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#951 Old 21st Jan 2009 at 11:29 PM
Default Lena and Adrien - Alleyway
With almost all cases – ‘almost’ being the operative word simply because she was experiencing the exception – the night would start, progress and end exactly how Lena Sayliss wanted it to. Yes, there’d be the small digressions and variations that spiced up things a little bit more, but only because she allowed them to happen, because she was in control of the entire thing. She had her eye on the target, the target believed what she wanted it to and did what she wanted it to and that eventually lead to what she wanted – said target being dead. Everything went exactly as she intended it to, for Lena exercised almost despotic control – she didn’t need acknowledgement of dominance – over her surroundings, occasionally perpetrating chaos because she got bored.
Tonight was a testament to that fact; having planned his moves for him several steps ahead, she’d effortlessly ensured that he followed them, right to his demise, all without knowledge of what was happening. However, two nights ago, with Adrien, it was a direct violation of her methods.

In truth, she had control for all of five minutes that night before he tore it out of her grasp… and that left her feeling threatened – though, not afraid – beyond measure, for the few times in her life where Lena had had such little control over her situation, things had gone rapidly downhill. So, probably unbeknownst to him at this rate, Adrien had made her feel desperate and trapped, and while she’d reacted badly enough to outside control as an everyday person, as an assassin, it was a catastrophe to encounter and there was nothing better to illustrate that than a seasoned former hunter and predator pinning you against the wall, having repeatedly disarmed you. Thus, she had the most natural reaction to such a situation.
Alright, perhaps not that natural in practice, but it was natural enough in theory.
Animals, when cornered often lose perspective, and fight with absolutely no restrictions or inhibitions. When threatened, Lena acted very much like a cornered animal; desperately clinging to the only weapon she'd ever really perfected – manipulation, because it worked. It always worked, it had to.

And then, it didn’t work on Adrien… at least for long enough to get her worked up over it, until he seemed to yield to one of her implicit suggestions that he might want something from her. Though, Lena was a bright girl – to say the least, though it wasn’t always apparent – and she did have the sneaking suspicion that her success at getting him to consider alternative uses for her in that situation had less to do with her own skills, but more to do with his compliance. In fact, she was sure of it, because as skilled as she was, a man who managed to live amongst those he hunted without having his thoughts swayed off topic was difficult to manipulate – and though it wouldn’t have been impossible for her to do it, it would have taken a hell of a lot more on effort.
And thus came the apprehension over why he’d hired her to kill Valenti – who Adrien then went on to show utter disregard for, given that he didn’t even want to know the name of the man he’d paid to see dead – when it wasn’t that much of a profitable venture because he clearly didn’t care less about the guy either way. Hence, the natural thoughts over the matter revolved around the idea that he had something else planned to gain from this.

Apparently, that wasn’t the case either because he didn’t set her up, he didn’t try throw her to the wolves and even kept up his end of the bargain by seemingly contacting some associate to ensure that the payment was made – and given his track record, it probably was. So, what was the point of hiring her to kill Valenti? Now, in most cases, the contractors seemed to feel the need to explain to her why they wanted so and so dead, when really, she was only listening for the sake of entertainment. Here, she was genuinely curious and Adrien had given her nothing over it. Of course, there was the chance that Valenti had offended him somehow, but then the coincidence that Valenti just happened to be sitting there like a hobo pretending to read the tabloids while Adrien was standing around in a nearby alley getting rough with the neighbourhood assassin was a little too cosmic.
If she believed that, Lena may as well have turned to religion.

So, that again brought everyone to the question of why he was toying with her… because he was. Frankly, if he just wanted to be the big spender and hire the odd assassin to take out the odd vampire who happened to be out for the night air, then fine by her; there were stranger people out there. But, given their rapidly established history, it made much less sense and then, her admittance over the Salome-induced fracas seemed to be just absolutely fine by him, thus adding the fuel to the suspicion that he was up to something, not necessarily malicious, because he’d had enough opportunities for that, but something… so, she was just waiting for him to reveal the reason for his game, and meanwhile, couldn’t help but play her own in order to accelerate the process.

Of course, he didn’t say anything. No, instead, all he did in response to her reprimand was to issue one of his own by poising his gaze at her with criticism held within his earth-like eyes as if it was her fault that he thought of himself as a vampire. What the…?
Oh, wait, what he thought that she thought of him just as a vampire? Well… yes, but only when she was trying to kill him and really, hadn’t he exacted enough revenge for that one? And yes, she supposed he didn’t actually have any way to tell that she’d given up her initial intentions, which cemented the realisation that he was as unsure of her behaviour over the course of the night as she was – well, the Salome thing, anyway.

“Glad you finally decided to notice,” he then commented, his words accompanied with a surprisingly non-condescending smirk, though still seeming as self-satisfied while she caught onto the word ‘decided’. So, he didn’t just think she was thick, then? And hence, he was commenting on her refusal to notice rather than her incapability to do so.
Though, really, to be fair, someone in her position needed to be careful about who they considered as what and all she had regarding him, before she met him, was a reputation to go on… and if anyone knew from personal experience that reputations get out of hand, it was Lena.

Although, that train of thought was soon interrupted as he leaned in a little more, her resolution to stand her ground reasserting itself as his form brushed ever so slightly against hers, as she remained still eyes poised onto the wall in front, not entirely sure what exactly he was up to and yet rather surprisingly assured that it wasn’t anything detrimental. And faith, for once, paid off as all she was given was the sense of his voice reverberating the short distance from his lips to her ear.
“Good night.”
And that was it. Seriously, that was it. He was actually taking his leave; he wasn’t staying to take any measure to ensure that she didn’t blab, he was just… letting her go and not even making a fuss out of that.
Well… slightly anticlimactic, but….
The first thing she felt was relief. Relief in that slight breath drawn in through her lips as the cold air hit her skin along with the realisation that he really wasn’t going to try hurt her at all, unlike anyone else in his shoes really should have done. In all honesty, she didn’t like her chances when pitted against Adrien de la Cour again, especially after the last two times. But… apparently, that wasn’t what was in store because he was actually just letting it go. And oddly enough, in that moment of dawning realisation as her eyes just seemed to scan the wall before her, it made her feel a little regretful for subjecting him to the treatment that he’d have received had that not been the case and furthermore judging him as what he must have been trying not to be.

“I’m sorry,” she’d said before realising it, finding herself swiftly spun around with a flurry of golden blonde locks flicking around down her shoulders, just in time to catch his retreating frame, then pausing for a second at her words, having not entirely anticipated herself to go right ahead and say it so soon – thinking something is one thing, saying it is another. If Lena said out loud everything she thought, she’d be in a hell of a lot of trouble, with a hell of a lot of people. But hey, she’d started and hence, might as well continue; “I’m sorry I led you to believe that I thought you were one of them.”

“I don’t,” thus came the assuring explanation, yet with cautious openness lingering in her bright eyes as she finally felt a little bit safer in acknowledging that he didn’t pose an immediate threat to her just now, enough to offer a little more of her inner thoughts; “I know you’re better than them.”

(((OOC: I really hope that makes sense and if not, do let me know )))

"Life is just a chance to grow a soul" - A. Powell Davies
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#952 Old 24th Jan 2009 at 2:54 PM
Default Adrien and Lena - parting ways
Time. Time to think, to ponder, to mull things over. Time to himself. That was what Adrien needed. Now more than any other time since he'd first managed to come to terms with his embrace three years ago. A chance to be alone, left undisturbed, to review the evening's... dramatic events, to say the least, and the knowledge, the delightfully mind-boggling knowledge that despite the restraints forced on his most reluctant being, he could still kill. Not on his own terms, of course, and not without endangering himself, in more ways than one. But he could still kill. Knowing that made the remaining restraints alot easier to bear, it took some of the weight off of his shoulders, and opened up a myriad of doors leading to a myriad of possibilities for what to do with it all. He needed time to think it all through, to scrutinize every last one of those possibilities and store away the useful ones for a later time, while dismissing the ones that were too fragile and too risky to be put to the test.

However, in the midst of all his smugness over this recent discovery, he still knew that he could never, ever loose sight of the fact that it might just all be another way for them to get to him somehow; giving him a little bit of freedom, to make the burden of what he now was a little easier on him, and thus slowly and carefully chip away at his antagonism towards them, and open him up to their intellectual influence, rather than simply that of the blood bond tugging at his actions and desires. Or maybe they were simply loosening the leash a little, to try and give him enough rope to hang himself with. Or maybe it even wasn't that he could actually kill in self-defense, but instead that he could kill only those who opposed the Camarilla, or even just the Tremere. The ones he had killed had been Sabbat, after all, and so perhaps the discovery made had been of another aspect of their plans, rather than the discovery of a weakness in them.

Yes indeed, there were alot of things for Adrien to ponder and make sense of, one way or another, and it was hardly something he neither could nor wanted to do with Chatterbox around. Or anyone else for that matter. He needed to be alone with his thoughts.
And so, even though Chatterbox here actually appeared to be on the verge of an actual breakthrough, he had still decided to take his leave of her, and give her what he figured to be a much needed chance to think as well. Rome wasn't built in a day, and so perhaps if given some more time to consider the possibilities - and preferrably not the ones that meant trouble for Adrien, for once, such as running off to tell someone, anyone, about what she had witnessed this evening, or that he had hired her to carry out a hit - she might actually wake up to their true potential.
Not that Adrien was truly looking for a sidekick or a partner, since he'd almost always worked solo, and never trusted anyone enough for them to be a partner, but after seeing her skill and knowing he'd have a thing or two to offer that might actually improve it and make her even deadlier than before, the thought had crossed his mind a few times, and he had actually started warming up to the idea. Kind of. There were alot of benefits in it for the both of them. Or at least there would have been, if they'd only seen eye to eye on a few things, as well as shared just a little bit of trust. Currently they did neither of those things, and with Adrien now leaving it was possible they never would, since there were no guarantees they would ever cross paths again. Los Angeles was a big city, and if Chatterbox had truly given up on the idea to try and assassinate him, then, unless realization suddenly dawned on her and she came seeking him - she did know where to look, after all - it would take a remarkable twist of fate for the two of them to meet again.

Provided, of course, that Chatterbox remained silent and let him take his leave without adding anything further, that might tempt him enough to provide a reply, and send them off on yet another one of her attempts at what appeared to be her favorite game.

She didn't. But it wasn't in the way that he'd expected.

Nearing the opening that would eventually lead him back to the more crowded streets, he suddenly heard the faint grating sound of her shoes upon the asphalt as she spun around, and then her voice rang out between the walls of the abandoned buildings looming around them.

"I'm sorry."

There was a slight urgency in her voice, which along with her words seemed to surprise them both, as then a brief silence followed while Chatterbox took a moment to reflect on her feelings, and Adrien slowly turned to look at her, finding that while he had not deemed it likely, she did actually appear to still be as genuine as she had been when making that previous statement of hers.
Though perhaps it would have been easier for her to press on and speak the rest of what was on her mind, had he merely stopped and stood still until she had finished, because in all honesty, it did sound much like a confession not easily made. Especially not by someone like her, to the face of someone like him.

But then again, difficut or not, she did owe him that much, didn't she, for all that she had done; attacking him, even after he'd been lenient with her the first time, and setting the Sabbat on his tail. Not to mention all of the in-betweens, such as the lying, the teasing, the gibes, the attempted manipulation, and all the games played. She'd been quite a handful, even to him.

"I'm sorry I led you to believe that I thought you were one of them", she finally continued after a few moments, explaining in a bit more detail what exactly she was sorry about. "I don't. I know you're better than them."

At first; silence, and nothing but, as Adrien was still analyzing her tone, expression, and posture, in order to decide whether she was indeed being truthful, or if she had just resorted to playing a different kind of game. For while she might have realized that she was getting nowhere with that Siren act of hers, that did not mean she had decided to drop the act altogether. She was obviously a resourceful young lady; she could be merely trying a different approach, now that she realized he really was set on leaving.

But... No. She really did seem perfectly genuine, in the way that Adrien had learned to recognize, the way that just couldn't be faked. Nothing honest can ever be fully faked, since the concepts are completely opposite of one another, and thus pretend games can never, ever fully achieve that pure level of sincerity present in the perfect truth. Untangible though it may be, Adrien had learned to sense it. And right now, no matter that it was rather unexpected, he sensed it in her.

Thus, in response to all this sudden, unforced admission and recognition on her part, he finally inclined his head ever so slightly in a gesture of acceptance and appreciation of her words. Though as he wasn't one to immediately reciprocate such feelings and statements when presented with them - when he gave compliments, it was because he wanted to, and chose to do so, rather than submitting to a feeling of owing the person in question something in return - when he finally opened his mouth, it was only to deliver a soft and simple "Thank you".

After that, yet another brief pause followed, while he gazed momentarily at her in what would seem to be silent contemplation, weighing his options for what significance to give his parting words; to seemingly close the door of any further dealings entirely, or to leave just the tiniest yet most intentional crack of opportunity, to encourage her to think about it?

