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[IC] Vampire: The Masquerade - The Restless City
cj iwakura
The Rhythm RegentBears The Name FreedomRegistered User regular
The Rhythm RegentBears The Name FreedomRegistered User regular
This is the in-character thread for a Vampire: The Masquerade Campaign, OOC thread here.
All posts from here on should be in character, OOC posts/clarifications should either be in a spoiler tag or in the OOC thread.
Dice rolls can be done either via Geth or off-site and linked to, whichever is preferable, ideally in a spoiler tag.
The Players
Grunt's Ghosts, Lizzy Hell (Malkavian) - 8 Blood (Starting)
AustinP0027, Alexander Jones (Toreador) - 4 Blood (Starting)
Fencingsax, Maxwell Smart (Toreador) - 9 Blood (Starting)
Boozer, Bobby 'Bulldog' Lenko (Brujah) - 12 Blood (Starting)
Maclay, Danny Whelan (Malkavian) - 7 Blood (Starting)
Ardent, Deacon 'Deke' Braithwaite (Toreador) - 8 Blood (Starting)
Anyone who wishes to engage in a hunt or use a background to up their blood count for the evening should send me a PM.
____________________________
Something about this evening seems unusually quiet. Even in the nicer parts of the city, one would at least expect the sounds of traffic, sirens, gunfire, or all of the above, whether near or far.
Upon exiting your haven, you experience only the dead still of night. The immediate street is utterly empty, as if frozen in time.
Then it catches your notice. A nearby streetlamp flickers on, off, on, off, then brightens to a fixed, almost blinding glow.
Finally, the light goes black. Traffic resumes. Cabs begin to drive by, pedestrians come into view, and a siren finally rings out. Home, sweet home.
And attached to the pole is a flyer that on any other night would be easily overlooked, yet somehow compels your attention.
It appears as if it was printed on standard paper, but the formal engraved text and an unfamiliar sigil's mark suggests otherwise.
One Night Only - The Pyramids - Performing Live! - Radio City Music Hall, 11PM, Sharp.
Dress to impress, state your name at the door. Strictly Enforced.
After reading the last sentence, the flyer crumbles to dust.
All posts from here on should be in character, OOC posts/clarifications should either be in a spoiler tag or in the OOC thread.
Dice rolls can be done either via Geth or off-site and linked to, whichever is preferable, ideally in a spoiler tag.
The Players
Grunt's Ghosts, Lizzy Hell (Malkavian) - 8 Blood (Starting)
AustinP0027, Alexander Jones (Toreador) - 4 Blood (Starting)
Fencingsax, Maxwell Smart (Toreador) - 9 Blood (Starting)
Boozer, Bobby 'Bulldog' Lenko (Brujah) - 12 Blood (Starting)
Maclay, Danny Whelan (Malkavian) - 7 Blood (Starting)
Ardent, Deacon 'Deke' Braithwaite (Toreador) - 8 Blood (Starting)
Anyone who wishes to engage in a hunt or use a background to up their blood count for the evening should send me a PM.
____________________________
Something about this evening seems unusually quiet. Even in the nicer parts of the city, one would at least expect the sounds of traffic, sirens, gunfire, or all of the above, whether near or far.
Upon exiting your haven, you experience only the dead still of night. The immediate street is utterly empty, as if frozen in time.
Then it catches your notice. A nearby streetlamp flickers on, off, on, off, then brightens to a fixed, almost blinding glow.
Finally, the light goes black. Traffic resumes. Cabs begin to drive by, pedestrians come into view, and a siren finally rings out. Home, sweet home.
And attached to the pole is a flyer that on any other night would be easily overlooked, yet somehow compels your attention.
It appears as if it was printed on standard paper, but the formal engraved text and an unfamiliar sigil's mark suggests otherwise.
One Night Only - The Pyramids - Performing Live! - Radio City Music Hall, 11PM, Sharp.
