Fantasy World of Darkness; L.A. By Night (IC)

[ValinoreanDawn]

​

Los Angeles, California
December 31st, 2023 A.D.

Audio, sound, reverberating waves invisibly cascading through the air, rebounding, reverberating, striking eardrums to the tune of the pulsating stereo speakers. Blaring beats and jives to the gyrating crowd. Bodies, flesh, pumping and grinding to the power of those invisible waves of sound. Warmth, texture, smell, a proverbial barrage to the senses amid hazy purple-pink vapors lanced by strobing lights. An atmosphere of opulent degeneration to the desires of Human desire. Scantily clad, hands and fingers groping and prodding, lips roving with vagabond tongues on others familiar or unknown. The environment both intoxicating and exhilarating at the same time. The Exhange L.A. Night Club offered a buffet to the hedonistic entrapments of the mortal coil.

Evidenced by a scenery which spoke for itself. Couples intertwined in dance, strangers laughing and engaging in affairs of their own accord, drinks and illicit substances consumed with wild abandon from dance floor to bar stools. Bathrooms home to those engaged in proper use or the straddling affectations of a nighttime fling. And that was only the first floor. The balcony above the large central dance space held a morass of lounging and jostling party goers.

"So, a Bourbon gal, eh?"

Masculine voice, lower and deeper, weighted down by a man's own Adam's Apple one might say struck the observant ears taking all of this in. Ears belonging to a woman in a dark red dress with matching lipstick. Brunette locks pulled back into a long ponytail. Complimented by circular orbs of milk-white with a rich almond core, brown eyes, pleasant in color and tinged with flecks of green, came to gaze at the owner of the masculine voice in question. A man of average height, thin, a short bit of scruff around the jaw line indicating what could have been a beard. Eyes brown but duller in hue. Black haired and bearing a bead of perspiration.

"You're nervous."

The young man let out a surprised gasp and looked down at his own drink, a Modelo beer, "Ah, yeah, yeah. I jus-."

"Tried to pick up a woman and you feel like you're failing...miserably."

The man took a swig from his beer while looking about anxiously. Glancing back at a trio of similar young men, all dressed casually like himself, giving thumbs up and gossiping amongst each other. The woman in red turned so that her face could not be seen by the trio and said, "I enjoy an Old Fashioned because I feel like I'm the same."

The man perked up at this additional response. Seizing the chance he replied, "Well you don't look old."

A grin creased her face and she glanced at the man with a wry expression, "Charmed," she held out a hand, "Bellatrix."

The man took it quickly, perhaps a bit too fast, "Clark." But the blood pressure in his hand was all that she needed to feel. For felt it she did, even see it, hear it. Pulses of life emanating from that unceasing clockwork organ embedded in Clark's chest. The laborious Human heart.

​

Releasing Bellatrix hand Clark glanced back at his friends, and they let out whoops and hollers of triumph. She paid no heed for Bellatrix's eyes remained locked on Clark. Specifically, his neck, she licked his lips and felt the hunger welling up inside when Clark abruptly turned back. His eyes seeing the beautiful woman in red smiling back at him. Eager, something which seemed to urge him on as he pulled up a seat next to her. "May I?"

"Of course, Clark." His name coming from her mouth with a playful tune.

"What brings you out tonight?"

"Felt like needed to socialize and I like clubs."

"Oh? But I've never seen you before, here at least."

Bellatrix touched the nape of her neck, not out of feeling but it seemed appropriate, "Oh, well I usually go to other places."

"Word, you got a favorite club?"

"Mmmm...no not really," she glanced at the floor and the densely packed ill-lit environment, then at the gossiping friends, "You wanna dance?"

The beat changed, and the crowd roared as the Club DJ amped up the pace of the tune, an ironic contrast to the clumsy, "Yeuh," of Clark as she got up and took him by the hand. Walking with a long strut Bellatrix led the anxiety ridden young man past his friends with a playful wink. A wink answered by even more whoops and hollers for Clark's triumph.

Moving onto the densely packed floor to an area even less well-lit Bellatrix pulled Clark close. Working her womanly frame across the front of the young man, his blood pressure quickening to engorge certain extremities, his grin nearly ear to ear. Bellatrix didn't pause as she spun away and approached with gesturing hands, swaying hips, the young man giving his own far less smooth dance moves in response. Coming to the fore of the man's torso she pulled herself close and wrapped her arms around his neck. Clark's own hands wrapping around her waist to rest on the small of Bellatrix's back. She gave a playful kiss on the neck, Clark giggled happily, "Wow, baby, you're just full of sur-wow," he felt a pinch and pleasure waxed over him.

Spreading along his neck in perfect matching contours to his own arteries. A pinch to slight pain and he moved to pull away but found her grip tighten. He spoke with pursing lips as the pain mounted, feeling his flesh open, a warm rivulet slowly running down the side of his neck, "Hey," he tried to pull away again but to no avail. A sense of panic erupted inside his stomach. "Hey, hey Bella?"

Pain once more gave way to pleasure as she adjusted her mouth. His body relaxing as the warmth of his blood running down his neck as dizziness crept into his skull. Clark slumped suddenly which forced Bella to catch him, detaching herself involuntarily from his neck, and his eyes caught sight of Bellatrix's mouth. The elongated canines causing his brain to begin screaming with uncanny valley ridden terror. "Ugh, oh," a hand reflexively went to his neck and came back into view covered in dark crimson, pressure sporadically erupting from his neck as his brain finally processed that she had invertedly nicked his carotid artery and the pressure was his own blood spurting like a leaking faucet. Run.

"Oh, uuuu, fuck," he stammered as he slipped and then stumbled backwards. Rising as adrenaline glands dumped the potent fight or flight chemical into his system. Hands gripped him, Bellatrix's as she leaned in, "hey, hey, you're o--," he swatted and ran with adrenaline fueled movements, glancing back only to see the woman in red lick her lips with a glare. The glare of a predator witnessing its prey run. Clark stumbled forth as quick as his sluggish legs could carry him, amid the alcohol and drug fueled party goers who remained blissfully aloof to his plight, bumped and jostled along as his breath quickened in fear. He looked back and there following him with a playful, predatory, smile muttering the words of the song now being sung with glee was Bellatrix.

Eyes widened in horror he dove along through the crowd until he met a door. Red exit light above his head he burst forth to trip and fall into a back alley. Landing on the pavement amid the cool Los Angeles nighttime breeze he sprinted off towards the parking lot and the sounds of people outside. Hand gripping his beck as blood leaked between his fingers. Vision beginning to swim with edges of blackness slowly creeping along the periphery. Clark was close, only several meters from the parking lot as he ran along the side of the building in the dark unlit alleyway, towards the lights and salvation. Ooof! Clark tripped over his own feet as his body tried to move with the mounting blood loss. Rolling onto his back in pain he froze as coming to stand right above him was Bellatrix with a wry smile. Blood, Clark's blood, stained her chin and as the darkness crept along his vision, he heard her say, "What, don't wanna go all the way with me tonight baby?"

