Devon turned to smiled calmly down at the juvenile looking vampire and give a nod of greeting. "Many wondering thoughts enter a mind and then flitter away like so much smoke, Little Sister. The world is too caught up in itself to bother with people having a conversation, I think."
Taking the unspoken advice however, he nodded his leave to each in turn and passed Jack and the guard to move further into the building. He hadn't gone far before meeting yet another of the undead. Fate had not steared wrong in bringing him out this night.
"Evening, Brother," he returned to the Englishman. He did not think they had met either. "Possibly you have not. I've kept myself in seclusion for the past while, though the city has been my home for some time. Whatever that means to us."
Vampire: Fresh Crimes and Ancient Sins
Moderator: Thanas
Gweneviere Godwin rose sluggishly from her daytime rest. A combination of jetlag and her own dislike of traveling far from what she considered her home territory had made her attempts at a peaceful rest laughable. Still, she was in Vancouver to conduct her Sire's business properly, and she had always done her best to please him.
A shower with her favorite scented soap drove away the unease for the nonce. The little items that she managed to pack helped bring a touch of home to the cozy 2-bedroom house she had rented for her stay in town. Since she was unsure of how long her business would take, the small house in this nice upscale neighborhood was far better than a simple flat.
She did not ask how Sir William Godwin had found the cozy little house, nor how it was available for her to move into immediately. If she needed to know, he would tell her, or she could discover it from her own investigations. The latter would please her Sire more, showing once again how well he had trained her.
Gweneviere dressed for her meeting with the Prince. Following a polite tradition, she had written to him a couple weeks prior to forewarn him of her arrival in his Demense, and had sent a messenger to his place of business with a sealed notice the very night she landed. The note had begged his indulgence in allowing her to set up her living arrangements before presenting herself to his court in person in a week's time.
It had also allowed time for the remainder of her belongings to arrive.
After one last careful check in the mirror, she walked through the spotless kitchen out into the garage, pressing the remote key to unlock and warm up her one indulgence. The DB9 Coupe purred to life as she slid into the heated leather seat, perfectly adjusted in six dimensions and molded to her body. Another remote opened the garage door, allowing the midnight blue coupe to slink out into the August night. Her destination for the evening was the Museum, and it did not take long for the sleek 2+2 coupe to traverse the distance, even at city speeds.
Finding a parking space easily at this evening hour, Gwen took note of the two men and young lady at the door before they ambled inside, leaving the guard to himself. Something about his posture and attitude made her wonder if he was a ghoul servant. It would be something to remember, if he were.
She walked up the steps, her low heels clicking softly. No high heels, leave those to the fancy Toreador, but comfortable pumps that softly spoke of quality. Her pantsuit was also quietly dress business; it did not scream the designer's brandname, but quietly whispered of careful tailoring in a small shop that had clothed nobles for nearly two centuries.
The muted colors fit well with her coloring, mahogany hair that framed her face. Clear blue-grey eyes were touched with just enough makeup to have them stand out amongst features that held a simple, classic beauty. Gweneviere's looks would not stop a man dead in his tracks, but there was a quiet presence to her that drew the eye, speaking of breeding and class.
Gweneviere was a Ventrue of a lineage long known in Britiania, and it showed.
A shower with her favorite scented soap drove away the unease for the nonce. The little items that she managed to pack helped bring a touch of home to the cozy 2-bedroom house she had rented for her stay in town. Since she was unsure of how long her business would take, the small house in this nice upscale neighborhood was far better than a simple flat.
She did not ask how Sir William Godwin had found the cozy little house, nor how it was available for her to move into immediately. If she needed to know, he would tell her, or she could discover it from her own investigations. The latter would please her Sire more, showing once again how well he had trained her.
Gweneviere dressed for her meeting with the Prince. Following a polite tradition, she had written to him a couple weeks prior to forewarn him of her arrival in his Demense, and had sent a messenger to his place of business with a sealed notice the very night she landed. The note had begged his indulgence in allowing her to set up her living arrangements before presenting herself to his court in person in a week's time.
It had also allowed time for the remainder of her belongings to arrive.
After one last careful check in the mirror, she walked through the spotless kitchen out into the garage, pressing the remote key to unlock and warm up her one indulgence. The DB9 Coupe purred to life as she slid into the heated leather seat, perfectly adjusted in six dimensions and molded to her body. Another remote opened the garage door, allowing the midnight blue coupe to slink out into the August night. Her destination for the evening was the Museum, and it did not take long for the sleek 2+2 coupe to traverse the distance, even at city speeds.
Finding a parking space easily at this evening hour, Gwen took note of the two men and young lady at the door before they ambled inside, leaving the guard to himself. Something about his posture and attitude made her wonder if he was a ghoul servant. It would be something to remember, if he were.
