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Unread 19th of February, 2009, 07:45
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Ventrue Thread 1 (Closed)

Just a starter, sorry.
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Unread 19th of February, 2009, 14:31
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The message to Rurik was not unexpected. In fact, he had been waiting for it, but it was disappointingly terse. "My lord archon, there will be a meeting at ten PM tomorrow to discuss the five deaths, at the SI Annex number one elysium." Calling him Archon was a courtesy, nothing more, as he did not currently hold that title...though he had at times in the past. Many of them named him thus, a recognition of his function as they saw it. So be it, there was no harm.

He noticed the servant did not say "murders," though they could be nothing else, from the descriptions. It was after midnight on Wednesday, the day after the happenings, and so he was forced to grind his teeth and wait on his superiors once again. Not for the first time did he think the modern breed of Ventrue were a taxing lot - laggardly, circumspect, foot-dragging, prone to dither while the correct path was clear and simple. Equally, he knew he had no stomach for the kind of backslapping and backstabbing required to keep all the clans in line, the Traditions upheld, and the Camarilla in charge. He was forced to admit that he couldn't do a better job...but he could certainly do his own job better.

The servant laid a stack of files on his desk. "These are for your study. Please bring them to the meeting." The favored mortal bowed deeply, then took a step back, awaiting dismissal.

***************************************

Wednesday evening, around nine pm...Tatyana leafed through her diary-cum-memoirs, rough drafts and scribbles, mostly in Russian. It occupied her more and more these days, sorting out the happenings surrounding Walpurgisnacht of 1995, the night Boston tore itself apart. The Sabbat almost succeeded in its coup de main...if not for the timely intervention of the Glasswalker lupines, fortunately convinced that this possibility would constitute a disaster for them as well. A transfer of some of her not inconsiderable wealth, as well as the purchase of some land in upstate New York and some seeds from a tree not grown on Earth for some ten thousand years helped seal the deal...and kept them on retainer, so to speak. Nothing quite like garou to put the fear of God into those who would inconvenience me...and the fear of God is something most sorely need. But writing is hard work...I almost wish for some distraction.

A quiet knock came on her study door. At her murmured word, Benedict entered with a silver tray. He was what people nowadays would call a butler, and a most efficient and effective manager of her household and staff. Though that had been rather spare and devoid of visitors for the past few years. It had been almost two winters since Conan had come to visit, though he sent her an e-mail and pictures of Angus very month or two. He was growing like a weed. And, she had spent two weeks with Antonius in Vienna last October, enjoying the long alpen shadows and the cobblestone streets. One nostaliac clattering hansom-carriage ride reminded her why a limousine was sooooo much more preferable. Other than that...but she was used to spans of time before renewing associations.

She glances up at the portrait of her dear departed Stephan hanging over the mantel, mostly to remind her not to make any such mistakes in future. Sighing, she reaches for the card on the tray. What now?

The folded piece of stiff paper was written in a tight, precise hand, vaguely familiar to her. She racks her memory but can't come up with the connection. It was something long ago; something perhaps in the years after Ingolstadt, but before Paris...

Jean-Claude Renaude has been murdered, as have four other Kindred and five associates, within the Principality of Washington, District of Columbia. Your presence is respectfully requested on Thursday, 22 January, A.D. 2009, 10 PM O'clock, in the elysium of the Smithsonian Institution, Annex Number One. Prince Vitel considers your earlier introduction as valid, as long as all other Traditions are observed. Be welcome.

The card is unsigned.

Be careful what you wish for...

********************************

Christiaan van der Luyden rubbed his forehead, a holdover mannerism no longer related to the stress headaches he used to have as a breather. He had to confess to himself a certain amount of writer's block as he tried to work up some concept for the Teachers' Union's next public relations effort. Keeping the union strong kept the school system mediocre, and the kine unmotivated and undereducated. That in turn made sure the underclass in the inner city remained oppressed, crime-ridden and powerless...a perfect base for the Camarilla and its disparate clans. DC was the murder capital of the US, and that was the way they liked it.

Well, he had to admit, it made him vaguely uncomfortable. His mortal life was not so far in the past that all the vestiges of humanity had been stripped from him. But he had to admit, it worked, and things could be worse. He'd hate to be left thirsty, and he did take pride in his work. And all mortals died, unless they were Embraced...those who worked hard to deserve such an honor, anyway. It was hard to care much when they killed each other over some slight or piece of property.