Well, it wasn't really a very hard decision. The latter won, hands down. If for no other reason, then for the simple fact that while playing punchbag for any Kindred with a grudge against him - and there were many - was a barrel of laughs (or not), Chatterbox had offered a bit of variety. Granted, a variety of which he had now grown bored, but still, it would break the monotony, and there was still the chance that realization would end up hitting her over the head one of these nights.
So yes, with a faint smile stealing across his lips, he refrained from closing the door on their brief acquaintance, and instead offered an ambiguous good bye, fit enough for even her standards;

"À la prochaine", he said, in that smoothly flowing mother tongue of his, and then added with a slight twinkle in his eyes, knowing Hell was probably more likely to freeze over before she took his advice; "Stay out of trouble."

And with that, he was gone.

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
Field Researcher
#953 Old 25th Jan 2009 at 12:53 PM
Default Application -- Ché -- Brujah


"Masturbar-me-ia sobre a tua divindade,
Enrabar-te-ia se a tua fraca existência
Oferecesse um cu à minha incontinência;
Meu brao o coraçâo te arrancar
Para com o meu fundo horror melhor te penetrar."

[Marquis de Sade (1740-1814)]


clan brujah

name current alias: ché santiago vargas da silva
you can call him ché

age it's hard to tell -
appears to be in his thirties, maybe late twenties

celerity lvl 1
potence lvl 2
presence lvl 2 dread gaze

[ not so short] bio
Setúbal, Portugal, nineteen twenty two. A lowly fisherman by the name of Cristovo de Gusmão
gave his twelve year old daughter, Madalena, to a wealthy merchant as a way to pay off
previous wrong-doings. The girl complied with her father and went to live with Basílio dos
Santos Diniz, becoming his wife and servant, unaware of the chain of events which were to happen
that would change her life forever. Basílio, who was much older than even her father, suffered
a stroke upon their first night as a couple and was found dead the next morning. All blame
fell upon the young bride and she was hastily returned to Cristovo to await her fate. Infuriated
by his daughter's dishounorable act, Cristovo beat Madalena and, in the thralls of rage,
later raped her before tossing her away on the streets where she 'belonged'. And thus, Ché came
to be. A bastard. An inbred. Madalena de Gusmão could not bear what had happened, finding
herself trapped in a personal hell, harbouring an abomination. No matter how many Hail Mary's
and confessions she made, she could not escape the torment in which she put herself through
day in and day out. She later sought refuge in a convent and, eight months later, gave birth
to a boy whom she refused to name. She wanted nothing to do with the bastard child and
he was passed over to the local orphanage to be cared for.

Nameless for the first few years of his life, only known as Menino, Ché later, like many others,
fell through the cracks of the faulty and poor orphanage system and found himself living on
the streets of old Setúbal. But there, in the barrios, Ché thrived. He began going by the name
of Coelho Gonçalves, since he very well couldn't call himself Menino ('boy'). He fell in with a group
of boys and young men of varying ages that would, by all intensive purposes, become the only
family he ever knew. Coelho was a sponge. He soaked up anything and everything he
could from those in his 'family', paying particular attention to the older boys who, by and large,
had the most experience. He learned the tricks of the trade: how to steal, fight, and bribe.
He learned how to get out of sticky situations. And, most of all, how to evade those of
higher authority. And with knowledge came hate. Hate for all that made them - lost boys -
who they were. The rich, the church, the police. And, more so than anything for Coelho came a
hate for women. Unlike the other boys who had been runaways or who's mother's had died,
Coelho had been abandoned. Discarded. And a nihilistic chauvinist Coelho became.

The years went on and so did life, and Coelho soon left Setúbal and his gang to put his skills and
knowledge to good use. A right of passage, if you may. He ventured to Spain where he came to
be known as Diogo de Cunha e Saraiva - and, later Brás Azevedo - and conducted numerous
assaults and robberies. Never caught, he continued this life, eventually finding work as a
jewel theif. It was then, at the age of seventeen, that Brás Azevedo committed his first
murder, bludgeoning a man to death.

The years continued on in much the same fashion as before, but with Brás becoming taller, heavier,
and far more savvy. He ventured to France and learned to speak the language (he already
knew Spanish on top of his native Portuguese) and he used his knowledge of these languages to
his advantage to find work. He became José Manoel de Sousa. And this man was a cut above those
that preceded him. At the age of twenty two, José Manoel knew how to drive, blackmail,
and use his presence to his advantage. Despite working for higher powers, he still had his freedom,
for José Manoel would never be mistaken for a servant. With a rough, intimidating exterior
and a wealth of knowledge between his ears, José Manoel was not a man to be crossed.

However, no matter how street savvy or quick-witted a man may be, one can never get away
scotch-free everytime. As was the case with José Manoel. The time would come when his number
would be up, and it came on a sultry hot day in northeast France. José Manoel found himself
involved in a police chase and, instead of running, he turned the car on the encroaching policemen.
Tried and charged, José Manoel was sent off to rot in Clairvoux Prison.

José Manoel went into prison a rebellious thug and came out a hardened anarchist. He had
not taken to being an animal locked in a cage well at all. The only good thing that had come from
the experience, despite his increase in knowledge of demolitions, torture, and libertarianism, came,
suprisingly, in the form of a woman. José Manoel was not the sort of man who turned away a
woman's company when offered. He simply would never consider her an equal. She would be
nothing more than a thing. But this woman tested his beliefs. She was a tiny spanish woman with
a massive name and an even bigger bite: Inéz Valencia Ximena Sastre de Aguilar. To say she
satisfied him would be an understatement. She tested him mentally and physically. Provoked him.
The six foot three, nearly two hundred pound José Manoel had found his match in a five foot nothing
woman. And it was nothing short of a mind fuck. Yet it was oddly liberating.

What he didn't know was that tiny Inéz was actually a Brujah ancilla who had been keeping an eye on
him since he had entered France. Their encounters were a way for her to test him to see if he
measured up the way she figured he would. And, to her delight, he had. And the night after his release,
she found him and embraced him. For a man like José Manoel to be embraced by a pint-sized feminist
would be disgustingly ironic but it was nothing short of the truth. Despite the fact that the two
couldn't be any more opposite, they did share one common view: their hate for anything in a uniform.
Aside from that, however, the bond the two shared was a volatile one. But it was something that
José Manoel found himself craving.

José Manoel, who slowly transitioned into a new alias - Joaquim Moreira da Costa, had no trouble
transitioning from life to unlife. Instead of feeling cheated or sentenced, he felt renewed and
empowered. His new found powers and senses enthralled him and he wasted no time trialing them
out. The only downside was that everything was now in shades of grey. Joaquim had gone colour
blind. Despite this, it didn't take him long to learn how to differentiate different colours based
on the shade of grey he saw. More of an annoyance than a hinderance, it didn't stop Joaquim
from becoming a tenacious tracker. A skill he put to good use once his sire disappeared.

His search took him to London, Budapest, Egypt, and eventually New York. But that's where it
ended. Being that he didn't know English, Joaquim found living in the bustling city tremendously
difficult and thus abandonded his pursuit, opting, instead, to venture south to Brazil.

Once in Brazil, Joaquim fell in with a small band of guerilla terrorists; a pack made up of a handful
of Kindred, mostly Brujah, who went by the name Olmeca and became what he'd like to call an
'urban revolutionary'. Arson, sabotage, and kidnapping became the name of the game and Joachim
prospered. It didn't take long, however, for him to miss the dank of the city and, after years spent
with Olmeca, he opted to trade in the lush greens for the buzzing pollution.

He chose the name Ché Santiago Vargas da Silva and headed north, spending some time in the
border town of Tijuana in order to pick up the bare basics of the English language before
he tackled Los Angeles.

Still new to the city, he's finding his bearings and anticipating what is to come.

[[ Open to storylines ]]


[[ pixelized version coming soon ]]

// sun is in the sky oh why, oh why would I wanna be anywhere else //
#954 Old 26th Jan 2009 at 12:46 AM
Default Claudia and Valerian - Valerian's chambers, The Haven
Claudia needed a sense of dominance. In fact, all Ventrue needed a sense of dominance, their blood craved it, for they’d all been reborn to rule rather than be ruled, they were there to take the positions of power and wield it with responsibility. However, positions of power often came with the burden of loneliness, the sheer caution to be continually exercised in their lives, who to trust and who to destroy. It wasn’t simply through the belief that they were constantly under threat, but more that when one saw how the world could turn – and they had to consider every possibility – one did not rest easy. One grew careful in choosing who they trusted.
Without trust, there was nothing.

Thus, her relationship with Valerian – like any other association that Claudia chose to have – had been built on that basis of trust. In Valerian’s case, he was so very easy to trust and that itself had put Claudia on guard, for it either meant that he was very genuine – and therefore possibly to his peril – or he was a schemer. Claudia had been pleased to discover that the latter was not something that featured in their relationship – not from his side, in any case. And that wasn’t all it. It was no secret that Claudia seldom played her cards obviously, but Valerian, on the other hand, rejected the concept of not playing his cards obviously and that sat perfectly well with her – for she did like to know what others got up to.
However, Valerian’s recent behaviour had thrown suspicion on that… for the first time making Claudia question what she thought was a cemented fact… just his loyalty to her as opposed to his loyalty to… everyone.

"Claudia, please let me try,” he pleaded as he searched her set features for any clue as to what her reply would be, his desperation speaking to her about how badly he wanted her support over what he desperately wanted to do, to an extent which made her features soften in the beginnings of an acceptance – with terms and conditions, of course – as he continued on; "I know I did you wrong by not telling you, and I'm sorry.”
There it was, the genuine remorse that he displayed over his deception, prompting her to further cement her agreement with a slight smile in acceptance of his heartfelt apology.
“I really am sorry.”
Yes… she knew he was sorry, and she was content at his admission, but… there was still that nagging voice clearly asking her when the next time he thought his remorse would save him would come by. Once a sinner, always a sinner.

“But please, Claude...,” he continued, further making his case for supposedly his autonomy when it came to Annie. “She's a good kid. She deserves a chance.”
Well, that was severely debatable.
If not established beforehand, Claudia most certainly did not share Valerian’s loving and caring attitude towards that insolent brat. She was selfish, she had no sense of propriety and she had most certainly done absolutely nothing to “deserve a chance”. In fact, if Valerian stopped looking through his misty eyes, he’d see her for what she actually was; a simple opportunist. The minute she needed something, she had no qualms about leeching off another person for it. And as for Jessica supposedly putting her in the position that she in, it seemed that Annie had sought out and pestered Jessica for it, for Toreador or not, a Primogen was hardly likely to be that generously loose-lipped, especially when the wrath of the Prince threatened to come crashing over her head.

"You could keep an eye on things, if you'd like,” he offered in urgency, offering her the complete honesty that he’d deprived her of earlier, as if her mind could change like the tides, though right now, he was right to feel so unsure of her decision, given his utter betrayal of her trust. "Just in case. You know I'd really value your input and your advice.”
Seemingly not, until a short while ago, but yes, she did know that he often based things on her Ventrue expertise – after all, who wouldn’t? – and thus, she’d take that as a little more than just flattery to appease her.

“If you'd be willing to give it, that is?” he then asked as she began to reply in slight amusement that he could even possibly consider that she’d step down from an offer of authority, for keeping control of that girl would be a lot easier with Claudia at the help of giving her the chance that she supposedly “deserved”. If she was such a problem, wouldn’t simply ghouling her solve it? What exactly did he plan to do with her now that she knew everything that she wasn’t supposed to? For she could hardly be allowed to walk away… alive, in any case. It was too much of a risk and thus, the girl was doomed regardless of what Claudia did to her.
Yes, it seemed that he truly did need her input over this.

“And I also have a friend who's offered to help,” he then revealed, words that made her suddenly forceful gaze lock onto him in seething question. Someone else knew? He’d told someone else? BEFORE he told her?!
“And so even though it's a big commitment,” he carried on, as she simply watched. “It really won't require all that much of my time. I promise."

To say that Claudia was furious – hurt and disappointment still lingering beneath the fury – would be an understatement. He had told someone else after all that speech about how he was trying to keep it secret from everyone – from Claudia – because he wanted her to be safe and yet, he had told someone else. He trusted someone more than he trusted her… that truly stung.
If they didn’t have trust, they had nothing.

“And I suppose you instinctively knew this friend wouldn’t pose a threat – unlike I and everyone else apparently would – before you told them?” she thus demanded, foldind her arms, eyes and voice hardened at yet another stage of betrayal, this time not for another, but to another.

(((OOC: Hope this works/is coherent, Atropa)))

"Life is just a chance to grow a soul" - A. Powell Davies
#955 Old 26th Jan 2009 at 8:43 PM
Connor and Moira - Backstage at Club Envy

“They are curious things, aren’t they, kine? Minds so fragile, so easy to twist, to break."