January 1st, 2024
Night

The evening news droned on in the dark apartment with black out curtains covering the pitch-black bedroom as not even the streetlamps of Los Angeles reached this far out. The graceful feminine figure lounging on the Queen-sized bed awakening suddenly and meandering forth in a white tank top and short shorts. Moseying over to the kitchen, still in complete darkness, she glanced at the microwave clock. 10:14PM. A minute later the alarm on the smartphone by the bed chimed off a tune. Bellatrix let it play as she hummed to the tune while pulling her hair into a loose bob. Reaching over to open the fridge she reached down and took a plastic pack full of deep red liquid. Opening a drawer with the other hand she produced a straw and poked it through the top of the package. Placing the other end in her mouth she gingerly walked over to the couch in front of the television and sat down with legs crossed. Slurping on her crimson, iron smelling, nighttime breakfast.

Idly watching the anchorman report about more missing persons and the heightened crime and violence among the vast metropolises. How gangs had permeated various neighborhoods and every night there were shootings, drive by's, robberies, arson, and car thefts. Bellatrix let out a small, "hmmpf," at this news before sitting back and letting out a sigh. Another night...

***
January 1st, 2024
11:00PM
The Masquerade, the lie, deceit giving humanity a sense of reality. Should it come crashing down, Gehenna will be upon us, for the wrath of mankind shall undo all the labors of our Kindred. Kindred and Kine. Together but forever separate. Cainite and Man. For centuries we have upheld the Masquerade, but now, in this cursed city the façade is in danger. Danger of cracking. The mask is slipping, but can we catch it? The Kindred feud, the Werefolk howl, the Changelings gather, and the Hunters circle...

Sunland, Los Angeles
Night Work

*click-click*

A turn of a key, the hum of an engine block coming to life, the slight crackle of tires on pavement. Off in the distance a wolf howled at the moon, up in the forests and hills of the Angeles National Forest, a wilderness circling the concrete jungle. The hills and mountains of the Sierra rose up to the North and East like the enclosing ramparts of an earthly battlement. A heavy beat, the drop of a bass, the headlights flare to life in front of the car. It possessed a sleek, grey, body complete with the symbol of a mustang on the hood. Mach 1 in silver letters was embossed along the back. The vehicle roars louder as it picked up speed. The dark silhouette of the driver shifting into high gear as it rocketed down a dimly lit suburban street. Passing hooded figures, night walkers in fishnets, and gangers prowling their corners. A few casted glances, stares, and more than one cat call as the muscle car sped on by. It was out of place in this decrepit neighborhood of broken dreams and crack filled homes. The driver paid no heed to the pondering's of the squalid, the poor, the wretched. Moving rapidly, taking a left, not stopping at the red an white sign demanding one halt. No, the driver kept going. Paying no heed to the hoots and hollers of a crew walking their territorial beat. Like a pack of dogs scouring their tiny lot of piss filled land for fresh meat. Disgusting creatures. The vehicle kept going, like a galloping steed, its muscles not feeling the strain or tire as its fuel injected engine burned its life essence.

I'm giving you a night call, to tell you, how I feel...​

A rapid clockwise turn of the wheel. The car drifted gracefully, practiced, the driver no doubt possessed skill at the wheel. He, for it was a male, effortlessly maneuvered their hands from the shifter, pressing the clutch, and cranking the wheel in one smooth movement. The car didn't drop a single degree of speed as it throttled onwards. Down an even more decrepit neighborhood. Past boarded up homes, an office building, and a few shops unglamorously bearing red and white signs on their doors. Foreclosure. The life of this forgotten landscape of ruin and economic downturn long since bled white. Leaving nothing in its past but broken bottles of booze and flea ridden vagabonds lurking in their fallen masonry.

I want to drive you through the night...down the hills...​

An intersection. The green lights giving way to a sickly yellow. The car picked up speed. Red like a demon's eyes. The car powered through the intersection as another car came in from the right. The second driver, in a brown beat up Cadillac, slammed on his brakes with the screech of metal on worn axles. The mustang deftly swayed left out of the way before straightening out in a fishtail heading straight. Keeping itself on course towards the destination looming at the edge of the block. Amid red and brown brick warehouses pockmarked with broken glass windows. Layers of dust caked them like the linen of the deceased. Broken, laid to rest, to rot on empty streets. The car flexes its metaphorical muscles as the headlights die, relinquishing their clairvoyance, leaving the driver in darkness.

I'd rather tell you something, you, don't want to hear...​

The car swerved, the driver cranking the wheel, holding down the clutch, shifting into a lower gear as he rammed through dingy rust laden iron gates. The gates crashed to the cracked pavement with a loud twang of vibrating iron punctuating their rapid fall. Like the slap of flesh on water from a thirty-foot drop. Life, where there should not be, yells and shrieks. The driver's window rolled down, and out came an arm bedecked in a fine dark grey suit sleeve. In his hand was a sleek black firearm. A Heckler & Koch P30L. The driver had crashed into a courtyard, largely empty, with low brick walls just high enough to block direct view from the street. The small warehouse was akin to its ruined cousins lining the street beside and before it. Rapid movement to the left.

I'm gonna' show you where its dark...but has no fear...​

The flash of a muzzle, the bark of combustion, and the shrill cry as something squishy crashed to the pavement. The car swerved in a half circle as two more flashes broke the night. Those halos of light and fire accompanied by the barks of anger. A body, unlike the first which did not bear fangs, crashed as a hole was blasted in its head and heart. Thud, a humanoid figure jumped onto the hood, a shrieking wail of challenge. The car stopped abruptly. The figure gracefully jumped backwards and off of the hood. Only to be met by the steel beast at full throttle. The sickening crunch of bone and skull on pavement followed. A skid, dragging the broken corpse trailing red vitals across the pavement, but now the warehouse was alive. Several figures dashed out of the warehouse. The passenger window rolled down, a longer barrel emerged, an AR-15 blazed away with rounds girded in liturgical script. Downing four of the slower, human moving, figures approaching armed with their own weapons. The driver door opened, the driver rolled out, having expertly throne their car into park amid their dashing maneuvers.

There's something inside you...its hard to explain...they're talkin' about you boy, but you're still the same...there's something inside you, its hard to explain...​

Bang-Bang

A blur of movement came to a rapid halt as it sunk to the ground face first. A second appeared to the drivers left. Swinging to the side, knocking the pistol away, and giving a savage kick. Propelling the driver back several feet to roll onto the pavement. The blur didn't stop, the driver rolled to the right, swung up with a low sweeping kick. Catching the blur at the back of the knee. Bringing it down in time with a savage open palm punch to the nose. The crunch of a shattered nasal plate ramming back into the skull, puncturing the frontal lobe of the brain, gore weeping from where the nose had properly been. "AGH!" The driver ducked as a yelling woman with a baseball bat swung wildly. Swinging himself around, grabbing the woman's arm, her brown hair dirty and ill kept whipping around in the still air, her momentum carrying her to the ground in a submission move. Crack. The driver snapped her wrist. Bone and gristle protruding from her ruined forearm. Stomp. The woman was still. "MUTHAFUCKAH!" The driver whipped his head around to catch a wooden board on his shoulder. Dislocating it as he used the momentum of the strike to roll away. Putting precious meters between him and his angry, dark skinned, fanged opponent. The driver, eyes wide, reached behind him as the vampire leapt like a mountain lion on a wounded stag. A smaller pistol, a Beretta 93R, whipped out and flashed four times. Slowing, arresting, stopping, and finally causing the vampire to fall back in disbelief.

"Courtesy of the Camarilla." said the driver between clenched teeth.

