Sins of the Father (Zoe, Nicole) [King of Kings]

Grey

Grey

Dialectical Hermeticist
@Skrakes


This is like some kind of paternal abandonment conga-line. What next - grandpa turns out to be a zombie, and then fucks off, too?


Rain roars in the gutters and slams against the window as you sit in the diner, consulting your notes.


You know dad found vampires, to some extent. That got you this far. Since then, you know downtown is rife with them, Santa Monica has a few, Hollywood is teeming (big surprise), and they all stay the hell out of Long Beach. But it also looks like people saw your dad - or someone like him - in Chinatown a few times. More than that, you know someone put a tail on you last time you were there. More vampires?


And where the hell did your own sire go?


@Esbilon


Two days later. Jean-Jacques has been busy, yet discreet, consolidating his power before making the necessary gambit.


You find yourself in the Santa Monica diner again, avoiding the rain. Shaking off your umbrella. Jocelyn said that woman you need to speak to would be here... somewhere.


Huh. Is that her?
 
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She pulls down the photo of Richter Buchwald, her father. A hard, grey man.


The conga of abuse continues. Yes, Father stumbled into this underworld before her, blazed the trail. And, luckily (?) enough the underworld seems to be lenient enough to have "embraced" her rather than lock her in the basement and feed on her. Did Father join them as she had, or had he gotten lost in some other strange crevice? Chinatown... she had retreated from it when she noticed the tail; whatever lurks there she does not know, and not knowing is her worst enemy -- unfortunate, as vampires seem to be a tight-lipped lot.


Which left the question of her "Sire."


Claimed he could not leave his name. Gave her this "dark gift" (such melodrama; see if he has a link to any hackneyed metal bands) and showed her the ropes, as it were.


Too smart to be photographed.


So, here she sits, surrounded by witnesses, contemplating her notes. Perhaps she should visit Grandfather's grave; man had vinegar for blood, she could see him crawling out.
 
Niki doesn't mind the rain, most people tend to pull out umbrellas or run for shelters as the first drops of water fall from the skies, but not her. She walks through it with a slight smile on her face, enjoying how her ever sharpening senses let her track the movement of individual droplets, from where they hit her head, how they join together with others as they flow down her back, beneath the hard leather of her jacket, grow larger yet, and then split up. Jean-Jaques would probably be able to trace the movement of individual specs of dust like that, but she can't. Yet.


She enters the diner and looks around, noticing each person, and studying them for a careful moment each, reading them like so many open books. She can see the lines in their faces, be they from worry or laughter (it's mostly the former), see the bags under their eyes and how make-up has failed to cover it, and when she concentrates, she can see colors too. That's new, at least for her to be able to see the colors with any clarity. Jean-Jacques told her about this, that a person's significant traits were as obvious to the trained eye as the color of their clothes, and though she believed him, she did not understand until today. Her eyes come to rest on a woman pouring over notes and photographs, and she smiles. Even without Jocelyn's information, the pale colors that surround her are a dead giveaway.


The woman who approaches Zoe would be hard pressed to look more differently from the young private investigator. She is dressed in a black leather jacket, black leather pants, black boots and a black t-shirt with some colorful band logo on it. The jacket too is covered in patches carrying similar logos and names to scare the wits from parents in law. She has clearly been walking in the rain, water droplets cover her clothes and fall from her free-falling blonde hair. She sits down opposite Zoe and says pleasantly, "hi, I'm Niki, we should talk."
 
Zoe's read this novel.


The leggy blonde walks in. The cynical detective takes the case against his better judgment. He unravels a dark conspiracy to murder her wealthy, elderly husband and make off with the money. Some adultery and breaking-and-entering later, the conspirators are dead, the woman's dead, and the detective is dying in a gutter.


Unsure of how that plot shakes out when immortal vampires get involved.


"Have we been acquainted?" They have not. Zoe would recall.
 
"Nope," Niki says, leaning back in the booth and running a hand through her drenched hair. "But we share dietary needs, and are two very small fish in an pond with some very big fish in it. Making friends of your peers is advisable under such circumstances."
 
"I see."


"Niki" seems like the sort who is not fond of waiting for permission.


"How can I help you, Miss...?"
 
"Niki," she says, still smiling pleasantly, "Nicole Williams if you insist. And it's not so much a question of you helping me, or me helping you. It's a question of mutual benefit. I'm new in town, and have yet to make any friends, though there are a handful of people who'd love to use me for this scheme or that. You, I gather, have the mixed blessing of not being affiliated with anyone in power, which leaves certain holes in one's political education, holes I might be able to help you fill."
 
If she complained of her knowledge being incomplete, well, it seems God has intervened -- or perhaps old Nick, instead. Seems appropriate.


