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Unread 20th of February, 2013, 23:14
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Justice, Swiftly Dealt (Prelude)

Los Angeles was considered by many to be a truly modern city: bright lights gleamed across a sprawling metropolis in a mosaic of gold; men and women adorned in the most recent fashions wove their way through labyrinths of concrete and glass; and a chorus of screaming tires and engines, bleating cell phones, and the occasion pop of a very illegal, but recently developed, firearm gave credence to the assumption that the City of Angels was a landscape that had matured with the ages.

It was unsurprising, then, that so many men and women considered the Monroe Theatre with such a cynical eye. Its outward appearance betrayed it to be very old, perhaps so much so that it would no longer be deemed fit for the public, were it ever to be inspected by the proper authorities; and even being situated among other buildings of similarly reaching age and poor upkeep did little to ply the curious from giving it a slow, questioning once over.

But the building was safe, at least as far as stability and structuring went. Unknown to many, the theatre had been strengthened and renovated in recent years - a project which had been financed by an unnamed source, who had paid handsomely to ensure that the old building would never be condemned and forgotten.

Though the foundations had been renewed, the theatre's archaic feel and interior decor had not been touched. The carpets leading through the foyer were faded, its rampant crimson spread now worn down by constant friction upon its surface; dust and cobwebs had swept in to coat the surfaces of wood once polished and gleaming; the rows of chairs in the auditorium were patched and bore the tell-tale marring of years of extensive use; the vast curtain that layered the stage now looked far less majestic than it once had.

It was clear, though, that the appearance of the aging theatre mattered little to its current audience. Pale and deathly still, the Kindred were sporadically placed about the main chamber, sitting alone or (more rarely) in groups of twos or threes. The morbid ambiance that surrounded each of the predators was the only truly common trait that each shared, for their appearances, movements and demeanours were varied and many. The youngest among them muttered or spoke softly among themselves, casting curious or distrustful glances about the chamber; the eldest merely sat silently, their eyes upon the stage before them, frozen in time like some macabre, stilled image. Waiting.

And then movement. The curtain upon the stage parted very slightly, and the hall fell immediately into silence. Five figures stepped out onto the hardwood stage, birthing echoing footfalls for all to hear: two were women, one tall and lean and dressed in a tailored suit, the other shorter but no less slight, far less appealing to the eye and embraced by a thick, leathery coat; directly in front of the two women, pressed down onto their knees in a gesture of subjugation, were two males, one young and black of skin, and the other middle-aged, rounded and terrified.

The last figure was the one who drew the most glances. He stepped ahead of the others, came to a halt at the edge of the stage, and cast a slow, appraising stare out at the Kindred who sat before him. He was calm, uncaring that he was surrounded by so many deadly predators, and powerful in almost every way - from his stance and his precise movements, to his handsome, well-groomed, high-ridged face.

Finally he spoke. Prince Delacroix's voice carried with almost no effort, and those present listened closely. "Good evening, fellow Kindred. I welcome you all, and apologise for any inconvenience caused by such an abrupt summoning." He smiled politely, but there was an edge to the gesture that made clear just how unapologetic he really felt. "The matter that draws us all here is a troubling one, and its conclusion should be witnessed by all who reside here."

The Prince half-turned, allowing the audience full view of the two vampires who were bound and knelt. All gazes fell upon them, and Delacroix allowed the city's Kindred a moment to considered them before he continued. "You all no doubt recognise Matthew Harber and his childe, Derek Wilson," he gestured to the young man and then the older one in turn, "two Kindred who - until tonight - were considered by myself to be loyal servants of the Camarilla.

"But it seems I was wrong in my judgment of their character.

"It has come to my attention that Derek Wilson has broken one of the Traditions of our kind - namely the one that forbids the destruction of another Kindred."


"No! I didn't do it," came a sudden, terrified cry from the portly man on his knees. He attempted to crawl forwards, edging towards the Prince, who considered the fledgling with thinly veiled disgust; but before Derek Wilson could move more than an inch across the stage, he was knocked clean off the ground by a sudden, vicious blow from the shorter of the two women, who lurched forwards and stuck him in the back of the head. The terrified vampire was thrown to one side, where he hit the stage hard and balled up in a heap of bound-together limbs.

