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Unread 30th of September, 2011, 11:42
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[One] A Lost Childe

A Lost Childe

The forest was a nest of cold, stinging fingers that raked across Landis' exposed skin as he trudged through the wet snow. He had slipped and fallen into a creek, and now the dead man's boots were filled with icy water and swamp muck that chewed into his raw feet. Yet the pain was as a chorus of sirens that wept a beautiful symphony, because each step was one step farther from the soft white room and its buzzing lights, from the men with clipboards and the smell of disinfectant.

The Gift had set him free. The doctors had looked right through him! Every night Landis had sat in the corner of the white room, practicing his invisible. Like sheet of glass, the Angel told him – like a meaty sheet of glass. He had tried to walk past the guard that tasted like raisins, but they had used the sleeping gun. He tried harder and they beat him with sticks. But tonight! Tonight, he was finally glass.

But cold...cold and the barking of dogs in the distance. He had to run faster, had to follow his Angel to safety. Landis would not go back to the soft white room.
A root tripped him, and Landis fell into the snow-covered mud. Hush, hush, no time for tears. There she was...the woman in the glowing white dress, standing between the trees on the far hill. She beckoned him towards the lights and sounds of the city.

Come, Landis. Come and dance with me.



Late for the Ball

The lazy headlights of a single car bathed the doorstep with light, forcing Vincent to shield his eyes as it passed on the sleet-covered streets of the warehouse district. A light flurry of snow mixed with freezing rain obscured the entire world in a gray haze, the few working streetlights reduced to dying embers that did little to push the shadows back into the trash-laden alleyways. From one of them, the sound of a wet cough and a whining dog echoed feebly into the chill night air, reminding Vincent that even now he was not truly alone. In the city, you never were.

Never alone...and never hungry.

The apartment building in front of which Vincent waited was a grimy, ugly structure that likely had no architect to claim it – a decrepit brick affair designed simply to shelter bodies from the elements while they awaited the next 16 hour shift in the packing plants or on the docks that surrounded it. Now employed for a darker purpose, Vincent once again pressed the building's only buzzer and faced the small security camera, waiting for the handle-less steel door to open. From inside, the gravelly voice of a servant finally came to him through the door.

Who calls at this hour?”

Vincent spoke slowly, making certain his exact words could not be mistaken.

An old dance partner, come to see a familiar face.”

Twenty seconds of dead silence...and then the sound of locks being turned under key. The door creaked open on rusty hinges, revealing the face of a middle-aged man wearing thick, rimmed glasses and the stubble of a three-day beard. He looked Vincent up and down once more, then deliberately pulled the door open and allowed him entry.

Thank you, Wallace.” Vincent stepped inside, brushing the sleet from the shoulders of his coat as he entered the cramped doorway. The dim interior hallway of the building, illuminated only by a single pair of lamps that led up the rotting wooden staircase, was a tapestry of yellow, mildew-encrusted wallpaper, chipped paint, and water stains which covered a leaking ceiling.

My master will see you in his study.”

Vincent handed the man his coat and fedora, which Wallace accepted wordlessly, skulking off into the corners of what had once been the building's lobby. Careful to watch his step, Vincent straightened his tie and suit jacket, then followed the lamplight up the old staircase to the building's third floor.

A lamenting moan escaped a closed apartment door as Vincent passed the second floor – a door which, like all of the others in the building, was sealed from the outside with a heavy steel padlock. Vincent placed it squarely out of his mind.

On the third floor, harsh electric light escaped from a doorway at the far end of the hall, casting an orange fan along the walls and floorboards. From inside, the faint sound of strings being played on an antique record player drifted towards him. Weber's Der Freischutz, if Vincent was not mistaken. Dietrich loved his Weber.

Vincent's eyes wandered the bookshelves which lined this hall, each one covered in the accumulated clutter of decades long past. Relics of lives once lived and forgotten decayed slowly under the slow, unforgiving passage of time. A collection of snow globes, a tray of shot glasses, a jar full of copper coins aged green, a stack of picture frames, the faded portraits of men and women whose names were lost to history still preserved under a layer of dust and mouse droppings, an antique camera and flashbulb, a long-neglected artist's easel and jars of dried paint, a child's toy wooden horse.

Vincent did his beast to muffle the creaking floorboards under his shoes, then politely tapped on the door frame to the study.

A cultured voice with a taste of old New England aristocracy in it: “Enter.”

Vincent gently pushed the door aside, stepping onto the old, tattered oriental rug and seating himself in the hand-carved wooden chair that sat across Deitrich's imposing oak desk. The creature himself reclined in a torn leather office chair, a mess of papers, books, and paraphernalia splayed before him with no semblance of order under an orange desk lamp. He wore a faded wool suit that had gone out of style while Vincent had still lived, and did little to compliment his shriveled, leathery, and hairless body. A pair of functionless spectacles rested on a hooked nose, and a watch that had failed to keep time was strapped to a wrinkled, vein-ridden wrist.

I am pleased you could come on such short notice, my friend,” he said through a mouth of crooked teeth. “I realize it is unorthodox to summon you in such a hasty fashion, but I am afraid the circumstances demand a sense of urgency.”

Not at all, Dietrich. Always a pleasure to have your company.” Though the company of the redhead growing cold in my haven was thoroughly easier on the eyes. “Another old 'friend' you want to catch up with?” The Nosferatu Priscus was always hungry for information on his tenurial rivals, principally the Regent's favored Daeva consort, and Vincent had found himself obligated on more than one occasion to supply his ally with scraps of information on the woman's social circle. Being an investigator in life had proven a lucrative talent in undeath, though the business was not without its risks.

I'm afraid nothing so simple this time, Vincent. I've come across a modicum of information that, if true, has presented me with an opportunity too rare to squander. But in order to capitalize on it, I will require a certain skill set which I believe you possess.”

I'm listening.”


Dietrich paused, as if weighing his words for a careful legal defense. “What do you know about Creighton Hague?”

The Malkovian primogen. Advises the Prince, kind of a recluse...I'm afraid not much beyond that.”

Again, another pause. “I have a certain friend in the Greystone mental hospital just outside of town who tells me a new patient was just admitted there...a patient whose description matches that of Creighton Hague's own childe.”

His childe? Dietrich, Hague doesn't have childer.”

Oh? You are certain of this?”


Well, I can't prove it, no, but the Prince's edict would make it sheer lunacy to embrace a Malkovian at that echelon of power.”

A smirk crossed Dietrich's crusted lips as he shook his head, like a schoolteacher amused by a struggling student. “Sometimes I forget how new you are to this. If any Kindred is capable of lunacy, it is the Malkovian primogen.”

Vincent couldn't help but feel a twinge of...something...at Dietrich's somewhat condescending remark. “I know the reputation of the Malkovian bloodline, Dietrich. I'm not some doe-eyed fledgeling. But Hague, near as I can tell, has been very careful to avoid involving himself in any drama – you are implying that, for no tangible reason, he has placed himself in the noose while standing not ten feet from his executioner. That is beyond derangement – it's suicidal.”

Perhaps, but that doesn't mean it hasn't been done.”

And then, what? Hague let his childe slip the leash and get admitted to a public asylum? That's not the kind of mistake a Primogen makes.”

No, Vincent. It's not the kind of mistake a Primogen makes twice.”

And there it was, the implied dagger behind every pleasurable Kindred intercourse. One did not rise to the office of primogen without making enemies, and those enemies were always hungry for signs of weakness – for a means of influence.

You want leverage over him.”

I want you to find this childe, and if possible, find evidence that it is, in fact, Hague's own blood. Will you do this for me, Vincent?”

