{V:tM - IC} New York by Night

[Catulle]

Antiquities Nightclub, Manhattan
Wednesday 11th December, 2003

Mazz' casual salute from his reclining position did little to assauge Vych's sense of growing tension... would Carrick be content with her work thos night. Out of the corner of her eye as she left, she caught Skye's form stealing closer to the harpy. The descent into the seething tide of the dancefloor brought the heady musk of the living back to the forefront of her mind, and lapped at her Kindred consciousness.

The touch of Caitlyn's fingers on his own seemed to mollify the older man somewhat, and his demeanour softened for a moment, a wan smile crossing thin lips for a fleeting second.

(OOC - Vych per/empathy - 9,5,5,4,4,4 = 1 success)

The hostess' trained eye caught the guilt in Nathaniel's eyes, quite clear from her perspective, so intent was he on hidding it from the young singer's attention. Carrick, on the other hand, positively revelled in his element as he exchanged glances and significant, subtle, gestures with a number of the regular patrons while the group crossed the floor.

"I must thank you, my love, for the trouble to which you have gone on all of our behalves." Turning to extend his reach with one arm still supporting Sabrina's weight, he reached out to caress her arm with his right hand. The touch brought a blood-borne confidence surging back into the neonate's heart reinforced by her sire's warm smile. "I trust that young Jemal is taking well to our hospitality?"

 

[Catulle]

Leaving Ocean View Cemetery, Staten Island
Wednesday 11th December, 2003

The fast-scrabble retreat from the scene of the crime was swift as could be managed under the weight of two carcasses between the four noenates. Legba and Max made for the most effective bearers of the twin burdens, and scaling the wall would have left even them out of breath, had they still the need for such mortal affectations.

The distance between the two cemeraries was enough to assure a decent lead on the authorities - if they even made any headway on this dark and inhospitable night. First out of the gate, Legba stumbled to a halt a few paces beyond the graveyard's threshold, though it wasn't the dead Kindred's weight that caused his stall.

Two men were stood by the car. A third sat, crouched over, on the roof of the black vehicle. All were dressed after a blue-collar fashion, thick clothes to keep out the cold they surely didn't feel any more. The crouching figure's long hair curled thickly over extended ears and the red light from glowing eyes made his pale flesh stand out all the more. A barrage of questions issued from his lips, propelled from deep within his throat.

"So what dragged you Cam-scum onto Anarch turf? Don' you know what Boss Calihan likes to see us do to you? What we like doin'? Which elder got you runnin' his bitch work, huh?"

A shift in the posture of his comrades indicated their state of readiness, and while the 'leader' locked his eyes on Maxwell, their attention flitted from one of the remaining trio to another in rapid succession, alert for the first sign of aggression from the interlopers.

 

[Festy_Dog]

Leaving Ocean View Cemetery, Staten Island
Wednesday 11th December, 2003

Max calmly drops the body he was carrying to one side, locking his own gaze upon their 'leader'.

Hmm, a possible source for information. Better be polite, don't want a scuffle.

Max turns on his awe ability, trying to subtly ease any hostilties.

"We're investigating some goings on here, of an unpleasant variety. Perhaps you would know something about what happened in the cemetary?" Max asks casually, then goes on to explain, "This is a serious matter and it could have negative repercussions for all. Though we don't doubt your own capabilities to handle it we see a necessity to become involved in its solution. We have many resources at our disposal and are hoping for your assistance... should there be any to offer. Though we intend to do the hard labor involved a little cooperation could bring a mutually beneficial resolution."

Well, hopefully a little kindred talent made that statement more appealing than it really is. I think it should make them happy... maybe even get them off the car. If they are willing to talk though I doubt there'd be much time, maybe my little speech will just convince them to leave us alone. That's the best case scenario, worst case scenario I expect they'd want to beat us down for sticking our nose in what they'd think was their problem.

Max glances to the others, but doesn't let his guard down. His hands cross his chest currently but could have a knife firmly held in one at a hair's breadth notice.

 

[KitanaVorr]

Antiquities Nightclub, Manhattan
Wednesday 11th December, 2003

As everyone wound their way toward their destination, Caitlyn let the music run through her, relaxing the tension in her body. Elegant grace touched her movements so even in walking she appeared to be fluidly moving forward in a slow dance. This was her world, the world of music - creation and destruction. A world full of emotion - both good or bad - the world where she reigned in her element. It wasn't something her parents understood, locked away in their social traditions. Perhaps it was a world that Nathaniel Montague didn't quite understand as well.

Her voice echoed beautifully as she sang along with the music, a hint of mischief in those luxurious tones. " Hey pretty, don't you wanna take a ride with me…through my world."

Slender fingers trailed back along his arm very lightly where they rested, merely a breathy touch."Hey pretty, don't you wanna get inside...through my world."

"Don't you get the gist of the song now?"

She leaned toward him imperceptibly, letting her breath touch his ear. "Hey now, can't you feel me longing...hey now, can't you feel me...feel me now."

