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Game System

World of Darkness

Status

Active

Full Description

The World of Darkness resembles the contemporary world, but it is darker, more devious and more conspiratorial. The dichotomy between rich and poor, influential and weak, powerful and powerless, is much more pronounced than in the real world. Decadence, cynicism and corruption are common. Humans are unwitting victims or pawns of vast secret organizations of supernatural creatures. Vampires, werewolves and wraith —among others— struggle with internal factionalism and against other species in secret wars of intrigue for control of reality. The battles in these wars may last centuries, beyond the realization or comprehension of ordinary humans. This status quo is recently threatened by the rise of a global Technocratic cabal (and/or an animistic spirit of stasis and control) intent on monopolizing the power of belief and destroying all traditional supernatural societies.

*This is not a 'by the book' World of Darkness game.  While a lot of themes and events may be recognized by players, anything and everything can and will be changed to best suit the need of the story.

  1. What's new in this game
  2. Mel Grimson

    IC: Mel - 'Deb By Dawn'

    "No... that's fine." Mel got out, seeing that tall brunette love of his life. Well, so the big Section 8 had come at last. If he'd finally cracked up, he might as well enjoy the hallucination. He came over and pulled into his arms. "Just glad to see you Cecilia. Just glad to see you." He leaned in and kissed her hard on the lips.
  3. Casey Mason

    IC: Casey - "Hear I Am"

    Casey pulls back hard trying to get out of Mr Mourn's grasp. "Hey Let go of me!" She twists her arms and then kicks at his legs. "What the fuck do you think your doing! Are you on something?"
  4. Mr. Mourne was a wreck. He was sweating, his once tightly bound hair was now in a ragged pony tail with rogue hairs falling in sweaty strands. His breathing was ragged he looked like he'd run a marathon in a two thousand dollar suit. "Casey," he breathed heavily. "Oh, thank God. W-we need to go, now. I don't have time to explain... please, you have to trust me." He reached in suddenly and grabbed her writs, attempting to pull her from the apartment. [Alertness] - The hallway seems... darker than usual. Like all the lights have been dimmed.
  5. Casey Mason

    IC: Casey - "Hear I Am"

    Casey stared at the door and then the phone, seconds lost, then she stood and ran to the door. Old habits die hard and she looked through the peephole at the distorted face of Horatio Mourn. She threw back the dead bolt and yanked the door open just as he was knocking again, throwing him off balance. "Horatio, Mr Mourn, what is it? Are you alright?" She stared at him with concern.
  6. "Woah!" Came the sudden shout from next door, so loud that Mel almost thought someone was in his own apartment. "Dude, that was killer! Follow up with a spell, while we have it's central eye on us! We so got this!" It was the guys who lived next door. They were a band of room mates who wasted their time on fantasy games, loud music, video games and a slew of other mind numbing activities that didn't involve healthy living. Not that Mel was judging them, to each their own, but they had a tendency to get way to loud, way to often. Like 3am often. With a sigh and a grumble he went next door to ask them to quiet down. After a few raps at the door he heard one of them approaching. "Pizza bros! We're gonna ghost this beholder bitch while munching on New York's finest slices of pi-," the door swung open and Deacon stood there looking stupid with a twenty in his hand. He was bike courier, not a bad kid, just had a smart ass streak a mile long. "Pie?" He composed himself in the stern glare of Mel's expression, running his hand through his hair to pull back his dark hair from face. It quickly just fell back to where it was. "Yo' uh, Mr. G," he said loudly. Mel could hear the scared whispers behind Deek. The 'oh shits' and 'it's the guy next door' and the 'I hear he eats babies'. "Wow... we uh, didn't know you where home. Thought maybe you were out stealing Christmas or something...," Mel could hear the snickers and laughs behind the door. Before Mel could begin his tirade Deacon held up a hand. "Mr. G, Mr. G... I'm just kidding dude, geez. Look I'm sorry about the noise, we didn't know you were on the prem, for reals. We'll keep it down, just let us finish up, bruh, kay? We're battling the beholder and shit's getting real because some rando orcs just entered the fray and our spell caster in the best position to blast it's ass with a...," Mel just looked at him. "Aaaand I see you have zero chill and no fucks to give. We'll try to keep it down, dude, kay?" It was good enough for him and Mel just went back to his apartment. It was the first time he'd dealt with Deacon and not had to say a word, those 15,000 other times he'd gone over there to complain must have been finally sinking in. Still, everything about that boy made him want to throttle him. With a sigh to collect his calm he twisted the knob and walked back into his apartment. What he saw paralyzed him with confusion. Beyond the threshold was not his apartment at all... it was his living room from where he'd lived with his wife, Cecilia. When she poked her head around the corner that led to the kitchen he felt a sensation of relief mingled with disbelief. "Hey," she said with a smile. "I was so busy at work today, I just picked up Chinese, hope that's okay..."
  7. She almost dropped her phone as the thunder of someone pounding on it startled her back into the 'now'. The fist banging on her door didn't let up, "Casey! Casey! Open the door!" It was Horatio, she recognized his voice. He sounded scared, panicked even. "Casey! Please, God be in there... Casey answer the door, please!"
  8. The day droned on... books, Lorraine... Lorraine making books unpleasant. Thankfully the weirdness had passed, aside from the occasional strange song on the radio that seemed to be dedicated to exactly what was currently going on with her day. Maya went about her day, and it was long after hours by the time she was done. The library was dark, spacious, but dark. Shadows crept along the floors as in silver pools and the air was filled with shimmering motes of dust that floated lazily as Maya slid the last few books she had into place on the shelves. "Are... sure... the... one?" A low whisper rose up in a hushed echo. "Shhh... it'll hear us, you dummy!"
  9. Mel Grimson

