{V:tM - IC} New York by Night

[Jemal]

Jemal felt the quiver in his stomach spreading, and realized with a sudden lurch what was wrong.

"Vych, I'm so sorry, But I have to go... I just realized something that can't wait, and I really need to go RIGHT now." HE paused and looked regretfully at her. "I apologize, but I have to, it has nothing to do with you, or the party, I just need to get out right now.."

"It's been a pleasure." He gave her a kiss on the cheek, smiled once, and left without looking back.

 

[Vychtorya]

Vychtorya felt Jemal's feelings radiate from his kiss into her cheek, then into her dead heart causing it to weep. She could feel that this would be the last moment they would share together. As Vychtorya watched the beautiful man leave her side, she felt her heart beat in sorrow, and her lips quiver as her first real vampire tears sparkled in her dragon green eyes. Then the ruby-red droplets fell, staining her soft cheeks in crimson streams of blood. She watched through bloodied prismed tears as the heavy mahogany doors locked shut behind Jemal. Vychtorya could not speak.

 

[Catulle]

Antiquities Nightclub, Manhattan
Wednesday 11th December, 2002

Silence ruled in the appartment, the patter of blood on marble absorbed into the greater emptiness. The lingering aroma of his scent assailed Vychtorya and only heightened the resonance of his passing; an intoxicating torment that left her mind soaring in its wake.

(OOC - Vychtorya self-control - 9,7,5,3, = 2 successes, clan weakness resisted)

Despite the temptation to simply let go, she could rein in her wandering mind. The focus of her gaze found itself fixed on a point between the two statues, from her position, Vychtorya could see both exquisite profiles; even the graven images stared blankly towards the door. Where Jemal had gone; beyond which her guests still awaited her.

 

[Tory Adore]

Vychtorya flutters her moist eyes shut breathing in deep. When she opened them, a sight lay before Vych that pulled her heart strings from their torment, turning them toward the concerns that lay before her now. She sees the paths of the shadows from the sculptures intersect, and says out loud as if she is talking to them,
”Jemal, guests arriving and no list of who to expect, Mazz moving my tables…and…maybe even Carrick’s Sire….”

Vych sighs and places her hands up to her face resting her touching fingertips across the bridge of her nose, palms coming together slightly over her lips, thumbs out lying along her silky chin bone with eyes fixated ahead of her. Seconds hardly pass by when she realizes her hands are wet with bloodied tears that she had not yet wiped away from before. Vych looks down at her hands and notices she is without one of her handkerchiefs. She vows as she glances back up to the statue reaching her glistening, crimson hands upward toward the form of Carrick’s Sire; love and determination echoed in her voice,
”Tonight WILL go well for Carrick. I will see to it with ALL that I am, and all that I have no matter what I might need to endure to make it perfect for his guests, for him…perfect…for you my Sire’s Sire if that is who you are.”

With that, Vych turned in a hurry to clean herself up in the powder room and grab one of her red monogrammed kerchiefs to tuck away in her bodice. On her way out of the powder room, she caught a glimpse of the goblet Jemal had used and the open black bottle sitting on the bar. She recorked the bottle and put it away. Then Vych wrapped the used crystal goblet in a fine black linen napkin and hid it in one of the drawers beneath the bar’s counter. She checked herself one last time in the mirror behind the bar.
”Okay V here we go. Carrick will be by my side soon, and everything is going to be just fine.”

She opened the heavy doors waiting for them to lock shut behind her and pushed the code in for the elevator. Vych tries to put on her “happy face.”

 

[Catulle]

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

The last echoes of rasied voices ebbed away to the silence of the grave. The fetid corpse lay still, a few feet away from Max's feet where it had fallen after the young kindred's boot had thrown it a few feet into the air. Though the stench persisted, the wind had die to the point where the snow was falling, gentle and straight down, upon the only witnesses.

Flakes of grey-white were starting to settle on the high branches, mixing with the blood of the suspended man and starting to cause the bloody poem's letters to run.

Gabriel's stark gaze took in both Max and Nikolai as he nudged the child with the wooden tip of the cane-sheath, "I'll need help carrying this... thing. I'd suggest completing our investigations quickly; the snow will cover our mess but obscure clues also."