Vincent leaned over in the uncomfortable chair, absentmindedly rubbing his chin as he thought. This was bigger than the petty espionage he had been tasked with prior – insignificant jealousies and rivalries that were excellent for generating favors without ruffling anyone's feathers. But this was a different kind of dance – a dance in which you didn't step on anyone's toes. If Vincent involved himself in this...he would be implicated as a party in the conflict. A very high stakes conflict. And he would be casting his lot in with Dietrich, for better or worse.

Then again, only one thing protected a Kindred from the power of others...and that one thing was power of his own.

Der Freischutz played on in the silence, and from behind his desk, Dietrich sat with his clawed fingers folded neatly in front of him, waiting patiently for his answer.



Down in a Hole

The talking head on the small television that sat atop the fridge sputtered some jumble of static and news as Gina scrounged for her juice. A thermos of iced tea, a package of chilled candy bars, ah there it was – behind the energy drinks.

...fire that erupted three days ago in the isolation wing of Greystone Mental Hospital. Authorities say that the cause of the fire was likely accidental, though the possibility of arson has not yet been....”

Gina tore the seal from the package and let the juice run down her throat. She felt her claws flex, her body filling with ecstasy as raw, bestial power rushed coursed her. Her fangs grew as she squeezed the last drops from the pack, then receded as the rush slowly passed from her – the beast sated for one more night. She looked down at the now-crumpled package in her hand. O-positive, ambrosia of Dionysus himself.

She tossed the spent bloodpack deftly into the rubbish bin against the wall as she made her way back to her computer screen – a beautiful 30 inch piece of technology that had fallen (delicately) from the back of a truck somewhere. The computer was nestled beside a simple folding desk she had stolen from a community center, along with the folding chair. The rest of her furnishings had been pilfered from here and there, and while it wasn't the Ritz, it was at least ordered. And safe. Something crawled through a pipe above her, on it's way to the cisterns deeper below the city. Fucking rats.

She seated herself as Alice in Chains came up on her playlist., then tapped a key to dismiss her Sex Pistols screensaver, diving back into the realm of the internets. Here, she was only as much a monster as she chose to be.

Her forums were the same repositories of gossip and mindless chatter they usually were, nothing worth commenting on. She closed the tabs and worked her way back into the Port Elizabeth Police Department's network, sifting through the new data there. She shook her head disapprovingly as she brushed aside the security's default settings – the PEPD had not fared well without her administrating their server. Chad was too much of a lazy waste to change Gina's old information, and too incompetent to keep her out even if he tried. Then again, why would he? Gina was dead.

Muggings. A drive-by shooting on Montgomery Street that given two people minor injuries and lightly damaged a store front. Fucking gangbangers couldn't hit anything standing still, much less from a moving vehicle. Well...usually, anyway. A second child gone missing in Westside, this one on Boyd St. A couple of convenience stores getting knocked off. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

She scribbled a few notes on the steno pack beside the screen, reminding herself to keep Sam in the loop. Another small act of loyalty from a loving childe to her sire.

A sound byte woke her instant messenger from dormancy.


Trogg: I'm calling in a favor. What do you know about the asylum fire?

Ah, Jacoby. Master of small talk.

Seren1ty: I don't owe you any favors, Jacoby.

Trogg: Bullshit you don't. Who gets you those juicepacks you love so much?


Seren1ty: Sam.

Trogg: Oh really? Because I distinctly remember carrying them down to that shithole you live in last week. Had to throw those shoes away. And I fucking loved those shoes, Gina.

Seren1ty: Sam skimmed them, you just delivered them. It's not the same thing.

Trogg: It's still worth a few scraps of information. All I need is a patient roster for Greystone.

Seren1ty: What's so important about it?

Trogg: There's an old friend on there, Doctor noneofyourfuckingbusinessjustgetit.

Seren1ty: That's a long name.

Trogg. They made him a custom name tag.

Seren1ty: I don't hack without a good reason. (A lie).

Trogg: Fine. A friend of a friend of mine wants some names removed from that list. He's offering some very tempting favors, and I'll cut you in on them.

Seren1ty: This friend of a friend related to Dr. Longname?

Trogg: Maybe.

Seren1ty: I don't want to get into anything too deep, Jacoby.

Trogg: Too deep? What, you think you can hide in that hole alone forever?

Seren1ty: I don't stick my neck out, my head doesn't get cut off.

Trogg: Sis, what happens when Sam stops sending you those bloodpacks? What happens when rats aren't enough any more? Because I promise you, they won't be.

Trogg: You will need to surface eventually, and on the surface you need allies. This is your chance to make them. You going to wait for another one?

Trogg: Sis?

You are idle. 03:27.



A Hunt Begins

Even at 3am, the joint kept the music loud enough to rattle the glasses strewn across the shoddy bar and tables. The smells of alcohol, sweat, and tobacco coalesced into a feverish intoxicant that everyone was imbibing. No inhibitions, no hesitations. Just pure, primal emotion fueling a sexual hunting ground. The women at the bar kept their skirts hiked up too high, played with their drinks too provocatively to suggest anything else was on their minds, and the men obligingly ensnared them.

Seventy made an odd sight in the club, a peculiar suit and hat in a sea of tank tops, fishnet shirts, leather jackets. The number of men brave enough to look good had declined through the decades, and left him with little competition. More than a few pairs of jealous eyes had found their way to his booth, where he courted a pair of women – sisters – that seemed in a hurry to get drunk and wake up to a strange ceiling.

He had just been finding out what their lipstick tasted like when the booth shuddered violently, knocking the younger sister (Kelly? Katie?) awkwardly over him. Seventy rather liked the turn of events, but the fellow in the wheelchair – yes, a wheelchair – seemed a bit put out by the affair.

“On yo way to the stock market, mothahfuckah?”

“Actually, I keep my assets in gold these days. Would ya like me to recommend a money manager, my good sir?”

Check out this clown, boys. Fucker thinks he hot shit enough for two bitches at once.”

“Sir, I am offended. I have gone through great effort to acquire an impressive track record for entertaining multiple ladies at once.”

Surprisingly, the gentlemen didn't find it as amusing as Seventy did, and in short a crew of four similarly dressed hooligans gathered around the booth. A collage of tribal tattoos, lip piercings, and bandanas punctuated by a single ganger wearing what looked like an unfastened straitjacket.

The sisters, luckily, were too drunk to be intimidated. A good thing, because the evening was waning, and Seventy had no intention of finding new prey.



OOC:

A few notes about the nature of the game:


1)It will often be impossible to obey a strict chronology, so dont be afraid to post a bit out of order if it can;t be helped. That being said, don't jump too far ahead, either.

2)To avoid the game stalling if players don't post regularly, I will take over other player characters if they idle over 1 week, or over 4 days in cases in which they are indispensable. If this continues, I will gradually phase the character out of the game.

3)We will play the campaign in chapters, just like the Aegis RP, giving everyone regular opportunities to roll new characters if their own die or they simply grow tired of them. It also gives me chances to redirect the plot and themes, and keeps me from getting burnt out.

4)Make sure you spell-check and proofread your posts! Grammatical and spelling errors detract from a fluid reading of your character's contributions, and quickly become a chore to decipher. Take your time and post interesting, quality material you think the other players will want to read, and make sure it is coherent.

5)Do not assume the actions of major NPCs, major game events, or other player characters. That is for the storyteller only. Your job is to describe your character, and by extension minor NPCs that have little game effect to enhance your dialogue or descriptions. Ask me through private messages or through the OOC thread I will put up for rulings on anything beyond that.

6)All dice rolling will take place in a dice thread or through dice software.I will tell you when rolls are necessary.

7)Don't forget to involve other PCs with your own posts! It helps the story remain vibrant and interactive if the players don't merely focus on themselves, but describe reactions to and impressions of other characters.

8)Don't worry about deviating too far from the 'main' storyline. This is going to be an organic game, and I will gladly accommodate deviations from it if they are suitable and interesting.