Dress to impress, state your name at the door. Strictly Enforced.
After reading the last sentence, the flyer crumbles to dust.
cj iwakura on
+7
Posts
Max will then head to RCMH to arrive about 10:30
Tonight, however, Alex was just one of the crowd. He had thrown on what could be considered a casually stylish outfit, jeans and a tighter shirt that accentuated his toned physique, and he was considering wandering over to a club that was just a couple blocks away. He might have considered jumping in his car, it was a small miracle that he even had one considering almost no one did, but Emanuel continued to splurge on his childer, paying for the apartment and the expensive parking spot that went with it so that Alex could get around whenever he desired. Instead, the Toreador was going to walk, take in the night air, and tonight especially, he felt like drawing a little attention to himself. His conversion hadn't dampened his ego any, and with the enhancements it had provided his looks and his general charisma, Alex tended to draw people in wherever he went. Sometimes it could be an annoyance, but most of the time he bathed in the adoration and attention, seeking it out as he was intending to tonight.
As his feet hit the front steps, much lighter than they should have had he been simply human, his attention was drawn outward, to the silence of the street. This was New York city. There was no silence in the streets, so it immediately produced a wrongness in the air that couldn't have been ignored even if he had wanted to. The blonde man looked up and down the street, noting there were no cars active and no pedestrians anywhere to be found. It stood the hairs on the back of his head up, and his postured tensed a little as if preparing for something to attack.
The flickering from the streetlight drew his attention immediately. Any fool could have known that they shouldn't have behaved that way, but to a vampire, it was a sign of potentially more. Four flickers and then blinding light before going out, that was strange. As it died, the streets returned to normal, sound rushed into his ears, and signs of life returned. The lamp post was fixed in Alex's attention, however, as his feet drew him straight towards it. His hand moved almost on it's own to pick up the flyer, which after a quick perusal, crumbled into dust.
What should have been a feeling of fear or possibly suspicion only held anticipation for the tall man. This was going to be so much more exciting than anything he had originally planned. And with an ominous invitation, he could only imagine the people who could be there, new people for him to impress, seduce, or whatever else he possibly could have desired. With a quick turn, he headed straight back to his door to go upstairs and change. Dress to impress, it had said. That was certainly one of the skills that he excelled at.
“If it’s a trap, it’s either not specifically for me or it’s someone stupid enough to think I’d fall for it. If it’s not a trap, they either don’t know me very well or it’s someone stupid enough to think I’d trust a message like that. It might be a test. What happens if I don’t show? What was the sigil? Should I call Ana? No. Not unless I have too. I just shouldn’t go… Pyramids… Too obvious to be a conspiracy… Someone with power… Tremere? Contact was generic, I’m probably not the only one going, same boat, is that good or bad? Nothing to say whoever’s behind it will just stop if I ignore it. Very big, very public venue, easy to disappear. If there's something going on, at least I can gain some intel, don't have to stumble around in the dark.”
Standing with a sigh of exasperation, Danny considered his outfit. ‘Dress to Impress.’ Impress who? Radio City… His current black jacket over forest-green shirt look was tidy enough, but as a precaution he grabbed a tie and shoved it in his pocket.
“Fuck my life.”
He left immediately. He wanted to take the scenic route, throw off any prying eyes, maybe approach the building from an unexpected angle.
This sort of thing happened in the outer boroughs, not Manhattan. Especially not Midtown. This was the showpiece, the part of New York meant to sparkle for the naive, the insipid, the rubes. As the lights grow to a pulsating brightness, that almost sort of hurts Deke, they're back to normal again suddenly, the rush of sound Deke hadn't realized had fallen away returning as his senses linger on the newly-revealed presence of a single flyer.
He pulls it up and reads the invitation. Smiling, he takes a look around -- pointlessly, he's sure, as whomever delivered it likely wouldn't reveal themselves. He's already dressed to the nines, a silvery-grey suit and black shirt with white jacquard on black tie. A tight pair of Italian loafers. The kind of outfit that draws stares from less stylish passerby.