Putting the pistol down the driver grabbed his left arm and with a grunt popped it back into place. Rotating it once, twice, three times to be sure the bone nodule was firmly back in its rotator cuff. Picking up the pistol, and the previous P30L, the driver advanced on the warehouse. Kicking open the metal door on rusty, brown, mottled hinges to reveal the horror within. A trio of young women and a Polynesian male, tied to a support beam, slumped in a circle. Their wrists cut and bled dry. On the North wall to the left one could see half a dozen other corpses hooked up to IV's. They'd been drained. The driver whipped to the right as he spotted movement. Bringing up the P30L to chest level and snapping off a round. Clipping a rushing Asian male vampire in the shoulder causing him to turn. A second, more well aimed shot, tore through its cranium to pulp its brain.

"Oi, who the bloody cocksuckin' fuck do you think ye are?" The Irish accent, Dublin, the driver brought up the P30L. "Hemshaw."

"Ye lad." the tweed coated, brown tie, cigar smoking Irishman grinned. A vampire who smoked cigars, intriguing. "Smoking again Hemshaw." replied the driver. His face a calm mask against the contrast of the situation.

"Old habits die hard John." The Irishman stepped closer, allowing the driver named John, to get a better look at his face. It was pale, with jet black hair that was loosely combed and accordingly wild, his blue eyes shone dull. A vibration in John's pocket caused Hemshaw to chuckle. "That the Camarilla?" A shake of the cigar as he exhaled thick grey smoke. Letting loose ash fall to the ground trialing ember and smoke trails. John hadn't broken eye contact or showed any emotional sign this entire time. He spoke directly, "Clean up."

Hemshaw made an 'O' with his mouth as he paced a couple feet to his left, turning slightly askew from John, raising the cigar up to his mouth and sucking in deep. "Always was a charmer that lot." John gave a slight nod, less of an agreement and more get on with it. "In a rush John? Eh, they keep you on a tight leash these days. Even as a contract killer that----."

Bang

A human bearing a Glock 18 crumpled from behind Hemshaw, across the room, having entered from a side door. Hemshaw didn't look at all perturbed by this development. He just puffed on his cigar. "So, they got you runnin' around LA killin' whoevah they like, that the ticket, cut some deal with ya?" John returned aim to Hemshaw and shrugged. "Call it what you want Hemshaw. I came here for you."

Hemshaw let out a small laugh, "Eh, ya, fancy that---looks like I'll be taken the rest of my crew to the hereafter am-I-right!"

The sound of car doors outside the warehouse caused John to quickly look back. Hemshaw grimaced as he let his cigar fall to the ground. He rocketed towards John with a cold fury. John's gun barked. Hemshaw bit the bullet straight in the heart. But he kept on coming. John reached for his left sock, and pulled a thin wooden stick, a stake. Plunging it into Hemshaw's chest cavity. Cracking rib and puncturing his aorta. The stake effectively froze Hemshaw in place. The vampires' vitae streamed outwards as it slowly bled to death in its own way. "Shame you didn't bend the knee Hemshaw. The Primogen Council gave you a choice." Indeed, order was desperately trying to be regained among the Camarilla and the surviving vampires of any repute that owed allegiance to that sect were putting in effort to form their own clans behind them. The oldest of each accepted Camarilla clan stepping forth as their acting Primogen.

John ripped the stake out. Hemshaw slumped to the floor, propping himself up on some broken masonry. He reached into his pocket, not for any weapon or device, but for another cigar; while, with his other hand he pulled out a cutter. Clipping one side his hand slipped. The cutter clacked as it hit the floor. "Be a good lad, eh?" John knelt next to the dying, withering, faded vampire. Picking up the cutter he clipped the other end of the cigar. Pulling out a simple steel lighter he flicked the top open and turned the flint wheel with a rapid thumb movement. "You always loved Cubans, Hemshaw."

"Can ya blame me...eh eck!" Hemshaw coughed up vitae, blood, as he slumped further on the floor. Puffing his last as he withered before John's eyes. The sound of feet outside, John turned around rapidly, to be confronted with one of the Camarilla's own. An older man wearing carharts and a brown brimmed hat. Several other vampires, ghouls, and affiliated mortals stood behind him.

"Left quite a mess Johnny. Should have waited for us." spoke the older man.

"Yeah well...Hemshaw and the other newly minted Anarchs might have been gone by then." John patted the older man on the shoulder as he walked out. Letting the cleanup crew get to work at getting rid of the remains, torching the evidence, and confiscating anything valuable. It was like it never happened, and if some human forensics team could track something, not that anyone calls the police out here anyways, they'd just find some ashes and broken surgical instruments at best.

The Mustang Mach 1 blazed out of the courtyard a minute later...

 

[Sherwood]

Susan walked out of the cinema with a disdainful look on her face as she pulls out of her purse a sleeve of Clorox wipes and begins to scour her hands. Eric, her date for the evening, gives her a wry smile as she scrubs her hands. He said, "You should have known that the popcorn would get your fingers greasy. Why did you buy it?"

She shoots a look over her shoulder says, "It is a non-negotiable social convention for a person going to the movies. Besides, I like popcorn. What kind of person are you thinking I am? I'm no Communist!" Susan grins as she puts the sanitation wipe away.

Eric laughs out loud. "Heaven forbid! I'm glad; because I couldn't let myself be seen in public with a Communist!" He holds out his arm to Susan, and when she takes it, he guides her through the parking lot to where his Mazda SUV. He opens the door for his date before walking around the vehicle to get in the driver's side. "So, pretty lady, where to? The night is still young."

With a sad sigh, she replies, "Back home. I have a VIP client coming over. Don't worry; I won't be alone. I'll have Rachel there to help me verify the authenticity of the book he's bringing in. This is a text that I've been searching for, for a long, long time. This deal is worth many tens of thousands of dollars, and I can't miss this. Raincheck for the rest of our night?"

Eric sighs. "Ok, but I'm holding you to it! Home it is."

It is a short drive for the two of them to get back to the shop, and Susan gives Eric a pleasant kiss before she slips out of the SUV and heads for the currently locked door of the Bell, Book and Candle and pulls out her keys. Inside the door, Susan takes a moment to take in the neat and orderly shelves of old books and she inhales a deep breath, reveling in the smell of old leatherbound books. Heading behind the counter, she looks over at the older woman locking up the day's deposit. "Good evening, Joanie. How was everything this evening?"

The older woman smiles and says, "It has been a quiet night. Nothing much going on."

Susan says, "Why don't you take an early out? I'll take care of all this paperwork. Is Rachel still upstairs?"

Joan nods. "Yes. I can hear her playing on her Playstation. Are you sure you don't mind taking over here?"

"Of course not. Go take it easy and relax for the rest of the evening." Susan adds, "Besides, I have that reclusive client coming over tonight, and he gets jumpy with a lot of extra people around,"

Once the older woman is gone, Susan takes out her cell phone and dials up Rachel. "Hey, you almost ready for our special client to arrive? He should be here anytime soon."

 

[Psychie]

Rachel's fingers seem to dance on the controller as she is hunched over in front of her tv, doing her best to beat this level's boss fight. When her phone rings the first time, Pixel, her computer, asks, "Should I get that for you and tell Susan that you're busy?"

"No, Pix, I don't want you to answer my phone to say that. <sigh> Damn. I got distracted, and now I'm dead. At least I hit the save point before starting this part. Alright, lets hear Susan."