These words, uttered years before by none other than London's own Malkavian Primogen and someone often found on the wrong side of Moira's good graces, suddenly issued forth within the confines of her consciousness at the sight of her ghoul's expression, skewed by the tides of hurt and confusion that kept rising before descending by a tiny measure and then rose yet again. Such it had been during Moira's explanation of why exactly she maintained a careful deception surrounding the two of them, when Connor averted his eyes and shut them tightly, painfully, as though by doing so he could shield himself from her words which cut into him like invisible projectiles. Though, to Moira's relief, he managed not to get caught up by them and show interest in her subsequent explanation, a fact that much like she'd suspected, he had never considered before. It was one of the appeals mortals had, in the eyes of someone like Moira: even those who had left the innocence of childhood behind could still be innocent. Their minds were still too young, too raw, to ever search for hidden meanings, layers and sub-layers in even the plainest of things, and were able to satisfy themselves with just a superficial view. Not all, and certainly fewer as even they became older, but Connor retained that fascinating ability, both a source of endearment and secret envy for Moira. Judging by the cognizant look in his eyes that replaced his previous, hurt one, she could tell he was actively considering this new revelation like he would a puzzle that had just had another piece added, the cogs and wheels of a much battered mind turning swiftly.

When the offer to take her hand came, Connor's attention seemed to waver and he distantly stared at it, summoning Dr. Lakeport, the London Malkavian Primogen's words ito the apex of Moira awareness seemingly out of nowhere, for they hadn't entered her mind since the night of their uttering. She immediately knew why though, for it was a worry she'd had from the beginning, that the weight of her revelations would eventually prove too much for Connor's psyche. Though they didn't often see eye to eye, Dr. Lakeport's commentary contained a certain amount of truth: all minds had a breaking point, and human minds were more fragile than those of Kindred. Connor had just had his tested violently, and it was possible that in order to deal with the trauma, his brain would shut it out and sanity along with it. A slight crease formed at the centre of Moira's brows at this thought and she continued to scour Connor's expression, canvassing his emotions which for a few brief instants had lost clarity. Then, slowly, he reached out and gathered her long, thin fingers within his own, lifting his lips into a tired smile, but a smile nonetheless, one that Moira could recognize as being Connor's. She smiled back, with renewed confidence in his ability to emerge with his sanity intact.

"I'll try", the young man promised and moved in for an embrace, which Moira returned, one arm wrapped around his torso and the other coiling over his shoulder, fingers buried in the wealth of curls that covered the back of Connor's neck. It was tender, a lover's embrace, but had something almost maternal about it too: with her lips inches away from his jugular, Moira imagined a similar embrace from which he would emerge truly her own, her first and only childe.

"What you said, about teaching me...” Connor asked, "What did you mean?"

The words passed into Moira's ear along with the warmth of Connor's breath, awakening her from her brief reverie. She didn't reply immediately but merely mirrored his own poise by lowering her cheek on the shoulder beneath it where it rested for a little while. She then retreated slightly to be able to speak face to face with her ghoul, for the answer warranted another slice of Kindred lore.

“As I've told you before," she began, "Kindred possess different abilities, both physical and metaphysical. We call them Disciplines, and they are defined by each Clan, which in short is a bloodline of Kindred that share a common ancestor and certain similarities. There are thirteen of them not counting offshoots; I for example am part of the Toreador Clan. That, however, is the topic of another discussion. What is relevant right now is the fact that Disciplines aren't available only to Kindred: humans who regularly drink of our blood may learn them too, though with difficulty.”

Here Moira made a brief detour while explaining to Connor what each of her three Disciplines – Auspex, the art of sensory perception and aura sight, Presence – preternatural power of instilling awe as well as terror in others and Celerity – superhuman speed and agility – entailed. There was no time to go into detail about their levels or the extent of their abilities, but the young man needed at least an understanding of them. Moira could've given a demonstration of the most obvious one, Celerity, but preferred not to: Connor had been through enough shocks that night without having to watch her dissolve into a blur of motion before his very eyes.

“I have thought about it, and we should begin with Celerity. Not only that physical Disciplines seem to come easiest to humans, but in the case of a confrontation, it is a prized gift even among Kindred. Only three Clans possess it, and it certainly won't be expected of you. I must warn you however: it will be a long, gruelling task that will require plenty of effort and dedication. You may not see any progress at all for weeks, and as much as one year may pass before you attain even a very basic grasp of it. If you agree to begin training, regular sessions will have to be established in spite of your work and touring schedule, but we will find a way. If it goes well, later we could attempt Auspex as well: being able to discern auras is invaluable when telling Kindred and mortals apart.”

((ooc: Atropa: Gah, so sorry it took me so long to reply! I've been down with the flu last week and had no inspiration. :sick:

summerkelesa: Yay, welcome!

P.S. Oh yeah, I changed Aeode's pic yet again (last one I promise!) and added one more for Melody.))

If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets
#956 Old 27th Jan 2009 at 8:38 PM
Melody with Melissa and Seraphina - Club Envy ---> Melody leaving

Melody was beginning to feel the reins of control quickly slip through her fingers: between Melissa's unbroken fit on the club floor and the watchful eyes of a woman whose presence had just upped the odds of a Masquerade violation by several notches, she was starting to lose hope that a positive solution to the whole debacle could be found. Already it seemed clear that while Melissa accepted her closeness and attempts at comforting her, she was unable to overcome the misery which clutched her from within, and her chaperone, whoever he was, remained as still as a statue and indifferent like one too, the only time he intervened being when positioning his bulk between the scene unfolding under the table and the rest of the club. An inadequate shield, for they had already attracted attention.

Melody was therefore torn, a secret, personal dilemma fighting its way towards the surface, the clamouring voices of her desires threatening to deafen any other thoughts that currently held her pinned to the cold, hard floor, thoughts which included her promise to remain at Melissa's side until her “angel” arrived. As much as her heart went out to the girl, for during their brief acquaintance the Malkavian's strangely odd, but sweet and vulnerably innocent nature had gained Melody's affection, there was one other person who in her heart and mind reigned above all others, for whom she would have forsaken not only the interests of others but even personal ones: Valerian. No longer a mere want to see him, but a need, swelled within the core of her being, spawning a myriad of irrational ponderings mixed with a nagging fear that churned in her stomach, rising like bile. Over and over, one returned: “What if he's avoiding me?”

But, in the meantime, Melody struggled to focus, forcing herself to remain true to the promise made and her own want to indeed leave only when Melissa was safely in the care of the one she longed for, repeating to herself again and again that it couldn't take longer, that she would be there soon, and then she could go and find Valerian. As they waited, the brunette who had so brusquely intruded made her departure with similarly startling swiftness, not before offering a harried apology. From where she stood, Melody barely had time to return a weak, but relieved smile before the woman, forehead in hand, vanished out of sight. Then it was back to the waiting game, and Melody was unsure how much time passed until at last – relief!

The young woman didn't notice her at first; it wasn't until the collective murmurs of a group nearby and a decrease in the general noise surrounding them that she shifted slightly to one side and craned her neck in order to get a glimpse of what had startled Envy's patrons. She saw her then, a vision that had the strange immaterial quality of a dream: the figure of a woman dressed in white, gliding towards them through a gap forming in the crowd, eyes filled with awe and confusion fixed upon her. Even the music seemed to have retreated away, or so it seemed to Melody whose sapphire eyes were round with amazement and her lips parted slowly. The effect lasted only moments before eyes and minds were turned away from the strange apparition and all those who had stood agape resumed their activities, their minds rejecting what they had seen, eager to forget that they too had felt the presence of something preternatural in their midst. Melody, who knew better, could not, and as she lifted herself to her feet to make room for the lady in white , her eyes keenly followed her movements: she could see why Melissa called her “her angel”, and could feel the ways in which the Elder's proximity affected her. Melody, whose experience with Kindred was mostly limited to Neonates and maybe an Ancilla or two, experienced a kind of fascination in the presence of Elders: the thought of their age and wisdom and awesome power sent her mind reeling and her imagination soaring, while the reality of her own stature was humbling. It was the reason why Claudia's place in Valerian's life was a source of so much fear for Melody who, in her mind, only had one advantage over her: her seniority in the relationship, the fact that she had been with Valerian first and longest. And, of course, the fact that he had never cherished her less because of Claudia.

“You’re a gift to our kind,” the lady told her, beckoning a slight, bemused smile to Melody's rosy glossed lips, from which no words came forth. The comment surprised her almost as much as the woman's entrance had, for if she was accustomed to one thing, it was that ghouls were rarely rewarded even by their Domitors let alone strange Kindred. It was one of the many things that made her feel so special and privileged to be with Valerian, who had never treated her like what she was, a ghoul, a servant.

“Do you truly wish surrender to our curse?” added the lady, and this time a look of unadulterated astonishment shone on Melody's features; her heart beat a little faster, and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. Could it offer?! The answer was yes...and no. Part of her longed to take the final step and join Valerian's world, and she certainly thought of it as the eventual end of her mortal life, but after being among the undead for so long, while she herself retained her humanity, something primal inside her wished to keep living. She wasn't ready to give it all up yet: sunlight, air, food, mortality, all the things that made her what she was: it frightened her as much as it was tempting. Nevertheless, when the time came, the only one Melody could accept as Sire was Valerian, there were no doubts or second thoughts about that. If she were to be Embraced, it had to be by Valerian.

“That choice still lies before me,” she respectfully replied at last once the dark-haired lady had delivered a few soothing words to Melissa. She could tell what would come next was between the two, and it was time for her to take her leave. “I am glad you are here, I believe you are the one she needs most right now. She truly loves you.”

Giving Melissa another glance in the hope of being able to say goodbye on a more private level by sending a warm smile her way, Melody smoothed the creases of her dress and held them both in her gaze:

“Since I do not wish to intrude any further in what is a private matter, I think I should go...I do hope she feels better soon, and that perhaps we'll meet again. I would like that.”

And with a final nod, Melody bid them both “Goodbye.”, turning away from them and vanishing into the crowd. She spent the next thirty or so minutes scouring her surroundings from the highest vantage point she could find in search of Valerian, then touring the club from wall to wall, efforts that proved fruitless. He was nowhere in sight, and Melody had a knack of placing him even in a dark, busy place like a club. Sufficiently assured he was not there, with a heavy heart she passed through the entrance and out into the lamp-lit street outside, ready to return to The Haven.

((ooc: I hope this works for everyone, I figured I might as well take Melody out of the scene now that Seraphina's there, and she's so eager to find Valerian, heh.

By the way, if anyone is in the mood for some interraction with her while this night still lasts (how long before the next one anyway, Atropa?), feel free to encounter her either outside Club Envy or The Haven, either works for me.))

If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets
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#957 Old 27th Jan 2009 at 9:01 PM
(((ooc: Ghani (and everyone else too, really) - I'm not quite sure. Due to the slowed (but by no means slow) pace of the RP, I gave up saying that a night would last this or that long, and have instead tried to keep an eye on everyone's interactions, to see when people start seeming like they're ready to wrap things up.
That said, I am starting to get that very feeling right about now, so, in order to give people a chance to truly wrap up what they're doing, how does Feb 13 sound to everyone? Friday the 13th, and all. )))

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
#958 Old 27th Jan 2009 at 9:05 PM
((ooc: Sounds good to me! A new night would also make it easier for the new players to find an entrance into a plot.))

If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets
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#959 Old 27th Jan 2009 at 9:26 PM
(((ooc: Also, in the future, would you guys like for the nights to be shorter? I've been most reluctant to rush people, because speaking from experience, it can prove detrimental to an RP, because if people feel pressured, they'll just end up not getting involved in plots, since they feel they're being rushed, which in turn usually spoils the fun... But if it's the general opinion that the nights have turned out far too long, I am most definitely willing to shorten them.)))

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
#960 Old 28th Jan 2009 at 1:07 AM
Default Lola & Che - in apartment --> strip club
As Lola lines her bottom eyelid, one finger gently pulls it down, revealing the pink, wet membranes inside her socket. It's all blown up for her to see, a monstrously large eyeball being prodded with colored sticks in her cosmetic mirror. It magnifies every imperfection in her skin, every pore, reducing her face to several disembodied snapshots of flesh. After she finishes dabbing at her eye, she double checks her work in the mirror. An enormous glossy eye, gray with washes of blue, and lined with smokey black kohl, stares at her. At this magnification, she doesn't recognize it as her own. She blinks, and it blinks back at her too.

She flips the mirror over, back to 1x power, and she looks like herself again. Instead of a pitted desert of pores, her skin once again looks smooth, glowing, and slightly tanned. She finishes off her makeup with an application of lipstick, blot, lipstock, followed by a dab of peachy pink gloss.

Heading to her closet, she throws together an outfit in her usual style--young, counterculture rocker chick. Tank top, miniskirt, faux leather bomber jacket. She's packing 4-inch stilettos on her feet and a lacey push up bra, visible from her low-cut top, that gives her the type of cleavage that guys secretly wish their girlfriends had but never admit. She lets her hair hang loose around her shoulders and completes her outfit with a canvas, rectangular purse that has the graphic of an old school boombox printed on it. Running her hands through her razor-cut blonde hair, she checks herself out in the mirror. The mirror tells her she's hot s***. (pic)

Before Lola heads out, she takes one last look at the painting she's been working on. Fifteen layers of Prussian, then phthalo blue and burnt sienna have combined in thin washes to create ephemeral blobs of light and shadow. Though its lines are undefined and its colors bleed into one another, the strange beast peers at her maliciously from the canvas. Her eyes narrow as she clicks off the light and heads out into the night.