He's only a few blocks away, and so takes his time, intending to arrive close to the appointed hour.
Elizabeth's night was already going sour. She had awaken to find that she was wanted to listen to "a new sound" only to find the band called Rusted Spokes to be a city raised hipster group that was a carbon copy of Mumford and Sons, right down to the long jackets and crappy beards. What was it with people and unkempt beards that made them think they could sing? Lizzy left the studio and started down the street, throwing the demo cd into the first trash bin she found.
That's when she noticed the silence. New York City had been great at hiding the fact that Elizabeth had lost her musical muse, the strange notes in her mind that had seemed to know more about what was going on then Lizzy herself knew. But the sudden silent just from turning a corner set her on edge. The lone street lamp flickered a few times before going completely out, leaving the Malkavian with the flyer. As the paper crumbles away and the pieces float off into the wind, Elizabeth watches it as it mixes with the crowd of young hipsters and wannabes that Williamsburg has attracted. The Pyramids seemed like a band that she would know, being part of the music scene off and on for three decades...
He felt so good that it wasn't till the streetlight started flickering that he realized how fucking quiet it was. Glancing around, Bulldog shrugged and grabbed the lone flyer. His mouth moved a little as he read the it, nodding with interest until he got to the last line. Dress to impress, state your name at the door. Strictly Enforced.
Glancing down at his worn jeans and leather jacket, the big man grunted. "Mother fucker. Looks like I gotta go get my suit." Bulldog hopped onto his chopper and headed to his favored crashpad over in Astoria, to go get his monkey suit out of mothballs. He wasn't a fan of these proms, but he'd been around long enough to know this one wasn't optional.
Flicking through his bare closet, Lenko hesitated a moment over his Cut. The leather vest, covered in the few patches he had earned with the Outlaws before being turned, was one of his most prized possessions. He smiled at the idea of wearing it instead, but decided it was too risky. Knowing these fucks, they'd destroy it for the insult of wearing it there. Bulldog thought to himself.
Instead he put on his suit, one of a couple he had had custom made to fit over his 6'6", 300 lb frame. It was simple, black with a white shirt and a black tie, but well tailored. He put his black hair into a short ponytail and combed his short beard to a point, before heading out to Radio City Music Hall.
PSN: Boozer_777
Then they seem to have second thoughts. Something else catches their attention. Another landmark, a taxi cab, even a mugger snatching someone's purse, causing them to give chase(which seems unlikely to do any good).
Whatever scares off the masses doesn't seem to faze you. As you approach, the lights of the sign seem to flicker. Then the sign which had, until previously, been advertising the latest Broadway smash, now simply states "Pyramid Invitational - One Night Only - New Members Welcome."
Beneath the beckoning marquee, the doors await. A fair-skinned woman in a black evening dress stands between each set of doors, and the interior beyond seems inexplicably dark.
You could try to pass by her, but somehow you suspect that will not be easily done- if at all possible.
Every so often she crosses her arms, tapping black painted nails against her forearms. Whoever she's waiting for, they have yet to arrive.
He tries to spot anyone else watching, either with an invitation, or an intention to enter. He sees no one special among the throng. Is it just me? Can't be. Maybe I'm early? Or late. Max sees the woman standing at the doors.I really hope that they don't hate my clothes. Max takes an unnecessary breath to steady himself, and approaches the famed venue.
He walks up to the waiting woman "Max Smart. I understand you have a ticket waiting for me?"
The cab arrives with five minutes to spare. The whole trip Elizabeth keep thinking about all the ways this could be a trap. Seattle may have been 20 years ago, but for vampires, it could be yesterday for all they cared. She should have stayed in Alaska, at least the worst she had to deal with was werewolves and nosy human police.
