horrible little thoughts swimming in her brain on the way to deliver him that cup. If he would let her, she would like nothing better than to drink from his veins, to hold him. Maybe he would hold her back.
There's a twist in her stomach, a revulsion at herself. Why, ugh... Why...
Stupid intrusive thoughts...
Fuckwit beast...
She hands him the paper cup, trails her eyes down his arm. "A herd? Like... livestock? I can't eat cows. And what about the event?"
David
"Actually, you could drink from cows, although they're not as satisfying. If you ever develop auspex, you'll also," he smacks his lips like he's trying to get rid of a bad taste, "be sensitive to -- something about bovine blood. A herd is what we call people who are safe for eating from, for whatever reason. I knew a Malkavian whose herd was a book club at her mystery bookshop."
He has to stop talking now because he needs his teeth to bite open his wrist; vampires will heal from cuts more often than not, and he needs to be able to bleed. He licks the vitae from his lower lip and misses a spot on his chin and lets himself drain into the cup, which he holds low, keeping a watchful eye on his childe.
"Many of our clan choose to cultivate one, given our finicky eating habits. It's just easier and often safer than the endless pub crawl. You can manage what's in the blood you're eating..."
There, that's enough. He hands Verna the cup and licks his wrist closed.
Verna
He's talking, and Verna's thoughts shift from drinking from David to drinking from cows, to leaping over the counter to lick the spot on his chin, which has her full attention when she catches sight of it.
Oh, concentrate. She blinks, and what was that he said? About a herd? Of people? She was a person, not too long ago.
There's something distasteful about that concept, and it paints a touch of disgust on her face, but it beats the idea of spending all of her time trying and failing to lure unsuspecting people away from their crowd and somehow convincing them that she needs to be let near their neck.
"That sounds like... better. Than right now, I mean," she says, nods, looks back to his chin again and points at hers. "You've got a... a... spot."
When he hands over the cup, she eagerly accepts his little donation. Almost as soon as she has it in hand, she's drinking from the cup, trying to control herself so she doesn't spill any or get herself dirty. His blood always tastes divine, so much better than anything else she's tried. It's a hard sell to the composure to keep from quaffing it. The little cup isn't enough. It's never enough. By the end of it, she's trying to get every last drop, and yet still trying to pretend like she has manners about it.
David
He wipes his chin with the side of his hand before fumbling around behind the counter for a kleenex. This gives him something to do besides watch Verna gobble down his vitae, which gives him both a weird twinge of paternal -- not pride, but feeling -- and a heightened sense of wariness.
"The thing about this event is there should be other Kindred there. For the most part they will likely not take notice of you, but I want you to be prepared to take a care." He sighs. "Of course, there might also be Sabbat there, as there might always be Sabbat anywhere, but that's a different kind of challenge."
Verna
Blood makes her feel better. It's about the only thing that actually works. David's blood is so good, and comes with a mix of emotions. There's the gratitude for having him to give it to her, and the joy while drinking it, that fulfillment of a desperate need. There's also fear, and the memory of what the first taste of him was like. That will never quite go away, no matter how many rugs she pulls over the stain in the basement. Out, damn spot, except for the fact that the spot is herself, and she is his shame poured into the body of a girl.
Is there any wonder why she can't control the morose way of her? She is her greatest love's greatest downfall. And there's nothing she can do about it.
He talks, and she can listen now, though the smell of copper lingers in the air. He wants her to be on her best behavior, but isn't she always? She nods at him, but then...
"Do you have any guidance on how I should behave? Are there customs I should be aware of? Do I need to act differently?"
Perhaps it might be best not to react to everything as though it were the worst thing ever in the history of things...
"Maybe I should just stay home, if I'd cause you trouble... I'm an awful thing for you to be dragging around, I know. 'Here comes David and his big mistake.'"
David
He is frowning by the time she has finished and his arms are folded high on his chest while he leans back, a pose that seems like it would be conducive to contemplation or waiting in long lines outside of crowded clubs on days when one doesn't know the bouncer. He doesn't know how she'd act 'normally' in front of another of the kindred.
"Just be respectful. The Fifth Tradition is the tradition of hospitality, of honoring an elder's domain. The Prince's Domain. You're known but not acknowledged so you're nothing in the eyes of the law but you're a known nothing, so just be respectful. Show yourself willing to honor those who are your elders, which will be everybody. Don't do anything they tell you to just because they tell you to; there are all sorts of bullies who like to mess with childer. I don't, uh- I don't really have too many enemies- so you probably won't get too much of that, but who knows. Be gracious and remember that, even though you are a childe and, well, this isn't exactly what either of us would have chosen, you are a Ventrue and in the end you were chosen, so just... know you have good blood and our clan basically built the Camarilla and these others, however competent, would be lost without us."
Verna
David doesn't even acknowledge the angst-ridden 'but what if they don't like you because of me' streak of conversation, and perhaps its just as well. Instead, he goes for something more solid than the what-ifs currently making their nests inside of Verna's brain. There are bullies who like to mess with childer. Honor you elders. Be respectful. Be gracious.
"I just... I worry that there's no amount of respect or graciousness I could deliver that would save us -- that would save you. I always worry about that. I won't... knowingly do anything to jeopardize our standing, though. I hope you know that."
She's done enough already, unknowingly. That none of these events was her fault necessarily is scarcely relief.
She nods at the floor, as if coming to an agreement with her feet on the issue. "Okay. I just have to do this. I need to make a good impression, yes? I can do this."
Then, she stands up straight and puts on a brave face. It's a rather flimsy mask, but it's there, doing its best to hide the sadness underneath.
David
They arrive at the Denver Museum of Science and Nature. The building is impressive in the way of Science Museums, any museums closed to the public but open for an event maintain a certain dignified hush. A frosted promise of something, of waiting, of being frozen until the next day; perhaps that's why many of the kindred find themselves drawn to museums of all sort. Museums are in the business of presenting unchanging things, whether those things be truths or paintings or combs from whatever year BC.
The 'do is in one of those grand halls museums tend to have off the lobby, something that might sometimes host a traveling exhibit with tall tall walls interesting architecture tiles depicting fossils and plant-life interspersed amongst the rest. There is music and there is a lecturer, a renowned astro-physicist named Karl Mueller, a poet-in-residence named Carol Jaeger, and one of those celebrity scientists who seems to be able to hold discourse on whatever the current 'in' science is and who is more famous for being an Atheist turned Catholic. The lecturers aren't lecturing when David and Verna arrive; they're mingling. Everybody's mingling,
and somewhere are other vampires. Now that Verna knows they exist, how to find them?
Those with invitations can wander through a select few exhibits. Can, on the upper floors, look through telescopes at the double star, Jupiter and Venus, bright as an ache.
Verna
Verna spent the ride over with her sunshade pulled down, trying to fix her lipstick in the mirror by road-light. It was either that, or spend the rest of the night self-conscious about her face. Almost too soon, they're at the museum, though, so she has to put away her war paint and prepare to face the world. Verna versus the entire rest of the world would seem to be an accurate representation of her life up to this point, she thinks, as they walk up to the place.
Within, she knows she'll be presented with people who will twist her jealous streak into knots, what with their having careers in the sciences and being important enough to be invited to such an event. She'll be presented with Kindred who might torment her for being the new girl (because apparently death doesn't separate a person from their desire to go back to High School levels of maturity). She would rather walk into a box full of venomous snakes than into this museum right now, but this is what her sire wants her to do, and he gets what he wants.
There was a time when getting an invitation to an event like this, being able to schmooze with top scientists would have been a dream come true to Verna. She'd shove the shyness down just for the chance to make connections or impress somebody enough that they'd remember her name when it came time to cite her work. Now? It's a slap in the face. Welcome to your new life, at the bottom of the social heap, with a pending death sentence. Oh, and if that weren't enough, let's sprinkle in some examples of how awesome your old life could have been. Why, David? Just... why?
She stays at his side, like she'd rather be attached to her sire's hip, and watches the crowd in complete silence. It's better than opening her mouth and drawing attention to herself. Mingling? No. She's tense and expectant, looking like there's nothing in the world that's better than a place to hide.
[Wits + Alertness = Verna noticing a thing!]
Roll: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 7, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 4 )
David
David doesn't try to foist Verna off. He smiles at a security guard he apparently knows and they pause to shoot the shit for a minute or two, and then they're moving in, moving through the crowd, see, and David's watching Verna as much as he's watching the people around them. And he is watching the people around them, trying to pinpoint any Kindred before they pinpoint him and his childe.
All told, he's a bit distracted by the prospect of work. Too distracted to pay close attention to his childe's state of mind, although eventually he notices that she is being quiet. Is she always quiet? Perhaps she is. He looks at her rather uncertainly and says, "What, uh... What do you think? We should find a ... something for you to focus on, to build or to lend your energies to, for the next fifty years or so. Until you don't want to anymore."
Verna notices Jon Marc before he notices her. Jon Marc in a blazer, looking sharp and soulful and like bad news wrapped in the prettiest package. Jon Marc, with his dark curling hair, the arrogant jawline. Jon Marc, standing by the sculpture of a mammoth's bones strung up, brown and gleaming, the long tusks curving just past his head. Fangs. Imagine those as fangs, baby.
Verna
[Perception +Awareness!]
Roll: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 7, 8) ( success x 2 )
David
Verna, as David looks around, gets a familiar sort of uncanny sense, something lifting the hairs on the nape of her neck.
Verna
She stays close and guarded with her sire, and he doesn't pay any attention. If he were, he'd see how wary she is as well, how she looks without really understanding what she's looking for. Anything. She wants to see whatever it is before it strikes. She was this cautious when they first met, too, and look where that ended up...
He talks about finding her something to do for the next fifty years or so, and she listens because all of the words that come out of his mouth are important. What she'd like to do is build a laboratory, but with what? And fifty years seem so far away for someone who expects an execution within one. It's hard to look beyond the next few days anymore. Why build her dreams up again, if they're only going to get demolished?
She doesn't have much time to brood, though. It's somewhere within that bout of feeling incredibly sorry for herself that the self-pity train gets derailed and twisted into a smoldering wreck, and she grips David's arm through his suit, turning away from the mammoth's bones with wide eyes that she quickly masks again. It wouldn't do to broadcast her shock at this, after all.
"That guy by the mammoth sculpture. It's Jon Marc. I told you about him? Remember? Something weird is going on."
David
Verna's grip on his sports coat gets his attention, first his glance goes to her fingers and then to her wide eyes. His own gaze is measured. He's a fuck up now, and young, but he wasn't embraced because he seemed like he'd be a good scape goat or he'd be a fuck up. An unusual embrace, perhaps, but he has something Clan Ventrue wants. Measured, his gaze. Measured, when he glances over toward the mammoth sculpture, skimming, skimming, that guy. What guy? There are a few guys. But Jon Marc stands out.
"The pedophile," David says, flat voiced and emotionless. "I remember." And he pushes himself to read the guy's aura, stares at him unapologetically because after all David is as much a shark as any vampire is. "Smug bastard, too," he comments, once the colours spring to life. The halo. He pauses. Then, "He's somebody's ghoul."
--
David @ 1:01PM
[AUSPEXIFY.]
Roll: 6 d10 TN7 (2, 3, 6, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 3 )
Verna
Wait, what? Pedophile? "I don't know if he's a pedophile exactly, but I wouldn't put it past him. I heard he uses children in his fighting ring, and he is a disgusting person."
Feeding your master false information counts as a sin. The first thing she does is correct that, trying to sound as calm and measured as she can. It's hard, after all, Jon Marc ran her out of her home. He's the reason she spent some time at a battered women's shelter. He didn't kill her, but that wasn't through lack of trying. If she were allowed to entertain the notion, she'd probably be more upset with what David did to her that first night, but David has her collared by the throat. She holds no such twisted love for Jon Marc. He is easy to hate.