Susan takes out her cell phone and dials up Rachel. "Hey, you almost ready for our special client to arrive? He should be here anytime soon."

In her cute British accent, the younger woman replies, "Yup. I'm all set to help play security, not that we've ever had a problem with the vampires coming here once you made nice with the Prince. I just hope that this book you are getting is worth the info you are giving up in trade for it. Btw, how was your date with . . . Eric, wasn't it? Do any serious smooching during the movie, or did you kids behave yourselves?" Rachel has her phone on standard talk mode, but Susan can easily hear the wide grin in the other womans' voice.

As she talks, she tucks her phone between her ear and shoulder and starts to gather a few things that she want with her downstairs; notably Pixel and her pistol that she tucks in the back of her waistline. They have dealt with this particular Nosferatu before, and he's always played things straight, but there is no shame in being ready for trouble if it rears its ugly head.

 

[One of Hearts]

Crimson watched from a building not too far away. How one man easily took down Hemshaw was beyond him. Then again, Hemshaw was always in over his head from what Crimson heard of the man. He sat back and thought a moment. "Johnny?" He muttered to himself. Who was this new character on the field? Crimson watched in awe of the man and how he took down the kindred with ease. It amused Crimson, he couldn't believe his eyes, this man wasn't even kindred was he? Crimson began to think more, watching from a safe distance. That was when a sweet voice took over and stole Crimson's attention. Cream looked over at him, her long blonde hair was curled and she was upset that Crimson told her that she couldn't wear perfume tonight.
"Why are we even here if we weren't going to help Hemshaw?"
She folded her arms and glared at the Cam cleaning up the mess. Crimson smirked a bit and started to walk off. Cream noticeably seemed annoyed Crimson didn't answer her so she quietly followed.
"Um...excuse me! I asked you a question! I know you're not deaf Crimson!"
The fiery red-haired kindred turned to her. He gave her a gentle smile to calm her.
"Cream, you're always in a rush to get things done, relax. We're in a new territory, and that means we're on a blank slate with a new game. It's good to know what's on the board."
The blonde rolled her eyes, his cheesy analogies were outdated.
"So you're just watching?"
"No, I'm learning. I'm seeing what the Cam has, and it appears their sheriff...isn't even kindred."
"How are you so sure that's the sheriff?"
"I'm not, but the Cam has big rules on who gets to kill and who gets killed. It's not every day I see something like this, but not so rare the Cam has someone else doing their dirty work."
"So what? We sit here and do nothing?"
"You know me better, I never just do nothing. Come on...we need to have a family meeting. Where's Violet?"
"Sterling mentioned she said something about a drug run?"
Crimson sighed, a bit annoyed. Despite being caitiff, the girl had her sire's bane. Whenever she spoke up about something, which was rare, it could literally mean anything. A drug run could mean anything from actually running drugs around, to trying to sniff chalk.
"Well...no time like the present to start hunting her down. Just lay low, I'd rather not get the Cam's eyes on us."

Crimson watched as Cream began to walk off then turned and took one last look at the car driving off. Crimson felt a rush, wanting nothing more than to chase the car down, but he knew better. The time would come when they would meet, that was for sure. The question was what would happen when they met? Would they fight? Fight together? Only time would tell.
"I look forward to us meeting Johnny boy."
He silently grinned to himself as he turned and began to walk to their car.






Violet had done it. She got scratched up a bit, but was glad she could simply lick herself and be healed. It was an odd ability, but a useful one. The night seemed like it might be cold, but Violet felt nothing, as usual. She walked with her jacket that was about three sizes too large, but a gift from Yagmur when they first met. While she couldn't appreciate the warmth, she rather liked that the jacket had so many pockets and was comfy. Crimson had asked her where she had gotten it. After many weeks of silence, she finally answered: "The giant hyena" and Crimson assumed she had seen another distorted reality. Violet wasn't sure why, but she liked that. It kept Yagmur safe from his wild ideas. Crimson wasn't evil or mean, but he was cunning and willing to use anyone outside of the family. Violet wished to change him, but it's hard to teach an old dog new tricks...especially compassion. She had made her way to the big buffet. It had a name, but Violet never noticed. she simply called it: "Yagmur's place". And she enjoyed that. A secret joy of course. She walked in and was greeted instantly, as always. Her blank face and dead eyes met the greeter. She found emotion meaningless over the years and simply followed the greeter to a seat. She was given a water cup and straw. It was all for show. That's the deal after all. She can eat here in return for her services. Violet clutched her bag, the valuable book she stole was in it. She liked how the book looked, and enjoyed how the pages felt when run along her face. But it was her secret. She just wanted the book for how it looked and felt.

She looked up, and there it was again, that purple Giraffe with the Tinkerbell green fedora. It was looking at a menu. This place didn't even have a menu, it was a buffet. And yet she stared at it as it looked over the menu. To the outside world, she was simply staring at an empty chair across from her, reaching out now for an invisible menu. Violet reached and gently pulled the menu down, refusing to take the menu like last time. That did not end well. This time, Violet was simply interested at staring at what was on the menu.

Red-haired girl with pain meds
black-haired man with Pepto-Bismol
Blonde girl with insulin
young boy with a side of sugar.

Violet let go of the menu and sat there, slowly turning her head to see each individual eating at the tables. the pain meds sounded nice. She rather liked the pain med drugs, especially if they were opioids. But normally it was just Advil or Tylenol. She watched as the red-haired girl got up to use the bathroom. Violet also got up and followed the girl into the bathroom. She was lucky, it was empty. Violet gently reached out and grabbed the girl's hand.

"Oh! Can I help you, little girl?"

Violet looked 14, but she was 93. It always felt weird to remember she looked so young. Violet said nothing but bit into the girl's wrist. she was about to scream, but the pleasure took over. Violet happily took a drink...or two. But she had promised Yagmur not to kill a single soul. So she stopped when the lady passed out, and gently sat her on a toilet seat. Violet watched the woman, wishing she had Cream's ability to make her forget what had happened. But as always, she was sure the lady would wake up and think it was a horrible dream. Violet made sure to clean and heal her wound so no mark was left behind. Then she left the bathroom. She glanced at her table to see the giraffe was gone. Oh well, she could ask it questions later. For now, she wanted to thank Yagmur for the meal and see if he needed anything from her. So she walked into the kitchen, sure that he must be there. The smell of food was not her favorite, sometimes it made her gag but she wanted to be polite to Yagmur. She knew if she wasn't kindred, she might be all over the food here. She glanced over every member here...none of them were normal. They were all like Yagmur. She skimmed over them to try and find him. She knew she didn't need to say a word, simply showing herself would be enough for him. There was a frown on her face now. Not because of where she was or what she was doing, but because she could tell the drugs weren't opioids, it was just Advil.

 

[0stinato]

The interior of the BackAgain! buffet restaurant toed the line between casual and exquisite. Flavours of traditional Turkish culture were situated on striking feature walls, breaking up the modern greys and golden yellows with warm artwork and hanging lights with detailed glass-and-metal patterns. Dedicated walkways meandered through groupings of tables, at times flanked by decorated partition walls, leaving plenty of room for herds of customers to head to the buffet area with empty plates, and come back with a smörgåsbord of food from various nationalities. American fast- and comfort food featured in one branch of the buffet, as did Turkish. Another was the home of Indian and Chinese dishes, and on the final branch sat Japanese food opposite the desert station.