Last edited by Foxtrot; 1st of October, 2011 at 01:35.
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Unread 30th of September, 2011, 13:45
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Vincent thought carefully about what he was about to get himself into. On one hand it always pays to have friends with strings, though it pays more to not have enemies with equal or more power than Dietrich, considering he didn't trust the ugly man in front of him to begin with. As he unfocused his gaze he let himself think about the pros and cons, so to speak, of this venture. Something he often did before accepting a mission to potentially anger a kindred higher on the ladder of status, even if he did pull off such a task with stepping on any toes, he was gambling on the fact that he was expendable.

Vincent cleared his throat and straightened his tie for a moment before meeting Dietrich's gaze and spoke carefully in response

"Let's say I decide to undertake this task for you, this is more than my normal amount of espionage, not to mention the risk I will take. What can I expect in return?"

He took out a battered note book from his suit jacket and began to write down in dot points what he believed to be worth recording as he waited for Dietrichs reply and circled the name "Creighton Hague"

Dietrich leaned further back into the old chair and removed the ornamental glasses from his nose as he answered.

"If I obtain leverage over the Primogen, I will remember my friends. The Prince values Hague highly for his supposed talents, and has given him considerable holdings and privileges within the city. He also maintains the ear of the Prince, and I am certain that he could be persuaded to place things in that ear sympathetic to our own pursuits...or perhaps you have some design of your own in mind?"

Vincent leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and smiled slightly.

"No, I have nothing in mind as of now, but you should understand how important favors can be from the right people in this world.
"

Vincent had already made up his mind, but he waited silently as if thinking it over more.

"OK, I'll do this for you, I have an interest in how things will play out, not to mention the opportunity at hand. But I want to know everything I'll need before hand, information can be a powerful weapon as you know, do you have any leads on the location of his alleged childe? or even a name I can use?"


He tapped his expensive black and sliver pen twice against the notebook and smiled quietly to himself, the hunt was on.

"I'm afraid Hague has been very careful to conceal whatever name he calls his progeny, so in that regard I cannot help you. However, rumors of this childe's existence have plagued the primogen for decades, and enough evidence has surfaced over that time to convince that the childe is, in fact, real.

"It is male, in the early stage of human adulthood. Short, gaunt, and pale in appearance. As with all Malkovians, he carries the "gift" with him, in this particular case a rather violent case of schizophrenia.

"All of this description is heresay, but one interesting quirk stands out above the rest: the childe was rumored to be dispossessed of his tongue...an effort by Hague to supposedly keep him tame and quiet...

"Until recently, I thought this last was just a colorful flourish to add to an already scandalous collection of rumors, but this past week a tongueless man of "curious condition" was admitted to Greystone after being found on the side of the road some miles out of the city.

"My contact informs me that an integral element of this 'curious condition' was that the physicians attending failed to register a pulse in the man.

"He was unable to learn anything more, but I think the information already gleaned suffices to rouse our curiosities, does it not?"

Vincent rubbed his chin for a moment as he thought over the facts and possibilities while he absently thought about the time. Sparring a quick glance at his sliver watch with a deep red face, and decided to hurry things along. He couldn't help but wonder who else would move on this opportunity, he would be stupid to think they alone had seized this moment in time.


"It is something to go on I suppose, but I prefer to not work on rumor and possibility. Perhaps a visit to Greystone would be in order in any event, but something comes to mind. Surely we're not the only one interested in this....opportunity.

"It would be a great help if you could inform me of any developments during my investigation, but if that's all the information you currently have for me then I suppose there's no point beating around the bush. I will begin with Greystone next sunset.

"I should retire soon anyway, I'll begin with some calls when I reach my haven."

"Very well. And while I am certain you know this already...be discreet, Vincent. Our fates are bound in this endeavor...do you understand?"


As he stood up to leave he dusted himself off and gave Dietrich a short bow before adding,

"But of course, naturally we should keep our distance for awhile, but you have my number-"

"Walter will show you out, then. Take care, my friend. Opportunities like this come only once every few lifetimes."

As he closed the door and walked away from the muffled sound of
Weber's Der Freischutz playing behind him, he leaned against a wall and added a few last notes to his notebook before leaving the building. He circled the word Greystone and wrote a few notes about the target he just named "John Doe", a rather weak attempt at a joke, considering his target is dead and unknown. He closed the book and put it back inside his suit jacket before walking downstairs and collecting his beaten trench coat and fedora, slipping into the coat as he tipped his hat to Wallace and left the building. After looking around quickly to detect any sign of being watched, he began the walk back home, after all, he really should clean up that redhead.

Last edited by Drenik; 1st of October, 2011 at 14:16.
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Unread 1st of October, 2011, 11:10
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A mad grin nearly split his naked head in two, broken teeth bared in a sinister fashion as Landis scrambled to his feet.

Must not blink or the savior will disappear before Landis can find silence, he thought. Must get there and away from the faceless captors of white.

His boots squelched with every step as he ambled along, tripping over the untied laces.

The land slowly began to rise up against him but Landis continued onward, using hands and feet to propel his skeletal form up towards that beautiful vision at the top. The soft ground suddenly gave way to hard rock as the rise stopped.

His eager focus was broken as he hopped up onto the sidewalk beside a long street, blinded with violent lights and a loud roar. Instantly he felt the need to wrap his arms over his head as a guttural groan escaped his lips. So much pain all at once after so much white.

Last edited by Foxtrot; 1st of October, 2011 at 15:08. Reason: paragraph formatting
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Unread 1st of October, 2011, 13:55
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Gina stared at the screen for a while with her arms folded over her chest. She got up, stretching her arms to the ceiling and lightly scratching the surface of the roof with her fingernails. She turned her attention back to the television, which was now playing an advertisement for Wal-Mart. Reception for a radio was even worse, and the music these days was shit, so the television was used to stave off the quiet. She moved over to her bed, lying down to gather her thoughts.

Doing this would keep Jacoby off her back for a while, and she did owe him maybe one or two favors, but exactly who he had involved himself with this time gave her reason to pause. The fact that he hadn’t stated whether Sam was even in on it was cause for concern, she didn’t know that he rubbed elbows with any of the higher ups. Whatever he had gotten himself into, maybe it would be wise to play this from both angles and keep the information safe in a clean USB, just in case.

Gina returned to her desk, seeing she’d now been on idle for a good seven minuets. She plugged a cheap blank stick into the port.

Seren1ty: Ok, I’ll wipe the data for you. What Am I looking for?

Trogg: A patient roster for the high security wing of Greystone, with all patients admitted within the last 3 days. It would be even more helpful if no one else was able to find this information. You get it?

Gina quickly went to work, faster this was done the better. First she would need to get past the hospitals security systems and firewalls, assuming that they had as much protection as the average corporate business. The second step would be risky, going in, copying the file and bouncing it through a secure filter. If this went sour, if someone caught on that she had this, it could get her a front row seat at the sunrise spectacular. The third step would be brutal but necessary, doing a hard wipe of the files and sending a few of her more nasty viruses on hand to corrupt the system, two of them being the kind you’d pick up from dodgy sites, the third would help in removing traces of her ever being there.

Last edited by Foxtrot; 22nd of October, 2011 at 18:30. Reason: paragraph formatting
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Unread 1st of October, 2011, 16:11
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After 1 hour of work, Gina has easily brushed aside the Greystone sysadmin's pathetic defenses, retrieving the information she wants.
Gina muttered to herself a small smarmy ego boost. This was quickly countered by how much time had passed.

"Shiii- 4:30 already?"

She ripped out the USB stick from the computer, putting the lid on it and shoving it into her pocket. She'd need to find a safe place for it later. Her attention then turned back to the computer, hopefully Jacoby was still online.

Seren1ty: Done, wiped. Piece of cake.