"His victim, Sebastian Powell, was one of the city's most trusted Hounds. The fact that Sebastian performed such amicable work only intensifies the seriousness of this crime, and the severity of the punishment."

The woman that had moved previously stepped forwards, her dark eyes locked upon Wilson, who had begun sobbing loudly to himself. Her small size and thin frame suggested that she was weak, almost feeble, but all present knew that Vanian was counted among the most dangerous of the city's Kindred. Her small hands clasped Wilson about the scruff of the neck, and hauled him forcefully back onto his knees.

"The punishment for this treasonous act is death, to be carried out immediately." Prince Delacroix nodded towards Vanian, who reached into the depths of her overcoat to draw forth a long, serrated blade. She lifted it high and then, with unimaginable power, brought it down into the neck of the struggling, sobbing Wilson. The fledgling gurgled and flailed against the powerful grip of the city's Sheriff, but she held him firmly in place as she began sawing at his neck.

The thud of Wilson's severed head upon the stage was loud and terrible. The silence that gripped the theatre was absolute and overwhelming.

Delacroix turned his back upon the audience, and gave his attentions, for the first time, to the young, dark skinned man who remained knelt upon the stage, unmoving and quiet. The Prince watched the Kindred for a long moment, as though considering something important; and then, slowly, he spoke again. "The crimes of the fledgling are shared by the sire. Under normal circumstances, you - Matthew Harber - would share your progeny's fate. But I am not without mercy: I remember that you played a part in the Camarilla's rise to power in Los Angeles, and for that, I will spare your unlife. Your domain, however, will be given to those more deserving."

Matthew Harber, who seemed to have been making a conscious effort not to look anywhere but at the floor, looked up sharply at that. His gaze sought out the Prince in protest, but any words of argument he might have had died swiftly upon his lips at the sight of Delacroix's unrelenting glare.

"We are all servants to the Traditions," the Prince said, addressing the audience as a whole once more. "From the lowest fledgling to the highest Prince, we are all kept alive by them, and by our adherence to their words. Swift justice, dealt by the righteous against those who would break the law, is the only inevitable outcome of such things.

"I thank you all for attending these proceedings."
Without another word, the Prince turned sharply upon his heel and marched backstage and out of sight. The young woman in the tailored suit - recognisable as Rebecca Hedley - stole after him, as did the Sheriff, who dragged Matthew Harber along in her wake.


Last edited by Church; 26th of February, 2013 at 23:05.
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Unread 21st of February, 2013, 09:33
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“Oh, how I wish I was at home.” Ize gave a forced, sharp outward sigh as she played with the condensation on her glass. She was perched at the bar dressed appropriately in terms of the club she was in. Red velvet corset and jeans. Leather boots. Light jacket. “Oh why, oh why… Could I not have waited at home? I was finishing off a rather pleasing poem.” She mused. Whatever had drawn her from her domain had been pressing and imminent, but she couldn’t quite remember the context, purpose or form. “An appointment or a mystic moon, perhaps? A full one could be hearty and warm”. The music was loud but lulling. It’s pounding helped her focus into her own little bubble.

“Ize, for gods sake stop looking so lost and get with the programme.” Cherie took a seat next to her and brazenly took a gulp from her drink, smirking, she placed her forehead upon Ize’s. Sharing the sweat and the heat of her exertions on the dancefloor.“I’ve missed you, come back to us, you’ve been lost again.”

Ize was taken aback slightly by the contact and the heat seemed to stick to her forehead even after she leant away. The woman before her was no longer the girl she once knew, bright intelligent blue eyes peered out of her ebony fringe and she was dressed to impress in a tight fitting dress, just a whisper above the knee. Her breath stank of an eclectic mixture of alcohol. Ize pulled Cherie onto her lap and offered her the glass.

“I’ve been gone, and I should be. Any chance of you writing my lines, little Cherie? The nights seem so long and empty, at least you prove yourself to be my solace”.

“Pfft!” Cherie placed her elbow on the bar and rested her chin on her hand, pushing her bottom into Ize’s midriff in the same motion. “No chance babe, you need to figure that out yourself. You were ranting about a “Theatre of Sorrow” last night, but don’t even quote me. I have no clue as to what goes on in that head of yours.” She turned slightly and playfully touched Ize’s forehead, the spot directly between her warm brown eyes. Ize lept to her feet, knocking the barstool behind her and grabbed Cherie by her alabastra throat, pushing her against the bar and gripping soft flesh firmly but not enough to stop the airflow to her delicate brain.