"You say he is a ghoul?"
David
David's eyebrows flick up, dismissively. Using children in a fighting ring doesn't sound much better than a pedophile, not really.
Verna's sire leans in, like anyone wanting an intimate word with his date, and he takes her hand, rests it on his elbow if she'll let him. Of course she'll let him; won't she? She's been neatly bound. So in her ear:
"He is. Do you remember what being a ghoul constitutes? He's about to look this way." A question in the statement. Verna's back is to the dark haired young man (ghoul?).
Now here's Jon Marc sending a hooded glance around the party. If Verna wants to step out of sight, she has the opportunity to try to do so; she saw him long before he saw her, after all.
Verna
This is just ridiculous, isn't it? How much vampire business can one girl be tied up without her knowledge in this city? A whole lot, apparently. Being a ghoul constitutes drinking vampire blood while you're still alive. It means he's being fed. Could the one who feeds him be here? Verna doesn't take him to be a museum-goer. At all. He's probably here for Kindred-related business, and that? That is a new layer to the vomit-cake that her enemy embodies.
"I don't want to meet him some other time when I'm alone, especially if he has his... feeder with him," she says, not really remembering the right terminology, but it gets the point across. "Maybe it's time to impress upon him why I'm not to be messed with anymore -- if he has the intellect necessary to grasp a hint. Otherwise, he'll try to kill me for sure and then I'll... It could get messy."
It already is messy. Why does she always wander into these things? She doesn't try to hide anymore, just gives David a squeeze on the elbow and lifts her head up. If Jon Marc sees her, he sees her. Maybe he'll be stupid enough to try something.
David
He does see her. He sees her and David and Jon Marc looks, for half a second, quite surprised. His dark eyebrows shoot up and stay raised, hovering just beneath his hairline, and that puppy dog soulful quality he has on tap, makes people like Marie fall for him, fall into his web so to speak, intensifies. He glances at David, too. But it's a half-a-glance, and then he excuses himself from the woman and man he is speaking to and heads over to Verna and David. He doesn't head over with purpose like he's planning on being intimidating, but of course he is. A distracted furrow of his brow, briefly, as he heads over; another glance around. And then!
Smiling. Smiling Jon Marc. Adorable smiling Jon Marc. Mean, mean Jon Marc. "Long time no see." What has he got to be so smug about, anyway?
David seems to be letting Verna field this one. He's just looking at Jon Marc. Pugnacious face, right? They'd both be more at home at some bar, David's fist (those tattoo rings he sometimes wears) ready to crash into Jon Marc's jaw. Not that David likes to fight. Usually.
Verna
Jon Marc has done this before. Verna's no stranger to his antics. It's the mark of someone with no strategic sense to keep using the same tactic over and over again on the same person. How well did that work out for you before, Jon Marc? She sighs at him, as if she's utterly disappointed.
If he was expecting her to cower in fear, he hasn't been paying close attention to Verna Gardner. She's guarded and cautious and stutters her words out to people she doesn't know and cares enough about to impress. She knows Jon Marc -- knows he's dirt.
"Yes, yes. The 'we're such great friends, and she's actually crazy' trick again? Well. I don't know why I expected you would be capable of coming up with something new, but there you are."
And there, a smile at him, with her eyes so full of daggers she could arm a college of assassins.
Verna
[Manip + Intimidation = how intimidating are you, Verna?]
Roll: 3 d10 TN6 (4, 7, 8) ( success x 2
David
He flicks a glance toward David, an eyebrow raised. Because, c'mon bro, are you hearing this? What has this girl said to you how are you all turned around stupid women. He doesn't get whatever it is he was looking for there but he's not too phased. Boyfriends are like that and Verna's one of those -- just assume Jon Marc's internal monologue and subtext is about as fond as Verna's is for him. Perhaps less. Except: he is in a remarkably good mood. Vicious mood. Mean mood, seeing her.
Her glare's got bite but Jon Marc is a ghoul with a problem he's been dealing with for years. He's solid on his feet. He says, "Just being polite. You've heard of that, eh? Long time since you called any of your friends, huh?" He can't resist it. He smiles and it's probably just about the meanest expression she's ever going to see. "But hey, you want to circulate, I'll leave you to it. Just thought I'd say hello."
--
Jon Marc @ 4:11PM
[WP. Eff you Verna.]
Roll: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 7, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 4 )
Verna
Oh, he lies. He lies and he's trying to get a rise out of her. But her blood runs especially cold at the mention of her friends. What?
What is the penalty for killing somebody else's ghoul, she wonders? They're like property, aren't they? A fine maybe? She'll have to pay a nickel in recompense for this piece of trash?
"What did you do to my friends, hmm?" she asks, but she doesn't sound too concerned about their welfare. "Did you harass them into leading me into a trap? How well did that work out for you, Hmm? Yes, there is a reason why I haven't been keeping in touch with them." she says, trying to keep her voice level and civil and in normal speaking tones. "I have been busy learning all about my new eternal life, while you have been busy learning new and inventive ways to be incompetent. Your master must be so proud to have someone who draws so much attention from so many powerful people in their service."
The knives in her eyes twist, and maybe Jon Marc's not phased by the little girl herself. It has to come as a shock to him, though, what she has to say. Verna Gardner isn't just a little girl anymore, man. She's a little girl with fangs. And new friends.
"I guess my point is? You see me coming, you step aside. You see my friends coming, you walk the other way. It might save your life, and your master a great deal of trouble."
Or, you might not. Verna knows Jon Marc, knows how much of an idiot he is. This is a long shot at keeping him away from her, but it is worth a try.
David
David takes Verna's arm, his fingers hard as steel, unrelenting, when she moves her threat from the ghoul to the ghoul's master; but he doesn't interrupt. Not yet. He watches Jon Marc's expression.
Jon Marc - Verna can see the suddenly wary uncertainty; it changes the look of him completely, undoes it swagger. His eyes narrow and he licks his lips, his eyes flickering from Verna to David back to Verna, really looking at her, really taking her in. Her humanity is too high for there to be any tells, really. But -
"What the fuck are you on about?" he says, low.
"I think you know," David says.
Jon Marc glares at Verna. Perhaps now that she understands dominate, has used it herself, she can go over their interactions and guess at what he did to her that time in the restaurant. Another friend ('friend') she hasn't heard from in quite a while, that perfectly demure lady.
Verna
"What I'm on about? I have been gathering old friends who will understand what happened to me if I were to disappear. Even if you succeed in taking care of me, it will only make things worse for you. I'm offering you a chance to back down as a courtesy. I'm just not in the business of breaking other people's toys, unless they are as tired of them as I am."
The signal of David's fingers on her arm wasn't missed. She directs the threats where they should go, or tries to. The only reason she hasn't dragged him out of this place yet is because she knows Jon Marc has someone important who might miss him. Her arm is tensed up like a bowstring holding everything back and staying level.
And she is shaking underneath the fabric. Maybe it's anger, maybe it's fear, maybe it's both. She doesn't really know how to deal with this, except that something inside wants her to deal with it brutally. She doesn't want his blood, she wants to return to him all the pain and fear he ever gave to the people around him -- everything she went through, everything those children went through, reflected in his face. It's a thought that coils around in her stomach, tainting her words with hate even as she tries to make them pretty and light so that nobody pays too close attention.
"I sincerely hope someone out there is tired of the messes you make, though. Sincerely."
Verna @ 5:03PM
[Manip + Subt = Shaking? No shaking. I am perfectly confident and totally cool.]
Roll: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 5, 7) ( success x 1 )
Verna @ 5:04PM
[Manip + Intimidation = Little kitten goes 'rawr!']
Roll: 3 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 6) ( success x 1 )
David
Jon Marc stares at Verna. He tries, of course, to conceal the blatancy of his stare, the fury that is sparked behind it, the roiling of emotions and the temper - yes, the tempest! of tempestuousness. His eyes grow more soulful; he is a very charming man, even if he is a dick, a terror, a piece of trash - whatever other epithet one could throw at him. He thinks he's so cock of the walk. But now: well, Verna's showed him that he isn't. Not with her, not now. And he's thinking, rapidly.
"Goody two shoes like you won't last," Jon Marc says. "As for your friends, you won't kno - "
David cuts him off. "Who is your domitor?"
Jon Marc doesn't take his eyes off Verna, but he begins to look more hunted. Or he'd already begun to look hunted, as soon as he read the potential for brutality in the little mouse's body, in the lines of her shoulders, in the barely sheathed hate in her eyes - is it hate? Does Verna hate Jon Marc?
Jon Marc clears his throat. "Alley Blue."
His hair ruffles; there's no reason for it to, no breeze no draft in this great hall, but Jon Marc's hair moves as if there is. It's a brief thing, and he has to conceal a shudder.
David attempts to steer Verna away, saying nothing more in front of the ghoul.
Verna
Jon Marc calls her a goody two shoes. He doesn't know her very well -- doesn't know what scenarios are playing out in her head right now. And the only real reason they aren't being played out in reality has nothing to do with her sense of goodness, and everything to do with her wanting David, at least, to survive the next few months. Everyone would see her dragging him out of a public place like this, they'd know. And then, his feeder would know too. If he just hadn't been someone's ghoul...
Domitor. That's the word she's been looking for. Jon Marc has a domitor. Named Alley Blue. That doesn't mean anything to Verna, she doesn't know the crowd she's just been forced to join, but David does and he steers her away. She doesn't fight it, or try to get another word in, because she knows if she stands there and talks with Jon Marc any more, she might just lose it. Or he would. The feelings between them are so mutual. Like water to potassium -- an explosive mix.
But as soon as she's away from him, she is just plain water again, no longer threatening to split at the seams and combust. It lets her think about what just happened, about her sire, about her position in the world.
"I should have just stayed home. I knew I would cause you trouble. I don't want to cause you any more trouble. I messed that all up, didn't I? I just... He's hurt me so much..."
And her friends? What did he do to her friends? They were all in the same pack together with Marie. Maybe he went after the rest when he couldn't find Verna to torment anymore. Maybe she can get David to look into them, see if they're okay? That's if he's not going to lock her in the basement when they get back home, for getting him involved with another enemy.
David
"He's a scumbag," David says, lip curling. David hangs out with many scumbags in the course of his networking; he's a little spider, little spider, little spider, so he knows. They haven't yet begun to errode his morality away so it's left behind as a smooth nub. If they had, perhaps Verna wouldn't be here at his side, dead and anything but loving it. He'll guide Verna toward the outskirts of the affair, perhaps wander toward a display so they can gaze at it with interest as they converse. His voice is pitched real low and he leans in to speak almost into her ear. Anybody looking at them would think them intimates one way or another.
"You did just fine. You were entitled to snap at the little shit. Blue's a fu- uh, an interesting, uh, dom to have. He doesn't ever let himself be seen. Uses intermediaries, like your friend there."
Verna
They walk away from the confrontation, walk to an artistic display of bird wing evolution. Not the actual bones, but the plaster casts of the feathery imprints in mud laid down millions of years ago. The long-dead birds remind her of another in her bathtub, of feathers and blood. It reminds her of the curious bald-headed man with white eyebrows who discovered it. Another "intermediary" almost certainly.
"Scumbag barely begins to describe it. But he -- and Blue too, probably -- are just more people who want us dead. Because of me," she says, looks to her feet, keeps her voice down. Maybe David won't hear the rest. "I'm a terribly complicated childe."
She's sorry for that. Apologetic for things that have been done to her instead of by her. It's the story of her short existence as David's thrall.