Enter, pay a fixed price, and the choice of meal was yours: let deep-dish pizza meet bulgur pilaf after a starter of dumplings, then take the plate back over for butter chicken and fries. As for the drinks, you can choose what you like: you just pay for the glass.

The staff that kept BackAgain! operational did so with diligence. Tonight, everyone moved with an eye towards the kitchen. Separated from the wide dining room by a short corridor through an archway and double doors, the kitchen was currently home to one of the boss’s people. She had entered thirty minutes ago, barging her way through a party of seven guests without stopping to apologise, and jogged through the dining room, pausing only to swirl a strawberry under the chocolate fountain. Most of the staff were used to seeing her, and those who knew what she was kept their mouths shut; those who didn’t knew enough about the boss to avoid asking.

Parakeet was a blotch of colour in the busy kitchen. Wearing dark three-quarter-length trousers and sparkly green boots, she cut a wholly different figure to the cooks. Her undercut was dyed two different shades of blue, but the necessarily cheap quality of the dye was already turning her hair a sickly silver. Her ragged plaid shirt was open, exposing a crop top and pierced navel. Slightly visible was a tattoo that extended from her left hip: a burst of feathers, each suspended in inky permanence below her ribcage. In her hand sat her phone, a battered old thing with more keychains than should be possible on one device. The cracked screen lit her face from below, but she was looking expectantly upwards, her brow low.

‘It’s been picking up again, vampire activity. We will be glad we didn’t ignore the turning of the wind,’ a deep, rumbling voice spoke down to her, its texture rich and lacquered with accent. Her conversational partner spoke with huge fingers stroking a strong jawline that betrayed a fierce underbite. ‘Were you spotted?’

‘Me? No, I wasn’t there. Wouldn’t’ve risked being that close even if I was. I went to scope things out when I heard a bit about it, but there were definitely others still lurking around the scene. Don’t think I was spotted then, either. I was full corvid.’

‘Hmmmm…’ Yağmur Fahri’s thoughtful timbre gave his usual jovial air a dour note. ‘Observation alone mightn’t lead to answers, but I am loath to show our hand by launching preparations. The cunning of Crow should be your wont.’

Parakeet’s eyebrow went up, then lowered in a scowl at Yağmur. ‘Well, yeah. Don’t need to tell me. You’d never tell Capo that.’

Shaken from his musings by Parakeet’s tone, Yağmur blinked down at her and shifted his position. The leather jacket over his shoulders came dangerously close to swiping something off a shelf behind him, but he didn’t notice. His mouth curled into a smile, and he stuck one hand in the pockets of his loose sweatpants. The other thumped onto Parakeet’s shoulder with a fond weight.

‘There is no doubt of your loyalty to the totem, little one. Don’t mistake my concern for estimating your adequacy.’

‘I’m only adequate to you, am I?’

‘Oh, I would not speak for the totem, for it is not my place. In arenas that are mine, however, you use your split-self well. Remember that, Mitsumi.’

Parakeet’s expression broke when she heard her name, but she didn’t get a sentence out before her observational skills took over. Despite Yağmur’s hand on her shoulder and his own subtle behaviour, she saw in the flick of his eye his attention shift. She spun her head round, catching sight of another unusual arrival in the kitchen.

Her head turned back to Yağmur and she pointed her thumb over her shoulder. ‘Found more vampire activity.’

‘You have. Give us some space now. She is not fond of strangers.’

Parakeet sighed but kicked herself away from the shelf she was leaned against. ‘I’ll uh…’ she shrugged one shoulder, a non-verbal indication that she would make herself scarce by entering the lower floors of the restaurant. Down there, the chaos of Los Angeles could be forgotten, replaced by sleep or dedication to Crow. It was an area only for those Yağmur allowed into his gang, and largely unknown to everyone else. Yağmur smiled at her, waited for her to exit the kitchen, then turned his eye on Violet.

The kitchen staff that passed her to take more food to the buffet area did so without glancing at her. Working here, one very quickly got used to the unusual blend of faces that would frequent the backrooms of the place. The various visitors the boss received had become so commonplace as to become unexciting. Yağmur was sure he could have a performative discussion about the absolute destruction of LA without any of his human staff raising an eyebrow or even trying to listen in. And it wasn’t as though any of the staff would approach him for help either: Yağmur had hired managers for that kind of thing.

Yağmur let Violet approach and led her away from the main kitchen area towards where a young man was on washing duty. Apart from the hiss of the spray, it was a touch quieter here than in the fray of stainless steel and scent.

‘You always know when I am here, little one, and you never come in when I am not here. Is there something you need?’ he spoke with the same tone as he had to Parakeet, despite knowing that her real age was not represented by the appearance she bore. Today, he could assume she had taken her own version of a buffet: although he was homid in form, his own monstrous torn soul could sense that blood had recently been spilled around her. She wouldn’t have to tell him that – if she decided to speak today.

If there was an oddity, it was the weight of her bag. From what Yağmur had seen, Violet usually travelled light.

‘Is that the reason why you have come today?’ Yağmur pointed at the bag. ‘Show me.’

Under his gaze, Violet fidgeted, not doing a great job of hiding her discomfort. Her eyes dropped to her bag. After a few seconds, she seemed to make a choice and reached into it. Rather than handing it to him though, she first opened it, making gestures to demonstrate the unique tactile nature of the book’s pages, and when it seemed to her that he understood, she passed it over.

‘Here,’ Violet’s voice was hoarse, barely audible above the kitchen’s din, but Yağmur picked up on it. He knew her well enough to detect that muffled melody.

With a smile of gratitude, he took it with reverence unusual to a man of his size, but he had indeed comprehended that Violet had some sort of connection to the book. The pages were of high quality but fine, giving each folio a smooth, soft feel, even against Yağmur’s strong fingers. He supported the book’s spine in one palm, letting it open to wherever it wished against his thumb, and kept from touching any ink. It was certainly unusual. Not the sort of thing one just stumbles across. He knew a touch about the occult, but it was certain Violet knew more than he did: what he failed to understand she may already know, but if his suspicion was correct and this book held advanced secrets, specialists in extracting intelligence of this sort would be wise to seek for them both.

Yağmur reckoned he would have little luck if he hoped to get out of Violet the information about where she found this, so, deciding to discard that series of questions, he elected to posit an idea for the future.

‘An unusual item, but not one whose origins nor secrets I can deduce. If it holds information you are unable to retrieve, I can suggest a bookstore you may wish to visit. Or, with the recent increase in danger for vampires, if you wish for escort, I can take you there: the strength of my totem will ensure our safe arrival, if you accept.’

Yağmur's teeth snapped to a grin as he thumped a hand on his thick chest, right on the tattoo that extended from around his neck to the top of his stomach. A werewolf, shapechanger, or any split-soul, was even less of a being without their totem; while Yağmur's overgrowth of body hair did obfuscate the appearance somewhat, the dark shape etched forever into his skin was as close to his core as he could get it. It was representative of a deeper loyalty, of a true servitude to the totem. No one else needed to put their own faith in it: they just needed to have faith in him.

--
Written with assistance from One of Hearts in reference to Violet's actions.

 

[ValinoreanDawn]

To say Los Angeles was a dangerous place to live is an understatement. Sky high rates of homelessness, unemployment at its worst in thirty years, and more people living below the poverty line than anywhere else in America. Yet, this city has a draw, a stranglehold, everyone still wants to live here. A nine to five, a home, and palm trees. The American Dream.