    IC: Mel - 'Deb By Dawn'

    Mel eventually set aside the radio issue as something fucking weird and concerning but settled on the rest of the things he needed to do for the day as a distraction. It was an old trick, the variant of the basic purpose of discipline and training: to give men something to concentrate on and not the fact that people were dying in battle, potentially even them. He checked the fridge. Food was running low. He'd need to shop for more. There was a market within reasonable walking distance, so he could set out after a quick shower. What Mel went through picking in the aisles was not particularly planned, save for the basic criteria he used. Meat, some veggies and fruits. Canned foods. Some pasta for easy cooking. Calories were not a concept of concern, since he was used to burning them off quickly. The whole modern diet fad thing ignored the simple answers. Just having a good balance of foods, ignoring saturated fats, excessive salt and sugar, and exercise kept one healthy. It was what Cecilia said after all, and she wasn't wrong. She'd rarely been wrong.
  10. Casey Mason

    IC: Casey - "Hear I Am"

    Casey plopped down onto her small sofa and after kicking off her shoes rested her feet on the over burdened coffee table. The apartment was small and cheap, the furniture cheaper. The aforementioned coffee table was covered with old magazines and papers, mostly bills, but a few were legal papers from her law firm, former law firm (and yes she knew she could get in trouble if they knew she had kept them), that she just couldn't bring herself to toss out. She closed her eyes for about two seconds. Then they opened and she sprang to her feet and started pacing. Today had been weird. First the radio playing songs that were weirdly autobiographical. Casey had changed the station twice but within a half hour the radio was back on the same weird station each time, with the DJ that never seemed to go home. Or shut up for that matter. Between the songs she was always talking and god if it hadn't seemed at times like she had been talking right to Casey. But none of the other crew would admit that they had changed the station and none of them admitted to cleaning out the office. And she knew that the hadn't. For one thing she had only been out of the office for a few minuts which was not enough time for anyone to have done that amount of work. And the other thing was, well none of them would have done anything like that unless they had been told to.Her kids had no initiative. She stopped in mid pace. "Shit!" she had forgotten to call Mourne. She went to the little table by the door where she set her purse down and retrieved the card he had given her. Horatio Mourne. She thought about that name and the man she had met wearing that name. The physique that was displayed by the way his expensive suit had been cut, that long hair and...."Jesus Christ, I'm not a fucking teenager." She looked at the numbers on the back then turned the card and looked at the name embossed on the front. Horation Mourne. It was an English name and unusual in this day and age outside of CSI Miami and that movie with Gregory Peck from the last century. The last name Mourne, was Celtic. She had looked them up on google. It was habit. The job was just too good to pass up but for some reason she hadn't called while she had been at the coffee shop. She had made up her mind by the time lunch had been over and had had every opportunity to call but she hadn't instead she had looked up the guys name on google, checked him out on LinkedIn and basically pry'd into his life like some crazy lawyer looking to build a case. And she kept imagining that long black hair let loose from that pony tail, flowing over those shoulders... She sat back down and was thumbing the phone number before that thought had even left her mind.
  11. This is not normal, Maya told herself in disbelief as she read, and reread, the envelope. It wasn't the first time that day that she'd been forced to question what her own eyes were telling her, and she wasn't happy about the potential reasons. Once, maybe twice could be written off as coincidence, but... There is something wrong with me. Glancing up at Mrs. Richards, confusion writ plain upon her face, she half-expected to see the other woman's features shift and change as well, revealing a button-eyed Other Coleen behind a human mask. Naturally, they didn't. This did nothing to alleviate the bewilderment of an assistant librarian having a very unsettling day. "Yes," she heard herself say, as if from a great distance. "I'd love to. Thank you so much." While her brain was busily compiling a list of possible ailments, trying to rationalize the seemingly bizarre events she'd experienced in only a few hours, attempting to adequately describe the level of discomfort she was feeling as a few still-damp curls slithered lazily along the nape of her neck, and adding a reminder to call and request an earlier appointment with her therapist, her mouth was apparently quite content to carry on without her supervision. Wait... what?