"I think I know another of his intermediaries. A tall guy, bald, big bushy white eyebrows. That one's not as much of a raging, testosterone-fueled piece of trashy, but still. He's worth looking out for. He tried to stop what happened the last time we met. I think Jon Marc was... He Dominated me into this alley and tried to... hurt me. I'm fairly certain of that, now. I got away, obviously, or else I wouldn't be here."
David
He looks vaguely worried, of course. David doesn't bother to try and conceal that he is vaguely, almost without direction, worried. But he shakes his head, and steers Verna further away from an older couple who are approaching (silver hair and thick black rimmed glasses, the color violet and gray), and continues the conversation in a voice still low. "Death is a big deal."
It isn't to elders or older ancilla or even some younger ancilla and of course some neonates are cutthroat, but David values humanity and clinging to ideals, and he will do his best to impart that on his childe. He didn't want her but he's got her and humanity is important, damn it. Besides, death is a big deal.
"And it's only given to the elders to dole it out. There are other ways to get revenge; Blue won't, uh, likely care too much about the old, uh, conflict between you and the scumbag, but - uh? Blue is," a pause. "We haven't spoken too much about the clans yet, have we?"
Verna
She's not going to argue or try to explain. He says that death is a big deal, given to the elders to dole out. But then, aren't they deciding on whether to dole it out at the moment? If there were ever a time when someone with a grudge could get Verna or her sire taken out by proxy, this would be it. They can't afford enemies. David looks vaguely worried, but Verna's been vaguely terrified ever since the reality finally seeped its way into understanding. She doesn't know who Alley Blue is or how much clout they have, but the more friends the better. The more enemies the worse.
"I've learned the names. You've told me a little.... mostly about our own, though. I take it someone named Alley Blue isn't one of us," she says, small-voiced, squeezing herself closer to him, and thankful for the excuse to seem like his date.
"The more I think about it, the more I think this conflict was always between myself and Blue," she says, sighs into his shoulder. "I've had both Jon Marc and that Mister Clean lookalike on my case, it's just that Jon Marc has always been more showy -- more gleefully evil about it. The bald one is who gets sent to watch, Jon Marc is who gets sent to torture people and ruin their lives. Probably because he isn't capable of much else. He's only barely capable of doing that without getting the police involved. He likes it too much. You saw him."
She can't even talk about Jon Marc without getting a little worked up. He's worse than dirt, because dirt you can ignore and step on. That man is vile.
David
"Another, hmm," David says, his voice low. He does feel protective over Verna. He doesn't know if he likes her. He probably doesn't like her. But he feels protective over her. She's his mistake, his childe, a human being still. He knows that he cursed her when he dragged her over, but he couldn't bear to end somebody who didn't deserve it. He still can't bear to. Perhaps he's even growing fond of her, in a way. "Blue's certainly not our kind of people. I'll tell you about them when we're on our way home. There are too many here." Paranoia is a good thing to pass on to one's childer, yes?
And then he curses, low. Quick. Unbidden, swallows the consonants. He's looking at another man, who's looking at them. This other man is tall. Tall, big, a carefully composed monolith of civility, hands clasped behind his back, facial expression smooth as a ceremonial mask, something copper, something copper and inscrutable, although there's a softness to a lock of brassy brown hair which falls across his noble (yes) brow. The kind of brown some might mistake for blonde. His features are - what? Germanic, perhaps, with a hawk's nose and a full but wide mouth. His suit is impeccable.
The other man will incline his head the barest tch when Verna looks over. Then, depending on her reaction, he'll come over.
Verna
Trust that Verna is painfully aware that she isn't liked. And in every interaction between herself and her sire there is this desire for him to. It's a want she knows will never happen. He has every reason to hate her. Why he doesn't is a question she can't answer. In terms of poor people to Embrace, she's up there -- according to Verna's own reckoning.
He says there's too many people around to talk freely, and so she's silent and unmoving until he curses. At first she looks to him, pulling her chin off of his shoulder, wondering what's wrong. And then, she follows his eyes. It's not hard to find who he's looking at. That man is something else. She steps a away from her sire one half-step, to give him some room, to stop looking like a growth attached to his side. There's another glance at David -- she's looking for a clue as to what to do. When in doubt, do as your sire does.
David
His unblinking gaze is on Verna first. Curiosity, perhaps, and perhaps even idle for all he is a stolid creature. He looks at her face. Then he turns to David, and it could be old-fashioned pride. The gesture of some soldier, some officer, at some social function years and years and years ago: aloofness kept close. "But it is a hello, David. How does this night find you?"
Before the man quites arrives, David darts a quick look at Verna. One wonders if, when he was alive, he had a complexion given to blushes or flushes, some telltale sign of his perturbation that is no longer relevant. "Kind," he says. He means: Kindred, of a Kind.
"Morris, well, well. Nobody's taken a stick to me yet." David grins.
"Very good," Morris says. Almost blandly, but with enough touch of charisma to leaven somewhat his sternness. "Though I think the teeth are still to worry about, no? But you must forgive me, I am not familiar with your lovely companion."
David's hand finds the small of Verna's back. "Won't see her around the castle, she's that, uh, fresh." He sounds awkward, saying so. "This is Verna."
"Ah," Morris says, and he holds out a hand to Verna.
Verna
At least the curse didn't signal anything too ugly. It didn't mean 'I spotted a Sabbat monster who's going to try to kill us all'. David isn't calm, but he's trying hard for congenial. So that means be nice, put on a placid face, hold your head high.
David jokes about getting stabbed in the chest, and it shakes Verna's resolve to keep up appearances for this man. It makes her take a breath just to assure herself that she still can -- that her ribs are not a broken mess and her lungs still function. Her sire would joke about that. In front of her. Someday, David is going to say the wrong thing in front of somebody far more important than Verna, she knows this. He has such little reserves of tact, and he doesn't understand when he's doing it. She keeps her eyes stuck to Morris though, forces a smile.
David guides her forward with his hand on her back, and she steps a tiny bit closer to Morris, slides her hand into his (which, thank goodness she doesn't sweat anymore). First impressions are so important, they are, and Verna tries to make this go as smoothly as possible, even if introductions have never been her strong suit.
"G... good evening. It's nice to meet you," she says. And, damn. She stuttered. Crap.
David
"You are very nice," Morris says. There is a mildness to his expressions; something almost equine in its grace, something a bit distant for all his presence in this conversation is complete. He is here. David and Morris and Verna are here. They are all here. The clasp of his hand is cool and his fingertips are callused and his palm too as a cowboy's might be, or a gunman's, and he gives Verna's hand just so light a squeeze as to convey admiration and potential comfort before releasing her. "It is an adjustment, no? Much is the weeping, but we learn to find the good."
Her sire does not interject. Morris isn't talking to him.
Verna
Well, this isn't going nearly as bad as she thought. He called her nice. See David? The corners of her mouth twitch up a little more.
"Yes. Adjusting is... difficult. But I am giving it my all, and David helps so much," she says, glances back to her sire before settling her eyes back on Morris.
There is weariness in her voice though. "Adjustment" has been a slow burn of fear and indignity. Verna is hungry. She has just recovered from holding back some interminable rage at Jon Marc. Here is a girl who is worn at the edges. And yet, it's better than some of the newly Embraced, who wind up shredded.
She has yet to find the good. All the good is forbidden to her to hope for. Eternal life doesn't mean much when you're on death row.
David
"What is it you are interested in?" Morris asks. He does not seem as if he would be surprised by anything that she said. He is wearing a thick ring on his left ring finger; it gleams before he clasps his hands loosely at his back.
Verna
What is she interested in? The first thought is that she showed some interest in something subconsciously, and he wants to know why she wants to... Steal his watch or whatever. But okay, English isn't his first language. Right. Recover.
"Well. I was studying physics before," she says. Before joining the ranks of the undead, she was a physics student. "Science was... Is where my interests lie," she says, and it's a statement tinged with sadness. The tears of adjusting to a new life, Morris. Just as you said.
David
He can't be said to brighten, exactly. He is no scientist. He is no optimist. He is not a bright creature. But his interest narrows. There is one bat of his lash, and he tilts his head. "You say was. You do not think this is a thing you can still be interested in, as you were? May I ask what it is you were?"
Verna
[Wits + Empathy -- Shy = Diff 8!]
Roll: 5 d10 TN8 (1, 2, 5, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )
David
Verna, in spite of what it is to be social, what it is to strive for perfection in a setting that is far from her comfortable stomping grounds, is sharp enough to pick up on this: Morris asks may he ask and although he speaks to her that question is addressed as much to David, who must have given some form of assent for he still doesn't interrupt or try to steer the conversation. From an outside view, David's a polite part of this conversation.
Verna
There are subtleties here that Verna picks up on. That her sire was asked a question indirectly, and he has responded also indirectly. Apparently this is an okay topic, and so she goes ahead and gives Morris a real answer.
"I was a doctoral candidate, a math and science teacher. I worked in the laboratory. I suppose you could call me a physicist-in-training? And... I would like to go back to that, someday." But I have nothing, not even my own car. "It's just, there's still so much I have to learn. How to get from here to there, for example."
Right now, how to get from one night to the next without getting into any more trouble and without going crazy is pretty much the top thing on the list, drowning out anything else in its importance.
David
"This is very different for you, then! For so much of it is unexplainable, even occult, no? Has it made you interested in the God? I do not know what David's view on God is."
David shrugs. It's a subject that he, himself, is uncomfortable talking about. Religion strikes at people, even the undead, so - sometimes. He scruffs his fingers through his hair and skims the crowd:
hunting down that Jon Marc bitch.
Verna
Verna recalls those first nights, the nights she refused to believe anything. It was easier to imagine herself insane than to accept that something unbelievable happened. Still it bothers her. Hers is a worldview patched together with tape and bubblegum. He asks if she is interested in 'the God' now, and... hmm. No, she is not quite so broken yet as to throw away everything she believes in.
"I think scientists don't usually have a lot of love for religion because to say 'God did it' is, at times, a way to put an end to the inquiry. You say that, and then you don't need to explain any further. But a scientist is immensely curious, they want to know the how and why of everything, and don't like it when the search for answers is cut off like that.
"There was a time when I could have explained nearly everything -- the green of leaves, the composition of the moon, the way stars function? But I can't explain myself now. It's a strange place to be. Different, yes. I don't think I will ever quite lose that desire to learn the hows and whys though."
It's a roundabout way, a glancing blow at saying she doesn't want to believe in God. And, since he seems to be a believer, she tries not to offend. She does not say that God is dead or Christians are dumb, or anything else likely to grant herself an enemy. At least, this is what she hopes...
David
"There are the legends of our kind, yes, but they are often no more than that: legends. Of course, some of us are old, yes? And we have seen things closer, perhaps, to what is 'the beginning.' But perhaps not. As a man who was once religious, I find it interesting. If there is a God and he did this, as well as what is 'science' that you say could explain the green of leaves, the question is why? I think even in the old days it was what a good man of faith would do: seek to understand his god's world and why it worked so, for if it was not made for man to understand then why give anything a reason? But here, I ramble at you and do not wish to give you any more crisis of faith. Perhaps you will find an explanation. Perhaps you will find a cure? There are some who look for and look for a cure."
Verna
A cure. For what, being dead? Somehow, Verna's rather unconvinced that it would help at all for her to suddenly be alive again. It would seem, considering the rules of the society she's joined, that would just end up with her being dead again in short order. Maybe some of the others would like a cure. Maybe some of them would consider it the ultimate threat to their immortality and kill her to silence the very idea. Maybe one of them would make her a ghoul so she could churn out cures and make a lot of money. There's a lot of bad places that could go for someone like herself.
"Maybe somebody out there did find a cure, and they were destroyed for it," Verna says, and almost as soon as the words are out of her mouth, she catches herself. "Oh, that was a terrible thing to say. This is supposed to be a happy event for me -- get out of the house, do something nice. I should try harder."
