{V:tM - IC} New York by Night

[Catulle]

Antiquities Nightclub, Manhattan
Wednesday 11th December, 2002

The play of light upon the elder's features shifted as the smooth planes of her face adjusted; exasperation, perhaps, or impatience straining to work itself past the facade? She drifted her obvious attention away from Sabrina, though she continued speaking;

"It is a dangerous world, is ours, and full of jealousy. That, girl, has claimed your life once already. I very much doubt that your Elizabeth is so fond of you as we all are."

Carrick nodded his agreement as the trio reached the top of the stairs. The mezzanine gallery was clear of others, now, and clusters of comfortable chairs and low tables were strewn about the richly decorated area. Looking out over the crowd, they could see Vychtorya by the entrance, speaking into a tiny handset. Further away, near the bar, Nathan and the tall thin man from the party seemed caught in impassioned conversation. They gestured widely, even violently as they spoke. Sabrina was almost sure her uncle was shouting, and the people nearest the pair were starting to look at them with curiosity.

 

[Catulle]

Adrift the city that never sleeps
Midnight Thursday 12th December, 2002

What traffic there was between Staten Island and Manhattan drifted past in near silence. The rattle and roar of Legba's aging engine ate what little conversation passed in the car's cabin, and the chill permeated the confined space almost as totally as the rotten stench, flesh and blood, which they brought with them. The double-pip of the dash-clock rang in the death of another day. A reminder of the time that was ticking past them, slipping by unremarked.

"The Maupassant will be fine." Gabriel's growl broke the silence only for a moment, swallowed by the brooding, inward mood.

The Tremere got out on 77th, Max at Carnegie Hill. Before he pulled away at the last, the big driver leaned across to remark, in a low voice, "Now we seen the little birds, I think I'll get me a vulture, hmm? Maybe you want to hear one squawk some day, too?" He could have winked. In the dark, the Brujah couldn't be sure.


Gabriel and Nikolai

The doorman at the Maupassant was discreet as ever, the small conference centre's defences largely saw to the chantry's defences, or so Nikolai's elders assured him. Estevez' reputation as a spirit-binder granted the claims some coin to back them, as well. A portrait of Lucien de Maupassant himself dominated the close-feeling foyer, a stern victorian image of the departed elder who, it was said, had embraced Regent Sturbridge more than a century ago.

Of the incumbent regent, there was no sign, but Nikolai's chambers remained as he had left them. Gabriel took a seat, calmly withdrawing his sword-cane from the sheath, and taking a cloth from deep inside his pocket to buff the blade to a sheen.

"What did you have in mind? My ritual is worked already and in play... Can you add something more, brother?"


Max

The tenement sounded deserted, the security guard out of sight and no sound save the tapping of his feet audible on the stone-flagged floor. The smell emanating from his clothes in the clean hallway, seemed all the more repugnant now. The religious undertone to the hallway which had struck him earlier the same night simply reinforced the night's revelations, its desecrations.

(OOC Max Per/alertness diff8 - 10,5,3,2 = 1 success)

The lift seemed to take forever to arrive, a frustrating span of seconds that appeared to Max, covered in blood and dirt, to stretch for hours. When it finally arrived, he noticed the tiny powdery flakes, likely sand, which were concentrated in a croner of the lift - another reminder of his own unclean state.

 

[Catulle]

Antiquities Nightclub, Manhattan
Wednesday 11th December, 2002

Caitlyn

"You sould look at it positively; if nobody can keep their artistic vision in the face of distraction, you might even have the better deal." He gave a little shrug, palms upwards and to either side, "Not that that means I wouldn't buy the album."

The conversation had lulled, an impasse of sorts reached, though the music still hummed with a secretive significance in her mind. Mike shifted his weight onto the other foot. "Um... Can I get you a drink?"

 

[Catulle]

Antiquities Nightclub, Manhattan
Wednesday 11th December, 2002

Vychtorya

"Excellent. Might you have the time to spare for a little tête à tête with a group of us at some point in the next... month or so? I can contact your staff at Antiquities, yes? The faux-Moroccan place, am I right?"