  12. The children all booed and hissed at every mention of The Bedlam while Maya read every page with the loving enthusiasm of a natural story teller. They cheered on Coraline as she tricked Other Mother and the more the cheered and booed Maya's reading became more intense. They laughed, she laughed and they all shared in the magic of the story. And for a little while, Maya's life wasn't so bad. With a wide smile her words came to a conclusion and the children cheered. Coraline had won, she learned her lesson, and lived happily ever after (one was left to suppose). There in the audience of happy children she could have sworn she saw strange movement from the corner of her eyes as she scanned the room. More children than she originally counted in the beginning. They always seemed to stand just outside her field of vision and when she turned to acknowledge them, like any good orator would, they seemed to no longer be there. “Thank you so much, Miss Flynn,” one of the parents, Coleen Richards, said with a wide smile as she approached Maya. She was one of the more well off patrons of the Library, well traveled, well educated, and surprisingly, a very caring mother. She was a rare breed of parent who didn't think Baby Mozart was actually a thing and if you wanted your child intelligent and well adjusted all you had to do was teach them, love them, and... this was the kicker, be a parent. “These children positively adore you. Every time you read I can see in their eyes where ever it is you've taken this week. Oh!” She seemed to remember something and smiled. “I've been to thank you for all the work you do with these kids and I thought maybe...,” she handed Maya a thin envelope. “There's an art gala coming up in a few weeks, and it features a lot work from mythological and... how to put it... fantastically inspired artists. I thought it might be something you'd be interested in attending. Very exclusive, so I asked my husband to get an extra ticket for you. Please tell me you'll try to make it?” She looked at the envelope. It read 'Maya Flynn' in a very carefully penned calligraphy. An uneasiness fell over her as she watched the letters move and shift... 'Yes, I'd love to. Thank you so much.' Confused she squinted and shook her head, only to see the letters shift again... 'Say it.'
  13. Seconds became minutes... minutes into nearly an hour. Nothing. Earbuds in hand, he waited, quietly observing everyone and everything that seemed out of place. His training had taught him many things, how to fight, how to kill, how to cope... but it never covered having to use all those skills on his home soil against what seemed like dog walkers, joggers and people playing with their kids on the grass. He scanned the area, feeling for a moment that he was suddenly in some poorly directed Ben Affleck spy, conspiracy theory movie. Nothing. With a deep sigh Mel returned to his run. His door opened and he stepped through, making a b-line for the fridge where he grabbed a bottle of water and twisted off the cap. The radio was on. Did he leave it on? No, he usually wasn't that careless. “Good run, Soldier? I hope so. Running is good for the soul, helps you focus, helps you think. I don't know about you, listeners, but on a treadmill at the gym I can go for an hour or so and just let the worries of the day just fade away... but enough about what Deb's does, let's get back to the music. This one's for the runner in the park, a little 83' in the house, with Rockwell, Somebody's Watching Me. Here's looking at you, kid.” He could almost feel the wink in her words. What the hell was going on?