It's difficult to be happy. One must try at it. Try very hard. She pastes a smile on her face again, for everyone else's sake but her own.
"If you really do mean to ask the why of green leaves, and not the why of everything, I can answer that. Sunlight is dangerous even to the plants that depend on it for survival. Sunlight emits with the highest intensity in the green spectrum, and so, in order to protect themselves from absorbing too much energy, plants utilize a green pigment which reflects the intense green light back and doesn't let it in. You could theorize perhaps, a planet with an intensely blue sun might have very blue plants. Or, a planet with a feeble sun might have black plants that try to utilize all the light they can."
Well, okay. That might be a little better, right? Talking about a cold planet with a dwarf sun covered in black plants -- not the most morbid thing ever right? She just cannot seem to make it out of this rut...
David
Morris listens without comment until Verna is done. He is not a big one for comments. Beside him, David's expressions (surly, cautious, reserved, ready to be amused or not) are seen as through glass. The punk Ventrue in a good (enough) suit versus whatever it is Morris is. When Verna is done, Morris inclines his head the barest fraction of an inch. Acknowledgment.
Then he says, "What is it a physicist does with her nights? Do you read the textbooks and the studies?"
Verna
A physicist paints her concrete tomb pretty colors. She tries to hunt. She learns, but not through textbooks, and not about science.
"I haven't had a lot of time," she says. "But, I would like to." There's a double meaning there. David would note that she hasn't been too interested in his offerings of magazines or microscopes (as if real science could be done using a store-bought chemistry set for children). She could at least pick up one of the pop-science magazines and pretend to read it, but it just makes her angry more often than not. It's the unfairness of it all. Somewhere out there, somebody else is getting to do amazing things, but not her. She has to go around acting like a social butterfly (little hussy) all the time, and when not hunting, she's learning other things about being Kindred. She also has a tendency to stare at the wall until the sun rises, ruminating on her problems until they threaten to claw their way out of her eyes. So, really, her nights are full.
And she may not have too much time left.
"I don't have school anymore, or access to any laboratories for real research. It's... a project. For the future."
Oh, look at her, pretending like the future is something she can plan for. But hey, it's good to stay positive in front of the stranger...
David
"Yes. Projects are very good. Perhaps, if your Mr. David here will allow, you would help me with a project?"
David's gaze stops roaming around the collection of Interesting People or People Interested In Interesting Things. He raises both eyebrows. "What project?"
"A project on belief. There is no harming in it."
Verna
She glances at David, whose eyebrows are raised. Morris says there is no harming in this project, but there are more kinds of harm than physical, aren't there? Was Morris around for the Stanford Prison Experiments? Did that point get made to him? Probably yes, and probably no.
"On... belief? What are you trying to determine about belief?"
She is curious, of course. But also, there is a bit of defensiveness. She doesn't want to shut him down immediately, which might come across as rude,( especially since it doesn't really seem to be her decision to make). But she also doesn't seem too comfortable with the idea.
David
"Whether it is good or it is bad," Morris says. "Is it true or is it lie? What is it belief will do to the mind of one? How strong can belief make one and how weak? There are those, your David will perhaps tell you, who believe so strongly in their faith or their god that it does not matter whether it is true or no, they take that belief and they cut with it. I am curious, so. You, on the cusp of one reality and now this one which must seem very different, the Masquerade being strong yes, have a unique perspective. A lady scientist, no less! Surely, it is good."
Verna
Morris is a curious one. He's curious about her and her beliefs. Perhaps he only means to interview her and ask about this transitional state, but even still -- dangerous, that. There are secrets she and David must keep.
She could tell him of nights spent locked in the basement thinking she'd been drugged by some madman, completely unconvinced. She could explain the thought processes behind her drinking on her own accord for the first time. But it's embarrassing, so personal. Her experiences lead to questions. So, she didn't know David beforehand? How did it happen? Why wasn't her sire more prepared? Questions in general are bad things. Her answers are indecent. They don't make anyone look good.
"I don't know if I can provide what you're looking for. These days... nights have been difficult for me, as I'm sure you can understand. It is not an easy thing to talk about my beliefs and how they have been shattered. It's... painful," she says, and takes a steadying breath (and how very human of her). Hopefully, Morris won't push the issue any further.
Another night.
They're all going to be another night. The weather might grow cold and the weather might grow hot, it might storm or become windswept, but the texture of light won't truly change; it's all moonlight and shadow for Verna, now, now and forever.
The record store with its subterranean office and storage spaces, an unusual haven for a Ventrue, but nobody has ever accused David of being the perfect Ventrue except for one snotty Brujah but Brujah don't know anything anyway because they're disgusting rabble. Verna's room has become Verna's room, although David isn't against looking for another place for her (or more accurately, David's ghoul).
They wake. They live when they wake. They hunger but they live, no matter who tells them otherwise. David doesn't always stay at the record store and when he does he stays in the basement or the study, not caring enough to make his sleeping area nice or comfortable. It's so hard to be aware during the daylight.
Tonight, shortly after sundown, there's a knock on Verna's door.
Verna
These nights, she makes her way from place to place, trying to figure out how to slake her thirst, and these days she spends in a concrete, underground safe room. It's her room because she sleeps there, but like anything that is 'hers' it's only nominally so. She belongs to David, and so does everything else she 'has'.
So this is her life now, spending her time feeling like a whore, peddling ecstasy for food, and living in somebody's basement with nothing but an impending execution to call her own. There is one blessing to being unable to rise during the day -- it means she doesn't have to stay up in bed doing nothing but thinking about the utter wreck of her life. Instead, she spends her waking hours thinking about it, sometimes sitting and staring for hours that don't seem to pass like normal time. She is a sad and drawn thing.
That is not to say, however, that she has given up entirely. Her room has changed since she was Embraced in it. She couldn't stand to spend so much time in a place that reminded her of that night. The blood stains on the floor have been covered up by bright, happy-colored rugs (nothing happened here). The walls have been painted a soft bluish lavender. There's even a picture hung up on the wall, to make it less depressing -- an image of the mountains. If she makes her surroundings a bit happier, maybe it'll seep into her, slowly. Maybe if she can cover all the bloodstains on her soul, it'll eventually feel right again.
There's a knock on her door, and she's not quite ready yet, not quite perfected. Her makeup isn't done yet, so her face is decidedly too pale, and her nail polish has a chip, and oh -- what does he want? With her looking like this? Is there some problem, has there been word of any... anything?
She stands from her table with her evening ritual items of hairbrushes and makeup utensils scattered about it, and straightens out her dress -- blue over black tights -- and goes to open the door, slowly and cautiously, like she's afraid. Maybe not of him, but of what he might have come to say.
"Yes?"
David
David looks, and will always look, like a young man with a round hobbit's nose. His hair is longer some early evenings and sometimes there are piercings, sometimes not; always, the tattoos ghost on his arms, and they're as immutable as his flesh. He has tried to dress nicely for Verna to woo her over and when he has business he puts on sharp as sharp business suits and looks a different part.
Tonight he's wearing slacks and a gray button up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a watch on his left wrist that'll be a magnet for pick pockets who have failed to be streetwise. He's pale, because of course he's pale. His blood is not human blood his body is not a human body but it remembers his humanity and one wouldn't think that he is a corpse at first or second or even third looks. He has this half-anxious air, a line between his eyebrows, as he often does.
"I thought we might go somewhere new tonight, together. I have tickets to an event at the Museum of Science and Nature. Heh," and he smiles quickly, "Did you know there's an exhibit about unicorns and dragons there? Did you ever believe in those things?"
His hands find his pockets. He doesn't try to come into her space because he can leave her that much at least can't he? When things are pleasant.
Verna
David tries, doesn't he? Museum of Science and Nature. Like he means to make her feel better, by taking her out somewhere she could potentially be happy. It is a reminder of what she can't do anymore -- a stinging thing to go to that museum. But then, also, this is a sign that her sire cares. And so, she gives him a sad smile.
"Dinosaurs and narwhals, I believed in those," she says, and scrunches her eyebrows together. "How much time do we have? Can I finish my makeup? I'd look sick..."
Yes. Sick. Let's go with that.
David
"My sister was crazy about unicorns," David says. "I don't remember a lot about her but she had these unicorn socks -- whoof. I'd forgotten them until just this moment." He takes a step back, and another.
"We've got about an hour. I'll meet you upstairs, whenever you're ready." A beat. "How hungry are you?"
Verna
[Hungry? Roll +2!]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (1) ( botch x 1 )
Verna
"Hungry. Haven't been very... successful lately," Verna says, and that's an understatement. A few too many nights when she just sat by herself somewhere looking like she was about to cry, as the hours sped by?
Maybe he can see how overwrought she's been. Maybe that's the reason why he's decided to try to cheer her up. Anyway, her stomach feels like a pit into which she could throw the world and not ever feel full.
"I'm sorry," she adds, her eyes wandering off of him. She doesn't like failing. It reflects poorly on him.
David
"The Beast is a fuckwit, uh, pardon me... The Beast is trouble." He takes one hand out of his pocket to rub the palm over his forehead and back across his hair, like phew, wee, god. A meditation exercise. "We'll get you something if you're that bad off before we go to the museum, huh? I'll meet you upstairs."
He doesn't want to be cruel to her. He has already been cruel to her.
He's as good as his word.
--
Upstairs, in the record portion of the shop, sitting behind the counter and looking through a box of new vinyls somebody brought in. David would be happy to be a hipster; he probably identifies as an audiophile.
Verna
David curses and apologizes for it. Verna, for as long as he has known her, in whatever mental state he finds her in, does not say uncouth words. That's not to say she is an innocent whose ears cannot handle the slightest rough language, it's just not a thing she relishes, like tattoos or piercings for that matter.
So, she doesn't wince or react to the 'fuck' and just nods at him when he's excused himself. The thought of having a meal after her makeup is done leads to some corners being cut. She doesn't redo her lips when one side comes out a little off. She doesn't fix that chipped nail. She'll likely spend the rest of the night obsessing over those mistakes, but for right now? She obsesses over the blood he's promised, how good it will be to drink again...
When it's all done and acceptable to a hungry Verna, she hurriedly packs her things away in a little bag for tidiness and nearly sprints up to the elevator, wanting to curse at it for being so slow. But she's a good girl, and tries to look sane for David's sake once it arrives. No more sprinting, she holds it in, reigns in the hunger. But then...
"Do you have that... something? I am that bad off. I... I shouldn't have let it get this bad."
David
Some movement of the muscles of his face cause his ears to go up, some shifting of the planes of it. "Uh, yeah, I mean I was just going to, but sure. I'm full up tonight, I can give you enough to take the edge off. Get a cup from the coffee station?" The record store has coffee and sometimes herbal tea as a free perk just for coming in and there are paper cups beside this little station. David's sleeves are already rolled up. "Hunting is hard. Especially when you want to do it safe. Don't worry about it. Maybe we'll work on getting you a herd."
"Which brings us to tonight's excursion, uh, in a way. There's something you should know about the event."
Verna
A cup. Yes. He never feeds her directly anymore, he knows how uncomfortable that makes her. Perhaps it makes him uncomfortable too. Even still, there are horrible little thoughts swimming in her brain on the way to deliver him that cup. If he would let her, she would like nothing better than to drink from his veins, to hold him. Maybe he would hold her back.
There's a twist in her stomach, a revulsion at herself. Why, ugh... Why...
Stupid intrusive thoughts...
Fuckwit beast...
She hands him the paper cup, trails her eyes down his arm. "A herd? Like... livestock? I can't eat cows. And what about the event?"