"Politeness is one thing, but publicity endures, my dear. Rather the two together, of course... As for the passion, it's a curse I think we learn to live with. Better to indulge on occasion than to starve ourselves like... well, like some others. Feel free to contact me on this number; if you don't get me, just leave a message."

"Thank you for your time, Vychtorya. I look forward to meeting you in person one night soon."

 

[Catulle]

Sewer Access Tunnels, beneath Manhattan

Mulligan's hand remained pressed to her arm, curled around it and steering her through the gloom with a prodigious strength. Away from the hosting chamber, the tunnels became wider, slick with moisture, and lit by the occasional flickering striplight.

As her eyes forced back the light's intrusion, she could take stock of her companion of the moment; perhaps six feet tall, he would have towered above that had his back not been so sharply deformed; Mulligan was hunched to painful angle, the hump atop his shoulders almost scraping against the low ceiling. He was posessed of a dry, flaking skin which drifted from him with every light, otherwise controlled step. In his other hand, he clenched a sheaf of typewritten papers.

"We want to know what he's seen tonight. What happened on Staten Island. We must know if these are the predations of Nictuku without exposing the warren. You will be able to tell this, if you listen to him, or so we hope."

Their heaving progress took them past other branches some little more than crawlspaces. Once, the concrete all about them shuddered to the passage of something massive above, perhaps a subway train. A dark liquid seeped from a row of barrels stacked in an alcove, and her guide wrinkled his nose as they passed. Tess could smell nothing, as ever.

"During the war, the neonate we will be visiting, committed a serious crime; Gemini took note of this. We have arranged that this stay outside of common knowledge in order that one night, such as tonight, we can collect on that hidden favour."

They passed through a door, and Tess realised she had long lost track of her position in the confusion of turns the pair had made in the darkness. They could have been anywhere. They were in a utility storage room, ordered, tidy and with an elevator bay at the far end. Mulligan reached back, and with seemingly little effort, pulled a stack of crates in front of the door from which they had entered before leading Tess to the steel lift doors.

"The janitorial staff are glad of the help we can afford them from time to time; like us, they are trapped in their rut and like us, they often resent living at the bottom of the heap." The doors slid apart, and he stepped in, pressing a button as he went. The room shook as it rose upwards. The hunchback slipped a key-card out of his pocket. "The ignored in a society are often the most empowered in unlikely ways... But you may not have to blackmail the young man - as Calebros' childe, you might ply his sympathies too. But, we must know the answers either way."

The doors opened onto a short corridor, carpeted, warm and dry. Like at home, when she had one. Mulligan chose a door, and slipped the card, deftly sliding into the apartment beyond with a minimum of noise and disruption and closing the door softly after their entrance. When he spoke again, moving through to the main room of the domicile, his voice was a sibilant whisper.

"Keep hidden, if you can - no doubt he will be startled by your presence. I will stay close."

 

[Shalimar]

Antiquities Nightclub, Manhattan
Wednesday 11th December, 2003

Sabrina

The child watched interestedly as her uncle proceeded to shout at the man from the other night, she knew he looked familiar, and that he was at the party, but she didn't really know him. For him to anger uncle Nathan enough to shout was a feat in an of itself, she had never seen her uncle lose his calm in public ever, and even with her he never really shouted, he just made himself very clear.

"Whos that with uncle Nathan? He's making him very angry, whoever it is. I haven't ever seen him yell like that or anything. You don't think something is wrong do you?" she asks of the two elders, seeking reassurance from the oddity of the situation. She wasn't really scared, she had just learned that if you make people want to comfort you that they'd do nice things for you, like give you gifts. She was a little curious about the arguement, for surely thats what it must be, but not enough to let itdestract her from her favorite past time, wrapping people around her little fingers.