Seeing the mortal masses avoid the place was funny to her. Had to be Tremere doing, which explained the paper and the lights (although she kinda figured it out then), and that worried her even more. If anyone could set a trap, it would be the Tremere. And while she never really dealt with the Nosferatu, she had heard from the few vampires who weren't scared of her rep that there were those who weren't happy with the new reign. Not enough to stage a full rebellion but enough that any new ruler might want to squash them in one quick swoop. And who better to invite to this party then the poster girl of a rebellion? Maybe her mind was just running wild, paranoia seems to run in her clan, maybe insanity was finally digging into her deeper.
Seeing the lady at the door, the Musical Malk guess that was where she introduced herself.
"My name is Elizabeth Hailion, should be on your list.
or Lizzy Hell if you should insist."
"Oh yeah, the riot grrl. Give up on the debut?"
"The lobby's open to you. Nothing else."
"It all depends on what is showing this evening on how I feel like leaving." Lizzy flashes a sharp smile before making her way into the lobby and it's den of vicious beasts.
Vampire engagements, however, were a different story. There were a lot of similarities between the two situations, but there were a whole list of additional rules that fell into place. Each hierarchy had it's own hierarchy, and right now, Alex wasn't in a situation that he fully understood his place in the hierarchy yet. And so, he arrived a few minutes before 11, dressed in a carefully picked deep blue navy suit jacket with matching pants, along with a white undershirt adorned with a solid blue tie. His silver tie clip, etched with a small signal associated with his sire held the tie in place. The blonde man took a moment to readjust his white pocket square, the brief hesitation allowing him to watch a woman enter the building, as another man stood at the doorway still.
His brown leather shoes clicked nosily as he approached the entrance to the theater, a smile breaking across his face as his social graces turned themselves on immediately.
"Hello there, Alex Jones. I believe that you'll find my name on your list." The smile never faltered as he spoke, and neither did his eye contact with the woman he had approached. Toreador's tended to be flirtatious, and Alex was no exception to that, but there was a time and place for flirtation, and given the look on the face of the brunette he had approached, neither was now.
"Danny. W-Whelan?"
"Maybe you'll have better luck inside."
"Someone'll get you up to speed inside. Maybe." For the last arrival, she gestures behind her, making a faux beckoning motion to the interior.
New arrivals were always fun.
He entered the doors as she motioned him in, firing his little quip as he quickly entered the theater.
"Bulldog, Bulldog Lenko." he says with an easy smile. The smile fades when he only gets a cold stare in response. Sighing, he adds under his breath, "My first name is Bobby."
PSN: Boozer_777
"I'd stick to Bobby, if you want to make any good impressions... best of luck with that."
"Hope you don't expect anyone to valet that shit for you." She'd happily stay and watch it get towed if it came to that.
"Right... guess I'll be back then." Bulldog sprints back to his bike, to quickly park it at a nearby overpriced parking garage.
PSN: Boozer_777
"Deacon Braithwaite. I should be on the list. I suppose there is a chance my Sire arranged this; is Magdalena here?"
Max's name dropping of the Patron seems to darken the woman's expression for a moment, then it passes, and she motions to the door. "Close enough."
When Deacon finally arrives, she seems to have finally been about to abandon her post and enter the building. Then he gets a look of disdain for ruining that plan.
"Again with this fucking list. You're a bit early for fashionably late." She never got to be in the loop about that shit. Never, ever.
"Oh, her. Christ, it's turning into a regular art gallery in there. Try not to stare at the walls or anything? Creeps out the locals something fierce."
She then waves Deacon on by, as well as the biker upon his eventual return. It doesn't take long to find a relatively more legal location to place the bike at. The meters even seem to have been covered for the indefinite future.