David
"Actually, you could drink from cows, although they're not as satisfying. If you ever develop auspex, you'll also," he smacks his lips like he's trying to get rid of a bad taste, "be sensitive to -- something about bovine blood. A herd is what we call people who are safe for eating from, for whatever reason. I knew a Malkavian whose herd was a book club at her mystery bookshop."
He has to stop talking now because he needs his teeth to bite open his wrist; vampires will heal from cuts more often than not, and he needs to be able to bleed. He licks the vitae from his lower lip and misses a spot on his chin and lets himself drain into the cup, which he holds low, keeping a watchful eye on his childe.
"Many of our clan choose to cultivate one, given our finicky eating habits. It's just easier and often safer than the endless pub crawl. You can manage what's in the blood you're eating..."
There, that's enough. He hands Verna the cup and licks his wrist closed.
Verna
He's talking, and Verna's thoughts shift from drinking from David to drinking from cows, to leaping over the counter to lick the spot on his chin, which has her full attention when she catches sight of it.
Oh, concentrate. She blinks, and what was that he said? About a herd? Of people? She was a person, not too long ago.
There's something distasteful about that concept, and it paints a touch of disgust on her face, but it beats the idea of spending all of her time trying and failing to lure unsuspecting people away from their crowd and somehow convincing them that she needs to be let near their neck.
"That sounds like... better. Than right now, I mean," she says, nods, looks back to his chin again and points at hers. "You've got a... a... spot."
When he hands over the cup, she eagerly accepts his little donation. Almost as soon as she has it in hand, she's drinking from the cup, trying to control herself so she doesn't spill any or get herself dirty. His blood always tastes divine, so much better than anything else she's tried. It's a hard sell to the composure to keep from quaffing it. The little cup isn't enough. It's never enough. By the end of it, she's trying to get every last drop, and yet still trying to pretend like she has manners about it.
David
He wipes his chin with the side of his hand before fumbling around behind the counter for a kleenex. This gives him something to do besides watch Verna gobble down his vitae, which gives him both a weird twinge of paternal -- not pride, but feeling -- and a heightened sense of wariness.
"The thing about this event is there should be other Kindred there. For the most part they will likely not take notice of you, but I want you to be prepared to take a care." He sighs. "Of course, there might also be Sabbat there, as there might always be Sabbat anywhere, but that's a different kind of challenge."
Verna
Blood makes her feel better. It's about the only thing that actually works. David's blood is so good, and comes with a mix of emotions. There's the gratitude for having him to give it to her, and the joy while drinking it, that fulfillment of a desperate need. There's also fear, and the memory of what the first taste of him was like. That will never quite go away, no matter how many rugs she pulls over the stain in the basement. Out, damn spot, except for the fact that the spot is herself, and she is his shame poured into the body of a girl.
Is there any wonder why she can't control the morose way of her? She is her greatest love's greatest downfall. And there's nothing she can do about it.
He talks, and she can listen now, though the smell of copper lingers in the air. He wants her to be on her best behavior, but isn't she always? She nods at him, but then...
"Do you have any guidance on how I should behave? Are there customs I should be aware of? Do I need to act differently?"
Perhaps it might be best not to react to everything as though it were the worst thing ever in the history of things...
"Maybe I should just stay home, if I'd cause you trouble... I'm an awful thing for you to be dragging around, I know. 'Here comes David and his big mistake.'"
David
He is frowning by the time she has finished and his arms are folded high on his chest while he leans back, a pose that seems like it would be conducive to contemplation or waiting in long lines outside of crowded clubs on days when one doesn't know the bouncer. He doesn't know how she'd act 'normally' in front of another of the kindred.
"Just be respectful. The Fifth Tradition is the tradition of hospitality, of honoring an elder's domain. The Prince's Domain. You're known but not acknowledged so you're nothing in the eyes of the law but you're a known nothing, so just be respectful. Show yourself willing to honor those who are your elders, which will be everybody. Don't do anything they tell you to just because they tell you to; there are all sorts of bullies who like to mess with childer. I don't, uh- I don't really have too many enemies- so you probably won't get too much of that, but who knows. Be gracious and remember that, even though you are a childe and, well, this isn't exactly what either of us would have chosen, you are a Ventrue and in the end you were chosen, so just... know you have good blood and our clan basically built the Camarilla and these others, however competent, would be lost without us."
Verna
David doesn't even acknowledge the angst-ridden 'but what if they don't like you because of me' streak of conversation, and perhaps its just as well. Instead, he goes for something more solid than the what-ifs currently making their nests inside of Verna's brain. There are bullies who like to mess with childer. Honor you elders. Be respectful. Be gracious.
"I just... I worry that there's no amount of respect or graciousness I could deliver that would save us -- that would save you. I always worry about that. I won't... knowingly do anything to jeopardize our standing, though. I hope you know that."
She's done enough already, unknowingly. That none of these events was her fault necessarily is scarcely relief.
She nods at the floor, as if coming to an agreement with her feet on the issue. "Okay. I just have to do this. I need to make a good impression, yes? I can do this."
Then, she stands up straight and puts on a brave face. It's a rather flimsy mask, but it's there, doing its best to hide the sadness underneath.
David
They arrive at the Denver Museum of Science and Nature. The building is impressive in the way of Science Museums, any museums closed to the public but open for an event maintain a certain dignified hush. A frosted promise of something, of waiting, of being frozen until the next day; perhaps that's why many of the kindred find themselves drawn to museums of all sort. Museums are in the business of presenting unchanging things, whether those things be truths or paintings or combs from whatever year BC.
The 'do is in one of those grand halls museums tend to have off the lobby, something that might sometimes host a traveling exhibit with tall tall walls interesting architecture tiles depicting fossils and plant-life interspersed amongst the rest. There is music and there is a lecturer, a renowned astro-physicist named Karl Mueller, a poet-in-residence named Carol Jaeger, and one of those celebrity scientists who seems to be able to hold discourse on whatever the current 'in' science is and who is more famous for being an Atheist turned Catholic. The lecturers aren't lecturing when David and Verna arrive; they're mingling. Everybody's mingling,
and somewhere are other vampires. Now that Verna knows they exist, how to find them?
Those with invitations can wander through a select few exhibits. Can, on the upper floors, look through telescopes at the double star, Jupiter and Venus, bright as an ache.
Verna
Verna spent the ride over with her sunshade pulled down, trying to fix her lipstick in the mirror by road-light. It was either that, or spend the rest of the night self-conscious about her face. Almost too soon, they're at the museum, though, so she has to put away her war paint and prepare to face the world. Verna versus the entire rest of the world would seem to be an accurate representation of her life up to this point, she thinks, as they walk up to the place.
Within, she knows she'll be presented with people who will twist her jealous streak into knots, what with their having careers in the sciences and being important enough to be invited to such an event. She'll be presented with Kindred who might torment her for being the new girl (because apparently death doesn't separate a person from their desire to go back to High School levels of maturity). She would rather walk into a box full of venomous snakes than into this museum right now, but this is what her sire wants her to do, and he gets what he wants.
There was a time when getting an invitation to an event like this, being able to schmooze with top scientists would have been a dream come true to Verna. She'd shove the shyness down just for the chance to make connections or impress somebody enough that they'd remember her name when it came time to cite her work. Now? It's a slap in the face. Welcome to your new life, at the bottom of the social heap, with a pending death sentence. Oh, and if that weren't enough, let's sprinkle in some examples of how awesome your old life could have been. Why, David? Just... why?
She stays at his side, like she'd rather be attached to her sire's hip, and watches the crowd in complete silence. It's better than opening her mouth and drawing attention to herself. Mingling? No. She's tense and expectant, looking like there's nothing in the world that's better than a place to hide.
[Wits + Alertness = Verna noticing a thing!]
Roll: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 7, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 4 )
David
David doesn't try to foist Verna off. He smiles at a security guard he apparently knows and they pause to shoot the shit for a minute or two, and then they're moving in, moving through the crowd, see, and David's watching Verna as much as he's watching the people around them. And he is watching the people around them, trying to pinpoint any Kindred before they pinpoint him and his childe.
All told, he's a bit distracted by the prospect of work. Too distracted to pay close attention to his childe's state of mind, although eventually he notices that she is being quiet. Is she always quiet? Perhaps she is. He looks at her rather uncertainly and says, "What, uh... What do you think? We should find a ... something for you to focus on, to build or to lend your energies to, for the next fifty years or so. Until you don't want to anymore."
Verna notices Jon Marc before he notices her. Jon Marc in a blazer, looking sharp and soulful and like bad news wrapped in the prettiest package. Jon Marc, with his dark curling hair, the arrogant jawline. Jon Marc, standing by the sculpture of a mammoth's bones strung up, brown and gleaming, the long tusks curving just past his head. Fangs. Imagine those as fangs, baby.
Verna
[Perception +Awareness!]
Roll: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 7, 8) ( success x 2 )
David
Verna, as David looks around, gets a familiar sort of uncanny sense, something lifting the hairs on the nape of her neck.
Verna
She stays close and guarded with her sire, and he doesn't pay any attention. If he were, he'd see how wary she is as well, how she looks without really understanding what she's looking for. Anything. She wants to see whatever it is before it strikes. She was this cautious when they first met, too, and look where that ended up...
He talks about finding her something to do for the next fifty years or so, and she listens because all of the words that come out of his mouth are important. What she'd like to do is build a laboratory, but with what? And fifty years seem so far away for someone who expects an execution within one. It's hard to look beyond the next few days anymore. Why build her dreams up again, if they're only going to get demolished?
She doesn't have much time to brood, though. It's somewhere within that bout of feeling incredibly sorry for herself that the self-pity train gets derailed and twisted into a smoldering wreck, and she grips David's arm through his suit, turning away from the mammoth's bones with wide eyes that she quickly masks again. It wouldn't do to broadcast her shock at this, after all.
"That guy by the mammoth sculpture. It's Jon Marc. I told you about him? Remember? Something weird is going on."
David
Verna's grip on his sports coat gets his attention, first his glance goes to her fingers and then to her wide eyes. His own gaze is measured. He's a fuck up now, and young, but he wasn't embraced because he seemed like he'd be a good scape goat or he'd be a fuck up. An unusual embrace, perhaps, but he has something Clan Ventrue wants. Measured, his gaze. Measured, when he glances over toward the mammoth sculpture, skimming, skimming, that guy. What guy? There are a few guys. But Jon Marc stands out.
"The pedophile," David says, flat voiced and emotionless. "I remember." And he pushes himself to read the guy's aura, stares at him unapologetically because after all David is as much a shark as any vampire is. "Smug bastard, too," he comments, once the colours spring to life. The halo. He pauses. Then, "He's somebody's ghoul."
--
David @ 1:01PM
[AUSPEXIFY.]
Roll: 6 d10 TN7 (2, 3, 6, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 3 )
Verna
Wait, what? Pedophile? "I don't know if he's a pedophile exactly, but I wouldn't put it past him. I heard he uses children in his fighting ring, and he is a disgusting person."
Feeding your master false information counts as a sin. The first thing she does is correct that, trying to sound as calm and measured as she can. It's hard, after all, Jon Marc ran her out of her home. He's the reason she spent some time at a battered women's shelter. He didn't kill her, but that wasn't through lack of trying. If she were allowed to entertain the notion, she'd probably be more upset with what David did to her that first night, but David has her collared by the throat. She holds no such twisted love for Jon Marc. He is easy to hate.
"You say he is a ghoul?"
David
David's eyebrows flick up, dismissively. Using children in a fighting ring doesn't sound much better than a pedophile, not really.
Verna's sire leans in, like anyone wanting an intimate word with his date, and he takes her hand, rests it on his elbow if she'll let him. Of course she'll let him; won't she? She's been neatly bound. So in her ear:
"He is. Do you remember what being a ghoul constitutes? He's about to look this way." A question in the statement. Verna's back is to the dark haired young man (ghoul?).
