Practice Quiz

Lux

Tonight isn't a crowded night in the Santa Fe Art District. People are still talking about the car bomb (terrorists [domestic?]). The demarcations between the artistic types who're drawn to the Santa Fe and those who attend gala events in illuminated white tents are often illlusory, aren't they? Then again, if there is a world with more shifting lines than the world covered by the entertainment & culture pages and who knows how many bloggers then it's a lie because there is no world with more shifting lines than. The point: tonight Santa Fe isn't crowded. Wouldn't've been even without the car bombing, but people're still talking about it. Tuesday night's quiet and it's starting to get late for a week night. There is some kind of event going on at Tattoos for the Blues that has spilled out onto the street, a host of tattooed and pierced men and women in leather and spikes or retro glam talking in a cloud of smoke - some of it pungent and sweet. Music too, tinny when it hits the street because the street absorbs sound.

Next to Tattoos for the Blues [a favourite of the drunken college crowd because if you're going to make a mistake], there's a small art gallery with a one-word name in a foreign language (probably one of the Romance languages), its façade covered up by panels because it's either undergoing renovation or the owner doesn't want anybody to be able to see what it looks like in preparation for the show that's going to open in a couple of weeks (or maybe it's a mix of both). There are lights on inside but the door is tinted glass so opaque that all there is is the suggestion of light and unlocked. Between Tattoos and Gallery there's a slender walkway, and it's about time we move past setting and introduce the players, isn't it?

Let's make a new tradition.The side-door to Tattoos is opening, and who's slipping out of Tattoos if not a Toreador called Lux. She does not have any tattoos, but she does sport a honest to god sailor's cap culled from somebody tilted rakishly and an air of general (insouciant [glamourous]) dishevellment, mouth painted some dark bloody colour. Inside it sounds like somebody's having a bad day, shouting something with too much gusto, that kind of slow crescendo when a good time's about to turn bad. Lux likes good times.

Whither, Lux?

Laurel Hensley

The car bomb is what's on everyone's mind, and for good reason. It could be terrorism, it could be a random madman; it could be anything. Except that Laurel Hensley knows that it's not just anything. She knows the man behind it and that's what's had her wrapped up in it. Her mind is cluttered with all sorts of things, and it's been costing her focus as of late. That attractive young woman who was so naive and needed so much help has been inexplicably haunting her dreams. The bombing and its culprit are swirling around her mind as she warns people who she doesn't want to see hurt--the reporter, that same woman, others--and even left a tip or two. Anonymously, of course. And amidst all of that is the fact that she's still got that fucker who mind-violated her (that's how she sees it), who she needs to find.

The point is, she's been off her game lately, and it shows in the bruises she wears. There's a black eye and she's walking somewhat gingerly as she makes her way down the street with a cigarette between her lips. She's dressed in clothing that can hide her discomfort, a leather jacket over an easy-to-remove T-Shirt and thicker pants tucked inside steel-toed calf-length boots. She's irritable and that never makes for good times, whether Lux likes them or not.

And then she sees the Toreador, recognizes her. There's a moment where she hesitates, to decide whether she's good company or not, before giving a little nod in the woman's direction. "Don't you know it's time to stay indoors? Dangerous people out lately."

It's said as a joke, even if it might fall flat.

Lux

Have Laurel's ears been ringing? The blonde's name was on a mutual acquaintance's lips not too many nights ago and Lux is more interested in the bounty hunter now than she ever was before. Before: a good contact to have, perhaps - beautiful hair, so nice to look at, a conversation to pass the night, because Lux is a social [shark (Monster)] thing and if she's ever a snob about it that's just because wants to make somebody uncomfortable. Not a natural state. Now: well, now.

Now there's a moment when Laurel hesitates before giving a little nod. And why not? There's something about the young woman (immortal creature) that's a fall toward. Magnetic. A subtle force, huh? An undercurrent or an undertow. And why the fuck not? They have a friend in common, don't they?

Don't you know it's time to stay indoors? Dangerous people out lately, Laurel says, and Lux exhales a sharp scrape of a laugh - it's like a flick of brightness off'a knife's edge at the start but ends up smokier, ruefully amused.

"Dangerous people; do you know, I'd almost welcome an appearance by 'Dangerous People' at this point in time. Did you mean the terrorist or do you have someone more specific in mind?"

Lux, she's long-legged as she draws nearer Miss Hensley, says with an up-tilt of her sharp little chin, "If you're not hard on the heels of a hunt, mind if I bum a smoke and maybe some company?" Here it is, a certain careless insouciance; it's sincere enough, but offhand: "I could use company that doesn't make me wanna swallow a snake just to elevate the evening's tone."

Laurel Hensley

Laurel has been running with sharks for a long time. The problem was, she always thought the sharks were just people. She still does, but she's just beginning to get a sense of the real monsters out there and while she isn't anywhere near thoughts of "undead" yet, she is certainly starting to realize something even more than she's ever realized:

Her bounty hunting doesn't even leave a minor scratch in the surface of all the shit encrusting this world.