Moonshadows

The beat of the club reverberated to be felt across the street. The flashing lights, disco balls, and laser show illustrated a wild neon orgy of sensation. Moonshadows was not like a normal club, well to the Kine it was an exotic establishment of excess, but to the Kindred and others who partook in the proclivities inside it was a safe haven. An Elysium of sorts though not officially sanctioned. An understanding, a bargain, struck between the old Elders and Papa Moonshadow. A contract that so far has remained honored despite said Elders having met Final Death during Bloody New Years. But Papa was all about contracts and deals.

Stopping by the door the bouncer looked Bellatrix over and gave a nod for her to enter. The black door inscribed with various calligraphic scripts swinging open. Omens of defense and warding. Moving through the door and the short entrance hallway one was met by a club built in the style of a mixed Egyptian and Mesopotamian flair. Hanging plants, trees, and eloquent fluted lanterns. The light show casting a plethora of illuminated collages for an atmosphere. The sounds moving into a subdued trance like beat as the throngs of party goers jived and gyrated.

First floor and the lower balcony was the domain of the public appearance. Just one of many elaborate clubs in Los Angeles. But off to the side rooms, the upper balcony, that was where the true social matters transpired. Where Kindred fed in privacy from the willing or blissfully ignorant. Were lone Fera drank in solace without disturbance. Were the odd Mage could find an environment with paradox kept at bay by the powers of the establishment's proprietor. Changelings could gather in their true forms without concern.

"Ye not come to my house for ah-while, Bella."

Bellatrix turned and saw, lounging in a zebra pattern chair, feet up on a cushioned ottoman of matching material, was a dark-skinned man dressed in a feathered fedora, dark purple dress shirt and black jacket, black dress pants, and white shoes. Though the word 'man' was not adequate. Only that this creature was in the appearance of a man. A subtle blue glow to his erstwhile dark eyes betrayed his nature. Djinn.

"Busy are my nights of late, Papa," she said with a smile. Turning to face and approach the Djinni.

"So, it seems. Pray, tell me of any news you bring. Your stories I always find to fill my head with such imagery."

"None of late, unfortunately."

"Oh, come now," Papa leaned back in his chair, "The Clans of the precious Camarilla are in a frantic state. What with their missing Sarcophagus."

Bellatrix paused, Papa was playing a game here, she'd known the Djinn since the 1920s and this was his particular cheesy jest of a way to say he knew something. "Well, do I have to make a wish to hear the hook you're leading this conversation with?"

Papa let out a small chuckle, "No, no wishes for you, Cainite. Would be no sport in the granting of wishes to thee. But you know me too well. This Sarcophagus do the others tell you what it is?"

"Only that it is a humble obsidian colored sarcophagus bearing the sigil of Clan Tremere. They are most bothered, more than the rest, to re-acquire it."

"Arrogant of them to give such a description."

"Are they wrong?"

"On a number of things."

"Such as?"

"She is not what they think."

"She?"

Papa gave a wry smile and abruptly changed tone, "Come, let us have a drink," and the Djinn snapped his fingers. The environment around them changing instantly to one of the upper balcony bars. The bartender swiveled over to them, Bellatrix recognized the fiery red hair and flashy eyes, Helena the Ifrit. "Bella, you've been quite absent, I've missed our conversations," said the Ifrit with a grin. Bellatrix could only give a small smile in return. Djinn and Ifrit seldom made conversation for anything other than their own gain. Usually, Papa at least was different or just bored of that whole ordeal.

"Two, Old Fashioned, extra apple. Do I remember your drink of choice?" said Papa with a wink.

"Always," smirked Bella.

The Ifrit bartender expertly, and unnaturally quick, produced the two beverages in matching glasses. Sliding one to each of them. Papa raised his glass to smell the aroma while Bella downed it without ceremony. Continuing, "Must be important to move to a private venue."

"The Sarcophagus is not so much a resting place as a Prison."

Bellatrix almost coughed, a surprisingly human physical response for someone who'd been a vampire for over two centuries. "So, do not open signs all over."

"Quite. You open that box so to speak and you're highly unlikely to get Her back in it."

"She, her, I need specifics."

"She's had many names over the years. That is not important for the names hold no power over her. Otherwise, I and my cousins," Papa indicated the Ifrit, "Would have intervened to whisk this danger away back to the wilderness wince it came."

"Well, where did 'she' come from."

"Not sure and at any rate her origin is lost to the sands of time. But what we know is that the Setite sponsored expedition unearthed her Sarcophagus in the Sahara. Under the Richat Structure. For whatever reason we cannot be certain. Only that in a scuffle with Clan Tremere that took place in Tunis the Setites lost the Sarcophagus. The Camarilla took it to Vienna before transporting it across the Atlantic."

"Papa..."

"Museums tend to hold Sarcophagi. I would look there."

BackAgain!

The door opened with a chime as John walked into the buffet. Hungry and tired. His nights seldom stress free of late. The Changeling moved over to a table and waited for his initial drink order to be taken before moving over to the food. Sitting himself down he leaned back with a creek of complaint from the chair. Pepsi and a water were his order. Which, he waited to go get his first plate. Intending to enjoy the moment of rest as he looked about the place. He'd never been here before but then again to try and go to all the various eateries in Los Angeles would surely take a lifetime. Though, he could sense that many here were not what they seemed. Seldom did he find himself in a crowd lately were at least one was not as they appeared. He closed his eyes and shifted through his own mental knowledge. Fera, shapeshifters, in a buffet. Interesting. But not of his concern. That is unless they tried to poison his food.

Museum of Natural History
900 Exposition Boulevard, Los Angeles

The museum was ill lit by this time. Only the low, power saving, lights that illuminated enough of the floor for the nighttime security to make their rounds were on. Save, for one of the top floor's laboratories. A restoration and examination room and there, huddled around a rectangular obsidian item large enough for a human to rest in was a gaggle of museum workers. The object had been recovered by state authorities from a violent car crash that made little sense. An SUV t-boning an eighteen-wheeler? Odd but this was Los Angeles and oddities abound.

The eldest of the quartet of researchers, a silvan haired man with the faintest traces of what was once auburn on his scalp, looked with white gloves at the object. "Hmmm seems quit old. Samples give anything?"

A younger woman with bobbed black hair responded as she looked through a microscope at some dust samples taken from the surface of the object, "Definitely from the Sahara. But the actual material of the Sarcophagus is unclear but straight obsidian."

"That is unheard of, volcanic glass being so large, this is truly a find for the ages," mused the older man. Another man, middle aged, with thick spectacle glasses was squinting at the various black glyphs lining the object. "Possibly Coptic but the dialect is unclear. Some bits of runic script mixed in. Odd, I can't quite make out the language."

 

[Sherwood]

Susan sits at the front desk, working on invoices and making sure the money was going to the right accounts. Across the room from her, nearly placing books back in their proper places an the shelves is Rachel. She spares her younger friend a smile, saying, "Of the deal goes down on time and without any issues, Victor will be here soon. If he doesn't snow tonight..... Well, we'll get the book back eventually and use the knowledge we were planning on paying for the text to put paid to whomever it is that found him. Just remember the Nossies are very private and all we might have to do its give them the info."