Now here's Jon Marc sending a hooded glance around the party. If Verna wants to step out of sight, she has the opportunity to try to do so; she saw him long before he saw her, after all.
Verna
This is just ridiculous, isn't it? How much vampire business can one girl be tied up without her knowledge in this city? A whole lot, apparently. Being a ghoul constitutes drinking vampire blood while you're still alive. It means he's being fed. Could the one who feeds him be here? Verna doesn't take him to be a museum-goer. At all. He's probably here for Kindred-related business, and that? That is a new layer to the vomit-cake that her enemy embodies.
"I don't want to meet him some other time when I'm alone, especially if he has his... feeder with him," she says, not really remembering the right terminology, but it gets the point across. "Maybe it's time to impress upon him why I'm not to be messed with anymore -- if he has the intellect necessary to grasp a hint. Otherwise, he'll try to kill me for sure and then I'll... It could get messy."
It already is messy. Why does she always wander into these things? She doesn't try to hide anymore, just gives David a squeeze on the elbow and lifts her head up. If Jon Marc sees her, he sees her. Maybe he'll be stupid enough to try something.
David
He does see her. He sees her and David and Jon Marc looks, for half a second, quite surprised. His dark eyebrows shoot up and stay raised, hovering just beneath his hairline, and that puppy dog soulful quality he has on tap, makes people like Marie fall for him, fall into his web so to speak, intensifies. He glances at David, too. But it's a half-a-glance, and then he excuses himself from the woman and man he is speaking to and heads over to Verna and David. He doesn't head over with purpose like he's planning on being intimidating, but of course he is. A distracted furrow of his brow, briefly, as he heads over; another glance around. And then!
Smiling. Smiling Jon Marc. Adorable smiling Jon Marc. Mean, mean Jon Marc. "Long time no see." What has he got to be so smug about, anyway?
David seems to be letting Verna field this one. He's just looking at Jon Marc. Pugnacious face, right? They'd both be more at home at some bar, David's fist (those tattoo rings he sometimes wears) ready to crash into Jon Marc's jaw. Not that David likes to fight. Usually.
Verna
Jon Marc has done this before. Verna's no stranger to his antics. It's the mark of someone with no strategic sense to keep using the same tactic over and over again on the same person. How well did that work out for you before, Jon Marc? She sighs at him, as if she's utterly disappointed.
If he was expecting her to cower in fear, he hasn't been paying close attention to Verna Gardner. She's guarded and cautious and stutters her words out to people she doesn't know and cares enough about to impress. She knows Jon Marc -- knows he's dirt.
"Yes, yes. The 'we're such great friends, and she's actually crazy' trick again? Well. I don't know why I expected you would be capable of coming up with something new, but there you are."
And there, a smile at him, with her eyes so full of daggers she could arm a college of assassins.
Verna
[Manip + Intimidation = how intimidating are you, Verna?]
Roll: 3 d10 TN6 (4, 7, 8) ( success x 2
David
He flicks a glance toward David, an eyebrow raised. Because, c'mon bro, are you hearing this? What has this girl said to you how are you all turned around stupid women. He doesn't get whatever it is he was looking for there but he's not too phased. Boyfriends are like that and Verna's one of those -- just assume Jon Marc's internal monologue and subtext is about as fond as Verna's is for him. Perhaps less. Except: he is in a remarkably good mood. Vicious mood. Mean mood, seeing her.
Her glare's got bite but Jon Marc is a ghoul with a problem he's been dealing with for years. He's solid on his feet. He says, "Just being polite. You've heard of that, eh? Long time since you called any of your friends, huh?" He can't resist it. He smiles and it's probably just about the meanest expression she's ever going to see. "But hey, you want to circulate, I'll leave you to it. Just thought I'd say hello."
--
Jon Marc @ 4:11PM
[WP. Eff you Verna.]
Roll: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 7, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 4 )
Verna
Oh, he lies. He lies and he's trying to get a rise out of her. But her blood runs especially cold at the mention of her friends. What?
What is the penalty for killing somebody else's ghoul, she wonders? They're like property, aren't they? A fine maybe? She'll have to pay a nickel in recompense for this piece of trash?
"What did you do to my friends, hmm?" she asks, but she doesn't sound too concerned about their welfare. "Did you harass them into leading me into a trap? How well did that work out for you, Hmm? Yes, there is a reason why I haven't been keeping in touch with them." she says, trying to keep her voice level and civil and in normal speaking tones. "I have been busy learning all about my new eternal life, while you have been busy learning new and inventive ways to be incompetent. Your master must be so proud to have someone who draws so much attention from so many powerful people in their service."
The knives in her eyes twist, and maybe Jon Marc's not phased by the little girl herself. It has to come as a shock to him, though, what she has to say. Verna Gardner isn't just a little girl anymore, man. She's a little girl with fangs. And new friends.
"I guess my point is? You see me coming, you step aside. You see my friends coming, you walk the other way. It might save your life, and your master a great deal of trouble."
Or, you might not. Verna knows Jon Marc, knows how much of an idiot he is. This is a long shot at keeping him away from her, but it is worth a try.
David
David takes Verna's arm, his fingers hard as steel, unrelenting, when she moves her threat from the ghoul to the ghoul's master; but he doesn't interrupt. Not yet. He watches Jon Marc's expression.
Jon Marc - Verna can see the suddenly wary uncertainty; it changes the look of him completely, undoes it swagger. His eyes narrow and he licks his lips, his eyes flickering from Verna to David back to Verna, really looking at her, really taking her in. Her humanity is too high for there to be any tells, really. But -
"What the fuck are you on about?" he says, low.
"I think you know," David says.
Jon Marc glares at Verna. Perhaps now that she understands dominate, has used it herself, she can go over their interactions and guess at what he did to her that time in the restaurant. Another friend ('friend') she hasn't heard from in quite a while, that perfectly demure lady.
Verna
"What I'm on about? I have been gathering old friends who will understand what happened to me if I were to disappear. Even if you succeed in taking care of me, it will only make things worse for you. I'm offering you a chance to back down as a courtesy. I'm just not in the business of breaking other people's toys, unless they are as tired of them as I am."
The signal of David's fingers on her arm wasn't missed. She directs the threats where they should go, or tries to. The only reason she hasn't dragged him out of this place yet is because she knows Jon Marc has someone important who might miss him. Her arm is tensed up like a bowstring holding everything back and staying level.
And she is shaking underneath the fabric. Maybe it's anger, maybe it's fear, maybe it's both. She doesn't really know how to deal with this, except that something inside wants her to deal with it brutally. She doesn't want his blood, she wants to return to him all the pain and fear he ever gave to the people around him -- everything she went through, everything those children went through, reflected in his face. It's a thought that coils around in her stomach, tainting her words with hate even as she tries to make them pretty and light so that nobody pays too close attention.
"I sincerely hope someone out there is tired of the messes you make, though. Sincerely."
Verna @ 5:03PM
[Manip + Subt = Shaking? No shaking. I am perfectly confident and totally cool.]
Roll: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 5, 7) ( success x 1 )
Verna @ 5:04PM
[Manip + Intimidation = Little kitten goes 'rawr!']
Roll: 3 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 6) ( success x 1 )
David
Jon Marc stares at Verna. He tries, of course, to conceal the blatancy of his stare, the fury that is sparked behind it, the roiling of emotions and the temper - yes, the tempest! of tempestuousness. His eyes grow more soulful; he is a very charming man, even if he is a dick, a terror, a piece of trash - whatever other epithet one could throw at him. He thinks he's so cock of the walk. But now: well, Verna's showed him that he isn't. Not with her, not now. And he's thinking, rapidly.
"Goody two shoes like you won't last," Jon Marc says. "As for your friends, you won't kno - "
David cuts him off. "Who is your domitor?"
Jon Marc doesn't take his eyes off Verna, but he begins to look more hunted. Or he'd already begun to look hunted, as soon as he read the potential for brutality in the little mouse's body, in the lines of her shoulders, in the barely sheathed hate in her eyes - is it hate? Does Verna hate Jon Marc?
Jon Marc clears his throat. "Alley Blue."
His hair ruffles; there's no reason for it to, no breeze no draft in this great hall, but Jon Marc's hair moves as if there is. It's a brief thing, and he has to conceal a shudder.
David attempts to steer Verna away, saying nothing more in front of the ghoul.
Verna
Jon Marc calls her a goody two shoes. He doesn't know her very well -- doesn't know what scenarios are playing out in her head right now. And the only real reason they aren't being played out in reality has nothing to do with her sense of goodness, and everything to do with her wanting David, at least, to survive the next few months. Everyone would see her dragging him out of a public place like this, they'd know. And then, his feeder would know too. If he just hadn't been someone's ghoul...
Domitor. That's the word she's been looking for. Jon Marc has a domitor. Named Alley Blue. That doesn't mean anything to Verna, she doesn't know the crowd she's just been forced to join, but David does and he steers her away. She doesn't fight it, or try to get another word in, because she knows if she stands there and talks with Jon Marc any more, she might just lose it. Or he would. The feelings between them are so mutual. Like water to potassium -- an explosive mix.
But as soon as she's away from him, she is just plain water again, no longer threatening to split at the seams and combust. It lets her think about what just happened, about her sire, about her position in the world.
"I should have just stayed home. I knew I would cause you trouble. I don't want to cause you any more trouble. I messed that all up, didn't I? I just... He's hurt me so much..."
And her friends? What did he do to her friends? They were all in the same pack together with Marie. Maybe he went after the rest when he couldn't find Verna to torment anymore. Maybe she can get David to look into them, see if they're okay? That's if he's not going to lock her in the basement when they get back home, for getting him involved with another enemy.
David
"He's a scumbag," David says, lip curling. David hangs out with many scumbags in the course of his networking; he's a little spider, little spider, little spider, so he knows. They haven't yet begun to errode his morality away so it's left behind as a smooth nub. If they had, perhaps Verna wouldn't be here at his side, dead and anything but loving it. He'll guide Verna toward the outskirts of the affair, perhaps wander toward a display so they can gaze at it with interest as they converse. His voice is pitched real low and he leans in to speak almost into her ear. Anybody looking at them would think them intimates one way or another.
"You did just fine. You were entitled to snap at the little shit. Blue's a fu- uh, an interesting, uh, dom to have. He doesn't ever let himself be seen. Uses intermediaries, like your friend there."
Verna
They walk away from the confrontation, walk to an artistic display of bird wing evolution. Not the actual bones, but the plaster casts of the feathery imprints in mud laid down millions of years ago. The long-dead birds remind her of another in her bathtub, of feathers and blood. It reminds her of the curious bald-headed man with white eyebrows who discovered it. Another "intermediary" almost certainly.
"Scumbag barely begins to describe it. But he -- and Blue too, probably -- are just more people who want us dead. Because of me," she says, looks to her feet, keeps her voice down. Maybe David won't hear the rest. "I'm a terribly complicated childe."
She's sorry for that. Apologetic for things that have been done to her instead of by her. It's the story of her short existence as David's thrall.
"I think I know another of his intermediaries. A tall guy, bald, big bushy white eyebrows. That one's not as much of a raging, testosterone-fueled piece of trashy, but still. He's worth looking out for. He tried to stop what happened the last time we met. I think Jon Marc was... He Dominated me into this alley and tried to... hurt me. I'm fairly certain of that, now. I got away, obviously, or else I wouldn't be here."
David
He looks vaguely worried, of course. David doesn't bother to try and conceal that he is vaguely, almost without direction, worried. But he shakes his head, and steers Verna further away from an older couple who are approaching (silver hair and thick black rimmed glasses, the color violet and gray), and continues the conversation in a voice still low. "Death is a big deal."