She took the subway downtown then walked to the Kitty Rhino Gentlemen's Club, getting in only because Grace Lee had been buttering up the manager to let their underaged presence slide this one time. As the bouncer lets her in, one of the guys in line who's been staring holes into her t*** leers:

"I haven't seen you around here before. Are you new?"

"I'm not a dancer, pal." Lola practically spits her response at him before heading in and finding Grace.

Grace, the daughter of rich Chinese American parents, the daughter who's been rebelling ever since they divorced, is dressed like an apocalypse princess. (pic) She wears expensive designer clothing that's been made to look street, but the details give her wealth away. Like the stitching on the back-zipper of her thigh high boots, the touch of vinyl striping in her shirt, or the fact that her leather jacket, unlike Lola's, is real. Grace Lee, the impeccable punk.

Lola had met Grace a few years ago in art class. There was a general consensus in the class that the two girls were a cut above the rest, the most talented artists in the school. It had only made sense, then, for the two to become fast friends. And despite the fact that Grace was wealthier, more rambunctious, and tended to draw her vowels out with a hint of a valley-girl accent, Lola genuinely liked her.

"Hey," Lola casually announces as she sidles up next to Grace, who has found a seat in a nice, loungey area with a prominent view of the dancers.

Grace's face lights up expressively as she sees Lola, "Hey, what's up?"

"Broke up with Nate."

"No!" Grace says the word like it's "no" and "oh" combined. "No s***? It's about time! Don't tell me you f***ed him before you dumped him, now."

"Okay, I won't," Lola curtly deadpans back. For all his infidelities, or perhaps because of them, Nate was amazing in the sack, and when he came over she couldn't deny herself one last ride with him.

"Gawd, you're such a w****!" Grace teases in an obnoxiously loud voice before following up to show she actually cares. "So, like... are you okay? Do you wanna talk about it or anything?"

Lola shrugs and starts taking out a set of pencils and a large pad of paper from her purse. A pregnant pause follows.

Normally in this situation, chicks would start a torrential downpour about what a jerk their boyfriend was, how much it hurt to be used, cheated on, how they were better off without him. Not Lola. Lola's been through this before. She's known from the start that her relationship with Nate would end like this, so during every step along the way, she's been keeping her walls up, preparing for their break-up. A more naive person would've jumped into that relationship with both feet, but Lola barely dipped her toes in. So she doesn't feel anger, doesn't feel sorrow, only a numb, lingering sense of disappointment and a lump of frustration stuck in her throat.

Lola flips to an empty sheet, and the paper makes a crinkling noise as it rotates around the spine. She turns to Grace and confesses. She sounds pathetically weak to herself. "I just... I'm just so sick of it. I mean, the one time I've been with a nice guy was with Cristo, and you know how that turned out."

Grace nods. Two months after they broke up, Cristo came out of the closet.

"I just..." Lola begins, trying to grasp the words for the emotions she is feeling and not finding them. She lets her statement trail off into a defeated sigh, then motions to her paper and pencil. "Forget it. Let's just finish the scum series."

With an understanding nod, Grace helps change the topic. "Right, what are we on now? Number nine?" City Scum series number nine of a soon-to-be ten part series. The art teacher, Mr. Hollander, got a kick out of collaborative projects like these. Grace pulls out her own paper and pencil, and scans the room, eventually settling on something and starting to sketch it out.

Lola begins searching the room as well when her eyes settle on a man not too far away from herself. He looks big. Tough. There was something menacing about him, something that unnerved her. He looked like the type of guy who would get thrown into a lions' den--not to kill him, but to kill the lions. The type of guy who could snap a Lola-sized girl in half like a toothpick. Biting her bottom lip, she uncomfortably whispers, "Think I found my muse." City Scum was right.

After ten minutes of sketching with violent, expressive strokes, Lola captures a basic likeness of the man. The girls switch their pads of paper, spending the next five minutes touching up each others' work. Examining Grace's sketch, Lola figures out that she's been drawing "Candy," a pole dancer. Motion is the main element. She starts cleaning up Grace's work and adds embellishments here and there, an extra whirl around the pole, an exaggerated distension of her leg. Then, they switch their papers again.

As Lola looks up from her sketch and makes furtive glances at the man, she accidentally makes eye contact with him and looks down immediately. Why was she looking away? Men didn't normally intimidate her, so why this one? When she looks up again, he's still looking at her.

"S***, he saw me." She turns her head to Grace, whispering.

"So what? He's kind of not bad." Grace responds, her eyes glued on Candy.

"Shut up." Lola feels her stomach knot and takes a deep breath. Unconsciously, she shifts in her seat and crosses her legs tighter.

Don't be such a p****, she tells herself before looking at him again and forcing a smile.

kelsa - Okay, I know I've been complimenting you a lot recently, but I have to say that your Che app is my favorite! Really nice... he already scares me! Also, I hope the post/location/circumstances are all okay with you. Let me know if I should change anything to get him to approach

Atropa - I know I'm new to this RP, but I have a preference for shorter nights... at least, shorter than 3+ months. I wouldn't want to set any firm timelines on how long a night is, though, but maybe more regular checking in on how much longer people need/do they think they can wrap it up in 3 weeks, etc?))

.:Kitty Klan:.
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#961 Old 29th Jan 2009 at 1:28 PM
Default Noah & Aeode Mallard - Outside The Haven
#30 [Night #13]

Noah wasn't comfortable, though his words came with ease. He felt exposed in the city, and the only humans he'd ever expect to interact with would be the Roma, for obvious reasons. They rarely looked at him like he was some freak of nature, even though they knew his dirty little secret. Everyone else didn't have a clue, and even if he seemed to get by without being noticed, he still felt like he had to grow eyes in the back of his head. Of course, there were the occasionally situations where his Native American descent would be a factor, and closed minds would surround him and ask him ignorant questions or even threaten him. The fact that he had more right to be there than most people, didn't seem to register with them. He had spilt his blood in order to protect those who came before anyone else, and now he was alone. Strange as it was, Noah felt more alone the more people he had around him. When he attended a Gangrel Gather, or when he was in a Gypsie camp filled with music and joy, he often felt a great burden almost crushing his heart. It was as if he was so close to being one of them, and his inability to let go and take the plunge was heartbreaking. Noah missed his Sire, he missed his family and friends.

The young woman before him, Aeode, reminded him of certain aspects of himself. Though she sheemed stronger than he imagined himself to be, in the grand scheme of it all. She appeared unafraid, ready to fight for her own survival. Something told him that this was not something she had adapted recently, following the revelation of vampires in the world. However, Noah didn't know how long she had known, but he assumed it wasn't that long. Without thinking about it, he assessed her. Every second that passed, everything she said and every gesture, it all gathered in his mind to give him a better understanding of her.

"Only temporarily", she said, apparently trying to make it sound as if it didn't bother her, but Noah felt that it wasn't entirely free from problems. "Until I can find a place of my own, which isn't easy in this city."

She didn't have to tell Noah that twice. Everything in the city screamed ownership. Someone owned anything you could see and touch. Even the wind seemed to come with receipt... Noah didn't care for it, and he knew the place he stayed at wouldn't be there for him for ever. It went against everything Noah had been taught when growing up. The earth belonged to no one, and eveyone, but eventually someone managed to put a price on it. When the indians started to be better of dead, the earth began to die. Standing there, surrounded by concrete, talking to a human who knew more than she should, he felt vulnerable when thinking about what had been and never would be again. The next words over her lips didn't help things.

"You've been in LA long then?" she asked. "I'm only asking because you don't look like you're from around here."

From around here... That was an understatement. Nothing in Los Angeles resembled where he was from. Maybe the sky, when you saw it from the roof of a high building, and nothing man had made came in your sight. Though there was still sounds and smells and the awareness of not sitting on the cold ground that spoiled the moment anyway. Not to mention when a plane came across the sky, with bright lights. He knew that some of his clan had a better take on the cities of the world, they adapted better. But when all else failed, deep down in their hearts, they all belonged to Mother Nature. At least in Noah's regard. It was the main thing that seperated them from all the other clans. They were closer to the Beast, to what they really were. And no animal enjoyed feeling trapped. Noah had seen animals in captivity, and he could see surrender in their eyes. They had given up, accepted their fate. A horrible thought, a nightmare that would never end. He would shiver at the thought, and pray that something like that would never happen to him.

Noah contemplated what he should and shouldn't tell Aeode. She knew he was a vampire, and thus ought to know they couldn't die. Not easily, anyway. At least that much was true in all the legends. So, admitting to being older than he appeared shouldn't be so bad, and nothing Valerian could frown upon. But he could never know that for sure. He had to make his move carefully, so that he didn't slip information that would be dangerous in the hands of a human. After all, he didn't know her or her intentions. Between humans and vampires, there would always be a war, even if it was silent and only known by one part. Casualties were a rare occurrence, but it did happen. Noah was a free spirit that had respect for all living things, at least it was how he had been in his mortal days. Since being tranformed, things had changed. He still had the respect, but he had to accept his fate if he wanted to go on. The first time he fed was awful, a scene no horror movie could ever depict.

Though he had perfected the art since then, it was a memory he couldn't shake. And something within Noah told him that it was not his decision. He and his kind went against everything that was logical, that was sane and moving with nature. There had to be some punishment. Though he knew the burden of being immortal was different for them all. Some didn't have a care in the world, and roamed like they were living the dream.

"It's my third night here", he said. "This time around."

When he met her eyes, tried to decipher the intention with her question, things came to a standstill. The voices around them vanished, the noise from The Haven was blocked out and the city lights could be mistaken for stars. Noah knew that he didn't look like the average pedestrian, like someone who belonged in the city. Instead, he was grateful for his ability to not being noticed, to be able to fit in without doing so at all. As long as he kept to himself. Though that magic had been broken when it came to Aeode. She had seen his nature, when he was ready for anything, even a kill.

"But you're right, I'm not from here. The place I come from is gone."

A glare from a distant memory came into his eyes, but he soon made it go away. He thought about the past too much as it was, he didn't need to do that now, when he was with her. It had been there since he became a Gangrel, and it would be there forever, ready to wash over him and nearly kill him, when he least expected it to. There were more important things at hand, things that couldn't wait. All his past did was waiting, so it could wait some more. Aeode, however, and her safety, could not.

"You should go in. The city isn't safe. I am not the worst thing out there - and I don't just mean my kind."


((( ooc: Ghanima - I'm so sorry for the delay. )))
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#962 Old 29th Jan 2009 at 11:02 PM
Default Valerian and Claudia - Valerian's personal chambers at The Haven

That one word was the first thing to go through Valerian's raven-haired head, when first he saw the expression on Claudia's face change as he mentioned his friend, Moira, and how she had offered to help with his - and Aeode's - situation. It was the only thing to go through his head, that one word, almost as though the instantly roaring flames he saw surfacing in Claudia's eyes as she registered his words, reached into his very core and immediately robbed him of the ability to speak or even think any other. Too late he had realized his mistake. Far, far too late. He had been so very eager to try and accomodate her, wanting so badly to make things right, to make up for his wrong-doing, that he had not stopped even for a moment to consider the true impact of what he told her, and instead had ended up putting his foot in it. Really, really put his foot in it. Instead of appeasing her, and making it all better, he had done the exact opposite. He had made everything so much worse.

For indeed, while sometimes Claudia was impossible for him to read and interpret, the look on her face now held very few secrets to him. Even if he couldn't tell exactly what was going through her head, it was still plain for him to see that if he'd been in trouble before, it was nothing compared to what he was in for now. She was truly angry with him this time, furious even, and the realization of it alone was enough to make the arms previously wrapped around her waist loosen and slowly drop, fearing that while she hadn't before, she now really would push him away. He even shrunk away from her ever so slightly himself, when finding himself the subject of her distressingly penetrating gaze and her apparent disapproval, and his own gaze temporarily dropped to the floor; a visual oddly reminiscent of a child dreading an impending lashing.

Yet, even though she did end up pulling away, it was not a demonstrative show of instant rejection, and when she spoke her voice was still cooly composed. Harsh, and hard, with a tone that stung his skin with bitterness, but whatever rage she felt seemed to still be restrained. Flaring visibly in her eyes, but yet to be truly unleashed.

"And I suppose you instinctively knew this friend wouldn't pose a threat", she said, withdrawing her arms from his form as well and folding them across her chest, once again assuming the position of authority demanding answers, and fast, "– unlike I and everyone else apparently would – before you told them?"