He was startled, but couldn't complain as the intercom on his desk buzzed, a welcome distraction. His boss, Thomas von Damme, wanted to see him. He didn't mind the German's meticulous ways; in fact, he appreciated the orderliness of his mind and the clarity of his instructions. There were worse Kindred to be beholden to.

Inside, Thomas stood to come out from behind his desk. That was unusual in itself, he thought. He took Christiaan by the arm in a friendly gesture. "Sit down, please." They sat on the hard leather sofa. Christiaan was mystified for only a moment.

"I have something of a favor to ask of you. I could order you to do this, but I would prefer that you volunteered. The Prince," he shuddered involuntarily, "has requested that I detail one of my staff to join the inquiry into these distressing deaths. Someone competent, but not critical to our current efforts. And I know things have been a bit langweilich lately, not so? Feeling a bit blokiert? So I thought of you..." He can see the man is anxious...but so would anyone be when the Prince asked for something. He couldn't see how he could really say no.

"There's a meeting at the Smithsonian Annex number 1, tomorrow at ten pm. If you are willing, please be there and you will be given further instructions. You can turn over the Teacher's Union project to Stefan, klar?"

Klar indeed. He actually was looking forward to it.

****************************************

Patrick Seamus James...he repeated his name to himself, like a mantra, calming, focussing...his rage still bubbled.

He - they- whoever - took what was MINE! My property, under my protection... Patrick struck his solid wooden desk again, jamming more splinters into his already bleeding hand. The pain was soothing.

That shyte had taken Jennifer right off the street, and jammed her onto a pole in a public park like a child's Barbie-doll. Taken her somewhere on the short walk through Georgetown between her apartment and the Looking Glass. He hadn't been too concerned at first when she hadn't shown up...later, he hadn't been able to get much information. The ME had the bodies and he had no real standing in the Clan. In fact, he was barely tolerated...barely cared anyway, just enough to keep the elders off his back and out of his business.

He cared now. Oh, not because he couldn't replace another breather babe.

Because she was HIS. The rage swept over him again, and he growled deep in his throat. His ladies were all in the living room, as far away from his den of rage as they could be without offending him.

But he was already offended.

A couple of phone calls to Kindred of his acquaintance - a Brujah, a low-ranking Toreador - turned up the existence of some kind of gathering tomorrow night, something to do with the murders. Ten PM, Smithsonian Annex 1, elysium. He didn't much care about the other deaths...but he could fake it well enough. And he knew common cause when he saw it.

He had a party to crash.

Last edited by Wired*Nun; 19th of February, 2009 at 14:35.
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Unread 20th of February, 2009, 00:16
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Rurik lingers for a moment over the files as his annoyance or indeed even anger bubbled deep within. Outside however he was his usual calm self, a hand brushing over the folders absently before his eyes came up to meet those of the kine. He would get rid of this one and get to work. "Go. And tell my Lord Prince Vitel I am honored to serve him in this matter, as always." There. A gesture to the niceties of the modern breed. He could be diplomatic when he needed to be could he not?

Afterward the servant of Vitel departed the files are copied, deconstructed, and diagramed one at a time. If one were to walk into his workroom it would look much like a scene from a detective movie, with pictures and notes placed seemingly at random but actually quite purposefully onto one of the walls. In the center there was a blank space. This would not be filled until they knew more about the actual enemy. When he speaks it is in Danish and to his own most favored mortal servant, his secretary. "Jensine, get me all of the records on these locations and names during the day tomorrow. If you have time, go ahead and diagram them and I'll review your work when I wake. Have Henrik unpack his things as well, we are definately here to stay for the duration and I shall be armed tomorrow. Have Pedar assist you in your own task." he says.
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Last edited by Wired*Nun; 20th of February, 2009 at 00:50.
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Unread 20th of February, 2009, 00:47
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"Yes, my lord archon." The nameless servant bows to Rurik again, and departs.

Organizing the files, and copying them so that he could post his own version on the walls, takes most of the night. He has to believe the instruction to bring the files to the meeting was not an afterthought, and he might be expected to return them there. Keeping his own copies was simply prudent. His own retainers were efficient, by the standards of kine...more so than some younger Kindred, he had to admit. He conserved them carefully, as fleeting but valuable assets in a fast-changing world. Fortunately he could offer them a lengthened lifespan, even the possibility of Embrace if they served him well. Both of these benefits aided him as well...they stayed motivated.