She looked around the room one more time. Getting up and wandering over to the door, she checked that the locks were still in place. Afterward, she wandered back over to the television, turning down the volume a little. While it was normal to get a good mornings sleep once the news was over, she felt obliged to stay up a little later, just in case someone came knocking. After the quick spray of deodorant, she headed back to her computer, fiddling around with her music selection while waiting for her brother to fill her in on anything else he might need.

Last edited by Foxtrot; 22nd of October, 2011 at 18:31.
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Unread 1st of October, 2011, 23:02
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Vincent walked through the dying night with the shadows as his second skin. He knew his way well but stuck close to the backstreets and alleyways more out of habit than suspicion. As he moved along he watched humans going about their business in the early hours of the morning, and thought how easily he could make one disappear, but luckily for them it was getting close to dawn now and he already had a mess back home.

When he finally arrived at the run down old building he called home, he pulled out the keys from his coat and pushed open a thick wooden door, with peeling blue paint and sporting a once sliver handle. The building itself was far from special on the inside, it was little more than a few rooms under a rusted tin roof. He walked over to what once resembled a kitchen, with little more than a few cups, a kettle, some plates and silverware more for sake of appearance than necessity.

As he walked into his messy bedroom, he emptied his pockets as he pulled off his suit jacket and tie before slipping back into his old trench coat and laying on the bed for a moment. The bed sheets remained ruffled from the redheaded company he had to shoo out quickly after he was summoned earlier that night. Despite his ancient house he was a very clean person at heart, and began to clean up the house after stretching and hopping off the bed. After cleaning up any left over traces of his guest, he locked up and retreated to the basement, pulling back a rug to reveal a thick metal trapdoor in the ground.

After climbing down the ladder in the wall and clicking on the light he closed the door shut and locked it from the inside, taking off his coat and fedora to lend them to the nearby coat peg. After sitting in a comfortable desk chair he booted up his computer to look for information on the "Greystone Mental Hospital" and began to think about his next steps. He barely even noticed an IM ping pop up saying "Seren1ty online." as he made himself at home.

Last edited by Drenik; 11th of October, 2011 at 03:14.
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Unread 2nd of October, 2011, 08:01
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Seventy looked flustered for just a moment, before a grin split his face. "I do quite like them matchin' outfits, if you can call 'em that. You all look the same, considerin' you all look like you dumped your wardrobe out on the floor, rolled around in it and came out clubbin' with whatever stuck." Having finished his customary 'piss-off-more-than-you-can-chew' maneuver, Seventy took a moment to more closely examine the strait-jacketed fellow amongst the group.

"Except you. I've been around the block a few times, an' I've never run across a fella with a straitjacket in a club. I don't know whether to tip my hat to your originality, or try to buckle you back up."

Seventy then checked his holster, using the motion of propping one of his drunken damsels back up out of his crotch as a cover... Just in case.
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Unread 3rd of October, 2011, 06:56
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The truck passed, its roar still ringing in his years. Noises in the quiet white room were scarce. The beings of white always spoke to him softly, as though he were a frightened child. Now he felt a pang of need for one of those voices to tell him what to do as his arms slipped from atop his slick head. There was so much...space. The trees had obscured most of that large blackness on the top of the world. His large eyes flickered closed and opened quickly as his fear began to subside, the grin slowly returning. Freedom.

The sound of a high-pitched laugh from further down the line caused a shiver to run down his spine. A flash of hot liquid ran through his body and a sharp pang shot through his teeth.

He was so hungry. With a quick glance back towards his prison-home, he gathered himself on two legs and crossed over the hard black river for monsters into a dark pathway.

A deep groan from just outside his path made one eye twitch in surprise. His heightened flight mechanism caused his muscles to grow taut, readying to sprint.

The light from a clear portal into a large building fell upon the beautiful sight of a syringe rolling slowly over the flattened trash in the alley. Having done its work, the needle fled from a being sitting next to the dumpster. Heavy black workmen's boots led to long lines of leather-clad legs, up to a mesh screen upon the upper body.

A deep drum began to throb in Landis' head as his eyes fell upon the pulse of the serene druggie. The man's eyes were close, a peaceful expression upon a pale-painted face. So peaceful. So delicious.

Landis' legs began to move of their own accord, the edges of his vision going black with focus upon that beautiful beating bass residing beneath the man's skin. He could almost smell the diamorphine running through the mainlined junkie’s veins. That could only be found in pharmacies, which made it stolen. The thought made him quiver in anticipation, the Chesire grin still stretching his lips.


Stolen prizes always taste the best.

Last edited by Dagnyisntdead; 3rd of October, 2011 at 06:59.
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Unread 4th of October, 2011, 05:06
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Originally Posted by Foxtrot # Gangers all remain oblivious to the fact that Seventy is armed.
Seeing that his audience was blissfully unaware of the subtle nuances of his performance, Seventy decided to keep one hand near the concealed weapon while he used the other, and some fast-talking, in an attempt to figure out just how far this encounter was going.

"Four gang bangers walk into a club... No? Not a fan of that one? Mais, I've got another for you. A cripple and three friends roll and or trundle into a club... Still nothing? You lot have got to work on your sens de l'humour! Say, monfrère in the straitjacket, you gon' tell li'l ol' me what de story is? It's gotta be a good, good one with that fou manteau you got on, eh?"

Seventy then slapped on his most charming smile and attempted to expect the unexpected. It was more fun this way.
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Unread 5th of October, 2011, 14:56
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The ganger is the wheelchair responded by reaching into his pocket and producing a butterfly knife, which he made a great show of waving in front Seventy and the women before stabbing it firmly into the table between them. Cat calls and amused laughter erupted from his crew, which began to harass the women and coerce them from their places beside Seventy in the booth. To the side, the bartender began to drift towards the backroom before a large tattooed ganger hopped the bar and stared him down.

All other conversation is the room stopped dead, a few panicked patrons moving quickly towards the door or pulling out cellphones. Only the music blared on unabated as the fierce-looking man in the stolen wheelchair locked eyes with Seventy.

"I think you have something of mine, dandy-man...my watch."


======================


He was...delicious.

The rush of sated virgin bloodlust laced with a drug-enduced euphoria overwhelmed Landis with a feeling of invincibility. Of immortality. But with that same ecstasy came a fear Landis had not yet felt before - he felt a sudden desire to hide himself. To bury himself from the eyes that lurked all around him, and from the light that would betray him to the others.

A figure of light floated from one shadow to another in the distance - the angel in white turned her head to give Landis her beautiful smile before walking through a rusty iron gate bent from its hinges, disappearing behind an old cobblestone wall covered in the dried vines of briers and moss.


The cemetery was a colonial-age relic of history forgotten by the modern world that surrounded it. A small, enclosed graveyard with cobbled walls to keep the grave-robbers out...or perhaps the dead in. Uneven rows of tombstones, the names once painstakingly etched upon them long since weathered away, filled the mossy hilltop with a forest of broken stone, aged gargoyles, and crude crucifixes.

In a neglected corner sat a dilapidated building that may once have been beautiful, its alabaster stone turned to a sickly gray by the ravages of nature and time. A solitary angel, its wings broken and head missing, stood sentinel over the broken doorway and its inviting darkness.

Player response deadline: Oct 12

Last edited by Foxtrot; 14th of October, 2011 at 05:11.
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Unread 7th of October, 2011, 10:25
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The grin, now framed in red, spread once more as he watched the beautiful vision dance out of sight. He felt no irritation at being interrupted before taking the final pulse from his breathing sack of Silence. The gangly figure simply scampered towards the gate, after his beautiful vision.

Peering in, he scanned the vacant graveyard with a similarly empty expression. The need to keep moving gripped him once more as he spied a soft light disappearing into the broken remnants of a large stone door. He moved towards it, eyes fixated upon the eyes of rock belonging to an angel staring down from above the entrance.