“Fuck!” Cherie cried out, grabbing Ize shoulders and trying to push her away, her eyes wide with fear. “It’s me, I was joking, get off of me”. Ize starred keenly into Cherie’s eyes for a moment, then her face went slack and cleared in an instance. “Joking. Theatre. Actor. Prince.” Another pair of hands seized Ize by the waist, jerking her from her reverie and prompting her to release her grip on her acquaintances neck.

“Come on ladies, chill out.” Derek, another club regular released Ize and opened his arms to Cherie as she sought the protective, comforting heat of his body, sobbing. “What happened?”.

“She when Schizo again Derek!” Cherie shouted directly in Ize’s face. “What would Cat say if she saw you now, huh? Broken up with no freakin’ clue as to which way is up, let alone who to call friend or figment of a bloody psychosis.” Derek attempted to calm Cherie whilst Ize, unfazed turned to the bar and emptied her bag upon it, trailing her fingers over the contents. Makeup, a pen case, a shapely velvet bag… She settled on a screwed up piece of paper and unfolded it, reading intently. It was a message from Gabriel, a meeting that was taking place tonight. Ize turned to the two youngsters.

“The night opened up to me and I apologise for my actions. Cherie was just prompting my memory.”. Ize frowned and touched Cherie lightly on the shoulder, familiarising herself. “I’ll make it up to you soon, my love.” She was Cherie again. “I’m away to the show”. She turned on her heel and made towards the exit, intent on heading towards the old Monroe theatre.

Cherie looked up at Ize's departing back with tear filled eyes from the security of Derek's broad chest.
"She always does this, she always comes back with apologies and kisses. She always comes back".

Last edited by InThisMoment; 26th of February, 2013 at 02:22.
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Unread 21st of February, 2013, 13:05
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Gabriel had awoken from his dreamless slumber, a slight gnawing ache in his fangs that reverberated down to his stomach. Every night was the same, the growing Hunger that threatened to wash everything else away. It wasn't so bad now, but in a few more nights...

He shook his head, went about his nightly ablutions. Shower, shave, trim nails that were slightly too long. Habits from when he was human, even if he was something both more and less than that though.

The meeting tonight, that he remembered with sharp clarity. He had time before he needed to attend. He picked out a suit appropriate for the evening. Dark blue bordering on black. The color of the countryside at midnight. Most of his suits starting to look a little threadbare and definitely a few years out of style. He would need to purchase a new one soon. Maybe more than one.

There were hours to kill before he was due to attend, so he left the single family home (too large for just him, especially with how little use the upstairs saw- dust lay thicker with every passing day and the cobwebs were threatening to move out of the corners of the house and into the main "living space"). He made sure that his alarms were set and the locks in place. It wouldn't due to arrive back to find his home occupied by squatters or worse.

He drove to a nearby bar, Kiss of the Rose, that catered to older singles. People in their thirties and forties and fifties looking for something to fill the loneliness of the night other than what was on tv or the latest bestseller.

He sat by himself, not touching his drink, watching the ebb and flow of people. The Hunger nudged at him, but it was a weak thing at the moment, easily ignored. Checking the time, he saw it was time to go.

He parked a few blocks from the theatre proper, his pistol comfortably situated under his suit jacket, the sword in the trunk of the car. He walked up to the side entrance, nodded at the ghouls standing guard.

Inside, he saw William, his sire, along with a few other Elysium regulars. Gabriel made sure that he paid his respects before finding a seat to himself from better to watch the others.

If he had still been capable, Gabriel would have felt bile rise in his throat at the execution. It was such a fraud, such a staged production, that he was surprised that there wasn't even a murmur of protest. To think that Wilson could have slain a Hound on his own was laughable. Hounds didn't fall prey to those that, but for lack of the necessary bodily functions, soiled themselves at the first blush of authority. If Wilson had been guilty, Gabriel expected that there would have been more defiance and less blubbering. Then there was the sire's reaction- more upset about the loss of domain then the Final Death of his childe. The Prince hadn't mentioned how Harber's domain would be divided, but he assumed that many among the ancilla would be jockeying for position for a slice of that pie- his sire among them. He looked to his sire, to see how he was taking the proclamation.