It isn't to elders or older ancilla or even some younger ancilla and of course some neonates are cutthroat, but David values humanity and clinging to ideals, and he will do his best to impart that on his childe. He didn't want her but he's got her and humanity is important, damn it. Besides, death is a big deal.
"And it's only given to the elders to dole it out. There are other ways to get revenge; Blue won't, uh, likely care too much about the old, uh, conflict between you and the scumbag, but - uh? Blue is," a pause. "We haven't spoken too much about the clans yet, have we?"
Verna
She's not going to argue or try to explain. He says that death is a big deal, given to the elders to dole out. But then, aren't they deciding on whether to dole it out at the moment? If there were ever a time when someone with a grudge could get Verna or her sire taken out by proxy, this would be it. They can't afford enemies. David looks vaguely worried, but Verna's been vaguely terrified ever since the reality finally seeped its way into understanding. She doesn't know who Alley Blue is or how much clout they have, but the more friends the better. The more enemies the worse.
"I've learned the names. You've told me a little.... mostly about our own, though. I take it someone named Alley Blue isn't one of us," she says, small-voiced, squeezing herself closer to him, and thankful for the excuse to seem like his date.
"The more I think about it, the more I think this conflict was always between myself and Blue," she says, sighs into his shoulder. "I've had both Jon Marc and that Mister Clean lookalike on my case, it's just that Jon Marc has always been more showy -- more gleefully evil about it. The bald one is who gets sent to watch, Jon Marc is who gets sent to torture people and ruin their lives. Probably because he isn't capable of much else. He's only barely capable of doing that without getting the police involved. He likes it too much. You saw him."
She can't even talk about Jon Marc without getting a little worked up. He's worse than dirt, because dirt you can ignore and step on. That man is vile.
David
"Another, hmm," David says, his voice low. He does feel protective over Verna. He doesn't know if he likes her. He probably doesn't like her. But he feels protective over her. She's his mistake, his childe, a human being still. He knows that he cursed her when he dragged her over, but he couldn't bear to end somebody who didn't deserve it. He still can't bear to. Perhaps he's even growing fond of her, in a way. "Blue's certainly not our kind of people. I'll tell you about them when we're on our way home. There are too many here." Paranoia is a good thing to pass on to one's childer, yes?
And then he curses, low. Quick. Unbidden, swallows the consonants. He's looking at another man, who's looking at them. This other man is tall. Tall, big, a carefully composed monolith of civility, hands clasped behind his back, facial expression smooth as a ceremonial mask, something copper, something copper and inscrutable, although there's a softness to a lock of brassy brown hair which falls across his noble (yes) brow. The kind of brown some might mistake for blonde. His features are - what? Germanic, perhaps, with a hawk's nose and a full but wide mouth. His suit is impeccable.
The other man will incline his head the barest tch when Verna looks over. Then, depending on her reaction, he'll come over.
Verna
Trust that Verna is painfully aware that she isn't liked. And in every interaction between herself and her sire there is this desire for him to. It's a want she knows will never happen. He has every reason to hate her. Why he doesn't is a question she can't answer. In terms of poor people to Embrace, she's up there -- according to Verna's own reckoning.
He says there's too many people around to talk freely, and so she's silent and unmoving until he curses. At first she looks to him, pulling her chin off of his shoulder, wondering what's wrong. And then, she follows his eyes. It's not hard to find who he's looking at. That man is something else. She steps a away from her sire one half-step, to give him some room, to stop looking like a growth attached to his side. There's another glance at David -- she's looking for a clue as to what to do. When in doubt, do as your sire does.
David
His unblinking gaze is on Verna first. Curiosity, perhaps, and perhaps even idle for all he is a stolid creature. He looks at her face. Then he turns to David, and it could be old-fashioned pride. The gesture of some soldier, some officer, at some social function years and years and years ago: aloofness kept close. "But it is a hello, David. How does this night find you?"
Before the man quites arrives, David darts a quick look at Verna. One wonders if, when he was alive, he had a complexion given to blushes or flushes, some telltale sign of his perturbation that is no longer relevant. "Kind," he says. He means: Kindred, of a Kind.
"Morris, well, well. Nobody's taken a stick to me yet." David grins.
"Very good," Morris says. Almost blandly, but with enough touch of charisma to leaven somewhat his sternness. "Though I think the teeth are still to worry about, no? But you must forgive me, I am not familiar with your lovely companion."
David's hand finds the small of Verna's back. "Won't see her around the castle, she's that, uh, fresh." He sounds awkward, saying so. "This is Verna."
"Ah," Morris says, and he holds out a hand to Verna.
Verna
At least the curse didn't signal anything too ugly. It didn't mean 'I spotted a Sabbat monster who's going to try to kill us all'. David isn't calm, but he's trying hard for congenial. So that means be nice, put on a placid face, hold your head high.
David jokes about getting stabbed in the chest, and it shakes Verna's resolve to keep up appearances for this man. It makes her take a breath just to assure herself that she still can -- that her ribs are not a broken mess and her lungs still function. Her sire would joke about that. In front of her. Someday, David is going to say the wrong thing in front of somebody far more important than Verna, she knows this. He has such little reserves of tact, and he doesn't understand when he's doing it. She keeps her eyes stuck to Morris though, forces a smile.
David guides her forward with his hand on her back, and she steps a tiny bit closer to Morris, slides her hand into his (which, thank goodness she doesn't sweat anymore). First impressions are so important, they are, and Verna tries to make this go as smoothly as possible, even if introductions have never been her strong suit.
"G... good evening. It's nice to meet you," she says. And, damn. She stuttered. Crap.
David
"You are very nice," Morris says. There is a mildness to his expressions; something almost equine in its grace, something a bit distant for all his presence in this conversation is complete. He is here. David and Morris and Verna are here. They are all here. The clasp of his hand is cool and his fingertips are callused and his palm too as a cowboy's might be, or a gunman's, and he gives Verna's hand just so light a squeeze as to convey admiration and potential comfort before releasing her. "It is an adjustment, no? Much is the weeping, but we learn to find the good."
Her sire does not interject. Morris isn't talking to him.
Verna
Well, this isn't going nearly as bad as she thought. He called her nice. See David? The corners of her mouth twitch up a little more.
"Yes. Adjusting is... difficult. But I am giving it my all, and David helps so much," she says, glances back to her sire before settling her eyes back on Morris.
There is weariness in her voice though. "Adjustment" has been a slow burn of fear and indignity. Verna is hungry. She has just recovered from holding back some interminable rage at Jon Marc. Here is a girl who is worn at the edges. And yet, it's better than some of the newly Embraced, who wind up shredded.
She has yet to find the good. All the good is forbidden to her to hope for. Eternal life doesn't mean much when you're on death row.
David
"What is it you are interested in?" Morris asks. He does not seem as if he would be surprised by anything that she said. He is wearing a thick ring on his left ring finger; it gleams before he clasps his hands loosely at his back.
Verna
What is she interested in? The first thought is that she showed some interest in something subconsciously, and he wants to know why she wants to... Steal his watch or whatever. But okay, English isn't his first language. Right. Recover.
"Well. I was studying physics before," she says. Before joining the ranks of the undead, she was a physics student. "Science was... Is where my interests lie," she says, and it's a statement tinged with sadness. The tears of adjusting to a new life, Morris. Just as you said.
David
He can't be said to brighten, exactly. He is no scientist. He is no optimist. He is not a bright creature. But his interest narrows. There is one bat of his lash, and he tilts his head. "You say was. You do not think this is a thing you can still be interested in, as you were? May I ask what it is you were?"
Verna
[Wits + Empathy -- Shy = Diff 8!]
Roll: 5 d10 TN8 (1, 2, 5, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )
David
Verna, in spite of what it is to be social, what it is to strive for perfection in a setting that is far from her comfortable stomping grounds, is sharp enough to pick up on this: Morris asks may he ask and although he speaks to her that question is addressed as much to David, who must have given some form of assent for he still doesn't interrupt or try to steer the conversation. From an outside view, David's a polite part of this conversation.
Verna
There are subtleties here that Verna picks up on. That her sire was asked a question indirectly, and he has responded also indirectly. Apparently this is an okay topic, and so she goes ahead and gives Morris a real answer.
"I was a doctoral candidate, a math and science teacher. I worked in the laboratory. I suppose you could call me a physicist-in-training? And... I would like to go back to that, someday." But I have nothing, not even my own car. "It's just, there's still so much I have to learn. How to get from here to there, for example."
Right now, how to get from one night to the next without getting into any more trouble and without going crazy is pretty much the top thing on the list, drowning out anything else in its importance.
David
"This is very different for you, then! For so much of it is unexplainable, even occult, no? Has it made you interested in the God? I do not know what David's view on God is."
David shrugs. It's a subject that he, himself, is uncomfortable talking about. Religion strikes at people, even the undead, so - sometimes. He scruffs his fingers through his hair and skims the crowd:
hunting down that Jon Marc bitch.
Verna
Verna recalls those first nights, the nights she refused to believe anything. It was easier to imagine herself insane than to accept that something unbelievable happened. Still it bothers her. Hers is a worldview patched together with tape and bubblegum. He asks if she is interested in 'the God' now, and... hmm. No, she is not quite so broken yet as to throw away everything she believes in.
"I think scientists don't usually have a lot of love for religion because to say 'God did it' is, at times, a way to put an end to the inquiry. You say that, and then you don't need to explain any further. But a scientist is immensely curious, they want to know the how and why of everything, and don't like it when the search for answers is cut off like that.
"There was a time when I could have explained nearly everything -- the green of leaves, the composition of the moon, the way stars function? But I can't explain myself now. It's a strange place to be. Different, yes. I don't think I will ever quite lose that desire to learn the hows and whys though."
It's a roundabout way, a glancing blow at saying she doesn't want to believe in God. And, since he seems to be a believer, she tries not to offend. She does not say that God is dead or Christians are dumb, or anything else likely to grant herself an enemy. At least, this is what she hopes...
David
"There are the legends of our kind, yes, but they are often no more than that: legends. Of course, some of us are old, yes? And we have seen things closer, perhaps, to what is 'the beginning.' But perhaps not. As a man who was once religious, I find it interesting. If there is a God and he did this, as well as what is 'science' that you say could explain the green of leaves, the question is why? I think even in the old days it was what a good man of faith would do: seek to understand his god's world and why it worked so, for if it was not made for man to understand then why give anything a reason? But here, I ramble at you and do not wish to give you any more crisis of faith. Perhaps you will find an explanation. Perhaps you will find a cure? There are some who look for and look for a cure."
Verna
A cure. For what, being dead? Somehow, Verna's rather unconvinced that it would help at all for her to suddenly be alive again. It would seem, considering the rules of the society she's joined, that would just end up with her being dead again in short order. Maybe some of the others would like a cure. Maybe some of them would consider it the ultimate threat to their immortality and kill her to silence the very idea. Maybe one of them would make her a ghoul so she could churn out cures and make a lot of money. There's a lot of bad places that could go for someone like herself.
"Maybe somebody out there did find a cure, and they were destroyed for it," Verna says, and almost as soon as the words are out of her mouth, she catches herself. "Oh, that was a terrible thing to say. This is supposed to be a happy event for me -- get out of the house, do something nice. I should try harder."
It's difficult to be happy. One must try at it. Try very hard. She pastes a smile on her face again, for everyone else's sake but her own.
"If you really do mean to ask the why of green leaves, and not the why of everything, I can answer that. Sunlight is dangerous even to the plants that depend on it for survival. Sunlight emits with the highest intensity in the green spectrum, and so, in order to protect themselves from absorbing too much energy, plants utilize a green pigment which reflects the intense green light back and doesn't let it in. You could theorize perhaps, a planet with an intensely blue sun might have very blue plants. Or, a planet with a feeble sun might have black plants that try to utilize all the light they can."