However, while to anyone else, her lack of an enraged outburst might have been an encouraging sign, to Valerian, it was as much a good omen as it was a bad one; it meant she was giving him a chance to explain himself, but that in turn never necessarily meant he would be able to make her understand, or see things his way. In fact, the times he had managed that had been few and far apart. Whenever he managed to sway her, it tended to be just her mood and not her actual opinion that changed, and it was very rarely due to anything else than submission on his part, since his emotional logic was often lost on her pragmatic one, and vice versa. Not necessarily as far as understanding went, but simply where the ultimate forming of an opinion and a standpoint was concerned. And in the matter of personal opinions, Claudia always seemed to be the one who stood more firmly rooted in hers. Presumably, at least in part, because she knew Valerian would often back down, and even do so gladly just to please her. Unless, of course, it was a matter that was truly and relentlessly close to his heart, in which case he could be just as headstrong as her.

Luckily, however, for the both of them, those moments were rare, and while the matter of Aeode's survival was indeed one such moment, the current one, of Valerian's apparent mistake in sharing it all with someone else before he shared it with Claudia, was not. He had reasons for what he had done, and reasons that at the time, and even now, were strong. But in the face of Claudia's reaction, Valerian couldn't help but feel that maybe they weren't strong enough. Especially not to her, and since his desire was to earn her forgiveness, and to please her, they did begin to pale.
Not that it would stop him from at least trying to make her understand;

"No, no, Claude!" he said urgently, as though he was trying to stop her thoughts from turning in her head and making her draw conclusions about what it all meant, before he had a chance to explain. "It wasn't like that!"

And it really wasn't. Not the way Valerian had seen it, and even though he knew it was probably a hopeless endeavor, an attempt destined to fail, he had to try and make her realize that. Not necessarily agree, or even understand, especially not since both concepts were even further out of reach, but he had to at least try to make her realize that there was a reasoning behind his actions, and one that had nothing to do with letting her down, or not trusting her. When he unburdened his heart to Moira, the decision to tell Claudia the truth, to actually seek her out in order to do so, had already been made. It was why he had run into Moira in the first place; because he had come to Club Envy in search of Claudia. And when she had appeared busy, and since Valerian knew how she probably wouldn't have taken kindly to an interruption, he had gone over to say hello to Moira instead, and, upon her asking him what had happened, had ended up telling her about it all. However, the decision to tell Claudia, and the intent to do so as soon as possible, had already been in existence long before then, and so it was not a matter of Valerian trusting Moira more than he trusted Claudia. It was just that when offered the chance to unburden his heart to someone he did trust, and to do it without having to worry about going about it as delicately as possible as to not incite Claudia's rage, he found himself unable to resist.
But, how could he possibly explain to Claudia that since the decision to tell her the truth had been made long before he ran into Moira, timing had seemed little more than a technicality? In theory, he had trusted Claudia before he had trusted Moira. It was only pure circumstance that had made it seem the other way around.

"I came to the club to talk to you", he started trying to explain. "My only intent was to talk to you, and tell you the truth, because I do trust you. I trust you with my life, Claudia, you know that. The only reason I didn't tell you at first, was because I wasn't sure you would agree with my decision, and not talk me out of it before I had a chance to try, and that you would act in what you would think was my best interest, and get rid of Annie somehow. I needed time to figure things out."

Had he still been human, this would be where he'd have to stop in order to take a new breath, as the attempt at an explanation had kept pouring out of him in a swift stream of words. Now, however, he briefly fell silent not in order to breathe, but because he realized he had taken them slightly off track, and so he tried to find his way back to what he had started out wanting to say.

"I came to Envy to talk to you", he repeated firmly, yet actual self-assurance was still lacking in his movements, and in his eyes, as he was still unsure of how much or how little of Claudia's wrath he might have soothed, and how much was still left to scorch him, should he fail at making her understand. "To tell you everything. And when I found you, I saw that you were busy. You were talking to that young singer, and... I didn't want to interrupt..."

Dejectedly, he took a few steps back, and lowered himself onto the the dark, luxurious couch, his gaze drifting slowly over the scattered papers of poems and drawings on the nearby coffetable, some crumpled and discarded, some done but still unsorted, yet his mind seemed to be elsewhere, recalling the night's previous events, that had lead to him and Claudia being here, having this discussion.

"My friend was there", he said finally, after a few seconds of silence, and his gaze regained it's focus as it returned to Claudia. "I went over to pay my respects, and she invited me to sit and talk for a while. And, I suppose I was still a bit unsettled about Annie and... the Gangrel, because my friend took notice, and asked me about it. But I swear, Claudia, on everything that is holy to me, that I didn't tell her before I told you because I don't trust you, or because I trust her more than you."

His voice, while it had started out slow and pensive, grew more and more impassioned as the last couple of sentences flowed over his lips, and he gazed pleadingly at Claudia once more, hoping that despite her anger and her obvious disapproval of his course of action, in the end she would still believe him.

"It was just that... I felt like I was choking, Claude. Like I was being suffocated. The whole thing is just... so big, and I think I may be really in over my head. It's all my own fault, I'm aware of that, but... It was killing me not to say anything, and when I felt I finally could, when I set out to do so, I saw you talking to that young man, and thought that perhaps you were in a business meeting. I didn't want to interrupt. So when I saw my friend, and she asked what had happened... Because I trust her, it all just started pouring out of me. But I trusted you with it first. And I didn't tell her everything. She doesn't know everything."

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
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#963 Old 30th Jan 2009 at 1:29 AM
Default Connor and Moira, backstage at Club Envy
Connor was tired. So very, very tired, that even 'exhausted' was no longer a concept that seemed to aptly cover the full extent of the physical but most of all mental fatigue he felt overwhelming him now, when cradled in Moira's arms he found the first tiny slice of actual peace he had felt since their talk had first begun, that poisonous thorn of frustration plucked out of his heart by the soothing comfort of her embrace. Even though it was a talk that hadn't yet lasted very long at all - he hadn't been locked away with Moira for more than about twenty minutes, at the most - he still felt as though he had been through weeks, months and years of nothing other than hardship, and that it had left him completely drained of his usually rather vivacious spirits. In that short while, from going into the room with her, to the present moment, he had gone from pumped with adrenaline and bursting with energy, vitality in it's purest form personified, to feeling feeble and weak, sucked dry by the truth that had been laid before him by someone whose words he could not doubt, no matter how unbelievable it all sounded to him. The past couple of months of touring had made him feel worn indeed, and in need of a much deserved rest. But it had been a tiredness that could not even begin to compare with the complete and total one he experienced now - although it was probably fuelled by the first - one that had him yearning to just climb into bed and drift off into a deep slumber. To sleep, and let his subconscious work through all that he had learned this evening at it's own pace, and not stir awake again until his mind was ready to grasp it all. That was what he wanted to do. To sleep and sleep, for weeks. Right now, he wanted it so badly that even though only a few moments ago, his head had been swirling with questions, and his lips had directed one of them at Moira, when he found himself able to relax, finally in her arms, and when she took a few seconds to answer, his eyes slowly began drifting shut, while a most inviting and persuasive dimness started nipping tentatively at the outskirts of his consciousness, beckoning him to surrender to exhaustion, to the calming, consoling sensation of her arms wrapped around him, and of her fingers digging themselves lovingly into his hair.

Another few moments, and he really might have given in to it all, the brief silence and Moira's soothing presence having both worked their magic on him and changed his state of mind yet again, from strikingly vivacious youth, to a mind nearly torn apart by confusion and inner torment, and now to a soul having finally found peace, albeit a brief and fragile one, in the arms of it's true keeper. However, those few additional moments of silence had no chance of passing, as soon Moira withdrew ever so slightly, the motion and the loss of the sensation of her soft waves of hair against his cheek stirring him fully awake again, reaching into his mind and pulling him back to the reality of the cramped little space they were currently cooped up in.

"As I've told you before, Kindred possess different abilities, both physical and metaphysical," she said as their gazez locked, the yearning for sleep falling slowly from Connor's psyche like leaves from trees in winter, as he once more focused on what she was telling him, this time about what she and her kind called Disciplines, and how different clans had different ones.

He listened with increasingly piqued curiousity as she told him about how those Disciplines weren't reserved for just Kindred, but that ghouls could apparently develop them as well, albeit not with the same ease. Eyes widening ever so slightly, he was given yet another piece of the puzzle that were the Kindred, and with it came an entirely new aspect of the supernatural, which despite being aware of the existence of vampires, Connor hadn't really delved into much; auras, affecting other people's feelings through sheer willpower, superhuman speed... It all seemed so unlikely, and for a second, he was almost wondering if she was pulling his leg, making fun of the qualities many Hollywood vampires sported, possibly as a way of using humor to relax him and elevate his spirits in dealing with all of what she had told him before, which had darned near broken him. It wouldn't have been the first time such a method was used to help someone cope. But, no. The very next second, he remembered the gravity that had permeated her voice and demeanor alike since the very start of the conversation, and even if that had not been the case, it still soon became clear to him that she was indeed being perfectly serious, because there was no hint whatsoever of that humorous glint in her eyes that would often appear when she was feeling amused.

"I have thought about it", she finally concluded her summary of what her own Disciplines entailed, "and we should begin with Celerity. Not only that physical Disciplines seem to come easiest to humans, but in the case of a confrontation, it is a prized gift even among Kindred. Only three Clans possess it, and it certainly won't be expected of you."

Superhuman speed... Oh yes, he could see how that one could be most useful. In fact, he could've killed to have had that ability at his disposal the previous night, sparing him the gruesome encounter with those two bloodthirsty witches. And it was one that he'd like very much to have still, should something similar ever seem to be about to happen to him. Especially considering how Moira indicated that he was apparently at greater risk than he himself had been aware. For while like pretty much any man, he didn't much like the idea of running, the previous night's experience had wisened him up quite roughtly to the fact that there were situations in which it was the option to be clearly favored. The lesser of two evils, if you will.

"I must warn you however", Moira's voice cut through his inner musings - his visual how as that first lady from the night before stepped into his path, filling him with a sense of alarm, he simply bolted, disappearing out of sight in just a couple of seconds, before she could stop him - and pulling him back to reality once more, "it will be a long, gruelling task that will require plenty of effort and dedication. You may not see any progress at all for weeks, and as much as one year may pass before you attain even a very basic grasp of it. If you agree to begin training, regular sessions will have to be established in spite of your work and touring schedule, but we will find a way. If it goes well, later we could attempt Auspex as well: being able to discern auras is invaluable when telling Kindred and mortals apart."

To say that Connor had mixed feelings about pretty much all of that last part, would be somewhat of an understatement. For while he wasn't exactly spoilt or unable to dedicate himself to something which may not pay off until after quite some time, especially if it was something he was passionate about, he was still part of a generation where instant gratification had become a lifestyle, and so the prospect of having to endure a year of hard work and little success was somewhat disheartening. Though not really because of the possible and initial lack of success itself, since he knew that sooner or later it was bound to pay off, but rather because he knew what lack of success did to people while they were still struggling; the dejection and the frustration that at times would consume them, the latter of which he'd had quite enough already, and thus wasn't much looking forward to experience ever again.
At the same time, it was comforting to know that Moira intended to stand by him, that while the training might be aggravating, it was time he would get to spend with her, and that, since she sounded confident that sooner or later there would be progress,it would indeed pay off in the end.

So, even though he wasn't grinning from ear to ear with utter and complete delight, a faint smile did still weave it's way across his inviting lips in understanding and full agreement. But before he had a chance of putting it into actual words, something else suddenly dawned on him, and the smile instantly faded;

"Wait...", he said, and his gaze drifted momentarily to the side in what seemed like contemplation, before it returned to Moira, now donning a questioning look. "The lady at the bar... The blonde, the, the... harpy", his hurry to continue on to the actual point so great that he simply grabbed the first word to enter his mind that seemed fitting enough to describe Claudia. "I got the feeling she was Kindred. I don't know why, it was just a gut feeling. I think. Is that possible? Or am I being paranoid?"

And that was precisely the moment, that someone decided to interrupt whatever they thought was going on in that little room, by banging loudly on the door;

"Connor!" Jesse's voice shouted from the other side. "They're asking for you outside!"

Eyebrows temporarily furrowed in slight annoyance at the disruption, Connor just barely turned his head.

"In a minute!" he shouted back over his shoulder, before turning back to face Moira, far more eager to hear her answer than he was to face whatever fans might be waiting patiently for him to turn up in the club outside.

(((ooc: Ghani - Hope it was okay. Just figured that with the night soon ending, and most of the talk covered(?), it might be time to move them back to the club area?)))

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
#964 Old 30th Jan 2009 at 11:18 PM
Aeode and Noah -- Outside The Haven --> Aeode going inside

There was a slight tumult in the breeze that careened down the long, winding streets with hint of coolness, the heat reverberating off the miles of steel and concrete having diminished over night. Breathing in the air, Aeode was reminded once again of those early mornings she had spent lazying about the veranda of her family home, but the air had smelled of lilies and daffodils then; now the overlaying scent was that of exhaust fumes, causing her to wrinkle her nose in distaste. She held the empty bag full of crumpled wrapping paper and cardboard against her belly, gazing up at Noah who, like most men, towered over her petite frame.

"It's my third night here", he confessed. "This time around."

Three nights...but not his first time. That was even less than Aeode's two weeks spent in Los Angeles, that time around. Aeode's pale green eyes focused in Noah's deep brown ones, inspecting them for hints as to what it all meant to him, and was momentarily startled to find him assessing her back.