She walked up the steps, her low heels clicking softly. No high heels, leave those to the fancy Toreador, but comfortable pumps that softly spoke of quality. Her pantsuit was also quietly dress business; it did not scream the designer's brandname, but quietly whispered of careful tailoring in a small shop that had clothed nobles for nearly two centuries.
The muted colors fit well with her coloring, mahogany hair that framed her face. Clear blue-grey eyes were touched with just enough makeup to have them stand out amongst features that held a simple, classic beauty. Gweneviere's looks would not stop a man dead in his tracks, but there was a quiet presence to her that drew the eye, speaking of breeding and class.
Gweneviere was a Ventrue of a lineage long known in Britiania, and it showed.
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
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Civil War Man
- NERRRRRDS!!!
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- Joined: 2005-01-28 03:54am
Jack figured that he had gotten about as much information as he could from Pyotr, when what was likely, for Jack at least, the most irritating sound possible reached his ears. It was, as Jack would describe it, the sound of some prissy little shit who thought the world waited in rapt anticipation of their every whim. "One might wonder," he growled. "But of course it would be none of their fucking business." With a nod towards the guard, he said, "Take care of yourself Pyotr," before turning and walking away.
As he approached Devon and Kyle, he simply touched the brim of his cap and grumbled, "Evening." However, he strode past him and further into the museum without a sign that he would either hear or pay attention to any response they might give.
As he approached Devon and Kyle, he simply touched the brim of his cap and grumbled, "Evening." However, he strode past him and further into the museum without a sign that he would either hear or pay attention to any response they might give.
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Dahak
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 7292
- Joined: 2002-10-29 12:08pm
- Location: Admiralty House, Landing, Manticore
- Contact:
Kyle watched the grumpy looking Brujah striding off without so much as a word. Sighing, he turned to the Kindred standing next to him.
"I always baffles me how style and manners have so waned and thinned in the past centuries. A terrible loss if you ask me. Anyway, I am Lord Kyle DeWitt and 'tis a pleasure to meet you here, whatever reasons brought you here."
"I always baffles me how style and manners have so waned and thinned in the past centuries. A terrible loss if you ask me. Anyway, I am Lord Kyle DeWitt and 'tis a pleasure to meet you here, whatever reasons brought you here."
Great Dolphin Conspiracy - Chatter box
"Implications: we have been intercepted deliberately by a means unknown, for a purpose unknown, and transferred to a place unknown by a form of intelligence unknown. Apart from the unknown, everything is obvious." ZORAC
GALE Force Euro Wimp
Human dignity shall be inviolable. To respect and protect it shall be the duty of all state authority.
(( Bah, the late-itude of me is great, and may continue to be so. In my defence, term just started. Just pretend all my delay is to represent Kerstin walking all over the place instead of being smart and taking motor transport. ))
The park smelled only marginally better than the city at large. There was of course a noticeable improvement—the amount of open space alone saw to that—but the calculation of inches and degrees infuriated Kerstin, what with one of the largest spans of relatively untouched land left on the planet resting mere kilometres away. It was one of the reasons she had continually moved west in the years since her arrival in LaGuardia. In retrospect she might as well have stayed on the east coast and saved herself the temptation. Fucking werewolves. There weren't many, but Kerstin had witnessed what could happen and despite her problems she did not yet feel like gambling that much.
Of course, Vancouver was better than some places she had stayed. It was still friendly to pedestrians, if any city could be called that, and it hadn't been gripped by the same intense industrial decay that permeated much of the rest of North America. Its decay felt a lot more familiar to her, which was a disturbing notion in and of itself. Even the ethnic ghettoes felt more like home to her than most of the cities she had visited in her drift between the coasts.
Or rather they had until she had realised walking through Chinatown that she could read everything perfectly well, but half the time she didn't understand a word that was said. At least picking up Cantonese gave her something to do other than ruminate. That was a death sentence more than the Embrace had been. She was thinking about Indian and Spanish as well—Vancouver was diverse.
It was still something she found difficult to devote herself to, no matter how much she loved language games. Not, at least, when it meant being confined to a room she never would have dreamed residing in before her unfortunate death and resurrection. The near claustrophobic solitude she had consigned herself to was beginning to drive her insane.
But now that she was out and in the open, she wasn't at all sure it was an improvement. The overwhelming oppression of the ceiling above was replaced by the overwhelming oppression of the black sky above. All the specifics may have changed, but the quiet park didn't seem in any relevant way to be different from her room. Well, save perhaps she couldn't be arrested for wandering around her room late at night. What were the curfew laws in Vancouver like anyway?
