{V:tM - IC} New York by Night

[Tory Adore]

Ticking her head slightly to one side, a contemplative wrinkle presses its way into Vych’s brow as her eyes dance for an instance on the woman’s graces. Vych starts to say something to Jemal, but the start of her voice turns into a sigh as the door clasps shut.
“Hmm.”

She hears Jemal agree to a drink, which reminds her she must get upstairs and get ready. Vych steps into the elevator, leans in the corner, arms stretched out, hands grasping the cool golden metal, with her legs slightly crossed at the ankles waiting for the doors to open to her home.

Stepping out into the foyer, Vych punches her pass code and the heavy brass and mahogany doors open revealing the sculptures.

Click here to see penthouse floorplan.

Answering Jemal’s question she says proudly,
”Carrick commissioned them.”

Her eyes move to Jemal as she speaks in the sweetest of voices.
”The one on the left is of me…before my embrace actually.”

Looking back to the sculpture on the right, Vych walks forward reaching her hand out to touch the face of the exquisite female form.
”I love this piece. This one is of Carrick’s Si…Sire….”

Vych’s words trailed off rather quickly as the image of the woman downstairs melded with that of the sculpture, tempting her control. She thinks to herself, “no, it…it couldn’t be…could it?”

Shaking free of the image, but definitely not forgetting it, Vych says as she steps behind the bar placing a finely cut crystal goblet on the counter,
”I know it is very rude of me not to give you the grand tour. But I do fear I may have misjudged the time, and it is a must that I change straight away. Please feel at home here and look about at your leisure.”
Vych leans on her elbows on the green marble counter top with her chin resting in the palms of her hands,
“So, what might I get the handsome gentleman to drink while he waits?”

 

[Catulle]

Frederick Douglas Memorial Cemetery, Staten Island
Wednesday 11th December, 2002

(OOC - pre-round David burns 1 blood for celerity, sneaks to flank dex/stealth vs Brandt per/alert diff7 - 9,6,5,5,2 vs 10,9,7,4,4,1 = 0 successes)

The shadows' movement and the sounds of more arrivals promised only greater danger to the harried officer; on the edge of panic, he succumbed to instinct - it all unfolded, almost as the Sight had revealed as he brought the gun around to bear on Max. Spurred on by fright, he glanced to check on the nearer man as he squeezed the trigger...

OOC - Initiatives - David 15, Gabriel 12, Brandt 10, Max 9, Nikolai 8 (Max burns 1 blood for celerity)

The scourge was by his side in a rush as he cut in from the opposite side to Gabriel, a black-bladed knife already in hand, he seemed to come right out of nowhere.

(OOC - Gabriel - Mesmerism diff5 - 7,5,5 = 3 successes); Maxwell Awe diff7 - 9,6,6,3 = 1 success affecting Brandt

Gabriel's voice echoed across the small valley, an authoritarian crack to his accent which commanded respect. The policeman deftly spun his pistol about in his fingers, presenting the Tremere with the grip as his eyes reflected outright terror. Terror only briefly allayed by Max's overtures, and intensified by the appearance of David's knife across his exposed throat.

"Drop the radio."

The cop did so, gasping for air in deep, panic breaths as the predators closed in. He gazed imploringly towards the young Brujah approaching him.

 

[reapersaurus]

Nikolai sees the scene play out before his horrified eyes, and the memories in his brain he tried desperately to lock up fly free like a Pandora's Box -
Seeing the hapless human's plight in the face of vampiric powers brings his past screaming to the surface as insistent as a banshee.

The feelings of being helpless.
The feeling of being manipulated by someone else's will - of your control being swept away like a child's boat in a rapid - of your best mortal intentions being dismissed by a freak of nature that should be long dead and gone.

The strong similarity between Nikolai's mortal experiences and one of New York's finest becomes too much for him - he bends to one knee while witnessing The Blood in use, his hand clutching at his forehead, wishing he could claw his eyes out, if it would remove the memory.

His cool, submissive demeanor cracks completely, and he cries out, addressing the night in desperation and a vain hope that the cause of his pain is near enough to hear (the bastard):

" You sick fu¢k!
You manufactured this, didn't you?!
You get off on twisting the knife, eh?

Why don't you come out of the shadows you slink around in and let the "Puce Poseur" show everyone the "Art" he can play on his own kind?!! "

Nikolai's senses on full, he grasps his submachinegun, ready to fire at anything in the yard of graves that responds to his outcry.

 

[Festy_Dog]

Frederick Douglas Memorial Cemetery, Staten Island
Wednesday 11th December, 2002

Max looks blankly at the police officer, crossing his arms he is about to say something when he hears Nikolai scream something.

What the fck?

Max looks about himself, trying to see what Nikolai is looking for. Assuming Nikolai has the situation covered, whatever it is, he turns back to the cop.

"You were seriously going to shoot me weren't you?" he asks, then shakes his head.

Well, it seems they fixed the situation before I got a piece of the action. I'll hold the fort while they can look around.

He removes the knife from a pocket and walks around behind the police officer. Max then holds the officers arms behind his back with one hand and puts the knife against his throat with the other.

"You stay still and quiet now," he says, "My friends need to look around."

Max indicates to the others the general area of the crime scene with a nod of his head.

"I got this covered," he says.

Ha, as if I'd actually ever hurt the guy. If we can just keep him scared that would be enough. I really should've brought duct tape or something. Hehe, hog tie a cop, that'd be funny...

 

[Ashrem Bayle]

Gabriel reached for the gun, took it, and felt it's weight. He slipped it under his coat and looked back at the policeman. "Thats a good lad."