  14. “Most certainly,” Mr. Mourne said with a smile as he opened his car holder and produced a business card for her. “My office number is on there, you'll most likely reach my assistant. Actually, here,” he popped off the cap of his pen and held it tightly in his lips as he scrawled on the back of the card. “That's my cell, call or text, doesn't matter. It'll be faster than waiting for my assistant to get me the message.” “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Mason.” After the obligatory hand shake and departing smiles Mr. Mourne was gone from the shop and Casey as left to leaf through the proposal. By her estimation, after all was said and done, her shop stood to profit by nearly twelve grand for a single evening and that was certainly something the business could use. Undoubtedly there was some excitement but also that pang of apprehension that went along with the possibility of something going wrong. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Casey sat down to review the information... not able to get the issue with the office out of her head. Who cleaned it? How did it get cleaned? Was it ever actually messy...? “Aaaand, I'm back, listeners. Deb here again, and for all those out there, wheeling and dealing today, here's one for you. Taking you back to 93' with a little Wu-Tang, C.R.E.A.M..” What the hell kind of radio station in New York played this wide variety of music? One second it was rock, then hip-hop, then pop... Casey waved it out of her mind as she went back to work.
  15. Maybe it was the dismal weather, or her vicious harpy of a supervisor, or the creepy guy with the briefcase, or, hell, maybe just the caffeine in her twice-warmed chai latte, but something felt seriously jacked up about the day already. Not only was she on edge, it felt uncomfortably like some sort of phantasmal, undefined dark forces were arraying against her- although, she had to admit, the scope of their sinister and unknowable cosmic plot was thus far more annoying than terrifying. Still, low-key paranoia, with maybe some unaddressed depression thrown in for good measure, wasn't remotely helpful... Especially when it starting altering what she was seeing and hearing through some weird, self-destructive and defeatist filters. Probably her therapist would have something to say about externalizing, and she made a mental note to leave out the obviously unhealthy notion that book titles and a radio host were communicating messages exclusively to her. Putting aside any further contemplation of her shitty day, or the dreary state of her mental health, Maya focused on one of the few real perks of her job. "Sure," she replied to the somewhat overdressed young boy with a smile- a genuine one. While she didn't know much about him, over the last year or so she'd pieced together that he had a difficult home life, one probably more complicated than was the norm for kids hanging out at the library voluntarily. He always smelled faintly of kerosene, a scent that tugged at her memories of elementary school and gifts of second-hand clothing, and she knew that, whatever Kenny's story was, it wasn't as uncommon as people might hope. She eyed the proffered book speculatively as he handed it to her. "Coraline? I don't know, Kenny, it might be a little-" She was about to say "scary," until she realized how ridiculous the notion of supernatural fear was to kids in New York, kids with very real, mundane reasons to be frightened. Pursing her lips thoughtfully, she sighed and nodded toward the stairs leading up to the children's section on the second floor. "All right. We'll try it, but if any of the younger children start to get too scared, we'll have to find something else, okay?" "Okay, Miss Flynn!" Kenny exulted with a whoop of excitement that had the same patrons shushing again as he raced upstairs, heedless of the rules. She'd have to remind him about running, she supposed, but... For now, it was story time. She wasn't one hundred percent sure what it was about spending time with the kids upstairs that made coping with the general lousiness of life so much easier. The internet claimed that the second floor was absolutely, definitely haunted, either by a specific child ghost or some sort of phantasmal collective of multiple children's ghosts from years past, and to avoid it at all costs, but she'd never felt or seen anything unpleasant. (Barring Lorraine, of course. Lorraine was always unpleasant.) None of the kids had ever mentioned anything remotely paranormal, either. It was a safe place for them, and to some extent, for her, too. Maybe she didn't need to escape into a story for exactly the same reasons they did, but damn if it didn't help just the same.
  16. Casey Mason