The next evening the information was as complete as could be expected. Printouts from city and county records on the buildings and locations, photographs of the crime scenes, preliminary Medical Examiner reports, Unfortunately, there were no particular anomalies that struck him right away. The locations of the murders formed no graphic pattern that he could see. There was no particular connection among owners of the locations, nor did correlated reports of bystanders show any commonality. The times of discovery varied widely, from the immediacy of the defenestration to the delay of the decapitations almost twenty hours later.

There simply seemed no connection, other than the peculiar one-to-one correlation of Kindred to Kine, and the apparently deliberate variance in their methods of execution.

Something tickles at his mind, but did not surface. Perhaps later. He would let it alone for now.

A couple of hours of frustrating study later, he has to face the fact that he had made little progress. Almost nine, and the meeting is fast approaching. He wants to be prepared.

Last edited by Wired*Nun; 20th of February, 2009 at 02:08.
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Unread 20th of February, 2009, 01:42
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[Please do not mass-quote the entire paragraph, especially if it is immediately preceding- GM]

If the murders were perpetrated by Kindred, as he suspected, one of the actors could be in the very meeting he was to attend. That was a possibility he did not ignore, given how only rudimentarily familiar he was with the population of this city. Therefore he decided that he would arrive slightly early, and through one of the many service tunnels of the sprawling institute. A lesson learned long ago was that to be seen coming and going revealed any importance attached to a location.

Before departing he donned his flak vest and then prepared his weaponry with the assistance of Henrik. His armorer was a skilled older man in his apparent fifties, though slowly regaining his vitality thanks to the Blood. The german was still a frail one, but his weapons were not. He served his purpose and that was all Rurik asked of anyone. The assortment of implements and munitions that Henrik provided was well worth the effort of retaining him.

After his arrival Rurik proceeded directly to the assigned meeting place and prepared for the arrival of the others.
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Unread 20th of February, 2009, 01:44
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Christiaan looks at von Damme. Strange to see the normally business-like vampire so ruffled. Nodding confidently, he answers simply: “Selbsverständlich, no problem.”

In his head, however, the thoughts were racing. He’s heard about the ‘deaths’, of course. Well, murders, really, weren’t they? Why me? Not my area. Do they want to spin this? Or is this some kind of test? I’ll ‘volunteer’, all right, there little else to do. I’ve got sort of a personal interest anyway.Join’ the inquiry means there are others. Well, this does need looking into. If they send relatively minor pawns such as myself, I wonder what the priority in this deal is. Best not draw conclusions before I have more information.

A belated thought comes and goes in a hundredth of a second. As long as nobody thinks I’ve had anything to do with it. Well, the only way to find out is to go ahead.

However, he’d rather be caught dead – again- then show these thoughts. So he decides to handle it like any other case. “Very well, I assume I will get more information tomorrow? Do you know who else will be there?

He waits to see whether von Damme has anything to add before rising to take his leave. “Unless there is anything else, I’d better start instructing Stefan.

As he walks to his own desk, Christiaan mentally reviews what he knows about the murders. It wasn’t much, although he has of course heard about them. What with Raoul one of the victims, it created more of an impression then such an event normally would.

He gathers his papers, jotting down some last notes so Stefan can pick up easy, he did actually start to look forward to it. His face is impassive, but his blue eyes betray a smile. A change of pace, something new, even if it’s a test, a challenge isn’t so bad. I’d like to get more involved, anyway. And it would be nice to find the one responsible.

He drops of his files at Stefan’s desk, taking the time to go over the particulars with his colleague. After talking the case over, Christiaan also sends him the files he still has on his computer.

His case-load taken care of, Christiaan decides to walk by von Damme’s office, before heading out into the night to see if there are any last minute additions or ideas.

Then he goes to his haven. His apartment betrays his European roots; relatively empty by American standards, none of the brique-a-braque that can clutter a space up. Well-made furniture and lots of books. He hasn’t been here long yet, but he likes it well enough.

He find Nicolás doing some paperwork, surprised that Christiaan is back already. Christiaan motions for him to stay put. He addresses his Argentine aide in Spanish: “Von Damme had a request. It seems I’ve volunteered to be part of the inquiry surrounding the inauguration murders.”