 

[Londo_Mollari94]

Christian had been dragged towards a dinner he didn’t want to participate in. Christian was more focused on drawing violent imagery than listening to his so called friend yammer about the latest fashion trends. His ghoul had booked this dinner because the person he was currently having dinner with was a business associate. His eyes were more focused on his drawing, moving towards his associate and being impressed by his associate’s clothing which was quite immaculate. His associate was wearing a blue Armani suit that executed his toned body. The purple silk tie was from Books Brothers. As his associate walked into the room Christian noticed he was wearing Italian made leather shoes. He had a similar outfit but he honestly thought he looked better in it.

Christian was looking at the hardbody employees who were walking around the area. One girl in particular caught his eye, he lamented that he was not able to have sex anymore. His associate whose name is Paul, but Christian couldn’t remember his last name. Christian noticed that Paul resembled a mix of Tom Cruise and John Stamos. A fact that makes Christian quite jealous. “So Kevin are you going to the Drake concert with Alexandra and Linda? Beyonce is gonna be there to sing a song or two.” Paul was loudly eating his food which annoyed Christian quite a lot.

“It’s Christian…” Christian was chewing on ice while he continued drawing on a kid’s colouring paper. “No I am not going to the concert, I have dinner with Wanda.” Wanda was Christian’s “Girlfriend” but she was a nuisance who would follow him around. Although he was lying that he was going to this dinner with Wanda. He was probably going to have some whisky while listening to some Phil Collins. “HI PAUL!!!” A voice was screaming inside of his skull making him wince in pain. A high pitched laugh and the sound of something sharp hitting meat followed the screaming. Chewing loudly on the piece of ice in his mouth trying to drown out the voices. “Sorry.” Spoke softly but his friend didn’t seem to notice. Paul was more focused on ogling the women around him. Christian was wondering if anyone would notice Paul’s death. After his dinner with Paul, he wanted to stay so he could try to relax a little.

Standing up from his chair and headed off into the men’s bathroom. After some struggle with occupied stalls, he finally found an empty stall. Standing in the stall he took out a small snuff box from his pocket. Placing a small portion on the back of his hand, snorting the contents through one of his nostrils. He felt a sudden rush of pleasure fill his body. Taking another snort of the white substance before putting away his snuff box. Wiping his nose before going to the bathroom mirror. Staring at his reflection before noticing the voices starting to come back. "Fire... walk with me..” Another voice speaking which made Christian want to leave the bathroom, “I know all of your secrets….blood on your hands, and you don’t know where you’ve been.”

Christian speed walked out of the bathroom and almost bumped into an employee while walking back to his table. “Sorry I was not looking where I was going, are you okay?” He said wiping his jacket and making sure that she was not hurt. Not knowing that he had bumped into Parakeet. He assumed she was perhaps a model. Using Aspex to see if she was human or not.

 

[One of Hearts]

Violet watched as Yagmur checked the book out. His thumb went through the pages, and Violet imagined herself feeling those pages again. Some of the words fell out of the book: Adventure, bookstore, friends, and caution. Violet was sure she was seeing things again, but she didn't care. She had learned to roll with it. To Yagmur, it would simply look like she was staring at her feet contemplating his kind offer to escort her. While she was sure she could easily handle hiding in the shadows, Violet was never one to talk. If she brought him, he could do all the talking and find out the contents of that book. Not that Violet cared. She just liked the feel of the pages. Bookstores, however, have more books in them, and she could see if she could find another book with smooth pages like this one. Perhaps she could start a collection. After staring at the words on the floor for awhile she looked back up to see that confident grin Yagmur had. Violet liked that grin. She looked at his Tattoo, wishing she too could have one. Tattoo ink however doesn't stay on kindred skin. She nodded to Yagmur to accept his offer.

"Then, we travel now. There is little sense in waiting to claim answers. An intelligent scout may seek the solace of darkness, but he should not burn daylight awaiting it. I know of a Fera-friendly cab we will use: they will not query your presence."

Yağmur let one final wide smile settle before digging into various pockets attempting to locate his phone. It is eventually found hidden in some crease or other, and soon the screen is lit up with a contacts page, scrolling to find the promised cab company. In his hand it looks particularly tiny: perhaps ubiquitous little tech items like this are not his forté.

Yagmur always had connections. It was something that baffled Violet. She watched intently as he worked his tiny phone. She saw the purple Giraffe behind him. It had sunglasses on, as if it were ready for a wild adventure. Violet wanted to speak up, perhaps tell Yagmur of the giraffe, but she thought better of it. Yagmur might find her odd or crazy and she didn't like the thought of that. So she simply reached out to take a piece of his jacket, as if to hold his hand. She did not want to get lost. "This place is big." She spoke softly and quietly as always.





Crimson finally made it to this restaurant that Sterling mentioned Violet liked to frequent. The place seemed very normal, and out of Violet's style. Why here of all places? No one can interpret the mind of the Malkav he supposed as they entered. Crimson smelled food, which was unappealing, but he also smelled death and blood. Humans are not the only patrons here, which interested Crimson. He looked around for Violet, and found someone else instead. There he was...sitting with just a cola and water. Crimson was fascinated by this kid. A greeter asked him for how many were in his party. Crimson knew he should have said he was just here for Violet, but his desire to learn more overcame him. "Just one." The greeter nodded and lead him to a table. Crimson silently yelled at himself for getting off task, but when would an opportunity like this show up again? He glanced around the room to look a bit normal and ordered a water. There was a lot going on here actually and Crimson was overjoyed at all the information he was gathering. Why did Violet not mention this was a hotspot for kindred and the like before? It was a discussion he would have with her later. For now, he was determined to learn everything he could. From the guy crunching on ice to his new favorite target drinking cola. It was all here.

 

[0stinato]

Parakeet, HeroForge‘My strawb! You serious?’ Parakeet, rounding on Christian who had bumped her, gestured at the chocolate-dipped berry that lay in the middle of the otherwise clean carpet like some sad oil painting still life. ‘Swear, I take my eye off things for one second…’

While Parakeet had all the appearance of a disadvantaged youth in her thrifted clothes, scuffed green boots and irregularly dyed hair, anyone who knew what they were sensing would pick up on more than her Shapeshifter heritage. A corvid soul lay preening itself under a body that was cared for in the most necessary of human needs. Food and sleep were not things she lacked, even if basic possessions were sparse and her clothes were overly worn. There was something unique about her past the split soul.

She kept her eyes on Christian, each pupil tense with acuity. She kicked the poor strawberry off to the side of the walkway for some unfortunate staff member to deal with when they found it.

‘So many of your lot around these days,’ she continued eventually, her scowl still up. Stepping away from him, she speared another fresh strawberry from the pile in the desert station and slopped it liberally in the chocolate fountain. ‘Hope you’re not the- mm,’ she paused to lap up a thick dollop of melted bliss that gravity was threatening to steal from her, ‘not the type to start shit. Too tired for that today, man.’

She paused again, eyebrows raising this time as she bit into the strawberry. Her expression was replaced from irritation to something open and innocent, but her eyes became ever more intense with eagerness for insight.

‘So, what’s dragged a guy like you into an eatery you can’t make use of, huh? Lookin’ for shelter? Info? A meal? A friend? I bet it’s a friend. Gotta be lonely out there, y’know, with all the turbulence of the kindred. I feel you, I feel you. Can’t offer you shit personally, but I feel you. Unless you’re not alone but what’re the odds of more than one of you people being in a buffet at a time, huh?’