    IC: Casey - "Hear I Am"

    Casey looked up from the desktop, she had a blank look on her face, her mind was in turmoil at odds with the orderly appearance of the room which should have been dressed in chaos. She didn't remember sitting down but obviously she had. She looked at Mr Mourne, then back at the desk and the office in general. She had only been outside for a minute not enough time for one of the other girls to straighten the mess that had been the office. Assuming any of them would have tried. The ledger was still open in front of her the entry for forty three dollars and seventy one cents laughing at her. That was a strange thought, how could a number laugh at her? Mr Mourne gave a soft cough which snapped Casey's attention back to the really good looking guy sitting across the desk, at his broad shoulders and the long hair. "Um...yeah." She grabbed the proposal with one hand and flipped the ledger closed. "Um...yeah," she repeated glancing at the paper but not really seeing it, "Let me look this over, um. I'm sorry I'm just a little distracted. Gimme a couple of hours to look this over and see what we can do to help you out. I agree it would be a boon for us, but at the same time I don't want to over extend. If you will give me a number where I can reach you?" She took a pen ready to jot the number down.
  17. Mel Grimson

    IC: Mel - 'Deb By Dawn'

    Mel turned around, scanning the perimeter. Open space and greenery, one or two trees, but no sign of anyone spying on him. Just the occasional other jogger or people over at the bridge. The prickling at the back of his neck insisted there HAD to be someone watching, or following him. After all, the first 'Deb' mention he'd passed off as mishearing. This was far too specific, explicit about him, his actions... Stalker-worthy, yet in Mel's experience the stalkers only waited long enough for the right opportunity to shoot or knife their targets. Either way, there was something distinctly wrong, and Mel knew it. For now, he kept walking, until he found a large rock where he could rest, in the form of leaning his back against it and thus allowing all possible approaches to be part of his field of view.
  18. Casey was dreading the discussion in the office. She felt like she was in trouble back in high school or something, and this was her office! Speaking of high school, she wondered how her cousin was doing. Gods only knew what kind of trouble she was getting into down in the Salem public school system. She stepped into the office and paused, completely at a loss for words. When she had left just a moment ago she had left behind a room filled with the very essence of chaos. Papers were strewn all over, bills were haphazardly set about all over, payroll was scattered in between loose notes and reminders on Post-Its. It was a shambles. Not any more. The desk was bare of any mess. It was a simple metal affair, old (probably as old as the shop) stained and chipped in a few places, yet now here it was... the surface cleaned and polished, all the typical assortments of items (pencils, pens, name plate, calendar) all perfectly placed and in their proper holders or placements. Files were all sorted and closed tightly within the few filing cabinets they had, bills were organized and sorted by date and the pay roll book, which was out on the desk (she'd been arguing with them to get a computer for the longest time, but they wouldn't budge) open and balanced showing they had forty three dollars and seventy one cents more than they thought they did! And... was that Lycol and air freshener she smelled? "Wow," Mr. Mourne snapped her from her confusion. "Impressive. You should see my office, it's a mess. I've things everywhere, some days I can barely keep up." He entered and didn't seem to notice that Casey looked like she had just walked into a waking dream. He took a seat and crossed his legs, setting his briefcase on his knee to balance. Apparently he felt like he'd need it here very soon. "So, brass tacks of it Miss Mason, as Ive said, I'm with the MMA, and I've come on behalf of them to field you an offer. In a few weeks I've a large exhibit that were hosting. Forty one of New York's finest and most talented undiscovered artists, the catch is I'll have seventy one of the cities richest and most affluent citizens there as well, and I'd like to make an impression. We're expecting a turn out of about three hundred people. I figured since I was headlining New York artists, why not headline New York businesses as well. Have the catering done by local businesses, like yours." He reached into his briefcase and after a few moments produced an outline of what he was proposing. "That's the written meat and potatoes of it, it is a paying gig and since we're funded by the city and donations, it's usually a pretty above average rate," he smirked a bit devilishly. "I think it would be an amazing way for your shop to and business to get out there to more people, and with it being a news worthy event, some great publicity for the coffee shop business. I am on a bit of a time table, since all of this just got thrown on my desk about a day ago, so I do apologize if things are short notice. I've had a ton of rejections this morning, so I understand if it'll prove difficult to arrange something in less than a week and coordinate with the MMA in only a couple more after that, but I do hope you'll give it some consideration. Now, have you any questions for me?"
  19. Casey Mason

    IC: Casey - "Hear I Am"