Pulling away, her eyes sparkled with laughter and she winked at him. " You must dance with me later," she informed him with impertinence before she let her fingers slide slowly from his arm completely. "Unless you wish me to be in despair."

Her leather boot reached the mezzanine, lengthy and elegant like the rest of her that followed as she let her gaze sweep across her new surroundings. The music bolstered her, soothed her, cajoled her, enthralled her - Caitlyn the artist - the siren with the black hair that glimmered red-gold in the club's light.

 

[reapersaurus]

Nikolai uses his skills and his experience as a bodyguard to instantly assess the situation with the young punks.

He weighs the possibility of them looking for a fight with the possibility that perhaps a bravura bluff, to back them down might be a better response.
The desired outcome is that his group doesn't get in a fight.
He's had enough action for tonight, and just wants to concentrate on getting back to the Chantry and dissecting this damn Feral for every little scrap of information that he and/or his Elder clanmates can wring.

He looks at the Anarchs, peering beyond Sight, and collects the ihnformation about their mental states that he would have killed for when his job was to protect his clients from situations very similar to this.
Nikolai thinks to himself . o 0 (Damn - these vampire senses DO rock for certain tasks....
It's been awhile, but it's kinda like riding a bike... and I got plenty of practice back in the day in blunting young punks' bravado and posturing.)

Nik Insightfully gathers his information and decides the best course of action to Manipulate the punks into leaving them be.

 

[Tory Adore]

Vych’s mind tenses and a well-performed smile works its way to her lips in response to Mazz’s salute. As she sees Skye drawing nearer to Mazz, she tries to shake the feelings that begin running through her body; both those that excite her and the those that make her jealous, but she is unable to descern if she is jealous of Mazz or of Skye. Vych silently tells herself as she turns away thumping her hand stiffly against her thigh, “As long as Mazz is content, as long as Mazz is happy, then…”
She places one hand to her forehead, fingers and thumb temple to temple, and the other on her hip for just a moment looking out to the dance floor, remembering something she had put off for the moment earlier. Vych thinks, “Where did the beautiful woman go? Damn it.” She drops her arms to her sides and moves to descend the staircase once again. Passing the beautiful couple of Caitlyn and Nathaniel, Vych’s caregiving nature makes her think, “Yet in his eyes all the sadness of the world...those pleading eyes, that both threaten and adore...may she wash away that guilt tonight, may she take it from your sight.” She breathes deep and continues on stopping to hear her love compliment her.

Vych can feel her tension ease and the blood pass through her heart as she hears Carrick’s kind words and feels the touch of his skin against hers. His gentle caress makes her close her eyes as she senses his blood within her ignite. Just as the warmth begins to come over her shoulders and neck to her chest, she hears the last of Carrick’s words echo in her mind’s eye like a nightmarish image that fails to leave even after the mind is awake. The rosey color that had started to evoke its prescence on her bared skin quickly vanished. His words thrust her eyes wide open and she feels her insides churn in almost heaving convulsions as she quickly tries to think of what to tell her love about his trusted friend’s nephew. Vych places one hand over her stomach attempting to calm the paroxysm in her abdomen while she places the other across her heart to quell the feeling that was coming back to haunt her. She does what she can to keep tears from forming in her eyes and grabs the soft, sheer material covering her sides, letting her nails bite into her flesh bringing a stinging smile to her face. “I can do this. I HAVE to do this,” she thinks to herself attempting to gather her acting ability and present a believable dance of words. Vych’s eyelids begin to flutter more than normal and she has to look away from Sabrina. She attmepts to focus her gaze into Carrick’s eyes to make her words more readily accepted. As she starts to speak, her arms extend a bit from her body cavity, and her hands and wrists start to fidget a bit, talking with them as the words start slow and then begin to flow effortlessly off of her tongue,
”Wweell...yes. I believe Jemal did enjoy himself. He is very kind Sabrina. You are lucky to have such a brother. I do wish I could have spent more time alone with him to get to know him better, but business it did call tonight as we knew it would; presenting itself too soon perhaps. Just as it is now as a matter of fact.” A genuine smile started to come back to her lips as she thought she had done an amicable performance just then without ‘really’ having to lie to her love.

”My love, might I ask you how many others have yet to arrive? Is there anyone...ummm...’special’ thaaat is to be expected by you personally maybe?” Vych places her hands together and rests them below her belly button with a child-like look of anticipation in her eyes and takes a step closer to him hoping Carrick will confirm her vision of Maria from earlier without her having to ask it.

Therapy – Diane

 

[Catulle]

Outside Ocean View Cemetery, Staten Island
Wednesday 11th December, 2003

While Max spoke, Gabriel took a step back to guard the rotten carcass, mistrusting Nikolai's assessment, but not so much as to risk embarrassment before the House. Legba dropped the unidentified Kindred he was carrying behind the wall, out of sight, out of mind.

(OOC - Max Awe diff7 - 5,4,4,3 = failure; Man/leadership - 6,5,5,4 = 1 success)

The lank-haired leader prowled araound and around Max as he gave his speech, the neonate could smell the thick earthy aroma that hung around him. The baleful gleam to his eyes was distinctly unnatural, as was the atavistic slouch that affected his gait. Cold, wet sleet continued to drizzle down from above and the scent of wet leather rose to mingle with the blood and soil stench.