Once through the doors, the darkness gradually fades, before dissipating altogether, revealing a well-lit lobby. It appears just like any theater would in the moments of anticipation before a curtain rising, although the lighting has been perceptively dimmed. The concession stands are empty, though a few wandering attendants pass by every so often. They seem to be normal event staff, apart from having a spaced-out look in their eyes. Every so often one passes by offering glasses of red liquid that, somehow, you suspect consists of something other than blush wine.
There are other scattered faces, with distinctly paler features, though none are immediately familiar.
Any doors to the event hall itself are either locked or attended by similar uniformed figures, none of whom are inclined to move one inch.
No one looked like much of a threat, but then again, Vonner didn't look that tough either, and he could paint the walls with your brains before you could say a word. Which was useful, considering what some of these assholes could do to you if they got a word in.
Nah, Vonner had warned him not to underestimate anyone. But old habits died hard.
PSN: Boozer_777
Secret Illuminati Event Knocks Dozens Dead At Radio City Music Hall Lizzy thinks to herself as she finds a corner that hopefully will give her a defensive position for when the Tremere's trap strikes but close enough to an exit door that she could run if someone decided to burn the place down. Paranoid? This was Elysium but so was the Space Needle and she can recall that night like a historian can recall the Gettysburg Address. The only thing keeping this whole show from coming apart was the very things they ate. Vampires didn't want to be in the light, didn't want to be known by their prey. But everyone can twist a story... Damnit, she was paranoid. She scanned the room for any signs of a trap. She might not be able to spot the magical voodoo stuff, but people have tells.
Geth roll 5#1d10 for Tremere Trap Tracking
As a life- and unlife-long New Yorker, this is hardly Deke's first time inside Radio City Music Hall, although he does have to keep his eyes from wandering over the artwork. The Toreador had learned, the hard way, that allowing himself to focus on beautiful objects was very dangerous. Especially in a place like this, where a knife likely hovered bare inches from his back.
The good thing about a tie is that it makes for a nice improvised weapon that won't be picked up by security. Obviously, choking a vampire is a questionable strategy but their minions or other potential threats are a different story, and even with vampires the ability to bind a limb even momentarily can give you an advantage that could ensure you make it through the night. Danny wore his loosely, so that he could pull it free in a single fluid motion.
Still, standing around silently, no matter how suspicious of the environment, was boring. The blonde man grabbed one of the glasses that were being handed out and sauntered over towards one of the other men who was also dressed similarly.
"Well then, certainly an interesting way to start a party don't you think?"
Some minutes pass, and the woman who had previously been watching the door enters, wasting no time in taking a glass from one of the nearby servants and making a pointed display of a long sip. "I hate open house." With that muttered remark, the half emptied glass is then set down as she clears her throat, making an attempt to sound somewhat official.
"By voice of the Harpy, this will serve as Elysium for the night. If anyone here seeks acknowledgement under... House and Clan's auspices, make yourselves known." Emphasizing the nature of the rule still did not come easily. "Especially if you have any Status I ought to know about. If you walk out of that door without presenting yourself, the Scourge will be talking with you next. He's not as nice as I am. The Prince will be in attendance later this evening if anyone has any grievances. If it can't wait, take it to the Primogen until then. If you don't know who that is, I'll put you in touch with them. If there isn't one, you're welcome to volunteer." With that less-than-inspirational greeting, the woman lowers her voice and remains near one of the ascending staircases.
Not wanting to be here anymore, Lizzy decided that she needed to get this over with. Walking up to the lady, she gave her a small smile.
"Again, I am Elizabeth Hailion of the Malkavian Clan.
And I was done with this party before it began.
So who is the Malkavian face in this city
That "represents" me in this Kindred committee?"
Walking towards the brunette, he arrives just as another vampire declares, though, in a less than gracious way. Of course it's a Malkavian. Tsk, tsk. So rude.. Before the mystery woman who appears to be hosting them has a chance to respond, Alex interjects.