What's most ironic is that she doesn't realize who the sharks are. Look at Lux, moving up to her with those long legs, that sharp and smokey laugh. Laurel wouldn't guess that she's a monster. That doesn't mean she isn't ready for the woman to be one though, or that she'd be surprised. When you're a pessimist, you never get surprised when things are worse. There are other things that would surprise her though, to be sure.

In response to Lux's question (Terrorist or more specific?) Laurel shorts and shakes her head. "Yes," comes the answer. It also serves to answer her request for nicotine and company, as the bail enforcer fishes her pack out of a pocket and holds it open for her. "Be my guest." Amber says Lux is fucking cool and that's a solid endorsement in Laurel's thinking; she'll hang out a bit.

"Yeah, no snake swallowing here." The corner of her mouth quirks up. "So it's going that well for you too?"

Lux

[Decision die!]

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (3) ( fail )

Lux

Outside Tattoo somebody has just been convinced to get a new tat and let the new kid try his hand at freestyling, and the raucous jeers that are accompanying this bold move are just what you'd expect those kind've raucous jeers to be. Lux pulls a cigarette out've Laurel's pack with a neat precise gesture that doesn't bother with an air of practice. An air of practice means you've had to practice. She doesn't make Laurel get out a lighter. She's got two on her, one of them an artefact a murderer's used to blow up who knows what. Castles of kindred. Maybe he just played with this one. Flick of flame, and then she pockets the thing. Isn't it a wonder she hasn't destroyed it yet?

"Thanks," she says, and "C'mon, let's go - " a rake of a glance over the crowd outside Tattoo " - chill over there."

Over there being the art gallery's stoop, somewhere with a good view of the street just by sheer fucking chance. Lux; she's keeping herself sharp, keeping herself alert, even if that sharpness, that alertness, is wrapped in a graceful slouch, a careless sort of elegance, and now's when she takes the first drag.

She's going to gracefully slouch her back against the gallery's front door, one of the wooden panels, unless Laurel's got other ideas. Lux, her initial response to, so going that well for you too? was sublimated, gaze already dark-drenched tonight going a little more dark-drenched, slight line between her eyebrows. This leashed sort've -

But hey, why leash it? Lux seems to recall the question, right? Sort've closes her eyes, scrunching her nose up, then opens one eye and then both, says, "I expected someone to be sharp as a cookie cutter; doesn't take a lot of sharpness to be a cookie cutter, right? You press 'em into dough; they already know the shape they're supposed to make. Instead, someone decided to be sharp as a kindergartner's fingers trying to freestyle a gingerbread man shape out've that dough, and you can imagine what a fucking mess that is. And Hell - "

Lux doesn't know much about Laurel. Laurel seems like a decent listener, but Lux remembers that Laurel also doesn't really seem to care about people per se, and Lux, she's not the kind of person to go on about herself.

End it on a disgusted (contemptuous) noise.

" - well. I like knowing everybody," and here, the kissing curl of a grin, a shrug, "Comes with its costs. So - 'yes,' huh? So who's this more specific danger? The one who gave you - ?"

The Toreador gestures toward Laurel's eye with the hand she's using to hold her cigarette. A little flake of ashed paper drifts to the floor, and Lux's shoes de la nuit. Which are ridiculous and lovely and very impractical.

Laurel Hensley

[[I know that lighter! Do I notice it? Int+Alertness]]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 4, 7) ( success x 1 )

Laurel Hensley

She is an observant one, this Laurel. She has to be for her work. And there was a time, a few months prior, where she laid on a sidewalk after escaping a bar brawl almost entirely intact and talked with Kragen, borrowed his lighter to light a few cigarettes. So she knows it well...the little dings and dents here and there on the thing. She arches a brow slightly at it, looking at Lux closer know. But it could be another lighter and she doesn't push the issue right away.

Maybe later. It's stowed away in her head, and then Lux is talking. Laurel isn't the greatest listener in the world; she's a selfish person, or was for a long time. (Still is, but she's getting a bit better that way. Damn Amber and Nate.) And she does pay attention, smirks a little bit when the Toreador talks about someone who isn't nearly as sharp as she wishes that they were.

"Yeah, I know some people like that. They think they can do it all, that they're so damned clever. And as it turns out...ehhh, not so much." There's a little shrug. "They can definitely be pains in the asses."

As to the latter part, the question. That causes her mood to sour a little. Her brow knits together, a little hardness coming to her jaw as she shakes her head. "Nah, this was someone entirely different. Some dipshit got the drop on me while I was chasing him down this afternoon. No big deal, bruised ribs. I've taken far worse."

And she has, too. Lux may not have seen them, but others have. It's not uncommon for Laurel to be sporting injuries of some kind or another; it's the risks of the job. And sometimes she pulls an Amber and gets in fights, too. Probably more than Amber at this point. "Nah, I've been trying to hunt down some fuckstain who did a little head-fuckery on me a couple weekends back. Not having any luck yet, but I'm sure something'll turn up eventually. Shit always floats to the top, you know what I mean?"