Well, okay. That might be a little better, right? Talking about a cold planet with a dwarf sun covered in black plants -- not the most morbid thing ever right? She just cannot seem to make it out of this rut...
David
Morris listens without comment until Verna is done. He is not a big one for comments. Beside him, David's expressions (surly, cautious, reserved, ready to be amused or not) are seen as through glass. The punk Ventrue in a good (enough) suit versus whatever it is Morris is. When Verna is done, Morris inclines his head the barest fraction of an inch. Acknowledgment.
Then he says, "What is it a physicist does with her nights? Do you read the textbooks and the studies?"
Verna
A physicist paints her concrete tomb pretty colors. She tries to hunt. She learns, but not through textbooks, and not about science.
"I haven't had a lot of time," she says. "But, I would like to." There's a double meaning there. David would note that she hasn't been too interested in his offerings of magazines or microscopes (as if real science could be done using a store-bought chemistry set for children). She could at least pick up one of the pop-science magazines and pretend to read it, but it just makes her angry more often than not. It's the unfairness of it all. Somewhere out there, somebody else is getting to do amazing things, but not her. She has to go around acting like a social butterfly (little hussy) all the time, and when not hunting, she's learning other things about being Kindred. She also has a tendency to stare at the wall until the sun rises, ruminating on her problems until they threaten to claw their way out of her eyes. So, really, her nights are full.
And she may not have too much time left.
"I don't have school anymore, or access to any laboratories for real research. It's... a project. For the future."
Oh, look at her, pretending like the future is something she can plan for. But hey, it's good to stay positive in front of the stranger...
David
"Yes. Projects are very good. Perhaps, if your Mr. David here will allow, you would help me with a project?"
David's gaze stops roaming around the collection of Interesting People or People Interested In Interesting Things. He raises both eyebrows. "What project?"
"A project on belief. There is no harming in it."
Verna
She glances at David, whose eyebrows are raised. Morris says there is no harming in this project, but there are more kinds of harm than physical, aren't there? Was Morris around for the Stanford Prison Experiments? Did that point get made to him? Probably yes, and probably no.
"On... belief? What are you trying to determine about belief?"
She is curious, of course. But also, there is a bit of defensiveness. She doesn't want to shut him down immediately, which might come across as rude,( especially since it doesn't really seem to be her decision to make). But she also doesn't seem too comfortable with the idea.
David
"Whether it is good or it is bad," Morris says. "Is it true or is it lie? What is it belief will do to the mind of one? How strong can belief make one and how weak? There are those, your David will perhaps tell you, who believe so strongly in their faith or their god that it does not matter whether it is true or no, they take that belief and they cut with it. I am curious, so. You, on the cusp of one reality and now this one which must seem very different, the Masquerade being strong yes, have a unique perspective. A lady scientist, no less! Surely, it is good."
Verna
Morris is a curious one. He's curious about her and her beliefs. Perhaps he only means to interview her and ask about this transitional state, but even still -- dangerous, that. There are secrets she and David must keep.
She could tell him of nights spent locked in the basement thinking she'd been drugged by some madman, completely unconvinced. She could explain the thought processes behind her drinking on her own accord for the first time. But it's embarrassing, so personal. Her experiences lead to questions. So, she didn't know David beforehand? How did it happen? Why wasn't her sire more prepared? Questions in general are bad things. Her answers are indecent. They don't make anyone look good.
"I don't know if I can provide what you're looking for. These days... nights have been difficult for me, as I'm sure you can understand. It is not an easy thing to talk about my beliefs and how they have been shattered. It's... painful," she says, and takes a steadying breath (and how very human of her). Hopefully, Morris won't push the issue any further.
David
Morris clicks his tongue. "I tell you the purpose of my experiment, and you guess at the, ah, how do you say it? The methodology? The, er, what it is I will ask. I will ask you again perhaps when the thought does not so distress you." Morris inclines his head slightly. He seems unmoved, but he has not once seemed moved to anything but a near thaw in the entirety of this conversation. Pleasant, but cool, and in control. A cat. Vampires are cats; everybody says so. "I take my leave and alone you to enjoy your night out, yes? It was very good." He will take Verna's hand once more, then David's. The grip between Morris and David is firm, bracing; then Morris leaves, and David steers Verna toward the other side of the room, something else to look at.Verna
"I would enjoy that," Verna says, to show some interest in speaking with Morris in the future. "I do look forward to a time when it doesn't distress me." There, a smile.
She does. That's no lie. What she's really waiting for though, is all the answers. Will she be dead-dead by the time Morris asks again? Will they have fled Denver? What should she say regarding her and David's little situation? Nothing. Nothing!
He takes her hand again, and she gives it a good shot at confidence, looks into his eyes, like she's checking off items on the "good handshake" list.
David leads her away, to go "look" at something else. She gets close, not leaning into him again, just to whisper: "Everything okay? Who was that?"
David
"Morris Quincy," David says. "Er, he's, well we've had, er. He's - well he and Blue are part of the same," he glances around.
All right. They're in a corner. He can do this. He can speak covertly. He can do this; he's usually very good at such things, for David's a maker-of-contacts, a wheeler-of-seedy-deals. Nothing is seedier than a vampire's dealings, always done in the dark as they are. Nothing quite so shadowy.
" - clan. They're both kooks, like Narcisa. Very different, all three. He's an ancilla. Do you remember what that is?"
Everything's a lesson, Verna. An opportunity to perform.
Verna
"It is a rank, between elder and neonate. The name means servant in Latin. They are ones who have proven themselves over time, and as such are considered valued members of the community," Verna says, low-voiced, thinking -- but not saying -- that she doubts any of them really wish to be called 'kook'. David has a knack for the slang, doesn't he?
Verna has a knack for study, and it shows. She's never once failed to have an answer for David. Studying these things is important to her. Perfection in all things might not save either of them from certain doom, but making mistakes will almost certainly seal their fates. If she can just do everything right... they might stand a chance.
David
"Very good," David says. He sounds distracted, or rushed, but also as if he'd really like to be encouraging. "Although," faint whisper of a smirk: "I don't know whether most would react well to the Latin translation of their status, eh? And there are different, er, levels of -- some will be held in more esteem than others. Some owe more boons than others. Some are more useful, than others. Same as with neonates."
Not the same as with childer. The childe has no rank. The childe can be destroyed at any moment. But Verna knows this better than most childer know this. "Is this accurate?" He gestures toward a plaque which is, in fact, not accurate, although historical anatomy isn't Verna's field, so perhaps she won't be able to tell without some thought.
And, unless Verna has more specific questions, this is how David intends they pass their night:
being seen, certainly, cautiously going about their nightly business. Before he whisks Verna off, an hour or so later, David has left her to her own devices for fifteen, twenty minutes; Jon Marc is nowhere to be seen. Morris is engaged in an animated discussion, which Verna is welcome to join, and of course the animation is mostly a matter of subtle intuition and implication from him, but his companions are quite happy to debate the latest scientific 'discovery' about how the human mind works in terms of healing the body, etc. etc.
When David does return after those fifteen, twenty minutes, he seems resolved and he smiles at Verna as if she's doing a good job. He might even be honest. Sometimes vampires are.
VernaNot the same as with childer. The childe has no rank. The childe can be destroyed at any moment. But Verna knows this better than most childer know this. "Is this accurate?" He gestures toward a plaque which is, in fact, not accurate, although historical anatomy isn't Verna's field, so perhaps she won't be able to tell without some thought.
And, unless Verna has more specific questions, this is how David intends they pass their night:
being seen, certainly, cautiously going about their nightly business. Before he whisks Verna off, an hour or so later, David has left her to her own devices for fifteen, twenty minutes; Jon Marc is nowhere to be seen. Morris is engaged in an animated discussion, which Verna is welcome to join, and of course the animation is mostly a matter of subtle intuition and implication from him, but his companions are quite happy to debate the latest scientific 'discovery' about how the human mind works in terms of healing the body, etc. etc.
When David does return after those fifteen, twenty minutes, he seems resolved and he smiles at Verna as if she's doing a good job. He might even be honest. Sometimes vampires are.
During that time on her own, Verna is restless, tense. She has been all night, but with Jon Marc out there, and David having left, her enemies might think that now is the time to strike. Without her menacing sire next to her, it feels like she is missing something. So, she opts to veer into Morris' orbit, staying on the sidelines because "neuroscience isn't my area of study really" and because she's still terrified of saying the wrong thing.
But Jon Marc never comes. She doesn't see him again. The thought of having scared him off for a change? That's nice. Everything else about their little moment of not-so-polite conversation? Not so nice. Her friends. What did he do to her friends?
David seems happy when he returns, but she'll wait until they're back in private -- on the road perhaps -- before asking any detailed questions.
But questions there are.
[You said these might be resolved in downtime? But yeah -- Verna is going to ask him to check up on her friends if he would, since she's not allowed to have any contact. She'll give contact details for the women she knew from the call center, Maddy, and also Marie (with the caveat that she hasn't heard from Marie in forever, and it's possible she might have been killed a long time ago, while trying to escape that horrible man).
She'll also want to know how well she behaved, because she always wants to know that, and he was worried about it before.
Then there is the problem of Morris. She'll explain her reasoning for shutting him down, and ask how she should go about handling other vampires who might get inquisitive in the future. Do they have a cover story? Is it going to get out among the community now that David has a new childe? Or is that already something quite well-known? Like, she knows it's probably okay to tell someone she's David's childe, (but maybe not, since he never came right out and told Morris that). However, if they ask how she met her sire, it's a fair bet that 'he staked me in the heart out behind the physics building on campus' is way not okay...
She'll ask how the meeting went (because that seems like a meeting he had, those fifteen minutes) even if she's not expecting much more than a "That's not for you to know yet" or something.
There should also be at least some more conversation about the events surrounding Jon Marc. A more detailed account of everything that happened will occur, now that the situation has come to the fore and she suspects a little more about what actually happened. Does she remember that weird dude saying stuff to her in the alleyway? If so, he'll be mentioned -- because that could have been Alley Blue, ohnoes! She'll bring up the possibility that the whole child-dogfighting thing might be Alley Blue's thing, not Jon Marc's (Because, honestly, would he let his ghoul do a thing like that without supervision? Unlikely. Well, obviously not, because it's disgusting, but besides that...)]
David
Maddy is a ghost.
Maddy might as well be a ghost. He can't find anyone with her name, matching that description. There's no word on her at all.
But Marie, now. A week after, he comes to her with the information and he seems disturbed (but flint in his eyes) when he tells her. A woman identified as Marie (lastname) was found in a shallow grave, along with Rocket (lastname). Other child is missing. He'll give her the details if she really wants the details. He won't recommend the details, but the cause of death was strangulation/asphyxiation.
Her other friends seem to be doing just fine.
--
How did his 'meeting' go? A slender smile. "There is never an end to work in this city, Verna. Fuck, if only the Sabbat would just pack up and go -- just go. Vanish. But they don't seem anxious to do so."
--
Maddy might as well be a ghost. He can't find anyone with her name, matching that description. There's no word on her at all.
But Marie, now. A week after, he comes to her with the information and he seems disturbed (but flint in his eyes) when he tells her. A woman identified as Marie (lastname) was found in a shallow grave, along with Rocket (lastname). Other child is missing. He'll give her the details if she really wants the details. He won't recommend the details, but the cause of death was strangulation/asphyxiation.
Her other friends seem to be doing just fine.
--
How did his 'meeting' go? A slender smile. "There is never an end to work in this city, Verna. Fuck, if only the Sabbat would just pack up and go -- just go. Vanish. But they don't seem anxious to do so."
--
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