 

[Catulle]

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

Carrick paused at Sabrina's revelation, then resumed his course towards the elevator, "Well, it's a simplification to say we all 'get different powers', but not such an exaggeration either. More like we have different affinities, blood-bourne preferences for gifts which come easier to some than to others... it doesn't mean that one cannot develop a range, as you have, just that certain influences are required. Your uncle's instruction, I suspect, has taught you a little of his own affinity."

He chewed on the inside of his mouth, thoughtfully, as if forcing memories. "My sire's sire, though I've only heard about this secondhand, was quite the adept at mental influence too, though it doesn't come so freely to the Toreador blood as our sight, speed, and sway. I couldn't tell you how many kinds there are... common lore says thirteen exist these nights, though without doubt some are long extinct and others lurk away in hidden corners of the globe."

He came to a stop by the panelled sliding doors of the lift "And here, we wait."

 

[Catulle]

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

Leaning his head in towards hers, just a hint, Nathaniel took in her perfume with the air of an epicure. He lead Cate through the darkened corridors at an easy pace as he spoke, keeping his tone as soft as his throat would permit,

"I will take you to Mr Ashton's club, Antiquities, in Manhatten. The reception will be rather more relaxed than the previous affair. A little business awaits me there, and for that I apologise, but I hope it may be brought to a conclusion with alacrity."

The corridor wound about to an end at a pair of oak-panelled doors before which stood Carrick, still holding Sabrina's form in his arms and with an expectant glint to his eye.

 

[Catulle]

Antiquities Nightclub, Manhattan
Wednesday 11th December, 2002

The club's rich, deep scent caught Vychtorya's imagination as much as it did her sense of smell. The crowds had gathered, though the Mezzanine remained clear and afforded, she knew only too well, a sweeping view of the assembled throng when, as was now the case, the heavy curtain was drawn back. The tall figure perched on the balustrade was inches from dropping over the edge and threw her a casual wave, wild hair spilling over the edge and being whipped into motion by the currents generated by the air conditioners. Mazz's long coat was hanging over the rail at his side, and he wore a form-fitting shirt by the looks of it, more mexican than Moroccan

Across the room, she caught sight of that prefectly sculpted figure again, at rest and seemingly in her element by the main bar and playing court to a group of young hopefuls. Her head tilted back in an approximation of laughter; even from here, Vychtorya could discern the otherworldliness about the Kindred that she had been told hung, cloying and cold, about the truly potent of the blood. To the enraptured mortals, however, it all must have seemed an intoxicating game.

 

[Festy_Dog]

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

originally posted by reapersaurus
"My analogy was a human one.

And if you want to throw down, I feel obliged to warn you that you _will_ lose control of your Beast if we tussle... I AM armed.. I have armor on, and am not in the mood to have your feelings get in the way of my Revenge."

Max slowly calms. He stands and brushes himself off.

"Forget it Nikolai. I am myself again, and in my right mind I would never seek out a fight with a fellow Camarilla," he says, "My apologies for that little scene, my blood carried me away there."

Well, if its revenge he's after at least that means he's determined. If he can exercise as much self control all the time as he did tonight... maybe he wouldn't cause much trouble by staying. I mean, a matter of revenge is a big issue, I should help him out if I can. Tremere are scholarly types, so we'd have a fair bit in common... pity he holds a stereotype of us Brujah, I can see why Elizabeth is making a stand for us.

 

[Shalimar]

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

Sabrina shook her head, her hair swaying, in response to Carrck's supposition, "No, uncle Nathan never told me how, I just did it all on my own." the tiny blond said proudly, wanting to impress her Uncle's companion. The child let herself lay flat against the elder as they waited for the singer and Nathan. It wasn't very easy for her to be still, she was so full of blood and energy that almost begged to be used. She knew that she should be on her best behavior in front of her uncle's geusts, and at the place they were going, or she wouldn't get the rest of her treat, so she turned her pent up energy into questions.

"You said there were 13 kinds of us, and there were all kinds of really neat powers so while we wait can you tell me about them? About all the different kinds I mean, and all the stuff we can do with them?" Sabrina asked eagerly as she waited for the the other pair to arrive. There was a look of wonder on her face as she thought about all the possibilities, but any other questions she might have asked ground to a halt as everyone arrived by the elevators, she did wave to her friend though, smiling at what might turn out to be a big aventure.