Lux

Laurel's taken far worse. Lux doesn't disbelieve her. The lovely creature considers Laurel's face for a moment, but does not appear to either want to make a big deal about the bruise or to comment on how dangerous Laurel's line of work is. Because Laurel's line of work is dangerous; it's just a fact. There's nothing wrong with that. Lux lets the back of her head touch the edge of one of the gallery-coating panels, gaze sluicing from Laurel to the sky just long enough to exhale another plume of smoke. The smoke drifts up; drifts down, settling around the creature, into her hair, staining that rakish hat, which has tipped over one eye until Lux thumbs it up again, resettling her shoulders against the wall-panel.

"Oh I don't know. Sometimes it escapes with an ill-timed or well-timed flush, doesn't it? Goes off to hang out in shit palaces walled in the crenelated shit of other shits with all its little shit friends."

If you're going to say 'shit' that often, do it with style and savor. It's a good word to say.

"What'd the fuckstain make you think?"

Laurel Hensley

Laurel is a connoiseur of swearing. She's been able to string together profanity that would make the writer of Boondock Saints' head spin when she's properly inspired, and she recognizes a good cursing gymnastics routine when she hears it. There's a sardonic rise of the corner of her lips and Lux expounds on the final destination of shit, a bit of humor hitting her eyes.

But then Lux asks what she was made to think, and the mirth swirls away like so much...well, shit. She frowns and looks away, shaking her head as she takes a drag off of her cigarette. "Doesn't matter. Nothing...directly harmful or criminal, but it's not the point." Because she knows how ridiculous it sounds when she says made me hug someone. She knows that it would drive her into laughter, so why wouldn't it make others do the same. Truth be told, Laurel would have been less upset if she was made to start a brawl against a highly superior force. There's nothing funny in that. This was designed to make her a laughing stock, to humiliate her. That's part of why she's not letting it go.

She looks back at Lux now, shrugging out the discomfort. "Point is, he made me do something I wouldn't have otherwise done. I'm sure he's done it to others, and probably made them do a lot worse. So he's at the top of my 'beat into a coma' list."

Lux

[Hmm. Do I have Empathy?]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (5, 6, 7, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )

Laurel Hensley

There's the embarassment and humiliation there of course, but there's also a lot of anger and fear underneath. The idea that someone could just take her mind and twist it around means that she's not in control of her own life, if just for that small moment. And that is completely abhorrent to her. She has that determination in her posture that suggests she couldn't let this go on her own if she tried; hunting this particular mark down and making him pay is pretty central to getting her balance back.

Lux

"Tell me true. How much of an honor is that?" Lux asks, with this suggestion of a smile (shadow of a thing, lovely [c'mere]). "How long's the list?"

They've got a lot more in common than one might think just knowing Laurel and just knowing Lux. They've got a lot more in common than an acquaintance with a certain Keeper ghoul or an acquaintance with a certain foolish reporter. Those two: they still have good hearts. Lux: she tries, but just on occasion she can feel herself beginning to slip - beginning to care less. Laurel: does she try still? She has her reasons. They've got a lot more in common than one might think and this is one of those things: what Lux reads in Laurel is something Lux is perfectly in harmony with.

What this guy did wasn't the point because it wasn't harmful or criminal. The fact that he used his will to force Laurel's into a shape that wasn't her own is the point. Lux believes in free will. Lux believes that everybody's free will is a thing they've gotta be allowed to keep. Lux hates it when people tell her what to do. She's just no good at following orders, at playing for a team. Eventually, even if she wants to play nice, it's just too difficult. Lux: the nicest ally you'd ever want - but a shit subordinate.

So Lux sees that determination and she accepts it. Lux who's an invitation right now. Had crossed one ankle over the other, turning her body towards Laurel while Laurel delineated the actual point. Had held the cigarette in front of her mouth, fingers curled, gaze intent (musing [absorbant]), and now she's offering Laurel that suggestion of a smile coupled with something that's sharp. A glint. A gleam. Under-fucking-standing.

More or less. Laurel would probably not be off her rocker if she thought Lux thought Laurel meant some guy'd conned her real good; if Amber hadn't mentioned Laurel and Vampires earlier, maybe that is what Lux would be assuming right now.

As it is, she wonders.

"And what'cha gonna do with him once you've got him in a coma?"

Laurel Hensley

It's a thing, that question. It's a slithery, squirming thing that nestles in Laurel's brain and digs underneath the smoothness of simplicity. It's been there before, it's be clear; Laurel doesn't just go I beat the shit out of him and then move on. There's an end game to this outside of the assault because whatever people may believe, Laurel isn't a sadist. She's remarkably callous and doesn't give a shit about whether most people live or die, but that's a far line from enjoying the inflicting of agony.

But that question dives under the surface most of the time, waiting to pop up at troubling times because here's the truth: she doesn't know. Most people she would then haul off to a cop or to her bail bondsman, because they've broken the law. In this guy's case, he hasn't done so and they're not a recourse. She can think of a thousand options, half of which she wouldn't do and the other half of which she couldn't do. She wishes deep, dark, bad things on this man but the fact of the matter is, she won't know what she's going to do until she gets there.