After the staged execution, Gabriel rose and approached his sire.

"Sire," he said, inclining his head in deference to his mentor. "It is good to see you. What do you make of Prince Delacroix's pronouncement?"
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Unread 21st of February, 2013, 23:17
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A taxicab ride later and Ize was stood on the sidewalk, just around the corner from her destination. Despite the hour the street was not sparse of humans, most making their way home or to the next nocturnal hot spot. A couple passed her, the sound of laughter and the scent of sweat was invasive, overpowering but also very seductive. She shuddered as the beast stirred, pulling her jacket closer she tucked her chin into her chest, trying to block out the stimuli somewhat. She should have fed in anticipation, strange environment, strange strangers...

She stood in front of the Theatre, smirking and muttering to herself suddenly. She felt as if she'd seen this place in a dream, or a book she'd read: "Withdrawn and ruinous it broods in umbra: the immemorial masonry: the towers, the tracts. Is all corroding? No.". It was something old, dark and remorseless, hidden in plain sight on this modern street. Protected in it’s transparency.

After staring at the old building for over half an hour, quietly muttering to herself she made her way into the old building. She thought it strange that she hadn't seen any other Kindred, unless she was terribly late.

"Bad, bad manners" she whispered to herself. It was large inside the foyer, her footfalls echoed liked doomsday drums. She edged her way into the main chamber, finding it holding a noteable number of Kindred and the meeting to be well underway. Attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible she took a seat a few rows from the back, three or four seats away from another figure to whom she paid very little heed to for the moment. From her position she identified a few of the gathering from the back of their heads, Gabriel's well groomed coiffure and that of his sires for one. Also an audacious bright blonde wig which was recognizable anywhere.

"No! I didn’t do it!" Her attention focused on the stage and she digested the proceedings in absolute silence. The players did well, when the blade fell like a curtain at the end of the scene she felt like standing up and cheering. It was better than Shakespeare, a wrathful prince, a pitiful scapegoat, a selfish sire who cared more for his domain than the neck of his progeny. Justice had not been done this night, not for Sebastian Powell in the least. There was silence in the theatre until the Prince left, then there was a mumur of unease about the place, a rising and breaking anxiety like the tide. She turned to the figure a few seats down who still had their gaze fixed on the stage

“Better than last season did you think?”


Last edited by InThisMoment; 26th of February, 2013 at 02:23.
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Unread 22nd of February, 2013, 06:24
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Movement signaled the end of the impromptu meeting, with Kindred clambering to their feet at mixed speeds. Some made directly for the exits, seeking to be free of the confines of the Elysium - others delayed, remaining behind to speak in whispered words to one another about the proceedings just witnessed.

One such Kindred to remain behind was William Berbage. Cutting a tall, athletic figure - even encased as he was in an expensive armani suit - the Toreador was busy consulting others of his clan about some private matter. The ancilla casually caressed the sharp dome of his bald head as he listened intently to his fellows, and impatiently waved his childe silent when approached.

When the discussion he was included in wore down, the Toreador finally acknowledged his childe and turned to face the smaller man. He sighed - an unnecessary, human expression, performed more for theatrics than because Berbage had experienced an unwitting impulse from his breathing days.

"I think that the outcome was inevitable," William answered, guiding his childe away from the other Degenerates with a polite, but firm, grip upon the arm. "You can't simply do away with a Hound and not expect retribution; that being said, the wretch didn't seem very dangerous, did he?"

A pause. William Berbage glanced over his shoulder at the remains of Derek Wilson, and smirked darkly to himself. "I suppose you never can tell: appearances can be deceiving, and I always thought that fledgling had something of a dark ambition about him."

At the time that this discussion was being shared between the Toreadors, Isabella had found a new focus in the form of some neighbouring Kindred in the theatre's rear seating. She leaned forwards and spoke to the nearest to her, voicing her opinion on the events that had transpired.

"'Last season'?" came the reply. The woman sat before her appeared bookish, her dirty blonde hair pulled back in a loose ponytail and circular glasses perched upon her nose. She turned in her chair and looked up at the Malkavian with a raised brow, her bright blue eyes shining as she considered the neonate at her fore. "What do you mean?"