With a grimace and an indistinct snort Kerstin stopped in mid-step. She could feel her mind drifting back, and thoroughly stomped on it before it could get away from her completely. She hated when that happened; it made her feel like the protagonist in one of those wretched slice-of-life art films that were so terribly popular in Paris. It was happening more and more often as well—she was beginning to run out of things to do. It was not as if she could run any farther than the Pacific coast, after all.
She got a rather nasty image of herself decades in the future, sitting at a table with a espresso cup of blood, sighing and moping over the great meaningless pain of her existence. A chill ran down her side, causing her to button up the long coat she wore, long-standing habit winning out over temperature and her new wildly altered biochemistry. That was something she could not, would not allow. Which of course left her with the problem that she still had nought to do at this hour—she despised most bars and clubs, and those that she could stand usually had a dress code. And while her coat might have once come from the very finest of High Stitching houses, it was also very well worn and a decade out of style, and her clothing beneath it was plain to the point that even she was almost embarrassed by it.
Which left of course very few options. Vancouver worked against her; its size left most of its secrets obscured just by overwhelming her with data. The only element of it she had picked up on were of course the quiet corners, shrouded by the Masquerade. She glared at the tree in front of her, subjecting it to the full brunt of her ire. She was pretty sure that if she squinted a bit, it even quailed before her. It always came back to vampires. She didn't particularly like it, but nor was she in the practice of deluding herself.
It wasn't even as if vampires made great companions. They were in fact downright dangerous and unpleasant, but they were also the only real option if you happened to be another vampire. It was actually quite miraculous they hadn't wiped themselves out centuries before; only a dogged desire to make everyone else around them as miserable as possible seemed to keep them around. Yet even so, she turned herself around, trying to pull from vague memory where the city's Elysium was kept. It was a museum of some sort, she was certain.
No matter, she could always find a map on the way, and it was not as if she were in a great hurry. Now if only the thrice-damned harpies weren't there she might be able to get sick and tired of company again in short order and get back to sulking in peace.
The park smelled only marginally better than the city at large. There was of course a noticeable improvement—the amount of open space alone saw to that—but the calculation of inches and degrees infuriated Kerstin, what with one of the largest spans of relatively untouched land left on the planet resting mere kilometres away. It was one of the reasons she had continually moved west in the years since her arrival in LaGuardia. In retrospect she might as well have stayed on the east coast and saved herself the temptation. Fucking werewolves. There weren't many, but Kerstin had witnessed what could happen and despite her problems she did not yet feel like gambling that much.
Of course, Vancouver was better than some places she had stayed. It was still friendly to pedestrians, if any city could be called that, and it hadn't been gripped by the same intense industrial decay that permeated much of the rest of North America. Its decay felt a lot more familiar to her, which was a disturbing notion in and of itself. Even the ethnic ghettoes felt more like home to her than most of the cities she had visited in her drift between the coasts.
Or rather they had until she had realised walking through Chinatown that she could read everything perfectly well, but half the time she didn't understand a word that was said. At least picking up Cantonese gave her something to do other than ruminate. That was a death sentence more than the Embrace had been. She was thinking about Indian and Spanish as well—Vancouver was diverse.
It was still something she found difficult to devote herself to, no matter how much she loved language games. Not, at least, when it meant being confined to a room she never would have dreamed residing in before her unfortunate death and resurrection. The near claustrophobic solitude she had consigned herself to was beginning to drive her insane.
But now that she was out and in the open, she wasn't at all sure it was an improvement. The overwhelming oppression of the ceiling above was replaced by the overwhelming oppression of the black sky above. All the specifics may have changed, but the quiet park didn't seem in any relevant way to be different from her room. Well, save perhaps she couldn't be arrested for wandering around her room late at night. What were the curfew laws in Vancouver like anyway?
With a grimace and an indistinct snort Kerstin stopped in mid-step. She could feel her mind drifting back, and thoroughly stomped on it before it could get away from her completely. She hated when that happened; it made her feel like the protagonist in one of those wretched slice-of-life art films that were so terribly popular in Paris. It was happening more and more often as well—she was beginning to run out of things to do. It was not as if she could run any farther than the Pacific coast, after all.
She got a rather nasty image of herself decades in the future, sitting at a table with a espresso cup of blood, sighing and moping over the great meaningless pain of her existence. A chill ran down her side, causing her to button up the long coat she wore, long-standing habit winning out over temperature and her new wildly altered biochemistry. That was something she could not, would not allow. Which of course left her with the problem that she still had nought to do at this hour—she despised most bars and clubs, and those that she could stand usually had a dress code. And while her coat might have once come from the very finest of High Stitching houses, it was also very well worn and a decade out of style, and her clothing beneath it was plain to the point that even she was almost embarrassed by it.