“But you're right, I'm not from here.” Noah continued, and those dark eyes flared with a transitory flame which vanished as swiftly as a thought, leaving Aeode to wonder whether she'd just imagined it. What he said next though, made her think she had not: “The place I come from is gone.”

There were few things that left Aeode unable to come up with a retort, but that one comment held that power, not only because it held valuable insight into who Noah was, but because she herself was instantly swamped by a rush of memory, images of a white house at the end of a wide avenue of manicured lawns and hedges, the place she'd one called home. It still existed, of course, but Aeode hadn't been able to bring herself to visit it: she knew that the Mallard family villa had been sold shortly after their murder, to cover for part of the debts her father had. Last she'd heard, it belonged to an emerging film producer. Therefore, her home, was gone. Blinking away the surge of imagery, Aeode returned her attention to Noah, for the first time truly pausing to wonder just how old he was: his Native American heritage was obvious, but, as she realized with a start, he could have been more that just a descendant – he might once have been part of the original tribes living in the prairies, before expansion drove them away and divided them. Nothing Aeode knew for certain of vampires confirmed beyond doubt they were immortal but if Valerian was able to regenerate tissue fast enough to survive a fatal gunshot wound and be right as rain twenty minutes later, it was conceivable to think they were. She let her imagination soar for an instant, superimposing Noah's modern appearance on top of what he might have once looked like, in a traditional breechcloth and headdress. It was an odd feeling, not unlike picturing Valerian in a frock coat. It was also immensely bitter, for indeed if that was the case Noah's homeland had been entirely transformed; it really was no more: she didn't like to think of how lonely that must feel.

"You should go in.” he advised gravely. “The city isn't safe. I am not the worst thing out there - and I don't just mean my kind."

Aeode concealed a small scoff by diverting her gaze to the ground: did he truly believe she was safer inside than on the outside? There was merely an illusion of safety, though Valerian himself might believe in it: as far as she was concerned, her only safety currently lay in anonymity, that the world continued to believe Aeode Mallard was dead and that she was Annie Winters. Which left plenty of other threats.

“What's safe?” she commented as though she found something humorous about her own words, as indicated by the lopsided grin tugging the corners of her lips in opposite directions; but her eyes belied her: she felt no amusement. Pushing it aside, she straightened herself and nodded once in Noah's direction:

“But yes...I should be going, it will be morning soon. Guess I'll be seeing you around then.”

With that and a final glance, Aeode pivoted on her heel and vanished in the gap between The Haven's right side wall and the neighbouring building, shedding any intention of reminiscing straight out of her mind with each step she took: there was an important task ahead, something she had to solve right then. In reality, Aeode felt her situation was rather helpless: finding an apartment, even a room to rent in LA that came equipped with furniture from one day to the next was nigh impossible. She thought of the reserves she had tucked away, (partly ill-gotten) money she never touched except in desperate situations – even though she could afford it, finding something would be the real trick. As she unlocked the service door at the back of the club and slid between two rows of crates stacked on either side to gain access to the storage area, Aeode couldn't ignore the possibility that she might be forced to remain there longer: the thought was pure torture. Approaching her small cubicle, her pulse increased and adrenaline surged in her veins, worried it might have been breached already and her possessions tampered with. Therefore, it was with some vehemence that she unlocked and pushed the door aside, finger poised on the lightswitch: the small room presented before her eyes however looked very much the way she remembered it and upon a closer inspection, Aeode felt relieved to concede no-one had been inside. With no time to lose, she replaced any items she'd removed back in the bags, save for her laptop. The internet being her primary medium for apartment-hunting, Aeode switched it on and, out of habit, checked her email first. She was about to delete the message titled “Are you looking for a new place?” as spam when, with a stomach-churning jolt, she noticed the accompanying header. “Hello kiddo,” it read and almost caused Aeode to leap out of her skin: Dez was the only one who called her that! With frantic movements she opened the email, which to her bewilderment contained nothing but an address she'd never been to before. It was the signature that held her eyes glued to it until they started watering: It read “Dez”, as plain as daylight.

((ooc: I hope this is okay, Psyche. Also, sorry, for resorting to a lil bit of Deus ex Machina. :P

Atropa - That's perfectly ok with me. Also in reply to your earlier questions, I also think it's better not to set clear limits for how long a night should last, but probably once a month has passed, people should be encouraged to wrap things up?))

If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets
#965 Old 31st Jan 2009 at 8:00 PM
Default Claudia and Valerian - Valerian's chambers, The Haven
Valerian had a habit of landing himself in situations that earned her disdain, especially now more than ever, so Claudia gathered. However, it was such the case that she wasn’t prone to being blindly angry just now and thus, following his initial – and very unforced – revelation, she allowed him the freedom of elaborating on his reasons for his deeds instead of punishing him immediately, as he well deserved. However, it seemed that when he made mistakes, he truly feel off the pedestal of trust that he’d somewhat managed to procure from Claudia’s cautious nature.

It was sheer fury that consumed her to know that not only did he lie to her, he also told someone else about it first. It was a declaration of trusting someone over her, but also humiliation that not only had he deceived her, but he’d gone on to sell out her pride by making others aware of his achievement in deceiving Claudia… and that simply made her furious. How dare he do that, how could he, knowing how much effort Claudia placed in her public profile, parade out the weakness in it?
It was that which Claudia found most difficult to stomach.

"No, no, Claude!" he protested vehemently as she glared at not only his audacity at repeatedly selling her out, but also seeming to engineer the course of action of her thoughts – who did he think he was? There was only one direction of control in their relationship and it was Claudia controlling Valerian. "It wasn't like that!"

Oh, really? So, he didn’t tell someone else before he did the right thing and admitted his mistakes to her, then? No… Valerian had better sense than to go back on what he’d inadvertently revealed and therefore, Claudia knew to expect some sort of justification regarding his pathetic actions in maintaining the integrity of their relationship and so, without further ado, he explained;

"I came to the club to talk to you," he first pointed out, and while that was the most plausible scenario to Claudia, it wasn’t the only possible one. While Valerian now made it sound that he revealed his secrets to someone just a short while before he told her about them, there was nothing to suggest that in fact, he hadn’t been conspiring with this unnamed ‘friend’ for quite a while before he found enough cause to let Claudia in on his plans.
Nothing except the trust she’d placed in him, but right now, relying on that seemed a bad idea to Claudia.

"My only intent was to talk to you, and tell you the truth, because I do trust you,” he vehemently insisted with devoted avowal oozing from his very being. “I trust you with my life, Claudia, you know that.”
Yes, that he did, and she knew it, for otherwise there would be no foundation to their relationship – after all, how does one manage an association where one’s very existence is at risk?
“The only reason I didn't tell you at first, was because I wasn't sure you would agree with my decision, and not talk me out of it before I had a chance to try, and that you would act in what you would think was my best interest, and get rid of Annie somehow,” he further confessed, to which Claudia simply had no wish to protest, for she still held the belief that that girl needed to be gotten rid of, if for no other reason than simply being quite so irksome. But as was becoming increasingly clear, Annie wasn’t the crux of the problem, Valerian was. “I needed time to figure things out."
So did she. She needed time to figure all of this out, figure out where they both stood in their relationship if he couldn’t take that simple chance to trust her to make allowances for him, the way she had demonstrated she could.

"I came to Envy to talk to you,” he reiterated with assurance in his decisions and their importance to him, only leaving everything up to fate rather than assuming control and responsibility himself, yet with hesitance at her reactions, or currently lack thereof; "To tell you everything. And when I found you, I saw that you were busy. You were talking to that young singer, and... I didn't want to interrupt...."
The boy was hardly as important as this! Seeing his youth and rather emotional disposition, Valerian should have been able to decipher that he was hardly likely to be anything that Claudia considered as a business associate rather than a mere investment. Though, yes, she did suppose she had to appreciate Valerian’s manners, even if there was a lack of impulse control involved in immediately finding someone else to divulge his secrets to.

"My friend was there,” he then revealed following a few moments of contemplation after he’d taken comforts in the sofa that they’d both been seated on earlier, his eyes meeting Claudia’s scrutinising gaze. "I went over to pay my respects, and she invited me to sit and talk for a while. And, I suppose I was still a bit unsettled about Annie and... the Gangrel, because my friend took notice, and asked me about it.”
That was just utterly pathetic. In all honesty, the number of people that had asked Claudia over the centuries regarding who she was, what she did or why she was never around anytime but the hours of darkness, was just incomparable. Being a Ventrue, she socialised and thus, mingled with people who were far too inquisitive and thus, she’d had plenty such similar questions of “Why don’t you talk about it?” from those she had come to consider as friends, at times when her immortality had become a burden, but never had she simply told them everything because they asked.
And thus, in Valerian’s instance, that was just not an acceptable excuse; he did it because he wanted to.
“But I swear, Claudia, on everything that is holy to me, that I didn't tell her before I told you because I don't trust you,” he reaffirmed insistently as his words took upon invigorated life. “Or because I trust her more than you."

"It was just that... I felt like I was choking, Claude,” he pleaded his case with a sort of emotive tiredness about him that Claudia felt simply for her affection for him, though her fury at his behaviour. “Like I was being suffocated. The whole thing is just... so big, and I think I may be really in over my head.”
And whose fault was that? The girl’s too, yes, but also Valerian’s for accepting it without coming to her first and making his case.
“It's all my own fault, I'm aware of that,” he admitted in a moment of sheer brightness of mind. Well, there was hope for him yet. “But... It was killing me not to say anything, and when I felt I finally could, when I set out to do so, I saw you talking to that young man, and thought that perhaps you were in a business meeting.”
Fair enough, Valerian had demonstrated his extent of capability in assessing others’ business acumen through their history alone long before this and therefore, Claudia would just accept that – though, she possibly would have been cross indeed if he had interrupted for anything less important than this.
“I didn't want to interrupt. So when I saw my friend, and she asked what had happened... Because I trust her, it all just started pouring out of me,” he explained, as if that was in any way adequate at all – the idea that someone giving him a temptation and him being unable to resist being somewhat of an acceptable explanation, it most certainly wasn’t. “But I trusted you with it first. And I didn't tell her everything. She doesn't know everything."

She commanded the anger that was seething within her, deciding that now was not the time to rage at him, especially when he was teetering so close to simply crashing through tiredness alone; the best decisions were implemented at the appropriate times and right then, Claudia needed time. However, there was one thing that she still had to ask him;

“Do I know everything, Valerian?” she asked calmly, tilting her head ever so slightly in question, yet her words seeming in vague acceptance of his impassioned explanation; “Is there anything more you’d like to divulge, now that you have my full attentions? Or would you like to practice on someone else again first?”

(((OOC: Hope that makes sense )))

"Life is just a chance to grow a soul" - A. Powell Davies
Test Subject
#966 Old 31st Jan 2009 at 11:20 PM
Default Archon & Vevila
There were certain things in Vevila’s life—or lack thereof—that she held very near to her heart, and felt provided deep insights into who she truly was. Who she had been. The small trinkets and various paintings that bedecked her home were some of those objects; they were small snapshots into her human life and even the earliest years of her kindred life. The dark years. The years where she fought with her dying mortal beliefs and her vampiric instincts. The years where she cried and streams of bloody tears rushed over her inhumanly porcelain cheeks like a sinful river. There were paintings of small valleys and grainy photographs of rain-soaked streets, all the places she had wandered when she had become this abomination. It was a museum of memories captured in paintings and sculptures, small decorations with far larger and deep connotations.

Allowing not only one but several strangers into her home was a severe breach of her normal realm of comfort. Usually she would hesitate to even allow close friends into her home—it meant opening up a past to others that even she was quite altogether uncomfortable with. Yet in the presence of Archon she felt that her trivial fears and slight discomfort would mean nothing. He had lived this way for far longer than she had, endured far more and probably far worse. There was nothing to be ashamed of that Archon wouldn’t already have known or witnessed in others. Vevila imagined his guards to be like mannequins; they barely entered and simply to perform a cursory scan of the home. There was no judgment passed, at least not that she would acknowledge.

Her fingers skimmed the cool surface of the marble countertops of the kitchen. She couldn’t help but glance up at Archon’s regally handsome face and search it for some sort of indication of his thoughts. She didn’t want to know what he thought, but simultaneously found herself preoccupied with wondering. She didn’t need his approval, though she wanted it. Her great fear was that she would look up into those bottomless eyes of his and see disapproval or even worse, disgust; but when her eyes met with his she found no such emotion present. He seemed reserved, as he always did, but there was something in the farthest depths of his eyes that seemed to even be slightly entertained. It gave her some comfort to see that look there, even if she had imagined it.