"Doesn't matter," she says, her voice a rough grumble with a cloud of smoke drifting out. "I literally have nothing to go off of. He's a blonde Eurotrash douchebag who happened to be in a strip club. Welcome to every fucking strip club and every blond Eurotrash douchebag in the world."

Which isn't true; she has a couple of options, but she's holding off on interrogating Molly once again. The last time didn't go well.

Laurel Hensley

[[Dammit, tags.]]

Lux

The suggestion of a smile deepens for a moment; becomes more likely to be a thing, practically is a thing, just unsheathed, this is your warning, fucking amusement incoming. Blond Eurotrash douchebag describes a number of her clanmates and their ghouls; describes not just one but two Tremere she has an interest in. "Which stripclub? I've got a friend or two interested in the burlesque circuit."

Lux was helpful once before. Maybe she can be again. A couple members of the crowd in front of Tattoo peel away, start drifting down the street. It is late. And it is dangerous.

And something draws Lux's thoughts in a new direction; the suggestion of a smile has dissolved, become the suggestion of a frown, poised between expressions (intent [passion]).

"Hey, d'you ever track down people who might not yet have a bounty on their heads?"

Laurel Hensley

"Rapture," is her quick response to the question of what strip clup. "Relatively new place, opened up in Downtown a few months back. Trashy sort of place, but not too trashy. Sort of the glitzy trash, if you know what I mean."

And if Lux has happened to stop by yet, she surely knows what Laurel means. The place straddles that fence right between the scuzzy low-rent places that women who can't dance anywhere else do and the higher-class "gentlemen's clubs" that feature what amounts to acrobats taking off their clothes. It's the perfect metaphor for Kali's world: stylyish and sexy but not afraid to be down-and-dirty.

She looks over when the people slip away from the Tattoo, watches them go. There's a moment of silent reflection in the blonde bail enforcer, lost in her own thoughts. Which, when you're someone as troubled as Laurel's been lately, is a dangerous place to be.

And then Lux's question draws her attention back suddenly. "Hmm? Oh." She shrugs casually, a sign of ambivalence. "Depends on what you mean. I'm not a private eye or anything, but I've done it once or twice. Why?"

Verna Gardner

Verna's heard about the car bombing. Who hasn't? But she, unlike most, does not consider this to be a reason to barricade the doors and stay inside. Car bombs don't happen at random. One must have enemies for someone to go to such lengths, right?

Still, she exits the little trinket shop she's been poking around in with a small paper sack in hand, and an expression that says she knows exactly where she's going, thank-you. Her keys are already in hand, and she knows where her mace is. Doing all the right things to avoid monsters.

But her car is parked down the street. She's got to go a ways down the sidewalk, down past Tattoos for the Blues even. She shouldn't be out at night, but then, she's been working so many late nights recently...

Laurel Hensley

She catches the movement out of the corner of her eye and her attention shifts to see Verna. Her eyes narrow and the hand not holding a cigarette tightens into a fist. But she already promised someone she's leave the woman alone, and that's one of those options that she's still holding off on for the moment.

And so she scowls, turns her attention back to the Toreador. The tension within her is deeply obvious, but she's holding it back for now.

Lux

There's this impulse-driven spark of a smile (recognition, too) at the name Rapture. Not just because it's a delicious word to say and a better thing to feel (enraptured [rapture]), as long as it's peeled out've a more biblical setting of paper and ink and pages so thin and so fine but strong edged in gold. But because hey, she does know that strip-club, and also, hey, she'd bet an hour of a certain reporter's life that Kali'd like that description: glitzy-trashy. "I do know that place," she tells Laurel. "Haven't been yet, but I hear it's rather nice for that kind've joint, and really, what joint isn't nice as long as there's some fun to be had?"

Speaking of fun to be had.

Or no, this isn't fun.

This is business. Lux's expression has become serious. Lux: she is a contained creature, poised in a way that's knife's edge balanced, that's grace on the verge, isn't she? Nobody'd call her reserved, but: restrained, sometimes, maybe. The gloom in her hair's got into her eyes; made them darker; darker, when she wicks her blood into shape, gets hungrier, more've an edge, because hey - when you're a thing like Lux.

"See. I don't want you to think I'm into vigilante justice; I'm not really. I believe that people should treat one another with respect for liberty and free will; I believe that people should treat with one another in a way that means nobody's going to go home feeling like the last heel of a piece of bread forgotten in a cupboard. But there's this guy. He's a menace; you'd know him if you'd ever met him. I'm ninety-nine percent certain he was responsible," and here, true (if cool) - not distress, but unhappiness, "for that bombing, you know?"

"I was hoping, well, I was thinking, just now, that maybe you could help me find him. I have a number, I just want to find him, not call him, and then ... Well I'd like him to be less of a menace."

A serious Lux means an intent Lux, a Lux paying close attention. But Lux is quite wary of the dark, isn't she? Ever-ready to be alert, ever-ready to notice newcomers, and Verna - why, of course she notices Verna!