"You'll have to excuse the girl, Sarah," came a smooth, dangerous voice from the shadows of the aisle, "she's a little broken in the brain, or so I hear tell."

The blonde woman, Sarah Adler, turned towards the seductive voice and instantly her eyes narrowed: leaning casually upon the backrest of a seat, his platinum blonde hair parted handsomely, was Michael Chase. He flashed the Tremere a brilliant smile, one almost apologetic in nature, and then offered Isabella a sideways glance.

"Isn't that right, Petal?"


Last edited by Church; 22nd of February, 2013 at 06:27.
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Unread 22nd of February, 2013, 08:23
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"'Last season'?"

“Yes, last season.” Ize repeated clearly, gaze flicking to the stage once more and then to Sarah’s questioning, almost bemused face. “Beautiful production, very powerful. Was it the Merry Wives? Oh no, ‘is this a knife I see before me’. Hamlet, now I remember. Or could it have been Frankenstein’s bride? Either one quite poignant don’t you think?” She sat back, her body language changing abruptly into something somewhat protective, wrapping her arms around herself, her eyes large and fearful. “I am glad that even in the unlife we have our own forms of entertainment, whatever the venue. Even if the actors are wrongly cast”.


"You'll have to excuse the girl, Sarah,".
Ize turned at the sound of the new voice and smiled demurely. She’d seen this Toreador at other important gatherings, and also knew him vaguely through association. They’d never spoken. She couldn’t imagine that she would have achieved anything in her unlife worthy of his notice and there were several more noteable Kindred who would warrant his flattering attentions at this time. "she's a little broken in the brain, or so I hear tell." He had most likely appeared to feign concern for Sarah, mocking her in the process of doing so. "Isn't that right, Petal?"

Ize turned slightly and leant closer to the Kindred, aesthetically appearing untouched by his jibe. “Your right, busy bee. This flower lost her reflection and for now remains untended” Her tongue darted out and touched her bottom lip so briefly that one would question whether it was purposeful or a nervous tic. Her eyes focused temporarily on a invisible point above Michael's head and then moved back to his face. “Unless, you think I'm now a honey-trap?”
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Unread 22nd of February, 2013, 13:03
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Gabriel furrowed his brow. "I suppose," he murmured. "I would defer to your judgment on the matter of course."

His lips twitched up in a smile. "He did lack the lean and hungry look of an ambitious man, though as you said, looks can be deceiving."

Over his sire's shoulder he caught sight of Ize talking to a few others, Michael Chase among them. Gabriel frowned slightly, then smoothed out his expression as quickly as he could. If Ize wanted or needed help, she was capable of asking... most of the time.

"It does make me wonder who stands the most to gain from Harber's fall from grace. Purely a theoretical exercise of course, and a happy chance to to that will gain from another's misfortunes without having to raise their own hand at all."

Gabriel paused, strings of political alliances and rivalries running through his head. The problem was the lack of knowledge that he possessed, and, being a neonate, he wasn't likely going to get it any time soon. This was vexing, as such knowledge or the lack thereof could directly contribute to him enjoying a similar fate as the late Derek Wilson.
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Unread 23rd of February, 2013, 20:41
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Michael Chase's brow furrowed for the slightest of a second at Isabella's response; but then, quite suddenly, he laughed loudly, causing others to look in his direction.

"You are a curious thing, aren't you?" the Harpy mused, as he observed the neonate more closely. He lifted his hand and it remained poised on midair, as though he were considering reaching out to touch her; after a moment his hand rose to his lips, upon which he perched a slender, pale fingertip.

With what might have been a sigh, Sarah Adler rose from her seat and started towards the aisle. Before she could bypass the Harpy, however, Michael's hand shot outwards, snapping closed upon the Tremere's bicep and holding her in place.

Sarah's maw opened and her fangs extended angrily; Michael merely considered the woman with a measure of bemusement.

"Calm yourself, Sarah," the Degenerate cooed softly, a hand calmly removing something small from his jacket. He offered it to the Warlock, who glanced at it briefly before snatching it away. "I only wanted to give you what you asked for."

He paused, locking eyes with Sarah Adler. For a moment neither Kindred said anything. Michael's grip upon her arm increased. "It's customary to say 'thank you' when someone does you a favour, Sarah."