"Hardly the way to show gratitude to someone who has opened their door and provided hospitality." Alex put on a broad smile, as if that would pull the sting from his rebuke. He turned to the brunette to whom the Malkavian had addressed and dipped his head slightly in deference. "Alexander Jones, of Clan Toreador. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss....."
Geth, roll 4d10o10h8 for Mind Your Manners, Deacon
He watched as a gaggle of guests sauntered up to the person who seemed to be acting as host at the moment. Gee, what's the rush guys? he thought to himself, I guess 'Join or Die' has that effect on people. Still, maybe he wasn't obligated to wait around for the Prince that was promised. Maybe he just had to do this one thing and he would be allowed to leave. Probably not.
Wandering up to the group, Danny waited for a gap in the conversation. Be polite. He reminded himself.
"Hey, hi, hello, sorry for my brevity earlier, the invite didn't exactly say what this was going to be, so naturally I assumed deathtrap." His eyes wandered the room. "Not completely convinced otherwise yet." He smiled. "Anyway. Feel free to stop me when I've said everything I'm legally required to say."
"My name is Danny Whelan, that's what it's always been, I don't really know if I'm supposed to be picking a new one at some point, haven't found anything on the procedure yet.
I'm a part of Clan Malkavian. Malkavia? My sire was The Smiling Man, or at least that's how I know him, he apparently doesn't always use the same name. I don't know what name he is officially recognized by, but if you know him, you'd know him.
I mostly assist Ana, in research, unofficially I guess? But not secretly, it's not a secret. At all. I wouldn't be saying it if it was a secret. Right? I guess she likes my brain or whatever.
If you're just looking for someone to throw a punch, I guess I'm not the worst at that either?
...
...
Am I done yet?"
Soon after that the doorwoman insisted on getting their names again. Bulldog waited for some of the others to go ahead, since he wasn't sure what she meant by House and Clan auspices, or if he had any status she should know about. You needed to speak goddamn Latin to make sense of half of what she had said.
Once Whelan said his thing, Bulldog walked up and reintroduced himself. "I'm Bobby Lenko, Brujah. My Sire is Nathaniel Vonner."
PSN: Boozer_777
You do not want to be on a Harpy's bad side.
Elizabeth is soon the warm recipient of a 'look here, bitch' expression, though it doesn't yet reflect in the woman's tone. "You hadn't made mention of your clan before. And now you have, not to say I'm surprised. At least the artist knows some respect. Your acknowledgement can wait. You are 'done' by my graces, or you are 'done' with this city. Is that clear enough for you? Until further notice, you have no status for the evening. Behave yourself and maybe I'll change my mind."
The smart-mouthed woman is then ignored in favor of the Toreador calling himself Alex. "Well met. You are Acknowledged. The Seneschal is acting as your Primogen for the time being, and he should be along soon. I think some others of your clan are expected, so feel free to mingle with them until then." And for the first time that evening, the artiste receives a rare flicker of a smile. "Sybil, Ventrue."
Then, Max. "You could say that. Speak of the rose, you two should get along swimmingly. You are also Acknowledged."
Oh hell, another one. That reaction is equally plain on the woman's face as she reacts to the other Malkavian, Danny's prattling.
"...I have no idea what the hell you just said or who the hell your sire is, but behave and you can be Acknowledged." Sybil then motions to Elizabeth. "Keep your girl over there in check, before she gets herself kicked out. The Regentia won't take kindly to her lip."
Lastly, the Brujah is appraised, with some surprise. "Well met, Bobby. I would have expected a much different attitude given how your previous clanmates have acted in the city, but maybe you come from nicer stock. Though I guess such attitudes have already been given their quota, if not how I expected. Your Primogen is late, as usual, but until such a time... You are as Acknowledged. Most of your fellows aren't much for Elysium, I trust you understand, but at least one of them manages to show their face to get their voice heard in Council. Sometimes."
Sybil then leaves the newly(and not so much) Acknowledged to their business, waiting for whomever else remains.