“Here,” he spoke in a smooth, deep tone that caught her by surprise. “Let me take that for you.” Vevila’s almond-shaped eyes disappeared momentarily behind the flutter of her lashes in a confused blink. Certainly she knew that Archon was a gentleman, and that the gentlemanly gesture of offering to carry a woman’s things was a tradition, she somehow had never thought of such a thing in terms of herself. She could picture chivalrous men like Archon being so kind, but for other, more elegant women. Vevila knew that to most men she was attractive, but it was due in her opinion namely to her Toreador embrace rather than any of her own qualities. She felt there was nothing about her that required special treatment, least of all from a mighty Primogen like Archon. It seemed so unfitting to have this powerful, impressive man taking her things and acting as though he was somehow obliged to her.

“O-Oh, Lord DeWinter, that’s not necess—“before she could complete her protest Archon had already gently removed the bag from her grasp, almost without her even noticing. He carefully held it in his hand and let his eyes roam the room once more before gesturing and speaking again in that husky and aristocratic voice of his.

"You have a nice home, Lady van Roemer. Can I assume you enjoy traveling?"

Vevila merely gazed at him for a moment, marveled by his unexpected compliment. How a man of his stature and wealth, a man who lived in a mansion-home, could possibly praise her humble dwelling was a mystery to her. A faint but genuine smile played with her full lips and a look of mirth grew in her eyes.

“You are too kind; my home could never compare to yours, but I truly appreciate the compliment. I’ve done what I can to make it like home.” She let her lips part to expose her two rows of beautiful pearl-like teeth. “I love traveling; though a great many of these moves were out of necessity,” she felt the words catching in her throat but she forced them out, gesturing to the images. “There’s nothing quite as eye-opening as seeing a brand new city in person, hearing different languages and experiencing different histories. There’s nothing like starting anew.” The last phrase had a bittersweet sadness to it, but she spoke with a smile. As he responded, she saw the clock over his shoulder and brought a hand to her lips when she realized just how much of the evening hours she had been stealing from him.

“Lord DeWinter, I’m so sorry; I’ve been wasting your time, which I’m sure is very precious to you. If you need to go anywhere, I will stay out of the way, I promise…” she took a breath, trying to think if there was anywhere she had meant to go. Vevila had considered asking if they could stop by The Haven so she could check for Valerian, to tell him that she was safe and that she was being taken care of—to explain the situation, but she couldn’t bring herself to inconvenience the man who had already shown her so much kindness.

((thanks for the patience, Psyche! Figured I'd leave it open to you if you wanted Archon to respond the picture comment, and whether you wanted them to visit the Haven or go somewhere else. ))

"You must be the change you wish to see in the world." - Ghandi
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#967 Old 1st Feb 2009 at 7:49 AM
Default Ché + Lola - Strip Club
Ché Vargas da Silva's arrival in Los Angeles had been nothing short of an epic experience. Not even a couple weeks in Mexico City could have prepared him for what he encountered once he set foot inside the city of angels. Massive sky scrapers, a myriad of cars of all shapes and sizes - most of which were disgustingly lavish, and the people who talked way too fast for him to understand what the hell they were saying. It was a huge culture shock and, although daunting, Ché was not the sort to let it get to him.. at least not the second time around. A massive challenge it was, Ché was ready for it - or so he made himself believe.

The first thing he did was seek out the Prince - like the good little Cainite he was - and then he was ready for business. Having arrived with a bit of an arsenal - he had little trouble getting it, or himself for that matter, past the border - he had done some research and sought out various pawn shops, trading in numerous hand guns, knives, and ammo for greenbacks, something that even now - a day later - still puzzled him. He had never encounter notes all in one shade. Initially, he had almost jumped the counter and bashed a man's head in when he first saw them, thinking he had been cheated out of a large sum of cash. However, having taken a second look at the money, he realized that it was he, and not the cowering hunk of flesh behind the counter, who was in the wrong.

With money in hand, Ché then moved onto his next mission: securing a nice, dry, dark place to spend his days. He found this in the warehouse district. A paradise in its own right as far as Ché was concerned, he set himself up in an seedy auto shop. By night, however, it would be Ché's castle. Sure, he had lived in nicer places, but this had all the toys he could ever ask for. And, if the current warehouse he was in didn't have what he needed, he could always do some shopping in the neighbouring buildings.

Haven, funds and meeting with the lead f*ckhead taken care of, Ché was now ready to move onto more important matters. Like finding a snack. Or blowing up a Mercedes-Benz showroom. Or plowing a car into the house of a prominent figure-head. The possiblities were pretty endless. But, for now, he'd focus on finding some food. And possibly something less dirty to wear - he had been in the same military fatigues, yellowed white shirt, and sleevesless khaki jacket for the past two weeks.

Exchanging clothes with an unconscious bum, he found the black tee and jumper to fit a bit snug since he still sported the same prison physique he had aquired whilst in Clairvoux - another wonderful perk that came with being Embraced as far as he was concerned - but the pants were baggy enough for him not to care.

Satisfied, his journey lead him to Kitty Rhino Gentlemen's Club. It was the second of its kind that he came across yet the first one was more of a hole in the wall than anything else. And, undead or not, no one wanted to be hustled by a tramp with saggy t*ts, a lazy eye, and a handful of teeth. But, of course, Ché hadn't come to the place for the 'entertainment', like eighty five percent of those in the establishment had. And he hadn't come for companionship, like the other thirteen percent had. No, he was one of the two percent who had come for a snack. The other guy happened to be at the bar sharing beer nuts with some dread-headed, tatted up, junkie dancer.

However, he did come here for the girls, and one rather bitchy looking thing with a really bad boob job had caught his attention. Ché reckoned she needed an attitude adjustment.. and he was just the guy to give her one. However, his striking, caramel eyes caught sight of a very young, and very out of place chinky eyed thing as she sauntered her way over to a table. Why did he find her so distracting? The fact that she was female was the first thing. He knew from experience - not that he made a habit out of going to places like this - that owners of lovely businesses such as this one did not look too kindly upon women being spectators. They were threats. Something that might distract guys from the girls on stage. But, then again, he was new to the city.. things could be different here, but he doubted it. Chalking her up as a tart - an all too nicely dressed one at that - Ché decided that she'd make a nice treat. A little skinny but there was an air about her that didn't sit well with him; he'd be sure to sort her out pretty quick once he got her alone.

Toying with the many things he could do.. and the many interesting ways he could spice up the feeding.. his thoughts were interrupted as a second girl entered and took a seat next to the one he had his eyes on. It was then those vivid eyes narrowed. Apparently, it was just this city..

Having been leaning against the table he was sitting at, one of the few positioned just beyond the reach of the lights, he straightened, arms remaining folded as they slide back to the edge of the table. His thoughts swerved and found a new direction as he plotted ways to make this all work. He didn't really need both of them...

Ché watched as they clucked away like chickens before bringing out pads of paper and turned his gaze away just before the blonde - or so he believed the colour to be judging by the shade of grey he saw - looked at him. His eyes started hunting for that other dancer again, the one with the n*ps that pointed up the the sky, and, finding her, he followed her movements as she sashayed from one patron to another.

Yet, something made him turn his attention back to the two girls. It was the blonde. She was looking right at him. So, Ché set his jaw, squaring it as he leveled his narrow-set eyes on her. It was a dispassionate gaze, one that the blonde would glean nothing from. But one that would, quite likely, unnerve her. Ché held her gaze until she looked away. 'Boa gatinha' he mused as she scribbled away, avoiding eye contact.

He quickly checked on miss n*ps' whereabouts before setting his gaze on the two girls again, noticing the hesitant look the blonde gave him that was, oddly, accompanied by a small smile. Poor thing lacked her danger sense.. Well, that could be fixed. Keeping his vivid gaze on her's, Ché lets a corner of his broad lips turn upward in something just short of a smile. A smug, crooked grin that wasn't meant to be all that inviting. Ché was all brawn.. and very, very little charm. He was use to doing things guerilla-style.. and his way of getting his prey was no different. He was built like a bloody great white and hunted accordingly, preferring quick, powerful, straight forward suprise attacks. None of this 'get to know their feelings' schmoozing and coaxing business.

However, it never hurt to try. And, afterall, he wanted the dark-haired girl's attention, not the one that had a mind to stare at him.

So, he slowly began to move, placing his chunky, military-style boots on the floor before standing and moving with the swagger of an angus bull towards them. Once he entered the reach of the light that sat above them, that blonde might start rethinking that little smile she gave him. No longer cloaked in shadows, his pale, olive-toned face was more visible - as were his scarred features. He was visibly weathered and had the nose of a boxer that had been broken one too many times. He was, obviously, a bruiser.

He stepped around the front of their table, moving to block his target's view of the stage as he took in the details of each of their faces before dropping his bright eyes to the table to see what they had been up to. With a tilt of his head, he reaches over to the blonde's pad and tips it down so he could see exactly what she had been up to, obviously not fazed by the fact that the two might not welcome such a brash move.

"You.." He moved his hand as if holding a pen, trying to pull forth the word. 'Escreve.. escribe.. écrit..'. The word escaped him even though he knew it. However, upon seeing the picture there, he gave a rather low, constrained chuckle. "Draw?" Rhetorical question. Ché wasn't a social creature, so strating up a conversation out of the blue was a bit of a challenge, especially when he wasn't sure if he was using the right words. His accent was strong and the two would probably realize he wasn't just some pale vato off the streets. He studied the little one's drawing before giving a short chuckle through his nose, "Better than me." His 'me' sounding like 'mi'. Damn the language barrier. He really couldn't convey what he wanted to. Melhore do que o autêntico - better than the real thing. His eyes shot up the the owner of the pad and he quirked a bit of a grin before looking back to her friend as he slowly moved around towards her side, gaze dropping down to take in what she had been drawing. Seeing it was a dancer, his lips spread into a smirk, eyes darting up to the blonde, "I like dis one better." His gaze then moved to the one he wanted, "What you name?" Not that he cared..

[[ **edited accordingly** Hope that works for you, robokitty. ]]

// sun is in the sky oh why, oh why would I wanna be anywhere else //
#968 Old 1st Feb 2009 at 6:27 PM
Default Che & Lola - strip bar
If anyone thought that artists were all the same, a quick look through Lola and Grace's sketchbooks would make it abundantly clear--they're not. Grace's full portfolio looks like the collected conceptual work of a comic book artist. On the other hand, Lola's sketchbook succinctly reveals why all the other art students at school refer to her as "Serial Killer."

The thing about artists is that they've learned how to see the world with different eyes. Some artists have an eye for beauty. They paint pretty landscapes, cuddly portraits of puppies, or sickeningly saccharine lovers. Their work says nothing, universally inoffensive, and is mass-produced on Hallmark cards and as stock art on brand new picture frames. Other artists, like Grace, have an eye for a drama. They love drawing the dynamic human body, molding it in expressive poses and letting their pictures tell a story. Their art is packed with the excitement of a pow!, bamf!, shnikt! comic book fight.

Lola's eyes see the world altogether differently. She is an observer, an honest witness to the sick, sad world. A stripper lap dances for a customer, and when the girl turns around, she sees her teasing expression sag; her eyes look distant and tired as she thinks about how that dream of being a supermodel seems so far away. A nine-to-five man is drinking at the bar, and she sees a guy who hates his boring office job and is one s****y day away from going completely f***ing postal. One day away from striking back at the uncaring world, finding some unsuspecting victim, and satisfying his base desires of sex and violence. The veneer of polite society is paper thin, and underneath it people's blood churns dark, violent, and utterly heartbroken.

From across the room Scarface curls his lips in a smirk, and Lola feels like she's just been stabbed. He gets up and closes the distance between them with loping strides and predatory confidence, and she sees him with her artist's eyes. The cruel curve of his lips, his unwavering eyes, a jawline that could hammer down a nail, scars that made you shudder to think of what the other guy looked like when he was done with him. Preternaturally smooth, calm, controlled. She understands what she instinctively knew about him when she laid eyes on him. This guy is a f***ing animal.

A blessing and curse of an artist--a photographic memory and an excrutiatingly vivid imagination, an uncontrollable, primal imagination that thrusts an unbidden image into her mind. She sees he's built strong, and her anatomy book springs alive in her mind--a compendium of naked, virile men with muscles like Greek athletes on 'roids. His body has the kind of raw power that easily could hoist her up, push her against the wall, and pound into hers. Her ankles locked behind his a**, the long scratch marks she leaves on his flesh, the thud as her back hits the wall, sounds of penetration. The scene plays out in her mind with pornographic detail--sweat, skin, screams. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

Scarface hadn't even said a word to her, and she already had a fantasy about f***ing him. Knowing her past taste in men, this guy is trouble.

In the real world, Lola's heart feels lighter, like it's trying to escape from her chest. Her beat quickens, and she feels a sensation between her legs. Her bare thigh brushes against the rough fabric of her purse, and she thinks about the Glock she always carries inside. It calms her, reminds her she still has control.

She composes herself, setting her lips and brow into a grimace as she tries to keep an unexpressive face. This guy is a f***ing animal. She looks defensively into his narrow, burning brown eyes, and her imagination tells her those eyes have watched men die.

"You draw?" he asks brusquely, grabbing the pad from her hands. The banality of the question is so perverse that she'd laugh if she weren't so tense.