"Thank you," she hissed dangerously, "now release me."

"Of course." Michael's fingers uncoiled, and he stepped to one side, allowing Sarah room in which to march upon the exit. He watched her go, his smile broad and suggestive. He seemed to have forgotten about the presence of Isabella entirely.

Meanwhile, Berbage continued to speak with his childe, directing him slowly towards one of the more private rows of seats. He gestured for Gabriel to sit, but did not press the issue, nor wait himself before doing so.

"Everything that happens in the arena of Kindred politics occurs because someone decides to make it so. There is always a point, always someone who stands to benefit or decline by the actions and decisions. In this instance, I suppose the true benefactor would be whoever is granted rights over Matthew Harber's former domain.

"But it is the Prince who had decided that Wilson was the guilty party,"
Berbage added, clasping his hands neatly together in his lap, "and so that is the state of things." He paused for a moment, and quite suddenly looked towards his progeny with a raised brow. "What did you think of what transpired here, Gabriel?"


Last edited by Church; 23rd of February, 2013 at 20:47.
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Unread 24th of February, 2013, 03:05
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Gabriel shrugged as he sat down. "It was a message clearly given, but one that was layered. First, the Prince clearly exhibited his authority and made clear that the Traditions are, more or less, inviolate. Second, it acted as a message that past deeds are no shelter for present infractions. It removed power from a potential rival, and can be distributed by the Prince as either a reward or bribe."

"What was slightly curious was that there was no mention of how the Hound met his end. I can only assume that was deliberate on the part of the Prince lest someone learn from Wilson's mistake and carry out an attack that is successful... and not traced back to the culprit."
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Unread 24th of February, 2013, 06:11
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Ize met Micheals gaze straight on. It was a funny thing indeed, watching someone watching you, she thought. Especially when it occurred so plainly a few inches from ones face. "You are a curious thing, aren't you?" Ize considered her options should the Toreador touch her, but luckily the moment passed.

She watched with slight cynicism at the very public exchange between the two Kindred and noticed the veiled exchange...



Last edited by InThisMoment; 24th of February, 2013 at 07:16.
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Unread 25th of February, 2013, 03:18
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Berbage smiled widely at his childe - though his fangs were retracted, and the gesture itself was entirely human in execution, the predatory sheen in his eyes caused his attentions to be somewhat unsettling.

"Very astute observations, Gabriel," the Toreador mused. "It does make one curious as to who would be so keen to strike at the Sheriff's circle when we're still so vulnerable to attack; the Camarilla is not as strong in Los Angeles as the Inner Circle would like to believe. The finger of blame would seem to point naturally at the Anarchs, but..."

For a long moment, Berbage paused, staring up at the stage, and the bloody remains of the beheaded fledgling. Finally he shrugged, and said, "But this is not a matter that greatly concerns me. The acquisition of additional domain is always a worthy goal, but something tells me that the Prince would be looking for more than a little legwork in exchange for such a reward - and I am far too busy to play the role of a errand boy during my spare hours."

William Berbage climbed to his feet, and skillfully brushed himself down. Once he was satisfied, he inclined his head lightly to his childe. "Now, I have other matters to attend to. I would recommend that you mind yourself more carefully in the wake of Wilson's death - every Kindred who hungers for territory will be looking to prove themselves worthy of it, and will likely do so by striving to make the less established look pitiful by comparison.

"And I would see to your companion."
Berbage nodded in the direction of the auditorium's rear-seating, around which lingered Isabella and the Harpy. "I hear Michael is in a very vindictive mood for some slight or another - it would do well to ensure that Isabella doesn't fall prey to that."

Without another word, Berbage strolled up the aisle and vanished through the auditorium doors; he passed by Michael and Isabella as he went, but he said nothing to either. Not that Michael noticed: he was too busy considering the Malkavian with open interest, his lip quirking in a dark smile.

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Unread 25th of February, 2013, 06:10
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… but saw nothing more of what travelled between the two Kindred, unless one counted angry words.

Losing interest in the situation Ize went inside her head for a time, heeding the familiar once more. In the past, she had tried to describe it to Gabriel once in one of her more lucid moments, sometimes it was much like going to the surface for air after several hours of breathing underwater (beautiful, she had said for the sake of the interesting, pale, fishes but very restricting, as no one likes breathing through a mask for long).