He cringed suddenly as Nikolai let out his screams. He spun, blade in hand. Looking around he saw nothing other than those he expected to see.

"Is there a problem?" he asked calmly. Great. A fine time for him to crack.

 

[Catulle]

Crown Plaza Hotel, Montague Family Suite – The Study
Wednesday 11th December, 2002

The sigh that Nathaniel let out bespoke a weariness borne of history. He shook his head, and returned his attention to Sabrina more fully.

"Her bloodline, the Brujah, are a petty rabble who have fallen far from their former state of grace. In the Second City, it is said they were noble scholars, rulers, and the peers of the Ventrue clan themselves." The irony as heavy in the elder's accent as he spoke these last words, "Yet they grew jealous of the respect which the Ventrue commanded, for while the Brujah were well-regarded they were feared by the people of the time for their savage furies; bloody frenzies fuelled by the passions I warned you against. So the Brujah did what comes naturally to them; they raged and warred and tore the first society apart. They birthed the first anarchs, also, who try to live outside our laws and scrape out paltry existances in the barrens. In time, they were brought to heel, and accepted their place in the Camarilla but ever since there have been those of the Brujah who revel in the torment they can inflict on Ventrue. Some, such as Elizabeth, are more active in this pursuit than others."

Nathan smiled back at his niece, "And truly I believe you. Be wary, though, for the Brujah blood within you may try to pervert even that nobility of spirit; twisting it to the destruction of our house." He settled her back into his armchair, rebuttoning his cuffs and shirt collar as he moved across the room, confident and unshakeable once more. "Now, would the young lady desire another drink before we continue with the night's diversions?"

 

[Catulle]

Crown Plaza Hotel, Montague Family Suite – The Music Room
Wednesday 11th December, 2002

"It's the mission of the artist, surely, to capture a mote of that experience, laying it down for all to see who desire its insight. The more proficient the artist, the greater the range of perceptions, of experiences, are communicable in a single piece. And the greater the experience of that artist, the more likely this scenario becomes. The idiot savant is, I fear, the exception rather than the rule."

Carrick stood slient for a moment, framed alongside Caitlyn in the bay of the window, the rush of the city's colour highlighting her reflections. Great ruin, indeed. He nodded with a solemnity his face betrayed to her final comment. "Then Cate it is. And might I hope, you call me Carrick?"

How but in custom and in ceremony are innocence and beauty born?

 

[KitanaVorr]

Crown Plaza Hotel, Montague Family Suite – The Music Room
Wednesday 11th December, 2002

Faint amusement. "You hope not in vain."

Her finger touched the cold glass, tracing Carrick's reflection almost absently. Now that was interesting...the juxaposition of someone else's faint song onto the soaring opera of the city. Would it work? Or was it destined for disharmony?

duo yu de ye zhan zhuan bu neng ru mian
er feng suo de gou qu que chen ji chong yan

Granted beauty, yes, but yet not beauty to make a stranger's eye distraught, or his before this looking-glass...such beauty made beautiful overmuch might consider beauty a sufficient end. The reflection certainly was less powerful than to look into such a vivacious man direct, but it remained interesting...the juxapostion.

she fang de xin zao yi bu zai an quan
pai huai ce di beng kui de bian yuan

"Carrick," she spoke, her voice a little unsure at the sounds of his name echoing in the room wrapped in the strains of her lyrical voice, but her unease settled as she continued. "You speak so eloquently of art, but you told me once upon our first meeting that you rarely ever appreciate it. Why so? You seem able to appreciate my music so readily tonight."

kan bu qing shi zi ji
ming tian yao ru he ji xu

wo yi jing mi wang zai zhe ye li

A dark brow arched slightly and the laughter curving on her lips seemed echoed in her eyes. "Does this mean that you believe that I am capable of achieving such a mission that you have set forth for all artists?"

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

 

[Shalimar]

Crown Plaza Hotel, Montague Family Suite – The Study[/b]
Wednesday 11th December, 2002

Sabrina's train of thought was completely derailed by her uncle's wholly unexpected offer of a second drink of blood, she had never been fed twice in one night. Not being one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, the child readily agreed, but she did remain curious as to his generosity, normally if she had been bad she would be punished, not rewarded. That didn't stop her from trying to figure out her good fortune though (whats the roll? empathy + perception?).

The child rewarded her patriarch with one of her brillint smiles as a reqard for his generous offer. "May I please have some more to drink uncle Nathan?" she asked as politely as she could, not wanting him to point out her manners twice in one night, not if it might influence him against giving her the offered vitae.

As the child waits for the rest of her supper she goes back to her train of thought that her uncles offer had interrupted. "Uncle Nathan, if Miss Elizabeth is naughty, shouldn't she be punished? That's what a prince does right? Punish the bad people? So since that scary mister Calebros isn't prince anymore, you can be prince and punish her, and me and miss Cate can be your Princesses."

 

[Catulle]

Antiquities Nightclub, Manhattan
Wednesday 11th December, 2002

The smile Jemal gave Vychtorya was as enthusiatic as his attention which continued to roam the immediate surroundings, lingering here and there on the lavish decor. He walked across to stand opposite her, both their images reflected in the polished marble. The Ventrue neonate licked his lips again and threw her a wink, wise to the game this time.

"You'll have heard we Ventrue are difficult to please, so far as tastes go... Why not surprise me; see if you've my measure by now." His eyes sparkled in the light cast over the counter, and he turned his head to examine the room again. The scent of his aftershave lingered faintly and not unpleasently, overlaying as it did the blood aroma her mind was already supplying in anticipation. "Do you know her well? Your grandsire, I mean."