"And what would you want in return?" No smile back.
 
"I told you, friendship, or whatever passes for it between people like us." After a moment of smiling, she lets it drop and shrugs, "but if you insist on this quid pro quo rhetoric, fine. Most cities with more than a handful of us in them have someone in charge. L.A. doesn't. There's about to be a struggle to change that situation, and I'm very close to one of the big shots. So I figure someone may have the illadvised idea of making my life more difficult than it needs to be. If that happens, I'd like for someone to have my back, and maybe give me a hand or a piece of information here and there."
 
"In short, you are looking for a bodyguard and investigator, Miss Williams. In return, you are going to offer me information about the politics of this... world of darkness I have stumbled into. Is that correct?" Hands folded in front of her, dark eyes watch intently. She could do it; security is not her preferred work, but a worthwhile trade for the kind of insight Nikki offers -- if indeed it is real. But the lead warrants pursuit.
 
Niki sighs, "no, I wanted a friend, but I'll settle for protection and information. And don't feel constrained about what to ask me for. I'm a better singer than anyone on MTV, and play a mean piece of Chopin," she adds with a smile. "But perhaps we should take a Q 'n' A somewhere else. While not public, this place is a little public."
 
"I am sure your parents are very proud, but sadly I do not sell friendship." Another risk, but one worth taking for precious info about the nights in LA. Zoe packs her notes into a plain black briefcase. "Where shall we go?"
 
Niki chuckles, "I haven't heard from my parents in 12 years. I don't know exactly what mix of emotion they have towards me, probably a lot of denial. Pride, however, is one thing I'm pretty sure they're not big on. At all." She rises and pulls out a 5 dollar bill, leaving it on the table. "If you don't mind the rain too much, there's a park not too far from here that's probably empty, considering the time and the weather. Otherwise, there are a few hotels around here that rent by the hour."
 
Niki leads the way through the warm, California drizzle. The transition between urban construction and urban park is clear enough, a field of grass, some clusters of trees and an empty gazebo in the middle. The place is not quite dry, but out of the direct rain and Niki promptly sits down in the swaying bench in the middle, her black leather clothes a stark contrast to the white piece of furniture. "So," she says to Zoe, "do you have pressing questions, or would you some kind of overview first?"
 
Zoe leans against one of the posts, face blank. "Start with the overview. I will certainly have some questions after that."
 
"Alright," Niki says, rocking slightly back and forth, her head occasionally scanning the darkened park around them. "You've lived through your first few nights, so I'm guessing you know the barest bones. Blood good, sun bad. A few followups that are not completely obvious: Killing people is not necessary when feeding, let go after about a minute and they'll come to afterwards, tired and drained, but in a good way. Animal blood is enough to keep you going. Tastes worse than month old fried liver with overboiled potatoes used to, but it'll keep you going. Fire burns you almost as bad as the sun does, and you're now wired to be afraid of it. Lighting your apartment with candles is a sign that you're an idiot, a badass or both. With people our age, most others will assume the former."


Niki keeps her eyes on Zoe, gauging how much of this the other already knows. "That's basic physiology. Now to advanced physiology and magical bullshit powers. Your sire, that's the person who drained you dry and filled you back up, passed on some traits to you, just like his/her sire passed something on to him/her and so on all the way back to the really old days. This puts most of us into one of thirteen 'clans' that share certain weaknesses and magical bullshit powers. Me, I'm what they call a 'Toreador,' which has nothing to do with fighting bulls, it means that when I see or hear really awesome art for the first time, I sometimes get... trapped by it. Lost staring at a painting until someone grabs me, or listening to a piece of music until it ends. On one hand, it gives a whole new level of depth to the art, on the other it's fucking annoying. That's the bad part. The good part is that my senses are sharper, and I can read people's auras, unlike 99.9% of people who claim to be able to read auras. When I need to, I'm about twice as fast a mundane human, and I can get anyone to talk to me. Most blasé seen-it-all music critic? He'll listen to me singing lullabies for hours. Woman-hating macho macho man? He'll listen to me rant about feminism all night. That guy in high school who never even saw me? If I went back, not that I would, he'd do anything I asked. With me so far?" She asks with a smile.

Niki still has Auspex 2 on, and is keeping an eye out for anyone who might wander by and interrupt them
 
Her sire did give her the basics, but Zoe is about to stop her. She makes a show of taking down notes. Domination of wills, drinking of blood. Seems there are some truth to vampire legends.


"I understand. Does that take us to the situation in LA?"
 