It was…so cold and dark where the lady was leading him. A shiver of pleasure ran down his spine as he ambled up the rubble and down uneven stairs of stone.

The perfect place for a snooze… he thought as he stumbled into a large lightless room below ground. Plopping down into a corner, he wrapped his arms around his body and closed his eyes, the smile still firm upon his features.
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Unread 9th of October, 2011, 12:06
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Seeing that his new companions were determined to cause trouble, Seventy decided there was no point in continuing the game any longer. The hand hovering near his holster burst into action, targeting the two gangers on either side of the wheelchair'd leader.

He wasn't sure if he'd be able to take out two of the bastards in one go, but hey, worth a shot.
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Unread 13th of October, 2011, 17:43
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With lightning-speed (or at least speed which he thought approached lightning), Seventy drew and fired. The round passed cleanly through the groin of the gangbanger to the left of their leader. With nearly the same speed, Seventy clapped on his signature - as he calls it - grin and said, "Mais, peeshwank, I tink you should run along. Go an' boude' in some udder club."

(Translation: "Well, little-man, I think you should run along. Go pout in some other club.")
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Unread 14th of October, 2011, 05:09
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The ganger in the straight jacket collapsed in sudden agony as the deafening blast of the pistol filled the dance club. The screams of women erupted in unison, and whichever patrons hadn't left the club at the beginning of the altercation made a mad rush for the room's only visible exit, overturning furniture and sending glasses crashing to the floor. The sisters weren't so drunk enough not to scream, either, both of them ducking underneath the booth in fear. Through it all, the speakers blared the tune of some deep-throated goth and an untuned bass guitar, as if all the chaos were just a part of the show.

The ganger screamed and writhed, clasping the bloody mess between his legs, as the others around him fled for cover, putting as much distance between the gun and themselves that they could. The mouthpiece in the wheelchair, caught off-guard by the sudden attack, slipped and fell awkwardly backwards as he tried to jump from his seat. The ganger behind the bar drew a pistol concealed under his shirt and swung it in Seventy's direction, only to be clubbed mercilessly by baseball bat the bar tender produced from under the bar.

response deadline: Oct 14
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Unread 14th of October, 2011, 08:59
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Still smiling and still holding the revolver, Seventy looked down at his comely compatriots. "Mais, peti's, le's go an' find sum'ere a bit more quiet, yes?" He would be damned if he was going to leave this place without his meal. Gesturing for the pair to follow, he stood and made to leave, still watching the remaining gangers for any sudden moves.
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Unread 14th of October, 2011, 12:12
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The Sun rises, and with it the living continue to mindlessly labor, oblivious to the creatures that lurk sleeping in the shadows around them. It paints the sky a deep red before disappearing over the horizon again, its pale sister taking its place amongst the heavy, drifting clouds.

And with the moon, so rise the damned...

==============

Landis knelt reverently upon his knees in the crypt, the chorus of angles filling the room with a sanctimonious dirge for the dead too beautiful for the ears of the living. Before him upon the stone sarcophagus stood his angel, her pure white dress now bathed in the blood of lambs which dripped softly into a growing puddle beneath her feet. All about her, a ring of skeletons laughed and danced with their hands entwined...celebrating.

Landis laughed with them, the ecstasy of his freedom the sweetest of aphrodisiacs, but his voice was not his own. The Creature that wore his skin reveled inside, a thing of claws and fangs that stirred within.

The Angel fixed her eyes upon him, her hand outstretched in invitation. Landis. This Danse is yours...


***

Landis drifted from the fevered blood dream back into reality, though for him the two worlds were entwined so intimately that he could never be certain which he currently tread. He rubbed the mucus from his eyes with the dirty sleeve of the strait jacket that hung limp from his arm, finding the cold comfort of the mausoleum that had been his sanctuary coming back into focus. He threw his legs over the stone casket which he had made his bed, a dull pain in his feet reminding him of his long journey to freedom.

Hunger.

He was hungry...but not for food, or even for the silence that slipped coolly into him from the bite of needles. A Creature driven to hunt.

But there was no time for that now...the lid of the sarcophagus beneath him had begun to stir...

Player Response Deadline: Oct 20

Last edited by Foxtrot; 15th of October, 2011 at 10:26.
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Unread 14th of October, 2011, 15:52
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Mel wakes up, suddenly, from his dream...if you could call it that. This time it was of when the black ships arrived off the coast, and the chaos that ensued afterward. He gets up off his bed, shaking his head as if to try to get those thoughts out and walks over to the display case where his old uniform is and next to it the Katana he wielded. He reaches over and grabs the sheathe, which is leather with a painting of a dragon wrapped around, and walks over to a small area with a carpet on it. After bowing to a painting of his former captain on the wall infront of him, he unsheathes his sword and practices some basic Kendo moves for a couple minutes. As he is Sheathing the sword, he walks back to the display case and puts it back where it was, and then brushes off some of the dust on the display case. Time to go give them something to eat I guess, and walks over to a wooden cabinet above a couple of paintings and takes some rice, then walkes over to the Hokora(Mini-Shinto shrine)he built when he found this place, and puts the rice on a ceramic bowl.

Heading to his wardrobe, he gets out of his robe and changes into his suit(Classic mid-50's black suit with a red tie). Now..time to go find some food, And heads to the stone stairs leading to the entrance, and throws the body blocking the way in down the stairs. He opens his sarcophagus, and climbes out to something of a shock to him. A person in his Haven, who he did not invite and has never seen before, standing there. Mel looks at him, wide-eyed with huge pupils and fangs baring like a dog about to attack, and lunges at him.

Last edited by Digirono; 23rd of October, 2011 at 17:57.
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Unread 15th of October, 2011, 15:26
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His sore muscles instantly tensed as the stone beneath him began to tremble. Nimbly he launched off of the lid and turned, facing his former bed with wide eyes, arms wrapped around his stomach in a protective pose. He had no time to be annoyed at being awakened from beautiful dreams as a snarling corpse rose up from the depths uncovered by the lid. His smile was far gone as he took one step away, his body numb from a terrible mixture of surprise and fear.

Suddenly, his scavenger instinct kicked his brain in the cortex.

Run!

Landis had always been fast, his tiny skeletal form cutting through the air like a sharp knife. The gift made him all the more fast as he launched himself, towards the stairs, ready to scramble up away from the hellish beast.

Last edited by Foxtrot; 21st of October, 2011 at 03:36.
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Unread 16th of October, 2011, 01:15
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Gina rose groggily from the bed, the annoying beeps of the phone bouncing on the concrete walls. She remembered waiting half an hour for her brother to reply before shutting down the computer. She also remembered getting up several times during the day, not being able to sleep peacefully, having to keep checking the USB in her pocket was still there.

She got up for her nightly routine, lathering herself in different deodorants, wishing she had a proper shower or at least some clean water and soap. She then turned on the television and booted up the PC, fiddling around with her music selection. At last, she picked up her phone, still in a groggy haze.

Trogg: Well? You got the sauce?

Seren1ty: ...Sauce?

Jacoby's message wasn't long returning. Gina's messenger chirped over her queue, a text box popping into view over her screen:

Trogg: The goods, sis. Any trouble?


She frowned, taking herself over to the fridge as she tried to type out her long message using the tiny number pad, made all the more difficult with her elongated nails.

Seren1ty: If you read the message I sent you last night you'd already know this by now. The answer's yes, it's gone. They're systems will probably be on the fritz too.

She put the phone into her pocket and opened the fridge, checking that she had enough blood packs to last her the week. in the background Mad Season was playing 'Long Gone Day', not her favorite, but it would do.

Trogg: Good. Just to be safe, you should make a backup and stash it somewhere. I'll drop by tonight and pick it up.