Nicólas, one of those South-Americans that clearly have Spanish blood, looks slightly startled as his black eyes widened. The fact that he had lost a lot of the archetypical hot-headedness over the last years shows in his initial reply. “Raoul?”

Christiaan shrugs. “Well, more his lover, I think. What was her name again? And the other ones might matter as much or more to those in charge. You know how it is.”

“Maxina, and there could still be a connection.” Nicolás is angry about the murder, lips pursed and large eyes fiery. “I’m glad something’s going to be done. Who-ever it was, we’ll get him.”

Christiaan nods with a small smile. We, is it? “I’ll learn more tomorrow. Make sure my clothing and personal effects are in order, will you?”

He spends the rest of the night preparing in the best way he knows how; checking various internet-sites for more information about the murders, looking up the mentioned locations on the map (he hasn’t been in DC all that long). He cleans his gun, just in case he might need it, although he doubts they’re dealing with a killer, or more probably killers, that would be much affected by a gun.

The next day, he arrives at Annex no. 1 at 9.45 pm, alone, wearing a dark grey suit an carrying a small attaché case. He has no idea what to expect, but looks calm none the less.

Last edited by ikay; 20th of February, 2009 at 22:41. Reason: added some lines
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Unread 20th of February, 2009, 03:01
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Tatyana taps the note against her lower lip, then absently uses Auspex (2 dots) on the paper. Not really expecting anything, but it never hurts...

Oh dear.

She summons Benedict again, and gives him instructions. Prepare the jet, pack, identify and equip the accompanying staff, acquire appropriate gifts, establish a secure Haven.

Jean-Claude, Ended, hm? Dear me. And I am summoned... hm. She re-reads. Not summoned, per se, by Prince Vitel at all. Just summoned, by person or persons unknown... and for no stated purpose. Certainly with the impression of being called by or for the Prince of Washington D.C. Interesting. What on earth would anyone want or need me there for, in this matter?

When was the last time I saw Jean-Claude? She searches quickly and efficiently for the correct volume. Yes, here...hm. After the wedding, Antonious took him off to... oh.

Was there ... yes... Another quick search. Oh dear, yes. Ousted by the Primogen after that, and ... disgrace... moved to America. Hm. Surprised that didn't kill him stone dead right there.

She puts the books back slowly, thinking. After that... I think there was a rumor about him going slowly to pieces, as the older ones sometimes do. Reclusive, but... the same could be said about me. Rumors are useful, but not entirely trustworthy.

She regards the card again, pensively. Hmmmm.....

She summons Benedict again, and issues a second set of instructions; a Will update, decoy possibilities, security procedures, intelligence drop-boxes and several information-based dead-man switches.

She moves on with the rest of the evening to prepare for the journey, and reports on time at the Annex. She leaves her personnel and most of the equipment in the car, taking (with some resigned discomfort) one of these 'cell-phones' to use as communication, and dressed impeccably.

Last edited by Wired*Nun; 20th of February, 2009 at 03:37.
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Unread 21st of February, 2009, 05:42
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Thoroughly equipped with the sturdy modern equivalents of knights' garb, Rurik glides quietly through the back ways into the Institute. The comes a point outside the annex where he would have to choose among disabling a retainer, causing a major distraction, or simply demanding admittance. He chose the latter. The armed guard glances briefly at some kind of data device, then nods in acknowledgment and smoothly lets Rurik pass. Rurik's thoughts are of approval. The man is obviously well-trained. Had he not been, his employment, perhaps his life, might have been terminated.

The man points the way to the conference room where the meeting is being held.

******************************************

Thomas replies to Christiaan's questions soothingly. "I don't know, really, what is going on. I got the strong impression I wasn't supposed to ask. They will tell you everything there." Von Damme shuts the door behind Christiaan as he leaves, and he hears the lock click.

After turning over his caseload to Stefan, then goes back by his boss' office. The door is still locked, and his secretary says he does not want to be disturbed. He listens to the news on the way back to his place, picking up the latest. There is no mention of Selwyn and Dominic's deaths, though the other ones are all over the news, and the unmentioned ones were known to the Kindred grapevine. His preparations at his home are thorough, and he awakes the next evening refreshed and ready to go.