Which left of course very few options. Vancouver worked against her; its size left most of its secrets obscured just by overwhelming her with data. The only element of it she had picked up on were of course the quiet corners, shrouded by the Masquerade. She glared at the tree in front of her, subjecting it to the full brunt of her ire. She was pretty sure that if she squinted a bit, it even quailed before her. It always came back to vampires. She didn't particularly like it, but nor was she in the practice of deluding herself.
It wasn't even as if vampires made great companions. They were in fact downright dangerous and unpleasant, but they were also the only real option if you happened to be another vampire. It was actually quite miraculous they hadn't wiped themselves out centuries before; only a dogged desire to make everyone else around them as miserable as possible seemed to keep them around. Yet even so, she turned herself around, trying to pull from vague memory where the city's Elysium was kept. It was a museum of some sort, she was certain.
No matter, she could always find a map on the way, and it was not as if she were in a great hurry. Now if only the thrice-damned harpies weren't there she might be able to get sick and tired of company again in short order and get back to sulking in peace.
"It is said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Brother Kyle." The words came hand in hand with a simple shrug. "Style and custom change with time and place. I suppose one must either be deft enough on their feet to keep up with the dance, or refuse to dance at all." Devon gestured to his own meagre wardrob and gave a self-depricating smile.Dahak wrote:"I always baffles me how style and manners have so waned and thinned in the past centuries. A terrible loss if you ask me. Anyway, I am Lord Kyle DeWitt and 'tis a pleasure to meet you here, whatever reasons brought you here."
"My name is Devon," he continued. "I'm merely a student of our mutual condition trying unlock its insights. Hopefully what knowledge is here, I can gain myself."
The even-toned vampire motioned a hand to indicated that they should continue into the museum.
Writer's Guild 'Ghost in the Machine'/Decepticon 'Devastator'/BOTM 'Space Ape'/Justice League 'The Tick'
"The best part of 'believe' is the lie."
It's always the quiet ones.
"The best part of 'believe' is the lie."
It's always the quiet ones.
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Dahak
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 7292
- Joined: 2002-10-29 12:08pm
- Location: Admiralty House, Landing, Manticore
- Contact:
"Truth," Kyle nodded. "And a museum like t'is is ample proof how taste and style has changed in the past. So far, I manage, but a part of me wishes for the world to be like it used to be again."Mark S wrote:"It is said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Brother Kyle." The words came hand in hand with a simple shrug. "Style and custom change with time and place. I suppose one must either be deft enough on their feet to keep up with the dance, or refuse to dance at all." Devon gestured to his own meagre wardrob and gave a self-depricating smile.
"My name is Devon," he continued. "I'm merely a student of our mutual condition trying unlock its insights. Hopefully what knowledge is here, I can gain myself."
The even-toned vampire motioned a hand to indicated that they should continue into the museum.
He followed Devon's lead deeper into the museum.
Great Dolphin Conspiracy - Chatter box
"Implications: we have been intercepted deliberately by a means unknown, for a purpose unknown, and transferred to a place unknown by a form of intelligence unknown. Apart from the unknown, everything is obvious." ZORAC
GALE Force Euro Wimp
Human dignity shall be inviolable. To respect and protect it shall be the duty of all state authority.
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Ritterin Sophia
- Sith Acolyte
- Posts: 5496
- Joined: 2006-07-25 09:32am
Mercedes kept to herself, listening to the other Cainites, the Brujah she paid no mind, his clan was a group of lowlifes incapable of understanding the word 'Discipline' any farther than it pertained to their supernatural abilities. Devon's clan continued to elude her, he was most likely a Gangrel, however, the possibility of him being a Malkavian stood. Now this Kyle, Toreador, Tremere, or Ventrue? She followed the others without another word...
Head high, Gweneviere walked up the steps to the musuem. The guard at the door was given a acknowledging nod, yet she did not stop to chat with him. He had a job, a place on a lower rung of Kindred society, and while she had once stood in that place herself, she had moved beyond. Yet Gwen had not forgotten how much a ghoul could overhear, how much information she had gathered for Sir William just by being one of those helpful, near-invisible ghouls.
Thus, while she gave Pyotr respectful acknowledgement and thanks when he opened the door for her, she gave him nothing more to report to his superior other than the time of her arrival, and the method of her transportation.
The other Kindred, including the child, had moved on into the museum, and were chatting softly. Presumably they were all from the Vancouver area, although one of them seemed familiar.
Gwen hastened her steps a little to catch up to them, the soft click-click of her heels on the polished floor proceeding her. "Please forgive me for interrupting," her cultured voice politely broke into a pause in the conversation. British accents are not as varied as those in Canada or America, yet those in the know would place her from Manchester, with a polish that spoke of A-level schooling or better. "Have I the honor of addressing Lord Kyle DeWitt?"
Thus, while she gave Pyotr respectful acknowledgement and thanks when he opened the door for her, she gave him nothing more to report to his superior other than the time of her arrival, and the method of her transportation.