Gina pulled out the blood pack from the back of the fridge and carefully placed it on the bench. She looked around to see how many she had left. At her count, two. She looked back at the pack on the bench, thinking she might need to start rationing them again soon. The thought of hunting down rats in the sewers again was not pleasant. She took the pack over to her desk to drink as the computer whirred, loading her internet browser. She types in a few more messages to Jacoby, hoping he hasn't left yet.

Seren1ty: "hey, could you maybe please bring around some more packs? I'm running low again :c"

Trogg: Don't tell me your sewer's running low on rats, too.

Seren1ty: "haw haw. Very funny :I"

Trogg: Fine, but these things aren't cheap, you know. I'll be there soon.


There was a notice on her inbox, one new message. She double clicked on the icon as she plugged in the USB. Her other data storage unit had an accident weeks ago, which meant she'd need to burn the stolen information onto a blank CD. She read the e-mail as the information was being copied over.

My dearest kindred,


How long has it been since I first saw you presented at court beside you sire? You were yet so young, but I knew even then you would embrace what you have become in stride. I have been blessed with the insight to tell which of the fledgelings will endure and which will succumb to the burdens that they have inherited, and those like you carry the survivor's blood in your veins.



Would you care to join me some evening soon? I would very much like to discuss your future with our kind, and perhaps introduce you to some friends. I promise,
I won't bite.


Affectionately yours,



Katheryn


Gina stares at the computer, on the edge of her seat. She vaugely remembers Katheryn, from when Samuel first embraced her. She was a Daeva, one that stood in the prince's place when she was introduced to the society. As she shivers in her memories, a series of taps on the door jolt her out of the desk.


Gina carefully opens the heavy metal door, the old valve groans in annoyance. Jacoby grumbles at the wait.


he brushes past Gina as if into his own apartment - typical behavior for him - and tossed her a crumpled brown paper bag as he plopped himself unceremoniously into the old couch in the corner.


"your juice, Sis"

"Thanks." She goes over and retrieves the disk from the computer, putting it in a protective case and handing it to Jacoby


"So you gonna tell me what this is all about now?"

Jacoby loosened the scarf he wore around his mouth to hide his features, then reached out to take the disk from her. He flipped it over in his hands, an almost-smile on his hideous face as he reverently considered it.

"It is a funny thing, that we should suffer so much...for such a little thing. That's Lord of the Rings, Gina. Don't tell me Tolkien doesn't make it down here, either."

Gina folds her arms across her chest with impatience written on her face, "Wasn't much into fantas- Hey! No! What have I told you about this!" She goes to pull his shoes from his feet.

"Oh that's right I forgot. You like your cesspool nice and tidy." Jacob placed the disk on the arm of the sofa as he reached down to remove his boots, which he tossed messily into the corner.

Gina hisses low, picking up the tossed shoes and placing them near the door. She grumbles as she retrieves a rotten mop from the supply cupboard and begins to wipe away the grit Jacoby tracked through the place

"And to answer your question, this..." he waved the disk between them "...this is gold. Somewhere on here is a name that should never have been, and when we find out which name it is...well, you'll be moving to the classy end of the sewer."

She raises her eyebrow. "didn't think there was such a thing." After a pause, the mutters to him in a low voice. "Were you working for Katheryn?"

"Katheryn?" Jacoby looked at Gina like she has just grown a second head. "The snobbish Daeva bitch? Why would you think I'm working for her?"

Gina looks to her computer then back to Jacoby, "She sent me an email today. She said she wanted to meet up for some reason. Figured she must have been the one who put you up to this."

"Gina, she hates Nosferatu. Katheryn would have banished us long ago if she'd won the big chair in the Night of Daggers. We don't fit into her idyllic vision of damnation, I'm afraid...She just emailed you? Out of the blue?"

"Yeah. It was weird. Maybe it was a miss-send?"

"You hand your email out to many other Kindred?"

"Of course not, but she probably has my e-mail due to Samuel. Go have a look at it if you don't believe me" Pointing to the computer, She begins to stack the blood packs into the fridge carefully


"I doubt she makes those kinds of mistakes. More likely she's got some scheme she needs you for..." At this, Jacoby remembered the disk in his hand. "Oh fuck...she wants you for this! That's got to be it!"
Jacoby let a soft cackle of amusement escape him. "That makes this even a bit sweeter. I get something she wants and can't have."

Starting to panic "How would she even know about this? I know I was f*****g careful as S**t!"

"Hey, relax, Sis. Don't have a period. She doesn’t know you have it, she wants you to get it for her...I just beat her to it, is all. See?"

Gina crawls onto her bed and assumes the fetal position. "So what do I do?"

"Nothing - just don't answer. And what are you so worried about? Christ, you'd think Gehenna just knocked at the door."

Sullenly mutters "Easy for you to say."

"Sis, she doesn't know shit. How could she? The bitch just needed a tool to scrounge up the data for her, and you were the only one she could come up with. She doesn't know you hacked anything, she doesn't know you have anything. Stop worrying."

"So what do I say? Sorry, can't, busy hiding in my hovel from the big wide world?"

“Sure, why not?"

She slowly pushes herself upright. "Ok. Fine...Is there anything else you need?"

Jacoby seemed relieved to move onto business. "We need to comb through this and figure out who was admitted to the hospital this past week, and then find out everything we can about them. Because if the rumors are true...one of them is the Malkovian primogen's childe."

Gina nods, and moves over to her computer, she sticks in her USB. She turns off the internet connection and quickly makes a copy of the data on her computer, then removing the stick and placing it back into her pocket. She then begins a search algorithm for patients admitted within the time frame, hoping to get a shortlist relating to the dates, hoping that the list will not be long.

Eventually one name stands out amongst the others, Calvin Quincy. Entered three days before the fire, no contact info and no patient data seems to have been recorded. Probably either wiped before she could get to it or never logged at all. It doesn't even mention if he was some crazy brought in by the police or transferred from another hospital. Only solid thing seems to be a description, 27 years, blond with blue eyes, about 145 pounds and 6'0" tall. Attending physician, Franklin Grisham.

"Think I've found your guy. Or at least someone connected to the guy that might be your guy. Want me to find the Doc's details?"

Jacoby paused for a moment leaning over her shoulder to read the information. He frowned at the last sentence.

"No, That name's already come up before. I got it from here."


Jacoby went over to the door, putting on his shoes and wrapping the scarf tight again over his face. He put the disk inside the hidden pocked on his Jacket, turning to face Gina.

"Remember, I was never here." and promptly left, shutting the door behind him. The sounds of his footsteps were faint.

Gina went over to the valve on the door and gave it one more tightening, for luck. She returned to her desk, unplugging the USB and putting it in her pocket, next to the phone. With any luck, he'd remember to give her a cut when this was done. Gina took one last look at the e-mail, wondering if perhaps she could play this two ways. Thoughts of greed began to turn to fear, of the people who would shriek in her appearance, of the many things that would do her harm, human, vampire or otherwise. She shook her head and turned the volume of the television up, her nightly stalking of the police records had been delayed long enough.

Last edited by Serenity; 28th of October, 2011 at 18:47.
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Unread 16th of October, 2011, 02:30
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Vincent stretched as he climbed out of his comfortable bed and walked over to a sliding wall which housed most of his clothes. After pulling on a pitch black suit and a dark blue button up shirt, he started filling his pockets with the essentials. After some debate he choose to slide a handgun into the back of his pants and a small knife into holster near his ankle, hidden by his long suit pants.

Scooping up the information he had uncovered, he slipped into his trench and put on his fedora before climbing into the house and making his way out the door and towards Greystone Mental Hospital. As he locked up and began to move down the streets he glances over his shoulder and looked around, more habit than paranoia, and adjusted his sliver watch, noting the time at 9:16 pm. After setting his phone to silent, he began slinking through the darkness, making a bee line for the start of his next case.