He arrives at the parking lot, where Ventrue retainers are much in evidence, some dressed as private security, some nonuniformed. He hands his keys to the valet and walks in the front door. He is directed through two more checkpoints to a conference room deep inside the annex.

********************************

Auspex on the note reveals a blur, some kind of deliberate obfuscation. Still, Tatyana is sure, perhaps from unconscious memory, that the writer is male, elder, kindred, relatively non-inimical, and she has met him somewhere before...long ago.

The preparations go smoothly, of course. Her people were always efficient. She feels a stirring of interest as she lifts off in the G5 for the short hop from Boston to Reagan National. One couldn't get much closer to the center of power than that little concrete slab on the banks of the Potomac. She double-checks with Benedict to make sure the flight crew has the very latest procedures. It just wouldn't do to be blown out of the sky by an Avenger missile on approach to the Capital. She would probably survive the crash, but it would absolutely ruin her outfit.

A limousine ride later she steps out onto the curb of the Annex. She can see evidence of heavy security, Kindred and retainers both. Reassuring. At least she would only have to worry about internal threats, short of another war. The chill winter breeze reminds her of old times and her dacha near St. Petersburg.

She follows behind a trim, young-looking dark-haired Kindred, impeccably dressed in European business attire, carrying an attache case, who had debouched at the curb right before her. They are directed into a conference room deep inside the annex, behind more layers of security. Her smart phone beeps, telling her it has lost connection. Perhaps they have a jammer going. As she looks at the disconnected thing, a large, impressive-looking Kindred, bulky in a tailored jacket not quite managing to conceal armaments lurking underneath, comes in the door after her. He is tall, with white-blonde hair and nordic feature, icy blue eyes and a hard look.

*********************************

Inside, the three see a well-appointed conference room seating perhaps ten at the table and possibly twenty more around the walls. There are a scattering of kindred and retainers in the room, none of whom she recognizes right away. Prince Vitel is definitiely not in attendance. It's about ten minutes until the meeting time, and after a glance or two no one pays the trio any mind.

[I will need to post more with my books available later on today, PCs feel free to introduce yourselves to each other]

Last edited by Wired*Nun; 21st of February, 2009 at 10:19.
  #9  
Unread 21st of February, 2009, 08:36
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Tatyana automatically gives the icy stranger a respectful berth, intuitively sensing his age and power. Not on a level with the Prince, she notes but certainly a Force.

She scans the room and takes a seat near what seems to be the foot of the table. She smoothes her skirt as she sits, crossing her legs, and uses her mudane and Kindred senses to their best advantage, along with a woman's sense of the mood and tone in the room... all the while, doing her best to remain calm, alert, and pleasantly blank.

OOC (Let me know if we want rolls for this, I'm thinking a combination of Auspex, empathy, alertness, manipulation, so on...)

Last edited by Wired*Nun; 20th of January, 2010 at 02:04.
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Unread 21st of February, 2009, 10:45
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[we'll be using as few rolls as possible...I'll let you know.]

Tatyana quickly pinpoints the nexi in the room - two Kindred. The seven or eight others are keying off of them, and are unimportant, aside from the other two arrivals.

One nexus is a short brunette woman, wearing designer jeans, expensive faux-military boots, and a pricey designer copy of a classic lumberjack plaid. She is deep in conversation with a breather, who has the singleminded look of a military operative, along with the hardware. She suspects this is Katrina Dobson, Prince Vitel's good right hand.

The other one looks like a Toreador - slightly flashy in his expensive garb, lithe and obviously the benificiary of some very good cosmetic surgery. He is holding court, chatting with a group of admirers about jazz music.

Everyone is remarkably relaxed for what she would have thought was a serious gathering.
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Unread 21st of February, 2009, 11:42
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Interesting. I'd thought Dobson to be Ventrue, and she's dressed like a well-domesticated Gangrel... and then she very purposefully stops thinking about the woman, speculating instead on the likely-Torey.

Toreador... here because of Jean-Claude? Likely. Hm. She feels the implications of her presence here as related to this Rose begining to make themselves into actual thoughts, and again, carefully distracts herself by looking around the room.