But the notice isn't enough to take her out've her conversation with Laurel quite yet. Just a few minutes earlier and she might've hailed her, smiling, but now: Laurel. It's all Laurel. Until she notices that lick of tension leap in the bounty hunter, which means she straightens.

The question's in the look she gives Laurel; she doesn't voice it yet. Lux, she just talked a whole lot, didn't she?

[Presence 3. Appearance (Specialty: Compelling) + Empathy. -1 BP. WP because she really hates this guy and thinks Laurel's strong-willed, come on Laurel, be down for this thing. (But c'mon, 2 successes or less.)]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 4, 5, 7, 8) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Verna Gardner

The first one Verna notices is Lux, of course. She's a treat for the eyes, isn't she? And Laurel isn't nearly so interested in being such a decorative, eye-catching creature. And said creature gets a polite smile out of Verna, a little nod of the head -- perfectly normal. Until she realizes who Lux is talking to.

Verna's eyes widen a bit there. That crazy drug addict?

It does stop her in her tracks for a second, but then -- oh do not let that woman get to you, Verna. She's a poor, sad thing. And, unless anyone stops her, Verna's headed toward her car again.

Laurel Hensley

At this point if Laurel even wanted to address Verna, she wouldn't have. At least, not unless the woman had come directly up to them. Because Lux's Kindred powers eclipse her mind and suddenly, inexplicably, Laurel finds herself captivated by Lux in a way she hadn't before. She relaxes immediately, actually forgetting about the other woman and her tie to that (other) asshole who clouded over her mind; she's focused on what the Toreador is saying. Lux has just earned herself a completely devoted slave in every way for several days, and she nods a little.

And really, part of it makes sense. She is angry at the person Lux is talking about. She's already done a little; what's a little more? So the

"Last I was there, which was several months back, he lived at the Ritz with a small arsenal and, I believe, his little mercenary group. He called it his command center. Don't know if he's still there."

Lux

Heart-strings, tug, tug; puppetry, puppetry; heart-strings, pull, pull, this-a-way, that-a-way. Laurel takes to it so smoothly and so cleanly that Lux can see it, see the tension sluice-away, and it causes her to frown slightly; did she pull too hard?

The frown dissolves; she'd given Verna a little up-tilt of the chin to say hello, as well, but that question she'd been looking at Laurel, that question she sweeps back toward the scientist's assistant, it's nothing she needs answered right now, so after that little up-tilt of her chin the creature doesn't stop Verna and drag her over to see what it is about the scientist's assistant that made Laurel so tense.

Surprise is what the frown dissolved into, a flicker of - don't call it uncertainty, but something close-to; couple it with intrigue. "You know the guy I'm talking about? Has a couple of Ks in his name?"

Verna Gardner

The next time she notices Lux on the street, Verna's going to have to warn her away from that woman. But right now, it is time to get going. The last thing she wants is to stick around while that woman is around to be obsessed with her. Verna saw that scowl. Whatever is going on in that crazy lady's muddled head can't be good. And it's all more than a little confusing.

So, she passes by, just as the two are talking about a command center, and a guy with a couple of Ks in his name, none of which is any of her business. Deeply strange people. And this is coming from a woman who just bought a paperweight inscribed with the Gosset 421 Polytope.

Luckily for her, she makes it to her car without running into any monsters along the way.

Or, you know, so she thinks.

Laurel Hensley

"Yeah, I know the guy." She snorts a little. "Jesus, I was sitting directly fucking across from him when he pushed the button that set the thing off. I know all about that douche."

Somewhere in the back of her mind, so far back that she can't hear it, a small part of her brain known as "logic" is asking why she's telling Lux this when she had problems telling Nathan the same thing, AFTER he promised it was off the record. Lux had promised no such thing, but Laurel is perfectly willing to offer the information.

Lux

Lux has forgotten her cigarette; forgotten that the paper's burning up, forgotten that kiss of potential heat until it's almost at her skin; then she looks down, a sharp glance, ashes it, tosses the butt, steps on it. Her footwear might be frivolous, dainty, ridiculous, but if it gets dirty it gets dirty. Footwear. Folds her arms across her chest, still frowning, sweep of dark lashes just so against her cheekbones, tumble-fall of her hair forward then she knocks it back with a sweep of her hand that means she's knocking the hat off too, catching hold of it with her thumb, then turning it around in her hands.

At least Lux probably isn't a reporter, about to print whatever it is Laurel says.

"I can picture the moment," Lux says. "There you were, there he was, maybe he counted out the tempo with a tap-tap like some kind of grand fucking conductor, insert oblique reference to fire and disaster and anarchy, insert some creepy nickname and cue the lighting so the eyes glitter just so. Then boom, smug satisfaction. I hate people like him. Last time I saw him he was harassing Amber."

Lux has a conscience; maybe that's why she hates people like poor Kragen, whose independence and desire to be so she might otherwise sympathize with.

"On a happier note, betcha I can talk to somebody down at Rapture and maybe try to figure out who the fuck was harassing you if you'd like." It's an open offer. "I don't really know how the 'finding people' thing usually goes for you bounty hunters; for me, I just ask a buncha people and try to be real charming."