Lola nods once in silence, leaning forward to take her sketch back. She looks at her rendering of him, and it seems so inadequate now that she's seen the beast speak and move. On paper, he sits at the table, still--yet somehow oozing with violence. She looks at the space around the table--the space above, the space below--and she knows what's missing. A victim.

"Better than me," Scarface chuckles as he moves towards Grace. Typical guy move: approach the chick you aren't interested in so you don't seem like as big a creep to your real mark. Confidentially, Lola is relieved. She'd rather not chat up the creep, and this gives her a better chance to observe his behavior. Looking back down at her sketch, she vigorously starts to pencil in the missing piece while keeping a close eye on him and Grace.

Seeing Grace's sketch of Candy on a pole, his eyes light in amusement as he says "I like dis one better."

What a big, f***ing surprise. Some seedy a**hole in a skin bar likes a picture of an erotic dancer. Lola thinks sarcastically.

Grace shows she's on a similar wavelength as she grins wryly and ironically responds, "What a shock." Her eyes flit up from her own drawing to meet Scarface's. Lola thinks she sees a spark in them. Oh no, Grace....

"What you're name?" Scarface asks.

"I'm Grace," she says to him, oblivious to his predatorial demeanor (or perhaps intrigued by it). She absentmindedly pulls forward a lock of hair from the nape of her neck and twirls it, pencil still in hand. Her eyes narrow thoughtfully on the man, and she remarks, "You don't sound Mexican. So... do they give people names where you're from?"

((OOC: kelsa, that's great! The only thing, which is really minor, is that Lola & Grace look about the same age (could pass for college, but they have a youthfulness about them that makes them still look at home in high school). I don't know if that would affect how Che describe them. Lola is curvier, and Grace has a more "typical" Asian physique--petite, thin, modest bust. Hope this works too.

Btw, their sketches aren't flat on the table. They're tilted towards their bodies, so in order to see them, Che would either have to grab the pad, sidle up next to them, or peer above them))

.:Kitty Klan:.
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#969 Old 2nd Feb 2009 at 4:06 PM
Default Valerian and Claudia - Valerian's personal chambers
Thought of by most as a young man with many endearing qualities - for even though some may find him appallingly frivolous and hedonistic, they could not deny the kindness and the innocence, the hearty warmth, that always seemed to permeate his very being - it all still went hand in hand with many flaws. Everything, even people's personalities, will in some way find itself the target of the natural forces of yin and yang, opposites that create a balance of sorts, in everything, making 'perfection' not a concept about complete flawlessness, but one about the ultimate balance between the good qualities, and the bad. Not that Valerian was by any means perfect. Far from it. But, nevertheless, he was the perfect example of it all, because the endearing qualities in him did inevitably bring with them quite a few lesser ones, as had been perfectly illustrated this evening; there could be no innocence, without a little bit of thoughtlessness, and there could be no unbridled passion, without a certain spontaneous streak.

In short, Valerian did at times have a poor impulse control, that was true. In that, Claudia was absolutely right when thinking along those very lines. Whenever he found himself truly tempted, he would find it hard to resist. Hard, but not always impossible. Because frivolous or not, he never got so thoughtless, so careless, that he put others at risk, or intentionally and completely aware of it betrayed a trust. He didn't truly have it in him to be decietful and conniving, and if ever he hurt someone, he himself would be hurting as well because of it. And while he was slightly naive, in his stubborn trust in the good in everyone, he also trusted one of his very strongest qualities without fail; his intuition. It warned him from putting an all too dangerous amount of trust where it wasn't well deserved, and it allowed him to see where it truly could be placed, without fear of having it all blow up in his handsome face.

But when that sense of complete trust was present, and temptation, or, as had been the case this evening, release and comfort were offered, he would not be able to resist it, because in his mind, there would be no reason to. Yes, telling Claudia about the state of things before he told Moira would have probably been the most correct thing to do, but not the only correct thing to do, and since his sense of trusting Claudia with it had been so strong before he'd even met Moira that night, it had felt to him as though on some level he had already told Claudia about it. And on just a single level like he had not. It was that one single level had even further driven him to tell Moira first; the anxiety that had filled him at the thought of telling Claudia, knowing there would probably be hell to pay before her temper cooled and he'd be able to find solace, whereas Moira had immediately offered him the comfort he'd been in such a dire need of, without an ounce of torment to go with it.

Not that Claudia didn't have the right to be cross with him for having lied to her, but more often than not, her own feelings and opinions on a matter tended to take precedence to his, and only once they had been thouroughly expressed and tended to by him, was it Valerian's turn to nurture his. And by then, he'd usually be so eager to keep Claudia in a fairly good and benevolent mood, that his focus remained there, at the expense of what he himself might be in need of, and so he simply substituted it with the comfort of her arms and her touch.

It was no fault of hers, and it was no fault of his. It was just yet another aspect of how very different they were, and how they tried to make it work. Valerian by folding, and Claudia by in the end giving him the affection she knew he always sought.

Although this time, Valerian couldn't help but feel that they were heading towards quite a different outcome. Perhaps this time, their respective reasonings were too different to pave way for the usual route of her tearing into him, and him submitting to her and trying his best to appease her, landing the two of them at the point where they would literally kiss and make up. Because this time, anger wasn't the only thing present in Claudia's eyes. There was hurt as well, and disappointment. Two things that once incited in her, were not easily soothed. And even the way that she seemed to for once hold back her fury instead of unleashing it on him, had him fearing that this truly would not end well.

"Do I know everything, Valerian?" she asked him firmly, though her voice carried a calm that only Claudia could achieve despite the fire he knew had to be burning behind those penetrating eyes. Which, had he not already had an inkling, he would have surely realized once she continued, with acrid bitterness staining her tone of voice; "Is there anything more you'd like to divulge, now that you have my full attentions? Or would you like to practice on someone else again first?"

However, for the sake of keeping the conversation to the point, instead of possibly annoying her by once again setting off to proclaim how he hadn't actually and truly trusted someone else before her, Valerian simply winced slightly in remorse at those last couple of words, but refrained from commenting on them. Instead, he remained silent for a couple of seconds while trying to decide on what to do, now that he finally found himself faced with the situation he had known was bound to arise, yet had hoped desperately would not. He had to make a choice; to tell Claudia what Aeode had asked him to be discreet about, or to earn even more of her disappointment and anger, by telling her he couldn't reveal everything to her either. Because he wouldn't simply lie, and say that yes, she did indeed know everything. If he did that - even if he could do that - it would just lead him right back to where he had started, and he would have accomplished nothing but doing harm to his relationship with Claudia.
There was no way he could avoid telling her. Especially not since telling her would still keep him within the frames of honoring Aeode's trust in him. She had asked him to be discreet, and even though she herself was nowhere close trusting Claudia, Valerian did, and knew that he could trust her to not tell anyone, if he asked her not to. Furthermore, Aeode had told him that if her identity posed a problem, she would understand, and that all that she asked for was time. Now, granted, an hour or two wasn't much time, but he had told her that this evening he would have to tell Claudia about what was going on. And Aeode hadn't asked him not to. She hadn't even asked him for more time, perhaps finally having reached a point where she trusted that he was truly trying to do what he had told her; save her life, and keep her as safe as possible. She had merely thanked him, though whether it had been for the heads up, or for his efforts altogether, he wasn't sure. Still, either way, he had given her both time and a chance to protest, and even though there was not much she could do with the former, without knowingly risking her life, she had decided to decline the latter.
Therefore, there was no way he could possibly neglect telling Claudia the whole truth.

"No", he thus said slowly, his voice fairly firm but his gaze cast slightly downward, locked on something far off in a distant dimension. "No, you do not."

There, his pale yet intensely blue gaze suddenly regained it's focus, almost as though he had just been awakened from deep thought, and it turned to finally meet with Claudia's.

"You know more than her", he continued, still not mentioning Moira by name. "But not everything. And I need your word that you won't use any of it to harm or otherwise get at Annie, before I can tell you. Lord Alexander has shown great leniency and compassion, and trusted me to keep her out of trouble. And that is what I intend to do."

(((ooc: Everyone - Black Sheep has contacted me to let us all know that due to personal reasons, she will probably turn inactive, until the start of the next night.)))

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
#970 Old 2nd Feb 2009 at 8:50 PM

Connor and Moira - Backstage at Club Envy

Moira couldn't recall seeing such deep fatigue engraved in the lines of Connor's features, making them appear aged in the artificial light streaming dubiously from a murky ceiling lamp. In her eyes, it was a reminder of his mortality, and of his limitations. Exhaustion, however, was easily enough cured by a good night's rest. Having seen the angst slowly drain out of his expression as poison is drained from a wound, Moira herself experienced a kind of balmy serenity, having overcome a personal trial of her own, crowned by the exultant realization that she no longer had a need to constantly taint Connor's perception of her and Kindred in general, not to mention the ever-present reality of their inevitable separation weighed down on her consciousness no more.

Faced with an offer most humans could never hope to receive, Connor's eyes lit up with interest – as well as a hint of incredulity– as Moira revealed what Kindred arcana was capable of; at the same time, she made a mental note to have a good, long discussion about all Disciplines he might find himself a target of and signs he could use to recognize them. When it came to confronting Kindred, prevention was often the best policy for a human. The young man's enthusiasm waned considerably once he was informed that he would not be gaining superhuman abilities overnight and that even a small amount of success entailed gruelling work, though a smile filled with -albeit reluctant- understanding lingered on his lips until the end, signalling that though he wasn't looking forward to the hard work, he accepted Moira's offer to start training. Personally, she felt reassured by the fact that the process would be gradual and lengthy, for she would not have liked the idea of Connor with Kindred abilities at his disposal from one day to the next. The temptation to use them would have been great for a human, any human, and it remained imperative that he only used his new-found knowledge in emergencies. Much like their association, Moira intended to keep Connor's tutelage a secret: ghouls with Disciplines were a rarity, and Kindred in general were wary of them. In most cases, a Domitor went trough the trouble of sharing their arcane knowledge with a thrall for one purpose only: to 'improve' them, creating a better spy or tool to use against a rival. All these were of course notions Moira wished to keep out of the minds of her peers, and especially her rivals. Furthermore, having never attempted to teach Disciplines to a mortal, the entire arrangement would prove to be a challenge for her as well, needing plenty of thought and preparation.

"Wait...", Connor interjected, suddenly remembering something completely different. "The lady at the bar... The blonde, the, the... harpy. I got the feeling she was Kindred. I don't know why, it was just a gut feeling. I think. Is that possible? Or am I being paranoid?"

Moira slanted her eyes at him: it was the second time he'd mentioned a woman he suspected to be Kindred, something she'd meant to mention later, but it would appear that the opportunity had just presented itself to her. With a measure of surprise, it occurred to Moira that she most likely knew who Connor meant by “blonde harpy at the bar”, for she remembered quite clearly seeing Valerian with the woman he'd come to Envy to find, his partner, who, coincidentally, happened to be blonde, and how many blonde Kindred was Connor likely to have come across at the same bar within the same time frame? As for the poignant description of “harpy”, Moira had to wonder...she didn't know her so it was difficult to pass judgement, but she did know Valerian was frightened to reveal the truth to her, concerning that girl he'd been charged with. She'd have to ask Connor about it again later, and find out exactly what the deal was.

Just then, several loud noises blasted irreverently through their quiet conversation, bringing it to an abrupt stop:

"Connor!" shouted one of his band mates. "They're asking for you outside!"

Once Connor had assured him he'd be out shortly, he turned his eager gaze back at Moira who looked contemplative.

“It is entirely possible,” she replied at length, nodding slowly as though she was still considering the matter herself, but when continuing her tone held no hesitation “In fact, if the woman you speak of is who I think it is, you're absolutely correct. I see you've developed a knack for sensing other Kindred – good, trust it. The ability to pass correct judgement will in many cases prove more valuable than anything I can teach you.”

The sound of cheering could be heard growing in intensity on the other side of the wall, along with the incessant drum beats of club music. Tucking a strand of hair behind Connor's ear, Moira leaned in and bestowed a soft kiss on his mouth.

“There will be time to discuss all of this later though, once it's had some time to settle in. Now, go, meet your fans – a few of them saw us walk in here, their imaginations must be running wild by now.” she added and gathered her lips into a sly pucker, eyes twinkling with amusement: Connor's tired and rather dishevelled appearance would play straight into their assumptions.

If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets
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#971 Old 3rd Feb 2009 at 7:33 PM

Alright everyone, since we're now reaching 1.000 posts, and the rules state that once that happens, it's time to start a new thread, that's what I'll be doing in the next couple of minutes. However, it's only a new thread that will be started. It won't effect where characters are currently doing and where they are at. We'll start right where we finish off in here.

Vampire the Masquerade-Bloodlines (part 3)

You are all welcome to re-post your applications, for the sake of keeping things as tidy as possible, and for apps to still be available, should this current thread ever be archived.

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
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#972 Old 17th May 2009 at 1:59 PM
Posting for non-purge purposes.

my simblr (sometimes nsfw)

“Dude, suckin’ at something is the first step to being sorta good at something.”
Panquecas, panquecas e mais panquecas.
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