The other Kindred, including the child, had moved on into the museum, and were chatting softly. Presumably they were all from the Vancouver area, although one of them seemed familiar.
Kyle? And his voice echoed with the tones of noble Britain. Could it be the same man? Is this one of her Sire's little tests, or did he even know that Lord Kyle DeWitt was in Vancouver? It would be prudent to discover why, and only polite to introduce herself.Dahak wrote:"Truth," Kyle nodded. "And a museum like t'is is ample proof how taste and style has changed in the past. So far, I manage, but a part of me wishes for the world to be like it used to be again."Mark S wrote: "It is said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Brother Kyle." The words came hand in hand with a simple shrug. "Style and custom change with time and place. I suppose one must either be deft enough on their feet to keep up with the dance, or refuse to dance at all." Devon gestured to his own meagre wardrob and gave a self-depricating smile.
"My name is Devon," he continued. "I'm merely a student of our mutual condition trying unlock its insights. Hopefully what knowledge is here, I can gain myself."
The even-toned vampire motioned a hand to indicated that they should continue into the museum.
He followed Devon's lead deeper into the museum.
Gwen hastened her steps a little to catch up to them, the soft click-click of her heels on the polished floor proceeding her. "Please forgive me for interrupting," her cultured voice politely broke into a pause in the conversation. British accents are not as varied as those in Canada or America, yet those in the know would place her from Manchester, with a polish that spoke of A-level schooling or better. "Have I the honor of addressing Lord Kyle DeWitt?"
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
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Dahak
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 7292
- Joined: 2002-10-29 12:08pm
- Location: Admiralty House, Landing, Manticore
- Contact:
Kyle was just following Devon, chatting a bit about the artwork on display and found delight in the chat. It is not always you find someone interested in art that isn't of Toreador art loving crazyness.LadyTevar wrote: Kyle? And his voice echoed with the tones of noble Britain. Could it be the same man? Is this one of her Sire's little tests, or did he even know that Lord Kyle DeWitt was in Vancouver? It would be prudent to discover why, and only polite to introduce herself.
Gwen hastened her steps a little to catch up to them, the soft click-click of her heels on the polished floor proceeding her. "Please forgive me for interrupting," her cultured voice politely broke into a pause in the conversation. British accents are not as varied as those in Canada or America, yet those in the know would place her from Manchester, with a polish that spoke of A-level schooling or better. "Have I the honor of addressing Lord Kyle DeWitt?"
He turned around when he heard a female voice addressing him, her Manchester accent cutting through the conversation like a knife. It is not often in those areas that one met someone from home.
He turned to face her and raised his left eyebrow when he saw her. His memory never failed him.
"Yes, I am indeed." He looked at her and nodded. "You are a childe of Sir William, aren't you? I remember seeing you at a soiree in London a few years back. How small the world is, these days. You bring any news from home?"
Great Dolphin Conspiracy - Chatter box
"Implications: we have been intercepted deliberately by a means unknown, for a purpose unknown, and transferred to a place unknown by a form of intelligence unknown. Apart from the unknown, everything is obvious." ZORAC
GALE Force Euro Wimp
Human dignity shall be inviolable. To respect and protect it shall be the duty of all state authority.
"Gweneviere Godwin," she introduced herself, and the last name indeed marked her as Sir William Godwin's Childe, and perhaps one of the children he'd adopted and raised as his little experiment some decades back. "Sir William did not mention you'd be in town, Lord DeWitt," Gwen continued conversationally. "I'm sure that he'd wish me to pass on his regards had he known."Dahak wrote:Kyle was just following Devon, chatting a bit about the artwork on display and found delight in the chat. It is not always you find someone interested in art that isn't of Toreador art loving crazyness.
He turned around when he heard a female voice addressing him, her Manchester accent cutting through the conversation like a knife. It is not often in those areas that one met someone from home.
He turned to face her and raised his left eyebrow when he saw her. His memory never failed him.
"Yes, I am indeed." He looked at her and nodded. "You are a childe of Sir William, aren't you? I remember seeing you at a soiree in London a few years back. How small the world is, these days. You bring any news from home?"
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
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Dahak
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 7292
- Joined: 2002-10-29 12:08pm
- Location: Admiralty House, Landing, Manticore
- Contact:
"Gweneviere", Kyle let the name flow suavely from his mouth, "you must be his newest girl then. I am sure he would pass his regards. And roll in his grave that we should have met here," his eyes twinkled with a kind of mirth, like he missed something and Gweneviere was bringing part of it back. "I am sure you're part of one of his crazy plans. It will bite him in the posterior, as usual but he'll sell it as a stunning success." He laughed for a few seconds. "But anyway, tell him my regards when you talk to him the next time. And compliment him on his taste. You seem like a bright girl."LadyTevar wrote: "Gweneviere Godwin," she introduced herself, and the last name indeed marked her as Sir William Godwin's Childe, and perhaps one of the children he'd adopted and raised as his little experiment some decades back. "Sir William did not mention you'd be in town, Lord DeWitt," Gwen continued conversationally. "I'm sure that he'd wish me to pass on his regards had he known."