Lux

ooc: You know, instead of 'harassing you if you'd like' make that 'fucking with your head'

Laurel Hensley

She smirks and shakes her head, taking a drag off of her own cigarette. "Almost that melodramatic, but not quite. He's got quite the appreciation for the flamboyant, the little shit." She remembers when he 'apologized' to Amber, which was an entire production. And the other times they've, shall we say, interacted.

Some people may be surprised by it, but Laurel has a conscience too. It's not her strongest trait, but it's there and it's only less prevalent because of how much it's been beat down over the years. Laurel has a strong sense of wrong and right; she's just become inured to living within an environment where you don't expect anything good from people and thus it makes it harder to believe in the good of those few out there.

But she knows bad, and she knows crime. Oh yes. THAT, she knows. And she narrows her eyes when Lux says she saw Kragen harassing Amber.

"When?" Her own needs regarding Istvan and Rapture are forgotten for the moment. Lux has hit a tender point there, clearly.

Lux

The first time Laurel and Lux ever exchanged words it was outside of another establishment, around this time of night; maybe later. Laurel asked Lux a question and Lux didn't feel like answering just because a question'd been asked; why should she? Lux. Lux enjoys people. Lux doesn't want terrible things to happen, in the abstract or the specific, not generally. Lux does not wish to come to consciousness some night - feel herself as an individual presence again, coming back from who knows where the conditionally immortal go while the sun chains them to the death they've escaped, blood-wanton - and feel nothing but boredom, speak to people on the street and feel no investment in any given moment with the kine. But Lux has never been nice.

There is a strange little circle of people in Denver who keep running into one another. The circle consists of vampires on all sides of a war and a few mortals, a tool-box full of different jobs, and they meet at bars and they know one another and some of the mortals have fallen through the cracks, know too much now, know enough now to be considered having accepted an invitation to the Masquerade.

There are those who are gate-crashing (Molly) and those who are putting on the clothes (Amber, Bo) and taking part in the party, those who don't know if they're coming or going (Nathan), and then there are those like Laurel.

There are so many monsters out there. Lux isn't a monster. Lux is a monster.

But Lux is a social creature, and she understands about social circles, even odd ones like that which is dragging so many disparate individuals together again and again. Somebody might call it fate, but Lux has been around for enough years to call it something else; she could quote those ideas that say you really only ever know five hundred people and those same five hundred people just circulate.

This is all to say that in this conversation Laurel and Lux are having, they've come a long fucking way from that first conversation that filled Laurel with such wrath and Lux with cool curiousity mingled with indifference (she doesn't want to be indifferent).

"Mm." Place-holder, while she considers, glances heavenward the way people do when they're tracking down a memory. "Must have been, oh," and she tells Laurel more-or-less the exact date. "We were just hanging out at a restaurant, and here he came to say hello." Lux is fair. "He didn't actually loom on her; just said hello in that way he says hello like a poet's committing suicide in a vat of grease."

Laurel Hensley

It's surprising that Laurel has lasted as long as she has. The woman has brushed up (metaphorically, of course) against no few number of the undead and in a couple cases has unknowingly tempted fate by getting confrontational with them. Bertram was a good example of that; she had told him off and practically challenged him by saying there was nothing about him that remotely interested her after he had showed up to bother Molly. And yet it's only been recently that she has found herself on the wrong side of the powers of the Kindred. One could blame that on the fact that she allowed herself to get close to someone: Amber. Another might say it was fated to happen eventually; when you run like a monster without being one at that particular level, eventually the monsters find you.

They have indeed come a long way since that time, in both good and bad ways. But in a lot of ways Laurel is the same person; when she finds something to focus on she's single-minded and nothing can really distract her. Short of being entranced, of course. And that's set her on a new path: wanting to know what Kragen did to Amber.

There is a grunt when Lux explains, the woman wrinkling her nose a bit in disgust. "What a shit. It could be worse though, I guess. I'd told him that if he decided to fuck with Amber again and she didn't put him in the hospital, I would."

Lux

"Do you think they'll catch him?"

They. The Man, naturally.

Laurel Hensley

"If they're remotely good, they will." She shrugs it off with a look that says she doubts that they're remotely good. Laurel has respect for police officers, but she knows that the bureaucracy of serving and protecting means that they'll be handcuffed.

"I left an anonymous tip after I warned off this reporter from getting too deep into Kragen territory. Told them who was behind it, where I last knew him to live. That should be enough for them to go off with their resources. 'course, they'll probably end up fighting over jurisdiction instead of actually catching him, but we'll see."

Lux

Lux wonders. Lux wonders what Cainites/Kindred might want to protect Dogwood (none). Might want Dogwood to owe them a favor (not worth it [put the dogs down, c'mon]). Lux wonders who ordered the bombing. The last time she spoke to Kragen he was so bored; so restless; so ready to make something into kindling, write a poem in fire. Lux wonders, although: warned off this reporter.

There's a sluice-of-a-look, eyebrows rising; then, "Nathan Marszalek." Lux says the name with resignation.