After reaching a more densely populated area of the city, one with some signs of actual civilized life, he leaned against a streetlight and tried to hail a taxi for a few minutes. After getting the attention of an overweight and unhappy man who could have been anywhere between forty and sixty, Vincent slipped in and tipped his hat to the cabbie, simply saying "Greystone Mental Hospital" and getting comfortable while his car began the short journey.

After settling in, Vincent took out two books from his suit jacket, one was the notebook he had written in during the meeting with Dietrich, and the other was a thick and slightly bigger volume with bits of paper and post-it notes sticking between the pages. Flicking through the second book, he opened to a page he had worked on last night during his computer search on Greystone. Vincent liked going into these things knowing as much as he could, and the taxi ride was the perfect time to catch up on any details he may have forgotten.

In the somewhat hasty handwriting his notes went into detail concerning information most people could find on the internet with a good search and a reason to care. The Hospital had been founded in the 1870's for veterans after the war, but later become a regional mental hospital for more violent patients after the government expanded it over time, to take the pressure off other facilities unsuited to the task. The bulk of the numbers include 400 patients, 100 medical staff and roughly 150 staffers / orderlies, a lot of people I'm going to have to get around (roughly 650 people to get in my way). For what it's worth, the doctors seem highly regarded in their fields, particularly Dr. Franklin Grisham, Head physician, Dr. Ana Merryl and Dr. Anthony Clark, who specialize in Alzheimer's and schizoaffective disorder.

On the 23rd of October, 2008, two patients died from ( malpractice? possible cover up? ) an overdose when their prescriptions were swapped. The patients in question, Jason LeMay and Carrie Hodges, have no living family to speak of and were isolated from the others due to extreme violence. Otherwise the hospital has lived a dull life until the recent break-in that was on the news four days ago. Some thugs broke in and set a fire, most likely looking for drugs to steal and something to vandalize, they got away without being clearly seen, pity.

The rest of the information was dot pointed or written down as an after thought, most of which he skipped as it didn't seem relevant in any case. He noticed the cabbie glancing in his rear view mirror a few times. Curious as to what his silent passenger was doing, he opened his mouth but Vincent met his next glance with a dangerous look and he decided to focus on driving the rest of the way in silence.

He pocketed the thicker tome and flipped quickly through the notepad, the words
"Creighton Hague" stared back at him as he wondered what he expected to find here, possibly more than he bargained for. As the building grew larger in the window he put away his notepad and got ready to pay the man, time to play the dance of kindred politics.

Last edited by Drenik; 22nd of October, 2011 at 20:11.
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Unread 22nd of October, 2011, 17:19
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After the intruder jumped over the wall and ran away from his cemetery, Mel quickly heads back to his haven to make sure nothing else got in. As he is getting inside he closes the door and locks it Pesky intruders...I wonder what gave him the idea that this place would be safe for him..... Brushing off the dust from his suit, he does a thorough check around the crypt, and back down in his room until he is satisfied that no one is there. As he heads back up to the main part of the crypt, he gets the body that he threw down the stairs and an overcoat with a hood on it, low enough that people can't see his face but he is still able to see. He places the body in the sarcophagus so that it looks like nothing is underneath, while still being able to move it and get in there when he has to. Now...time to get something to eat before another person attempts to make this their home and heads for the nearest Subway station to get downtown, constantly looking over his shoulder for the person that invaded his home.

Last edited by Digirono; 23rd of October, 2011 at 17:56.
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Unread 25th of October, 2011, 23:41
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Seventy awoke slowly. He fancied he had a hangover. If nothing else, he was going to go through the motions like he had one. Made things feel more normal. He climbed gingerly out of bed, making an attempt to not wake his guests. He'd scored with another pair of ladies the previous night. They hadn't left yet, but Seventy knew he'd have to move on again soon. Before things had gotten a chance to smell.

With a mighty (and pointless) stretch, he staggered over to the mini-fridge. Still a few of those little pussy-bottles left. "Mais, I've got an ahnvee fo' some spirits... How about you, peti's?" Asked Seventy, turning to his guests. After a moment of staring blankly at their still forms, he muttered to himself, "Nah, peti's, I suppose you would need a throat for that, yes?" and drained the bottles himself.

He gathered his clothing, left neatly folded upon a chair in the bedroom - he never got his clothes dirty if he could help it - and headed for the bathroom. A few minutes later he emerged again, his body warm from the shower he had just taken. One of the only times when his flesh wasn't cool to the touch. He threw a cursory glance around the small motel room, gathering up his few belongings in his mind as he dressed. "Ah, beb, you are de only one for me," he crooned as he strapped on his revolver with a smile.

He was nearly ready to leave. Nearly ready.

Just a small matter of fucking with the cops left to take care of. Reaching into a jacket pocket, Seventy produced a baggy full of hair. Dog hair. Specifically the type of dog that possesses a nerve-wrackingly large ratio of wolf blood to domesticated dog blood. The kind of dog that people describe as being "very pretty" even as they clutch their children closer. He spread it through the room sparingly and tactically before opening the door with a smile. "I take pride in my work. Gives me de freesôns, it does."

He was a few steps away from the motel door when the smile abruptly faded. Something was wrong. He'd missed something. He knew what it was, too.

With an even wider grin, Seventy walked back, smashed a window, and strolled off once more, whistling tunelessly.

It wasn't a good cover, but it didn't have to be. He did it for the fun.

Last edited by Valawyn; 26th of October, 2011 at 06:14.
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  #23  
Unread 26th of October, 2011, 08:28
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He flew from the top of the wall like a graceful boulder, landing to roll several feet before jumping up. After a tease with disaster as he stepped on one of his shoelaces, snapping one in two, Landis sped into the cover of the forest. He did not stop, fear propelling him forward for what seemed like eons before his feet hit the hard pavement. The pavement felt warm against his cold skin as he sank to his knees, eyes fluttering all over. He needed guidance. The lady was nowhere to be seen and Landis was so alone. So very, very alone in the painful lack of noise.

A familiar roar sounded down the road. Landis hunched up, staring wide eyed at the incoming bright light heading in his direction.
Eat me…, he thought, suddenly sullen after the fear began to subside. A great scream sounded followed by a hiss. It was quiet a moment before a creak and a voice.


“What da hell is wrong wif you?! Sitting in the middle of da road like gerddamn roadkill!” a high-pitched voice sounded.

Landis blinked rapidly, staring at the shadowy figure as it assessed him.

Run!

The voice commanded again before he found himself on the run again. He heard shouting back at the road as went deep into the woods before turning to follow the meandering asphalt. Fatigue began to hit his body, causing him to trip on numerous roots and branches. Just as he was about to give up and cower beneath a tree, a white rippling figure could be seen at the edge of the treeline.

The smile returned, eyes taking on their natural unnerving gleam as he pushed forward.

The lady…my lady is there..

As he burst through the final tree line, excitement turned to anxiety as the open flap of a tent continued to sway in the breeze. A fence separated him from the tent, which was the only thing stopping him from attempting to pummel the tent. It surely had tricked him on purpose. He gave a deep growl of frustration. The disappointment began to clear as he realized where he was. The park was quiet, fair season now long gone. The vast array of booths, rides and empty space beckoned to Landis as he scuttled over the fence. Surely no one would attack him here…

He began to wander down the road, arms crossed over his abdomen and sleeves swaying with his motions. Abandoned games lined the first path, his eyes roving over the unfamiliar items.

A place of torture, with all the stains and holes in the walls of these booths.
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  #24  
Unread 29th of October, 2011, 04:57
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Vincent stepped out of the cab, handing some notes to the driver's outstretched hand. He nodded his thanks and rolled up the dirty car window, the cab's headlights illuminating the sign above the parking lot's gate:

Hitchhikers May Be Escaped Patients

The hospital itself was an equally sordid affair, just as Vincent's research had described it - a collection of small outbuildings, some of them modern and others cut from the old granite that was the facility's namesake, clustered around the parking lot. Behind them, the main building rose five stories above - a building more reminiscent of a forgotten castle than a hospital. Spires and gargoyles adorned its eaves, and rusted iron bars covered every window. A chainlink fence topped by razorwire surrounded the building, behind which the flashing lights of a single patrol car could be seen in the driveway.