"Not quite. First there's Vocabulary and Politics 101," Niki says with a slight grin. "The polite term for people like us is Kindred, people who lack our particular brand of awesome are Kine. Kindred society is divided into three Sects with a bunch of people who do their very best to stay away from any of them. The Camarilla wants to keep order and minimize what the Kine know about the Kindred since they're a bit worried about what billions of people with firebombs and 24 hour television can do to them. Also, by 'order' they mean 'old people stay in charge,' and their old people are pretty damn old. Then there's the Sabbat, I haven't had much direct contact with them, so this is third hand information for you. They're pretty much about fighting the Camarilla and wallowing in having Magical Bullshit Powers. Fire and blood are high on their list of favorite things, books and figuring things out, less so. That brings us to the Anarchs, who as the name implies like a bit of anarchy. The idea is to let everyone have a voice in making the big decisions, and making sure power doesn't get concentrated in a few set of hands the way the Camarilla and Sabbat like it."


Niki holds her hand to her head, thinking before she continues. "Alright, that's the basics, which brings us to the situation in Los Angeles. Most of the Kindred in LA are Anarchs, with different people more or less in charge of different areas. These local head hunchos are called 'Barons.' Here in Santa Monica, it's a woman called Therese Voermann who holds court in Asylum, a club in that general direction," she points. "In Hollywood, there's a guy called Isaac whose offices are behind a jewelry store. Downtown is quite a bit closer to the Anarch ideal, a bunch of them hang out in a pub called the Last Round, main people to keep an eye on there are Jack and Nines Rodriguez. That was the situation until very recently, then the Camarilla showed up, bringing me with them. They had some investigative pretense for coming here, but one of them, Victoria, pretty quickly made it into a powerplay for the entire city. She wants to be 'Prince,' as in 'the Prince,' not 'son of a king,' and she seems to be doing a terrible job of it. The only thing worse than a competent person trying to take over a city is an incompetent, but powerful person attempting the same. Blood in the streets, prolonged fighting, that sorta thing. Since Victoria gave every impression of being incompetent, one of the others, Jean-Jacques, my Sire, decided that to keep the peace, he should be Prince. He's definitely competent, and has more personal power than Victoria, so there's a hope he'll be able to do it without a war breaking out everywhere, but... I'm not entirely sure I buy it. And his play is going to paint a big ol' target on my back, forehead, chest, groin and every other interesting place. So here I am, looking for a bit of help," she finishes, trying to make her smile encouraging.
 
Zoe has heard of several of these people -- Voermann in particular had fingers in a large number of pies, and the name had come up in her work. Never had she crossed their paths, either; perhaps fortunate. In any case, she notes down the latest political debacle in the city, scribbling quickly. This is all new. Her sire may have given her the survival basics, but the politics... "I see. Tell me more about Victoria and Jean-Jacques."
 
"Victoria made her intentions known the day before yesterday by naming Brutus, another member of the recently arrived Camarilla party, 'Sheriff,' which pretty much just means enforcer, and ordering him to kill Alan Williams, no relation, who is the Baron of Compton. She is of the Ventrue clan, which are usually pretty big on ordering people around and organizing and stuff like that. She claims to have the backing of 'the Directorate' which is their elders and leaders, but that seems strange. Anyway, in doing this, she insulted Voermann and Jean-Jacques who argued that she had neither right nor cause to order Alan's death. So, she started her reign by pissing off two of the more powerful people in the city, which is not a very wise or very Ventrue-esque thing to do."


Niki gives Zoe an evaluating look before continuing, "Jean-Jacques is French and old, seriously old, like older than the nation of France. He's a fairly recent arrival in the US, though. He went to sleep after Napoleon died and didn't wake up again until seven or eight years ago. Diplomatically, he's got way more going for him than Victoria, making friends with the local Barons rather than pissing them off and trying to strong arm them. He has more respect for the rules, guidelines really, that govern Kindred society, than Victoria, which is a good thing in my book." There is more than a hint of emotion in Niki's voice as she talks about her Sire, and one does not need to be an experienced investigator to figure out that she probably isn't an entirely objective source.
 
Not objective, but her slant might be useful in its own right -- and, to be frank, Zoe is unsure how objective she could be about her own sire. In any case, she is gradually getting a sense of Nikki; at the moment, it appears she wants someone at her back. And yet, if she needs someone at her back, it seems Jean-Jacques could arrange something. Why turn to an untested outsider?


She looks up at her notes. Quite frankly, she would be written off as a madwoman if an unaware person read them; perhaps preferable to breaking the Masquerade, as she understands it. In any case, time for a more daring question. "Does the word Tremere mean anything to you?"
 
"Yeah," Niki replies with a smile, "one of the thirteen clans, they're generally a bit tighter than the rest of us. Magical Bullshit Powers include making people jump when they say 'jump,' supernatural senses, same brand as mine, and... well... magic. Control over blood, fire, storms, dreams, all sorts of shit. Though you'd need to talk to someone else to get details on that."
 
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