Then: the kissing curl of a smile, the suggestion there-of. "What's the most impressive thing a cop's ever done that you were witness to? Doughnut eating contests only applicable if bacon-maple doughnuts were the dougnuts of choice. Sinfullest breakfast when they're stuffed with that brandy cream, don'tcha think?"

Lux has never tried these things personally, but she can imagine.

Laurel Hensley

"Yeah, him." She can't help but not be surprised. After all, their little circle seems so tight. She first met Molly when she was talking to Kragen. She later saw Molly and Nate together rather recently when she was puzzling through her mind control experience. That didn't go well, but she has apologized to Nathan. And Nathan became friends with Amber, who she knows is friends with Lux. There's no end to how large the circle grows, it would seem.

"He knows Kragen, and since his name is on the byline I told him to be careful. Last thing he needs is that psychopath getting a vendetta."

Lux asks what is the most impressive thing she's seen a cop do, and Laurel frowns. "Um...I don't know? Actually do their job well, I guess." Not that Laurel hasn't seen cops do interesting things, but she hasn't seen a lot of them in action-movie poses or high-speed chases. That's why she has a job.

Lux

The Toreador frowns and it's a sharp thing. Her lashes are dark, and low just now, so there's just a gleam of her eyes; just a suggestion of tarnished-up sea-glass crystal, of shadowed iridescence. Tension whispers through her shoulders. Hadn't considered a vendetta against the reporter reporting on the bombing. Considers it now, as if Lux needs another reason to want to undo that addict's life and give him up to withering. That's what she'd do if she could: lock him in a box; let him go without blood until what was natural took its course. Maybe she'd soak the box in gasoline and give him his lighter back and let him decide. Maybe she'd've already poured out the lighter's fluid. Or maybe she wouldn't do any of that. Maybe her conscience and humanity would keep her from a poetic justice.

Stay good, Lux.

(It's hard.)

"I don't know. The psychopath might enjoy the free advertising. Say, how'd you meet Kragen anyway? Was he trying to recruit you into his little military operation?" - come out of the frown to half-smirk. For whatever reason Lux doesn't imagine Laurel as part of a militant organzation of terrorists.

Laurel Hensley

That brings a bit of a grin to her face, although it's tainted by a thick line of irritation bleeding around the edges. Not at Lux, of course (certainly not at Lux; why would she be irritated at Lux?); at something else in what Lux said and how it brought back memories of Kragen and her second-to-last encounter. The words I must say I find the lack of ambition in this city to be rather profound echo through her mind and her jaw clenches, forcing the grin off of her face.

"No, but it got there in short order...kind of." She flicks the butt of her cigarette out into the street where it tumbles and gets flattened by a passing car. Her arms cross over her chest, a wince coming to her face from touching her tender ribs.

"First met him on a street corner with Nate's friend Molly. They were nattering on about something but scuttled off when some asshat came up and started to creep Molly out. Ran into him at this nightclub downtown a week or two later...the Red Queen, I think it's called. Amber and I were both there and I suggested we both say hi to him because what the hell; he seemed like an interesting sort."

She makes a face like she ate something sour, or rotten. "Of course, he pissed Amber off and she took off. I got pissed and headbutted this fucker who got in my face. We ended up fighting our way out together and he showed me his hotel room and what he did, all of his gear and shit." She shrugs. "I knew he was crazy at that point already, so I should have known better. Dumbass said he was like a hundred and thirty or some shit. Anyway, I was on an adrenaline high so we broke his bed and then I took off. Ran into him a couple times after and then he fucked off to, apparently, South Korea. Then came back here and..."

She shrugs, gestures. "Fucking boom."

Lux

"This is why I almost can't believe he hasn't yet been caught," Lux says, after absorbing all of these details. Her eyes are wide and surprised, but not as surprised as they should be, a certain curling darkness when Laurel says he claimed to be a hundred and thirty. "The way he just goes around."

Lux is not a scion of the Ivory Tower; used to be an Elder's brat (that never goes away, darling [you're still just the Harpy Elder's last childe]), doesn't believe in the Masquerade for quite the same reasons as others do, doesn't mind blurring the lines a little here and there - but come on.

Lux has been so furious, so lashed by fury (Beast [hello]) lately, and it no longer feels remotely good. Can't make it into fun.

So Lux crinkles her nose.

Says, "I've been with some crazy men; sometimes it's not so bad. I knew one guy, he thought he could fly if nobody looked at him. Story doesn't end with an accidental death, believe it or not. I thought it was a line until he showed me the footage he'd taken of his attempts. Years of those little recorder tapes like they used to have, I think he was using his dad's video camera or something."

Lux

Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7) ( fail )

Lux

Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6) ( fail )

Lux

Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (2, 4, 5, 7, 7, 7, 8) ( success x 1 )

Lux

Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (1, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )

Laurel Hensley

Lux is surprised that Kragen hasn't been caught, and internally she's thinking about him as a Masquerade breach. Laurel equates it to something different and yet so similar. When he goes around as outlandishly as he does and makes crazy statements about being over a century old, it attracts attention. Someone who does the things that he does should slip through the crowds unnoticed, not prance along with a rictus grin and dramatic flourishes and crazy statements. She shrugs a little bit.