Great Dolphin Conspiracy - Chatter box
"Implications: we have been intercepted deliberately by a means unknown, for a purpose unknown, and transferred to a place unknown by a form of intelligence unknown. Apart from the unknown, everything is obvious." ZORAC
GALE Force Euro Wimp
Human dignity shall be inviolable. To respect and protect it shall be the duty of all state authority.
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
Humming to himself, a man just under average height wearing a white silk shirt, slacks, and a black suit came through. "Yo Pyotr. How's your Eastern European ass hanging?"
"Fine," the ghoul replied. "And yours?"
"Out in the breeze my friend. Crazy shit going on tonight, if what a little bird taught me is correct." James McDonald smiled broadly, with a slight hint of crazy seeping through. "Any heavy hitters in?"
"Fine," the ghoul replied. "And yours?"
"Out in the breeze my friend. Crazy shit going on tonight, if what a little bird taught me is correct." James McDonald smiled broadly, with a slight hint of crazy seeping through. "Any heavy hitters in?"
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Civil War Man
- NERRRRRDS!!!
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- Joined: 2005-01-28 03:54am
It didn't take that long for Jack to cool down. The girl had aggravated him, but he at least had the foresight of seeking solitude to allay the risk of him becoming truly angry, at which point the scene would have become really ugly really quickly, regardless of how it turned out in the end.
Truth be told, he was becoming tired of people viewing him as some mindless animal. Because he had dark skin. Because he was a thug. Because he was a Brujah. It sometimes amazed him to see how many Kindred didn't realize that their prejudices would often broadcast their clan about as loudly as if they had been a Nosferatu. He wasn't the only one to wear his affiliation on his sleeve. Not by a long shot.
So Jack made his way back to the more crowded areas of the museum. He still wanted to find out more about Bobby's disappearance if he could, and there was a possibility that someone more informed might have arrived.
One thing first, though. He approached the vampires he had passed by earlier, who he could now see were conversing with a third.
"Excuse me," he said in as cordial a tone as he could muster. "I do not mean to interrupt, but I just wanted to display my...regrets for being so short with you just a short time ago. I'm dealing with a spot of bad news, and I desired a moment to collect my thoughts." With a nod, he tipped his hat to the woman they were with, if only to acknowledge that he wasn't ignoring her.
As he started to turn away, Jack saw a somewhat familiar face enter the museum. He and James didn't interact too much, since James handled small debts and similar things, while Jack usually was around for the purpose of solving bigger problems. Occasionally, though, arrangements would turn ugly, too many payments would be missed, or some other complication would arrive. If there was pressing need, adequate compensation, or he was simply bored, Jack wasn't above tying up loose ends.
"Hey Jim," he called to the new arrival. "How's it hanging?"
Truth be told, he was becoming tired of people viewing him as some mindless animal. Because he had dark skin. Because he was a thug. Because he was a Brujah. It sometimes amazed him to see how many Kindred didn't realize that their prejudices would often broadcast their clan about as loudly as if they had been a Nosferatu. He wasn't the only one to wear his affiliation on his sleeve. Not by a long shot.
So Jack made his way back to the more crowded areas of the museum. He still wanted to find out more about Bobby's disappearance if he could, and there was a possibility that someone more informed might have arrived.
One thing first, though. He approached the vampires he had passed by earlier, who he could now see were conversing with a third.
"Excuse me," he said in as cordial a tone as he could muster. "I do not mean to interrupt, but I just wanted to display my...regrets for being so short with you just a short time ago. I'm dealing with a spot of bad news, and I desired a moment to collect my thoughts." With a nod, he tipped his hat to the woman they were with, if only to acknowledge that he wasn't ignoring her.
As he started to turn away, Jack saw a somewhat familiar face enter the museum. He and James didn't interact too much, since James handled small debts and similar things, while Jack usually was around for the purpose of solving bigger problems. Occasionally, though, arrangements would turn ugly, too many payments would be missed, or some other complication would arrive. If there was pressing need, adequate compensation, or he was simply bored, Jack wasn't above tying up loose ends.
"Hey Jim," he called to the new arrival. "How's it hanging?"
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The Vancouver Art Gallery. Kerstin would have thought that would have stuck in her mind; she must have been more careless than she thought when researching the locale's haunts and power structure. Either that or she was actively suppressing it, which would explain why it had taken her so long to remember but seemed unlikely. At least she had made good time after she had determined where she was going; having to turn around just as she had finally made it there would have driven her to bite someone in frustration.