Who are these other players, then?
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Unread 21st of February, 2009, 11:43
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The rage never subsides. Grudges run deep in Patrick's skin, fueling his blood, scarring his veins and coursing throughout his person. Even after bathing with his entourage and dressing in his finest Armani, black on black tie, he could hardly control himself. Patrick checks the clock, ten minutes until the meet. He smiles coldly as he finished tying the tie around his throat and grabbing an overcoat. The cure for the rage was simple, vengeance was needed. Tonight a message would be sent that Patrick was dying to remind the resident Kindred of D.C. of : Don't fuck with me. And to think, I used to be such a nice guy. The grin didn't come off his face till he reached the door to the meet.
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Unread 21st of February, 2009, 13:21
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Patrick's entourage fall silent as he exits his luxurious residence. They are obviously relieved he won't be bringing them along, though in truth he wouldn't harm a hair on any of their heads. As long as none of them had anything to do with it.

The retainers at the front door of the Annex barely have time to get out of the way of the angry Kindred. Once inside, though he has a certain difficulty. He is not sure where inside the large building this meeting is taking place; retainers with a rather disconcerting array of weapons are warily surrounding him from well out of reach; and at least two of them are making reports into communication devices.

**************************

Inside the conference room, there's a buzz from Katrina's handset. Apparently the report is of concern, for she grabs the ghoul she had been speaking with by the back of the body armor and propels him toward the door. She then turns to the tall blonde Kindred that recently arrived.

"Rurik, there may be a problem at the front entrance. There's an uninvited guest...bring him here if he has a good reason and behaves himself. Otherwise, feel free to send him away."
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Unread 21st of February, 2009, 13:27
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Tatyana notes the icy blonde as, yes, definately ranking or an authority here. Uninvited guest? Hm.

She watches the tall blonde react and leave, unobtrusively using Auspex to glean what she can.
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Unread 21st of February, 2009, 13:35
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Katrina is concerned, but not afraid, as are the others around the room. Rurik's aura shows him to be calm and focused. Were he mortal, she doesn't think his heart rate would have jumped one point.
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Unread 21st of February, 2009, 14:02
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Icy, indeed...
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Unread 21st of February, 2009, 14:05
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"Hello," Patrick states, oddly calm considering his current mood, to the guards, "I believe there is a meeting going on. You're going to take me to it."
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Unread 21st of February, 2009, 19:23
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Christiaan quickly notices that the attractive woman who arrived shortly after he did is ushered down the same path as he is. He doesn’t know here, however, and for now decides to just let things happen as they do.

There are several people already in the conference room as he enters. He takes a quick look around, small smile on his lips that never reaches his eyes. Is there anyone here he knows? Can he guess at the importance of this gathering and of the ‘people’ in it?

As he takes a seat, the woman enters, followed quickly by a Scandinavian looking vampire. Rurik, apparently, as he is quickly send out again to deal with some kind of intruder. Well, he certainly looks capable enough.
Lest he’s caught in the thought he bow his head, placing his suitcase at his feet. Coming back up, he adjusts his cufflinks and sits calmly. He concentrates on keeping his mind blank but perceptive and his posture looking confident.
  #19  
Unread 22nd of February, 2009, 01:28
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"Hello," Patrick states, oddly calm considering his current mood, to the guards, "I believe there is a meeting going on. You're going to take me to it."
One of the retainers, probably the one in charge, licks his lips nervously, then replies, "I'm very sorry, sir, but we have orders to wait here. Someone will be coming soon to escort you."

He hears the sound of running feet, and another breather enters the room from deeper in the building, in a tactical crouch, submachinegun to shoulder. This one makes a quick scan of the room before straightening. He keeps the weapon glued to his shoulder and pointed center-mass at Patrick. He doesn't look at all afraid. Patrick has heard that Katrina Dobson, Vitel's second-in-command, keeps a special ghoul squad of special-operations types...this looks to be one of them.

[We need a post from Rurik. He can enter the scene with Patrick right behind the shooter.]

*************************************

Christiaan sees Katrina Dobson and Cohn Rose there, along with a couple Kindred of no note and several sycophants and servants. Rose hardly misses a beat when Katrina sends the operatives off, though he does look around when it happens. He gives Christiaan a pleasant nod - Christiaan knows that Rose is as much a public-relations specialist as he is, in quite a different way.

Rose looks Tatyana over then, and though his smooth smile doesn't change, both Christiaan and Tatyana get the impression he's processing her presence there, that it was perhaps unexpected. He nods a greeting, then goes back to his jazz ruminations without missing a beat.