She grinned and stuck a fist out to him, an invitation to fist-bump her.

‘Mimi,’ she said, as way of introduction.



Parakeet’s eye only wavered for a second as Yağmur came into view. With BackAgain! having only one main walkway until it opened into the multi-branched self-serve buffet area, it was difficult for anyone sitting eating, travelling to or from their table, or traversing the walkway to miss the enormous Turk. His presence likely gave enough distraction for the young-looking girl accompanying him to slip under the radar.

Yağmur gave a glowing smile to anyone looking his way and threw a glance at Parakeet who was standing with a patron. He carried on walking past them, phone nestled in his palm, waiting for the call he was making to connect. With him strolling through the room, everything suddenly seemed much closer, much more claustrophobic, an incredible feat in a dining room so large. When he and Violet had moved out of the way of other patrons, Yağmur let his long hair fall over his shoulders as he looked down, feigning interest in his phone. Unruly and thick, his hair blocked others from seeing his face as much as possible while retaining an air of subtlety, a requirement to keep the peace while doing his own form of scanning the area.

A sharp gurn of his underbite jaw turned into a flex: Yağmur let a fragment of his split beastly soul to the surface, transforming the internal workings of his olfactory senses into that of a hyena, while his outward appearance stretched to a muzzle. With a rhythmic inhaling growl, Yağmur drew in the scents that had pooled in the restaurant, discarding those he expected and mentally sorting those he should pay attention to.

There was blood, courtesy of dear Violet who he knew had taken a meal earlier.

There was something slight and bitter, an odour most would miss without a hyaenic tongue, which Yağmur suspected to be a drug. This was L.A. however: he was used to that by now.

There was a sickly suggestion of fae amongst the seated customers, but no residue on the air that a glamour had been recently used.

As Yağmur forced his glabro form to dissipate, he snapped his head back and forth, shaking off the pop of his jaw and sudden comparative dulling of his senses. It was at that moment that his call was finally picked up, to which he dropped his usual volume of speech to keep from distracting his restaurant patrons any further. The cab ride would be swift and simple, taking Yağmur and his accompanying kindred associate away from the restaurant and to the bookstore owned by two contacts of his. Bringing Violet in tow might spark some explanations he would have to give, but he knew his winning grin and open honesty would earn him – and therefore her – the benefit of the doubt.

After he finished the call, he glanced down at Violet with deep consideration. It would be only polite to inform his contacts that he would be heading their way, but he knew Susan and Rachel well enough to predict their preferred method of communication.

Sadly enough, his thick fingers would make that quite hard.

Comuing o9ver 2 see u wityh a book u may be abler to help w. Lobe,. Y

He looked at his message, the bastard child of early 2000s text-speak and a drunkard’s fumbling, laughed sheepishly while flashing Violet a view of his attempt, and hit send. Those two were clever. They’d know what he meant.

--
Interactions: One of Hearts Londo_Mollari94 Sherwood Psychie
Mentions: ValinoreanDawn
(Managed to get everyone, whew.)

 

[Londo_Mollari94]

Christian wiped some of the desert off his suit jacket with a handkerchief. He would probably have to clean it when he gets home. He wanted to lash out and yell at the woman, but he knew it was his fault for bumping into her. Quietly folding the handkerchief before putting it away in his lapel. “It was my fault for bumping into you. I had a lot on my mind.” Sniffed quite loudly wiping his nose and being glad he didn't see blood. Looking at her or rather staring at her, wondering if she was human. Observing what she was wearing thinking she would need some good clothes and a different hairstyle to look relatively good. His so-called girlfriend would want to perform a complete makeover if she saw her. He was not his type but he assumed she was not different from his yuppie friends. “I usually don’t cause trouble unless…” He stopped to rub his nose while snorting softly. Turning his head hearing a voice speaking to him again.

“She knows you are scum, kill her before she finds out who you are.” Shaking his head he looked back at her and wondered if she had heard what he just heard. When it seemed she didn’t hear the voice in his head he continued speaking.

“I need to protect myself. I was dragged here by my secretary who booked a dinner with a piss ant I despise. I am glad the dinner itself was quite short.” He raised a brow when she mentioned the Kindred, he wondered if she was another vampire like himself. Or perhaps she was a werewolf although he couldn’t smell wet fur emitting off of her. Perhaps she was a mage or a shapeshifter.

Looking down at her fist wondering what she was trying to do. Thinking back to his past if anyone had done this gesture towards him before. The only moment he could think of was when he helped a Skater from being hit by a car in the 00’s. He didn’t notice he was staring at her extended fist for a couple of seconds. Not wanting to make it any more awkward he fist bumped the woman. “My name is Christian.” Looking at a long-haired red-haired man (Yağmur) walking passed them. Holding his breath as the man moved passed him, exhaling as soon as he walked away.


Interactions: 0stinato

 

[ValinoreanDawn]

John watched as he collected his first plate of food. Beef and broccoli, rice, and orange sweet and sour chicken. Eyeing the interactions around him with an air of professional calmness. Moving back over to his table he sat down and watched as a man with an aura of unease (Christian) seemed to hold his breath while a bulky red-haired man with long locks walked by (Yagmur).

Placing the first morcel of food in his mouth John carried about eating. As if unperturbed. But in reality, he was overly cautious of were the exits where and how many people were around him. He had silver rounds in a magazine on his left hip. His brain ran through the reloading time needed if the Fera he sensed around him became aggravated. Running the calculations in his head he surmised that conservative odds where he could put two rounds in the chest of the big man and one in the small girl before making for the doors and his car. That is unless there were more outside in which case he'd have to shoot his way out.

John finished his first plate and got up for a second. Pushing the thought to the back of his mind. The Fera here were under the radar and seemed content to keep it such. No need to complicate things further.

"John."

The Changeling glanced to the side and there, coming through the doors, was Bellatrix. The scent of a Djinn was around her still and the Changeling inhaled slowly. "Been to Papa Moonshadows recently?"

"Yes, got some headway on that mis--,"

John held up a hand to cut her off and only then did Bellatrix pay attention enough to her surroundings to use Auspex. She recoiled towards the doors by stiffening and backing up slowly. Her mouth uttering the word Werewolves. John signaled her to calm and make for the table he pointed towards, his own table, and she complied slowly. Sitting down while looking around with eyes wide.

John joined her a moment after with his second plate. Sushi, Chow Mein, and Fried chicken with red sauce. "They're flying under the radar otherwise they'd have tried to light me up the moment I came through the door. Besides, you're not the only Cainite here." John indicated to the other girl and Bellatrix squinted but that did little to ease her discomfort about the situation.

"So, you got headway on the artifact," continued John.

Choosing a euphemism for the actual object in question. Bellatrix nodded, "At a museum."

John glanced up, "We know who is in the artifact?" Bellatrix nodded as she slid the address of a particular museum that had, according to the Nossies, received a shipment bearing an unusual coffin salvaged from a wreck and at least according to Human records labeled as, "recovered from a smuggling ring." Bellatrix leaned in, "A she, and an Elder. From the Old World. At least eight hundred years old according to Moonshadow. He recommended to not open the coffin."

"And we shouldn't."

Bellatrix cocked an eyebrow, "Its either the Camarilla or someone else. Might as well be the Cam."

John merely shrugged as he finished his second plate and leaned back in his chair.