At least it wasn't hard to tell she had found the right place. The doorman she recognised, having seen the ghoul once before while she had been formally announcing her arrival in the city. Peter or somesuch. Make that Pyotr—she heard a man arriving ahead of her address him. She wondered whether the colloquial vulgarity he threw around was just the vampire being brusque, or whether Pyotr was actually from eastern Europe. It would make him a gold mine of interesting information if he was an elder ghoul imported from the Continent. She made a mental note to talk to him more later, and be polite in the meantime.
She gave Pyotr a nod and distracted hello as she drifted into the museum in the besuited man's wake. She had to admit to herself he piqued her interest—it was clear he wasn't unimportant just by the way he carried himself, and he seemed to be in a state of some agitation. Her natural curiosity couldn't leave well enough alone. Before she could enquire further, however, another vampire emerged from deeper in, recognition flashing across his face as they exchanged greetings.
Heaven preserve her from the working class, only they could come up with expressions even she hadn't heard of. This Jim person promised to be colourful if his language was anything to go by. At least it was not going to be a boring night by the looks of it. Moving out of the doorway to the gallery, divesting herself of her computer bag as she listened in on the conversation.
At least it wasn't hard to tell she had found the right place. The doorman she recognised, having seen the ghoul once before while she had been formally announcing her arrival in the city. Peter or somesuch. Make that Pyotr—she heard a man arriving ahead of her address him. She wondered whether the colloquial vulgarity he threw around was just the vampire being brusque, or whether Pyotr was actually from eastern Europe. It would make him a gold mine of interesting information if he was an elder ghoul imported from the Continent. She made a mental note to talk to him more later, and be polite in the meantime.
She gave Pyotr a nod and distracted hello as she drifted into the museum in the besuited man's wake. She had to admit to herself he piqued her interest—it was clear he wasn't unimportant just by the way he carried himself, and he seemed to be in a state of some agitation. Her natural curiosity couldn't leave well enough alone. Before she could enquire further, however, another vampire emerged from deeper in, recognition flashing across his face as they exchanged greetings.
Heaven preserve her from the working class, only they could come up with expressions even she hadn't heard of. This Jim person promised to be colourful if his language was anything to go by. At least it was not going to be a boring night by the looks of it. Moving out of the doorway to the gallery, divesting herself of her computer bag as she listened in on the conversation.
Devon found art interesting enough; it could be a window to a person's soul and could give true insight. It could also be so much garbage thrown on the wall for shock value, boredom or to make a buck. The three roughly sculpted pigs in police uniforms hanging cock-eyed before him and Kyle he would class as the latter. He really wasn't interested in the art tonight, just the people gathering amongst it. That didn't prevent him from patiently keeping up with the other vampire's idle chit-chat however. That is, until their conversation was interrupted.
She wasn't an overly remarkable woman in appearance but certainly one in presance. She carried herself with power and confidence and even her introduction held control and belied purpose. She seemed to know Kyle, or at least of him, even addressing him with title, and her accent gave her away as from the British Isles herself. Devon had never seen her in the city before and assumed she had to be a relatively new arrival.
He was quietly dismissing himself from the other two's new conversation when Jack returned to give a quick appology for his mood. Whether the excuse given was genuine or not did not matter, Devon had seen Jack around the city and knew that in situations such as this, his temper was simply a storm to weather.
As Devon's gaze followed Jack as he turned away, he noticed that other new faces were arriving. One of them was well known to those that came to Elysium; 'Lucky' Jim. Even though the man threw around his greetings with casual ease, Devon could tell that he was agitated.
((Edited a spelling mistake))
She wasn't an overly remarkable woman in appearance but certainly one in presance. She carried herself with power and confidence and even her introduction held control and belied purpose. She seemed to know Kyle, or at least of him, even addressing him with title, and her accent gave her away as from the British Isles herself. Devon had never seen her in the city before and assumed she had to be a relatively new arrival.
He was quietly dismissing himself from the other two's new conversation when Jack returned to give a quick appology for his mood. Whether the excuse given was genuine or not did not matter, Devon had seen Jack around the city and knew that in situations such as this, his temper was simply a storm to weather.
As Devon's gaze followed Jack as he turned away, he noticed that other new faces were arriving. One of them was well known to those that came to Elysium; 'Lucky' Jim. Even though the man threw around his greetings with casual ease, Devon could tell that he was agitated.
((Edited a spelling mistake))
Last edited by Mark S on 2007-01-15 07:25pm, edited 1 time in total.
Writer's Guild 'Ghost in the Machine'/Decepticon 'Devastator'/BOTM 'Space Ape'/Justice League 'The Tick'
"The best part of 'believe' is the lie."