 

[Tory Adore]

’You are correct, that is the place. Would you consider letting me have the honor of hosting the “little tête à tête”? And yes, please feel free to contact Sasha or me.
Sir, I will be in contact with you after I have spoken with Ms. Santa Lucia. It has been a pleasure Mr. Arturo, and I too look forward to meeting you in person…soon.”

Vych turns around, phone still to her ear, to look upon the sea of humanity and prepare herself to swim through its warm crimson waters once more. As she awaits a reply from him, she thinks about the words of Maria and Thomas. ”To resist it too well is to invite madness” and ”Better to indulge on occasion than to starve ourselves….” Thinking to herself, ‘perhaps I shouldn’t worry so much about indulging my passions and just go with them on occasion. I wonder what Carrick’s view is on indulgence of one’s desires? Strange that subject has never crossed my mind to ask him before now. Hmmm...’

 

[KitanaVorr]

Antiquities Nightclub, Manhattan
Wednesday 11th December, 2003

A sparkle touched her eyes, a hint of illumination within the twilight at his words. What normal everyday words they were. The contrast between this conversation that sounded so much like one echoing so many before and those with Carrick and Nathan stood prominent in her thoughts. In comparison, theirs seemed but an odd dream of faintly fantastical figures speaking in ancient languages.

"Sure, why not? I could use one," she agreed, stepping past him and through the door to bathe once again in the hot humanity and thickness of the music. "So if you're not a musican, Mr. Sheils. What is it that occupies yoru time in the thankless pursuit of money?"

 

[Elle]

Sewer Access Tunnels, beneath Manhattan

Tess stumbled through the half light, disturbing several rats in their persuit of food. She silently took note of the information Mulligan gave her, briefly wondering why being Calebros' childe would make him sympathetic to her. Possibly this Max knew more about her sires recent troubles than she imagined.
When she took note of where she was again she realised the light ahead was from a door Mulligan had opened. She followed him through and into the elevator, a little nervous at the thought of what they were about to do and started to move the little flakes of skin which were peeling off her companion into a pile in the corner, she then noticed him watching what she was doing and stopped, feeling self conscious.

The lift opened and she stepped out behind Mulligan. She couldn't help but notice how much more monstrous he looked stalking down a well lit, carpeted hall, a tiny hit of a smile played across her lips, hidden by the veil she wore. Then she pictured how strange she probably looked and her heart sank again.

She followed Mulligan into the apartment, he whispered for her to stay hidden and she replied, in as small a whisper as she could "Ok, I'll just follow your lead" She became distracted by something glinting in the light but then turned sharply back to make sure her companion was still visible.

 

[Festy_Dog]

Adrift the city that never sleeps
Midnight Thursday 12th December, 2003

Max raises an eyebrow and takes a closer look at the small pile of 'stuff' in the corner.

I won't even hazard a guess at what a pile of skin flakes are doing in the elevator.

He looks up to the ceiling to the elevator, expecting an open hatch or something else that would appear normal in a movie.

My life has enough 'fictional' content already, as if I should try to make something from (a very strange) nothing. Anyway, probably a bald guy with really, really bad dandruff on an upper floor. Looks like he lost half his scalp, hehe... Blech, that reminds me, need to get clean. God damn, I reek.

Max brushes aside strange ideas, seeing as he has none suitable to the situation, and walks quietly to his apartment. He wipes his hands on a part of his jacket which survived the onslaught of filth before digging around for the key to his apartment.

"Home, somewhat less sweet now but sweet nonetheless, home," he says quietly as he shuts his door behind him, "Still some time to check my e-mails and stuff."

Max removes his jacket, revolver, vest, then shirt and throws the articles of clothing into his washing pile, leaving his gun and vest on the table.

Can't really wash them, just spray 'em a bit with air freshner. Can't hurt 'em any.

Oblivious to the presence of others he opens the refrigerator and removes a can of soft drink, taking a swig then checking under the sink for anti-bacterial spray.

"Wonder what carbonated blood would be like... hehe," he muses to himself.

Note to self, shower then computer.