From somewhere outside of her fragile center of control she could hear more people leaving the Theatre, which is why she was taken by surprise that when she came back to the World the Harpy still stood there, intently watching her. “Who let the Shark into my Aquarium?!” She muttered, she was annoyed and showed it plainly, turning her face away and making to leave.

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Unread 25th of February, 2013, 07:02
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The Malkavian's outburst caused the Harpy's mouth to split into a wide, hideously attractive grin, and her movement to leave birthed a laugh upon his lips. "'Aquarium'? 'Shark'? Oh, you do delight!" he said as he watched her flight - but he made no attempt to intercept or hamper her.

"I'll be watching, little fish," the Toreador called softly after her, ensuring that his voice carried only so far as the exit, and the broken Kindred who fled through it.
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Unread 25th of February, 2013, 11:29
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Gabriel saw Ize fleeing the theater and quickly headed after her. He tossed Michael a wave in greeting, but sped past toward his friend.

"Ize, hold up. Wasn't expecting to see you here," Gabriel said, the stuffiness he had affected for his discussion with his sire vanishing like shadows before dawn. "Do you need a lift someplace?"
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Unread 25th of February, 2013, 18:25
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Michael Chase noticed the wave offered to him by Gabriel; though he smiled and reciprocated, the gesture seemed half-hearted or distant, as though the Harpy had his mind elsewhere - or maybe he just didn't consider the acknowledgement of a neonate, even one who had proven to the Clan that he wasn't an entire waste of undeath, was somewhat beneath him. It was impossible to tell.

The cold night air greeted the two coterie-mates as they breached the threshold of the Elysium. Other Kindred who had taken their leave of the theatre had already dispersed, and the two vampires found themselves to be very much alone, save for the exhausted, dream-addled mutterings of a homeless man down a nearby alleyway.

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Unread 26th of February, 2013, 02:44
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“Gabriel, I did see you. I meant to go over but…” She stopped mid-sentence, her lips pursed and she looked suddenly troubled. “It was rude of me not to come over, I’m a bag full of bad manners tonight...”

“No, no Janice. Don’t give me the hose again!” The dark form suddenly muttered mournfully out in his sleep from the alley nearby, rolling onto his side onto the dirty floor. Ize smirked and covered her mouth, her shoulders rising and falling in barely contained laughter. After several moments she finally gathered composure, blinking rouge tears of laughter from her eyes as she looked to Gabriel again, still smirking slightly but a steady tone in her voice as she addressed her friend.

“Seeing you is kind to my eyes, though. How are you this night?.. Lift?" She considered his offer briefly and then shook her head. "I'll let the night take me somewhere I think".

Last edited by InThisMoment; 26th of February, 2013 at 02:49.
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Unread 26th of February, 2013, 11:36
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Gabriel waved off her apology. "Don't worry about it. I know how trying these things can be, even on a good night."

"I am... doing well. All thing considered. A marked sight better than Derek Wilson, at any rate. Maybe I'm trying too hard, but I can't help but feel that there was more to tonight than what we were allowed to see. Either that or this damned life is taking its toll and I'm seeing conspiracies where there are none."

Gabriel thought to reach out and touch Ize, but wasn't sure how'd she react, so he simply extended his hand. "I saw you were talking with Chase. He wasn't giving you a hard time, was he? There may not be much that I can do, and I'm sure Berbage wouldn't want to stick his neck out too far, but well... words can still sting."
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Unread 27th of February, 2013, 02:37
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"Damned life it is; but you are not seeing things." She paused and took a moment to try hard and gather her thoughts. "There are rivers and caves of perfidy here, they run long and deep below our very feet, but from these caves we build our castles...” She paused once more, visibly struggling to form ideas into words. “What we saw tonight was the ugly, rotten fruit of someones labours washed to shore, would any plans we make not end up so; we must tread carefully.”

At the mention of Chase Ize raised her eyebrows in surprise, she wasn’t accustomed to being looked out for and if her past had taught her anything, it had taught her to be suspicious of such things. She reached out slowly, hesitantly and touched his extended hand briefly with her fingertips and then drew them away, inclining her head in a nod towards him.