"People don't want to think they know shitty people in my experience." She says it like she knows it from experience. "That's why so many people are shocked when they find out their neighbor was a serial killer or cannibal, or that they let a terrorist on a plane. Or that they were classmates with someone who shot up their fuckin' school. It's easy to pretend that they're just weird or a bit off but in that charming way."

She pauses, there, then finishes that thought with: "People are fucking stupid."

Then she grins a little bit about being with crazy men. "Oh, crazy people are great in certain respects. Dude was great in that respect. It's just the other 99.9% of the time I've known him that he gets on my nerves of flat-out makes me want to shoot him."

Lux

People don't want to think they know shitty people in Laurel's experience. Lux is interested in Laurel's experience; Lux is interested in people. Lux is interested in how people think about things. She's going to come back to that.

But first, crazy men. Greatness, in that respect. Oh, that respect; she just bets. The corner of the creature's mouth snicks up, a sharp sort've smirk of a thing, but it's coupled with a dredged-up radiance in her eyes.

"Isn't there some old line about silver linings, or every dog has his day, so even the doggiest of dogs've gotta have their moment of sublime shine," says Lux, and then because -- and Laurel knows this, huh? Bohemian artist whatever that Lux is -- if there's one thing Lux likes out've a conversation it's wandering from topic to topic especially if the topic might help her understand the people she's talking to. Surely Laurel believes there's some good in people. Not just shitty people and shitty people and stupid people. Surely.

"Do you believe in -- hold on. Does use of the word 'love' constitute automatic identification with stupidity? Because if so I'm not going to use it."

Laurel Hensley

"Love?" She says it in a way that someone who only understands something in theory does. Which is not entirely true at this point, and that actually confuses her a little. In her Entranced state, she's feeling things that she doesn't know how to quantify. Her hijacked subconscious is pushing ahead and her conscious mind, unsure of what's happening, is sort of going with the flow.

"Nah," she says with a shake of her head. "Not always. It's a thing. Some people--most people, really, almost everyone--do stupid shit with it, but I guess it's not stupid in itself. The problem is that just about no one deserves it. Too many fucked up people out there. It's naive, but I wouldn't necessarily say it's stupid. I'm sure someone out there experiences it with someone who deserves it."

The way she's talking, it must be like a unicorn to her. Rare in the extreme and mythical. She certainly doesn't know it on a personal level.

Lux

Lux considers this. She's been leaning against that panel-covered door, the sailor's hat in her hands, a lingering smell of (brimstone [demoness]) cigarette smoke dissipating but slowly in the way smoke gets on nights like these. Fair nights. Spring nights. Now Lux pushes away from the panel-covered door, settling the hat on her head and tilting it at Laurel so it covers one eye; spark of a smile.

"Here's hoping not all fiction writers are dirty no-good liars. But I think I'd rather have a friend than a love, you know?" She's being perfectly sincere. Lux believes in love; Lux believes love is hatred. Or blood. What kind've belief is that? "We've got friends in common; we hate when crazy assholes burn people up like they're paper; it's a boring Tuesday night. You wanna go hang somewhere more interesting than the street?"

A beat. The invitation to go-hang-somewhere-more-interesting-than-the-street is separate from this next say, hey, sudden skid of an idea.

"There's a bar with decent music a couple blocks over. Or a gun range that's open until," she fishes out her phone. "Taco Tuesday, ummm, midnight."

Laurel Hensley

Normally, this would be where Laurel says Nah, I've got something to do and would head off in her own direction. She's a busy woman and she is always looking for a job even when she doesn't have one. But this isn't a normal moment and Laurel, while she doesn't get why, knows that she wants to be around this woman for more amount of time. It's like Amber said: Lux is fucking cool.

"Yeah, sure. Wherever you're in the mood to go sounds good." Who the fuck are you and what have you done with Laurel Hensley?

Lux

Lux is fucking cool. Isn't she? Sure she is. Laurel: how often has Laurel decided to crush on somebody? There's nothing special about this interaction except that there is. Lux, man: she's a compelling thing, sometimes strikes at people so in a certain slant of light?

Does that without blood, too, more often than not, but this is Laurel. There's a presentiment of some troubled consideration; it is probably troubled consideration about Kragen, because Lux says, "If you do find out where he's certainly staying," the implication being: wouldn't it be nice to have a Kragen brought in. Then: "Where the fuck do you usually go on a Tuesday night?"

One way or another, they'll decide on a place. They'll go to that place, sure. And maybe they'll have a great fucking time, part ways around one o' clock.

Lux will think about blood. About thirst. About Laurel, drinking her.

She won't because Laurel knows too many people Lux knows.

She'll think about binding her, too. But she won't tonight: why would that be necessary? Because using blood to bind a person; Lux doesn't use chains lightly; not even with the kine; the kine associated with a certain reporter. Perhaps by the end of the week she'll change her mind.

She probably won't.

And before they do part ways, she'll tell Laurel she'll ask around about a guy who's fucking with people's heads, making them do what they don't want to do.