Christiaan has heard Rurik's name - some kind of heavy problem-solver for Vitel.

[This would be a great time for Christiaan and Tatyana to get acquainted, if you could find an excuse, as the other two deal with their scene]
  #20  
Unread 22nd of February, 2009, 06:44
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Hm. Was that recognition, or a non-plussed expression? She keeps her own expression carefully interested only in the milling around of the room, pleasantly engaged in the goings-on.

She notes the man this Toreador greeted silently, and casts Auspex on him.

Young, I think. European, or his tailor is. I think the former.
  #21  
Unread 22nd of February, 2009, 08:09
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Rurik simply nods at Katrina and moves out the door, falling in behind the retainer who takes the lead. He follows, noting the properly prepared entrance he makes with a nod of approval and a pat on his shoulder. High praise from Rurik.

Rurik did not enter with a weapon at the ready himself, yet nor does he approach nearer than by the retainers side. He stands impassively for a moment, looking the new arrival over before bowing slightly in greeting as he speaks. "I am Rurik, Gentry of the line of Anundr. I am given to know that you wish to attend this gathering, though you are uninvited. The deciding of the matter has been given to me. I would know you, your lineage, and your claim to standing in this matter before we proceed."

As he finishes speaking the blonde man runs one hand up to brush his hair behind his ears, the other unbuttoning his suit jacket. To most a gesture of informality, to Rurik... clearing the path of his hand to his weapon and a veiled threat. The subtlety may be lost on some, yet probably not on all.
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  #22  
Unread 22nd of February, 2009, 09:54
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Christiaan pleasantly returns Rose’s nod, then follows his glance to the woman that entered about the same time he did. That’s an interesting reaction…
It appears she has noticed him as well, so he nods in her direction, before getting up and sauntering over, curious about whomever draws Rose’s interest.

He stops next to her chair. “It seems we are the odd ones out, sitting all by ourselves. It’s not a bad thing, every now and then, but I thought I could at least come and introduce myself,” he says with a hint of a smile around his mouth. “My name is Christiaan van der Luyden.”

He awaits her reaction standing. If she wants to be alone, he’ll retreat back to his seat without problem. If she holds out a hand, he’ll kiss it or shake it, depending on the way she holds it. He probably won’t sit unless invited, or if conversation would get awkward if he kept standing.

As for what she might read; young seems a good guess. With his name and the hint of accent he has, European is a given. He’s mostly calm, with a hint of excitement, which seems to be more directed towards the gathering then her personally.
[I don’t know how much of this Tatyana will get with her Auspex, so use or ignore what you like ]

Last edited by Wired*Nun; 22nd of February, 2009 at 10:47.
  #23  
Unread 22nd of February, 2009, 13:08
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Tatyana is aware of his approach, but doesn't watch. When he addresses himself to her, she gives him her attention.

She nods in acknowledgement of his introduction. "Dama Tatyana von Thorncliff." She does not offer her hand, as he did not offer his. "You're very kind, to welcome a stranger... but, you are not a stranger yourself?"

Her voice is pleasant, and thick wtih a Russian accent; hearing her speak is like bathing in a warm bowl of borscht.
  #24  
Unread 22nd of February, 2009, 14:38
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Patrick grits his teeth until he thinks his lower jaw would crack. He retains his smile as he eyeballs the newcomer. "Rurik, right? My name is Patrick Seamus James. Here's how this situation is going to unfold itself in the next few minutes. You are going to call whomever you decide to report to and confirm that mortals are being murdered like its Vlad the Impaler's birthday. The next thing you're going to do is take me into whichever hallway the rest of your friends are lying in and then your going to leave."
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Unread 22nd of February, 2009, 16:21
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Rurik turns his head slightly, looking askance at Patrick for a moment. "If that is all you have to say, you are denied entry. You may go, I have no further need to interview you at this time. Or you may answer my original query. Declare your lineage and the nature of your standing in this matter, or be gone. If you refuse, I will remove you." As he speaks he moves languidly over to stand at a right angle to Patrick with the ghoul gunman. This is a tactical move which, if Patrick knows enough of gunplay to recognize the fact, places him in a 'crossfire' with the two should actual violence occur. The ghoul almost certainly will catch it.
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Last edited by Vortigern; 24th of February, 2009 at 01:58. Reason: GM Request.
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