"Save your arrows and your sting, il mio angelo. You'll need them for what is to come, if you plan to take over the world.” She smiled wryly. “As for the busy bee in question, he is not the first to mock a childe of Malkav and I doubt he’ll be the last.”
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Unread 27th of February, 2013, 11:33
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"I was less concerned with him mocking a 'childe of Malkav', and more with how he was treating you," Gabriel replied. "And if I am one of the angels, then truly I have fallen a long way to find myself in this present condition."

A brief sardonic grin crossed his face. "Truly, if you wish to move through the night alone, then by no means let me restrict you. But if you ever long for a bit of company, well you know how best to reach me."
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Unread 27th of February, 2013, 20:13
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"I do, I will, I shall." She whispered dreamily. She walked with him for a little and then they parted ways.
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Unread 1st of March, 2013, 07:47
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The nights that followed the execution of Derek Wilson were slow by the standards of most denizens of the shadows. Kindred were careful in their movements, ever weary of the accusatory, all-seeing eye of Prince Delacroix and his many spies; it would not be unthinkable for him to stay focused upon his citizenry even after the conclusion of the Powell murder, watching always for any signs of dissent or disruption.

But the Kindred of Los Angeles were determined to give him no reason to bring further justice down upon their heads.

For their part, Isabella and Gabriel busied themselves with their own tasks: the Malkavian wrestled with voices and demons within her mind, unable to dissuade them from engulfing her thoughts; and the Degenerate, in better control of his senses, spent his hours testing the views of the local neonates, discerning whether they could be tempted into attending an informal fencing club alongside himself. His true motives for this unknown, he nevertheless met with minimal success, and only half-promises of interest, dependent on his own ability to provide more concrete facts and dates.

And then there was the hunt. Waking each night to an increasing hunger, the two Kindred set about securing for themselves further nourishment from the heaving mass of bodies that made up the nightlife of the City of Angels. Each visited their own set of familiar clubs and bars; but only one of them walked away sated.

When the coterie gathered on the third night, for reasons their own, it was greeted by a curious sight: a black car, gleaming and sleek, and yet small enough to avoid considerable notice, awaited both just beyond the borders of their chosen meeting ground. A man in a pressed suit stood outside of the driver's door, waiting patiently, his gaze locked firmly, but respectfully, upon the Kindred.


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Unread 1st of March, 2013, 08:25
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The presence of this dark transport was both alluring and worrying to Ize, she turned to Gabriel and whispered close to his ear.
"I didn't realise that getting into a strange man's car was on our agenda tonight, il mio angelo". The man was still staring expectantly. "Does it belong to William?"
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Unread 1st of March, 2013, 12:36
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"Not that I am aware of," Gabriel replied. He moved closer to the car, his grey silk overcoat concealing the sword that he carried underneath it. He paused, close enough to talk, but far enough away so as not to present an easy target. His body was turned slightly to one side, so as to present a smaller target, but his manner was otherwise relaxed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Should we know you?"
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Unread 1st of March, 2013, 21:45
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The driver watched both Kindred as they approached, his smile slight but not unattractive. His dark hair was cut short, and the minute curls that formed about his crown fidgeted slightly as the early morning wind blustered by. He was not a vampire himself - that much was immediately clear - but he was not entirely human, either. A ghoul, then.

In the distance, the roar of a car sang forth; the sky overhead darkened quickly, as though fearful of the sound.

"I'm here at the request of Madam Hedley," the driver offered by way of explanation, his Russian accent thick but his tone tempered. He inclined his head to Gabriel, and then again - more deeply this time - to Isabella. "She asks to speak with you privately. Should you consent, I am to take you to her directly." The driver gestured towards the car's rear door, and smiled politely.
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Unread 1st of March, 2013, 22:29
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She simply watched, hand on hip as Gabriel approached the Driver. When he spoke, Ize couldn't detect any ill-will in his demeanour and he seemed harmless enough for a Ghoul, but still, a request from the upper reaches of the Camarilla was essentially an order. Decline or resist, and there would always be consequences.

She stood still for a minute or two, muttering quietly in counsel to herself, her gaze vaguely in the mid-distance. After coming to an uneasy resolution she approached the car and locked arms with Gabriel, a giddy smile on her face.

"Excellent, I wondered when I'd next be invited to the party!"
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