A small group of men in long coats were standing beside a broken section of fence they had cordoned off with police tape - the likely point of breakin.

Last edited by Foxtrot; 1st of November, 2011 at 01:53.
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  #25  
Unread 29th of October, 2011, 20:23
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As Vincent strolled towards the administration building, he scouted out the police officers hanging by the breached fence. There were three men, all fairly young, most likely rookies assigned to guard the crime scene more than do any actual investigation. They all looked bored and tired, clearly having no expectations of solving the crime any time soon, while about fifty yards away there was the fourth member of the squad sitting alone in a blinking patrol car. Vincent took note of this as he walked casually to the admin building, which seemed to be closing for the night if not already done so. When he arrived at the glass double doors at the front of the office he could see the desk was empty and no one was in sight, but several lights were still on in the building and there were a couple cars still parked outside.

Vincent stood there for a short while, noting the security camera in the corner. It would see him if he walked in and as of now, he no desire to let himself be recorded breaking into the building at night and poke around, running the risk of finding people still inside. After creeping away and around the side of the building, he considered trying a window or damaging the circuit breaker. But after running some scenarios through his head it didn't look promising to try a full scale break in alone, instead it was time to stick to his strengths.

He walked slowly to the cops around the fence and watched as they either glanced his way or continued to shuffle around the crime scene. He stopped a good few feet away and tried to look past the cops without success, in this light the distance and obstructions weren't going to make things any easier. After straightening his tie and clearing his throat, he put on his game face and approached the group.

He nodded to the first cop with a stern gaze and tried to look like he belonged at a crime scene, in all fairness, he did more than they ever would. "You there!", He barked at the green as grass recruit, "What have we got here? you and your damn men are blocking the view with this poor excuse of an investigation!"

The officer looked confused, but the fear of being caught lazing on the job by a superior officer overrode whatever impulse the patrolman might have to check for Vincent's nonexistent police identification, all he could manage to blurt out was a weak "Uh..s-sorry sir...?" The other officers snapped to attention, each adopting their fellow's assumption that the commanding stranger was a superior, and that they had been caught slacking off.

"Well? What have we got here? It's enough to be working this case at such an ungodly hour"
, He pushed his way into the crime scene and wiped out his notebook and a pen before looking around at their confused faces. "Don't just stammer! What have you got for me!?"

"Nothing new, uh, detective. We found sone new prints on the door to the maintenance area, but its the same as the others."

Vincent grunt and turned to the two men at his side, Now to make these guys bugger off for awhile he thought as he tapped his notebook with the pen. "Why don't you two do a sweep of the grounds and double check the building where the fire began," He turned to face the first man as the other two began to trudge unhappily away, "and you can go get me a damn coffee, black. Get one for yourself while your at it." He smiled to himself as the man left him to his devices finally, this really brought him back.

After a good ten minutes of investigation, he discovered they had likely been a small group containing six to seven vandals, who had cut through the fence with a large pair of wire cutters and gave no regard for stealth. A maintenance door was broken down with a sledgehammer which let them steal some paraphernalia and abuse some of the staff, from the reports they had hurt one and raped another. After wrecking havoc they doused the records office in gasoline, destroying it. None of the patients were reported harmed or unaccounted for according to the staff, something Vincent took note of, and the fire was limited to the first floor. Lastly a gang sign was spray painted on the side of the building, forming a the words "Karnal" in a stylized tribal font.

After taking a few pictures on his phone and jotting down a few notes, the patrolman Vincent had dubbed "Coffee man" walked back and handed him his black coffee before sipping the one he got for himself. Vincent took a sip and turned to face the man "So what do you know about these thugs that broke in so far?", he waved his hand at the "Karnal" on the wall, "though I can guess the gang they're in."

The young man quickly swallowed the sip he had just taken and met Vincents gaze. "What we know so far is there were a small group at the hospital, they left by vehicle and were spotted last night at bar around north side...around Port Elizabeth I think..."

"You think?", Vincent raised an eyebrow, having a a lot of fun making these young officers trip over their words. "I'm going to need specifics here..."

Coffee man cleared his throat, still a little afraid of Vincent but starting to get annoyed now. "It was...Port Elizabeth, in the Bergen part of the city. Last night they stopped at "Mr Sing Song's" bar and got into a fight with a well dressed man in a large fedora according to eye witness reports. The man pulled a gun and badly wounded a gang member before leaving with two women."

Vincent stopped to think for a moment, frankly he needed a lot more to go on, but he didn't particularly possess the skills to break into a large hospital without ending up in a dire situation. He starting to scribble down information in his note book while he thought, perhaps it was time to call Dietrich, this was a time sensitive case and he could quite frankly use some back up if he wanted to find this person first. "That will be all for now, stay at the crime scene until the others met back here."

Vincent left the man to guard the spot alone and headed back to the taxi waiting for him in the street. He leaned against the side and signaled the cabbie to wait a moment before pulling out his phone and calling Dietrich, it was not something he liked to do but it seemed like teaming up could be necessary, this was a good opportunity for Vincent to get his own leverage and he only had a small window to act. After a moment the phone connected and he could hear the decrepit old man wheezing into the other end. "It's me, I have some new information for you, but first I'm going to need a little assistance to move things along on my end..."

Assistance? What kind may I offer?

"I'm going to need something more to go on, I managed to look at the crime scene at the hospital but I'm not going to get inside the building. The official statement is that no patients went missing shortly after the fire managed to burn down part of the records room. I know the gang behind this but I can't really see a connection at the moment, it seems unlikely they did this under orders"


"If no patients are missing, do you think our friend is still inside?"


"It is possible, but it could be that the hospital is lying to cover their reputation. I'll need some help if you want me to try a break in, the cops aren't much of an issue but I'd rather not run around such a large building with the cameras and guards inside."


"Very prudent of you. What do you require?"


Drenik: "That depends, what can you offer? If I'm going in for a search it might be best to have some level of cover to let me get around without tip toeing around the staff. The police think I'm with them at the moment but that could turn sour if anyone actually asks about identification."


There was a pause as Dietrich considered his options, obviously weighing the benefits of sharing his resources and revealing his hand. I will make some phone calls and see what can be done. You have no means of doing this yourself?"

"Sure, if I want to be discovered. On this mission more than most I'd like to keep both our faces in the dark as best as possible"


"You understand, Vincent, that the more people I enlist for our cause, the greater the risk and fewer the rewards of teh endeavor will be...I want to be certain you feel this is necessary."

"I don't feel we have to necessarily recruit help for the foot work, but if i had some forged papers or something like that, it would go a long way."


"Very well. But these are not things I can manifest in mere hours...do what you can with what you have been given while I call in a favor."


"In that case do you think i should see whether this gang did this for someone? the timing was very close, even if they only played the part of a distraction?"


Dietrich's voice carried a tone of impatience and frustration undoubtedly born of the risks the two of them were taking. "These are the questions I recruited you to answer, Vincent. Have I misplaced my confidence?"


Vincent matched the tone as he replied "That's your problem now, I'm simply trying to go about this without blowing both our covers, which takes more time and risk, sadly time is not on our side. I'll call you if I get anything interesting."


"Check the cemetery on casterline road near the asylum if you run out of leads there is a kindred of my clan there which may have seen these gangers you speak of. Look for the Indian pots."


Dietrich did not wait for Vincent"s reply before he hung up.

Last edited by Drenik; 17th of November, 2011 at 21:29.
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