"Can the bull$hit, little man. Only reason you're not swimming back to your Manhattan condo right now is 'cause we know who your sire is. Your buds ain't got the same getout, though - so they better be real careful 'bout what they do, an' what they say." He continued to circle Max, pausing to sniff at the air near him, twice in quick succession. "So what's a vet like you doin' working for the Prince's pety assassins? And why shouldn't we do a little killin' of our own? Staten Island's Anarch, true blue, and you minions got nothin' coming but trouble here."

(OOC - Nikolai Aura Perception diff8 - 10,9,9,8,8,5,2,1 reroll 3; 10,7,6,5,4,4,3,1 reroll 8; 10,5,4,3,3,1,1,1 reroll 9 = 4, 1 and 1 successes)

The leader's aura betrayed a washed-pale blend of purple and green - a display of aggressive Kindred obsession. Most significantly, it was run through by wire-thin strands of pure black - the scar of diablerie on the soul.

The man on the left, at the trunk of the car, was of mixed-blood in his mortal existance, the pallid flickers of his aura hinting only at his Kindred nature. His colleague, with spiked blonde hair and tatooed hands was similarly difficult to read, though, again, one of the Kindred.

As the leader finished speaking, the anarch poised by the trunk pointed at the feral's body with one callused hand. "Hey,what the fuc&'s that thing?"

 

[Festy_Dog]

Outside Ocean View Cemetery, Staten Island
Wednesday 11th December, 2003

Max keeps an aura of calm about him as the anarch prowls about.

Well, an acceptable outcome, unfortunate they won't buy my story. Better spell it out for 'em otherwise it'll go downhill.

Originally posted by Catulle
"So what's a vet like you doin' working for the Prince's pety assassins? And why shouldn't we do a little killin' of our own? Staten Island's Anarch, true blue, and you minions got nothin' coming but trouble here."

"A job's a job. I have experience in this field, thats why I'm doin' it. Its what I know. We know the risks in coming here, but we didn't look for no fight obviously, we're just fixin' a problem. You could never 'ave found us and it would have meant nothing to you, cos its got nothing to do with you," Max says, "Reason you shouldn't do some killin' of your own? Well, we may not have been looking for a fight but we're not stupid enough to come unprepared. If you want some thats entirely your choice, don't expect to have it easy though."

Originally posted by Catulle
"Hey,what the fuc&'s that thing?"

"That? Well you wouldn't expect us to be coming out of a graveyard with a hot pizza would ya? Its a corpse, not a 'resident' of Ocean View though, just somethin' we're gonna have looked at. Get some clues to fix our problem, etc. etc., you'd know the story with forensics bullsht. We'll have our own little version of CSI happenin'," Max replies calmly, with a hint of humour.

 

[Catulle]

Antiquities Nightclub, Manhattan
Wednesday 11th December, 2003

(OOC - ? vs Caitlyn/Nathaniel diff5/7 - 10,9,8,6,6,4,4,3,1 reroll 6 = 5 and 2 successes respectively)

Perhaps it was the harmonies , perhaps something beyond the simple tune - beyond human comprehension, but the pulse of the music threaded itself into Cate's very essence, inserted itself into the gulf of her soul that she never knew existed... until that moment.

c'mon, take a ride with me...

The strength of the feeling was overwhelming, potent beyond belief and intoxicating.

but it's over now...

The rhythym beat through her soul, as it wove her into its tight, taut mesh of blood and flesh.

To Vych, the mortal's response seemed distinctly... Toreador in depth, as one of the clan of the rose, she well knew the distractions that she would discover in what others would ascribe the most trivial of beauties. Though now, while she felt none of that diversion, it struck her that both the young singer and Nathaniel did. Lost in the music both, they moved in time with the rhythm, swaying with the slurring beat.

 

[KitanaVorr]

Antiquities Nightclub, Manhattan
Wednesday 11th December, 2003

Her heart beat faster...slower...faster...body pulsing with each beat - a strobe light spinning out of control. In every direction more yearning, more suffocation underneath the power of its rhythm - leaving her gasping for more and yet her body floated over the floor in the zenith of its grip.

All around her nothing but masses of people writhing in slow motion - frozen with snippets of her glances as Caitlyn sought out the source of her prison - her salvation - with the fingers of her soul.

Caught in flashes of the strobe, she spun around step by step - frame by frame, her image threaded its way through the dancers and social gatherers on the mezzanine - threading her way through the music.

Black eyes, clear and brillant, echoing the image of a sinuous woman arching her back while she danced with her partner.

Lips half parted - but not for air - the soft velvety skin wet with lick of her pink tongue as if to taste every musical note.

A flush of delicate cheekbone.

The arch of a black brow.

The curve of her body running smooth and generously with every undulation, every step foward, every step around. She could not refuse - and each step became part of a dance, part of a sinous play of muscle beneath skin, skin beneath fabric until she became merely an extension of the song that echoed through the mezzanine.