It's always the quiet ones.
"The best part of 'believe' is the lie."
It's always the quiet ones.
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Civil War Man
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"Like a convicted criminal," Jack said, walking slowly in James's direction so he didn't have to talk so loudly. "I tell you, it seems like every night there's some mess I have to clean up, but it's the wait before the job appears that really kills me."
When he finally closed the distance between him and McDonald, Jack's voice became much quieter. "Have you heard about what happened to Bobby?"
When he finally closed the distance between him and McDonald, Jack's voice became much quieter. "Have you heard about what happened to Bobby?"
Gweneviere nodded gracefully, accepting both the compliment to herself and the obvious cheerful teasing of her Sire. "Thank you, Lord DeWitt. I'm sure Sir William will be delighted to know you approve of his taste." She smiled slightly, her head tilting a little. "Have you been in town long, Lord DeWitt? I fear I have only just arrived, and still need to greet the Prince in person."Dahak wrote:"Gweneviere", Kyle let the name flow suavely from his mouth, "you must be his newest girl then. I am sure he would pass his regards. And roll in his grave that we should have met here," his eyes twinkled with a kind of mirth, like he missed something and Gweneviere was bringing part of it back. "I am sure you're part of one of his crazy plans. It will bite him in the posterior, as usual but he'll sell it as a stunning success." He laughed for a few seconds. "But anyway, tell him my regards when you talk to him the next time. And compliment him on his taste. You seem like a bright girl."LadyTevar wrote: "Gweneviere Godwin," she introduced herself, and the last name indeed marked her as Sir William Godwin's Childe, and perhaps one of the children he'd adopted and raised as his little experiment some decades back. "Sir William did not mention you'd be in town, Lord DeWitt," Gwen continued conversationally. "I'm sure that he'd wish me to pass on his regards had he known."
The admission was deliberate, an assumption that Lord DeWitt had already met the Prince and might introduce her. Not many neonates followed the Ventrue tradition of asking an elder to introduce them anymore, yet it simply made sense to Gwen. For one, it gave the neonate a sponsor in court, so to speak. It could also allow the neonate to start a reciprocal exchange of favours with the Elder, and thus gain a possible ally when needed. With Gwen on her own for the first time, far from her Sire and her comfort zone, allies and favours were a necessity.
The fact that Lord DeWitt and Sir William were friendly rivals was an ironic touch that Gwen hoped would amuse.
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
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"Yes," he nodded, concentrating on her, ignoring the other conversations around him. It would not do for such as him to become irritated at mere commoners rattling on. "I have been in this city for some time for some business of my own."LadyTevar wrote: Gweneviere nodded gracefully, accepting both the compliment to herself and the obvious cheerful teasing of her Sire. "Thank you, Lord DeWitt. I'm sure Sir William will be delighted to know you approve of his taste." She smiled slightly, her head tilting a little. "Have you been in town long, Lord DeWitt? I fear I have only just arrived, and still need to greet the Prince in person."
Being Sir William's childe he was sure she had been told about his often obscure visits around the globe. Kyle knew that it was some talk behind his back that he was on the lookout for the murderer of his Sire (even though not many still thought it had been an accident in those ancient times). Kyle - mostly - didn't care. And those who came to close to his search had suffered. His vindictive streak and vengefulness was well-known. But he disgressed.
"To your question, I have indeed met the Prince before. And 'tis my pleasure to introduce you." He smiled at her. "'tis good to know that not all Ventrue have forgotten our traditions in those modern times."
And, smiling inwardly, it may give him some points in the timeless game with her Sire.
Great Dolphin Conspiracy - Chatter box
"Implications: we have been intercepted deliberately by a means unknown, for a purpose unknown, and transferred to a place unknown by a form of intelligence unknown. Apart from the unknown, everything is obvious." ZORAC
GALE Force Euro Wimp
Human dignity shall be inviolable. To respect and protect it shall be the duty of all state authority.
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James lowered his voice. "Yeah. Let's talk brother." He lead the other Brujah to a secluded corner. "Both the Sherrif and the Scourge are on it. Three guesses to what that means."
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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"They aren't talking but the Scourge is Toreodor and the Sherrif is Gangrel, right? I figure they're doing supernatural CSI, blood hound and touch reading to check out the scene and if they're doing that, it means they're pretty sure something heavy went down."
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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"Well, a Sheriff and Scourge working on the same case implies that something heavy has probably gone down, and one that involves other Kindred. I haven't heard of a Scourge investigating something that looks like an attack by Werewolves or Witch Hunters. Regardless, I've got a bad feeling about this."
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"You've been taking the Camarilla primer and thinking that's how the jobs always work and that's bullshit. You've got to consider who they are," said James. "That's not how things work in this city."
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.