    "Well Mr... Mourne, was it? Do you mind showing me some ID?" He might be handsome, thought Casey, but this is very unusual. She glanced over at Petra who was watching them while the tall man pulled a slim leather wallet from his coat pocket and extracted what looked like an authentic Metropolitan Museum of Art Id card, complete with picture and employee numbers. Casey held the card and studied it, not that she would be able to tell if it were real or not, but if it was fake ... well that was just too much trouble to go through to fool her. Horatio Mourne, now that was not a name you saw every day, she glanced at him standing there patiently, what kind of parents name their kid Horatio in this day and age. She handed the card back to him and watched as he slipped back into the wallet and the wallet disappear back into the jacket. And how does someone named Horatio end up looking like him. "Alright Mr. Mourne, we can talk in the office. Right this way." Casey said motioning him past her toward the office. As she followed him she gave a nod at Petra sending the girl back to work. Hopefully.
  20. Each title slid into it's spot on the shelf. Some appeared to have different titles than she remembered. Maybe she was just stressed, or didn't get a good of a look as she thought she did, they did fall quickly to the floor after all. Who knows, right? Inspecting the shelf, she paused to notice that the titles were not right. There was no reason they shouldn't have been, she'd just replaced several of the titles herself not but twenty minutes ago. The letters on the spines seemed to blur and her head felt like it was light. She lost focus for only a moment but the letters, or at least a few of them seemed to blur away while others remained solid and legible. B E H I N D Y O U were what they spelled out... she squinted, looking closer, wondering if what she was seeing was really what she was- "Miss Flynn!" She about jumped out of her shoes and garnered a few 'shhhh's' from patrons at a loud, but swiftly contained shock of fear, scream attempted to pass her lips. She spun about to see a young boy in a bright orange jacket with the hood pulled up. He held out a book at her in a green mittened hand. "Could you read to us?" She hadn't heard him approach, but that must have been because she was so engrossed in her work. Young Kenny tried to hold it up higher for her, like elevating it would make her immediately agree. "Miss Flynn? Please?"
  21. "No! No! You're not listening to me!" A gentleman customer shouted on his phone at some one, somewhere... "I told you my date of birth. It's April third, nineteen seventy one. Four, three, seven, one. Yes. No! That's not at all why I'm calling... Jesus, gimme someone who speaks English please. I don't believe for a second your name is 'Tom' with a Pakistani accent that damn thick. C'mon buddy, who are you trying to fool?" Casey couldn't help but smirk at the conversation she was over hearing outside the office. It was a brief moment of levity in the ocean of hopelessness she had in front of her when her sorrowful distracted stare was interrupted as Petra whipped around the doorway, catching and holding herself by one hand. She swayed too and from gripping the frame. "Hey, uh, Casey... there's a dude here to see you. Said he wanted to talk to the owners... but, uh, well, y'know. Looks kinda... bankerish." Great, she thought. Petra pointed him out, but it didn't seem necessary. The guy was like six-two and had shoulders like he played for the NFL. If this guy was a banker, he was the guy the bank sent to make sure you weren't late on payments. He was handsome and his long black hair was in a loose ponytail at his shoulders to keep it out of his eyes. Petra was right though, the guy looked like a business man of some sort. Casey could spot a five thousand dollar suit when she saw one. As she approached he noticed her and smiled, extending his hand. "Hello, I'm Horatio Mourne, with the Metropolitan Museum of Art. You must be, Casey. Casey Mason, yes?" She raised an eyebrow. "I'd like to believe that was a lucky guess." He chuckled, letting go of her hand. "No, no. One of your customers, a grizzled guy, black coffee, he provided me with a," he paused, searching for the proper phrase as she noticed him pass a casual glance across her chest. "Rather simplified description, but spot on, nonetheless. Is there someplace we can talk?"
  22. Mel ran to the half mile mark and could still hear the Fitness Coaches screaming 'on your six pack!'. He hit the ground and knocked out thirty push ups like they were nothing. He rolled and could hear 'two pack!' and had to bite back the urge to scream it out loud as he knocked out thirty crunches. The Army Ranger's had their individual PT times, of course, but two days each week they trained as a unit. They PTed as a unit. They succeeded or failed as a unit. Now here he was, on his own. Fifteen years in the military wasn't easy to shake loose from the mind and living a 'normal' life wasn't easy, especially without Cece around to help him adjust. He was slipping... and he knew it. He sprang up and took off. Just four and a half miles to go. His phone was on the local radio, bluetooth ear buds kept him from being worried about a cord as he ran and did his exercises. Local news, sports, sometimes some political gibber-jabber, it was all the same to him in New York: noise. A more pleasant noise than the city around him. At the moment it was news about Trump, doing something Trumpy... "...and we're back listeners, thanks once again for joining me, Deb, the only woman guaranteed to spend all her time with you and disappear by the time your wife gets home. Oh... sorry, too soon?" The sultry voice on the other side of his ear buds giggled seductively. This was a different station from the one he was listening to earlier. How could the same show be on it? "Look at him run, Manhattan. Sergeant First Class all alone in a world that doesn't make sense any more so he hides in the park, hoping everything will go away. Well, keep your head up, Soldier. There he is Manhattan, a guardian of freedom and the American way of life. An American Soldier. Taking you back to good ol' 1997. I tell ya, I loved that year, the second edition of White Wolf's Changeling: The Dreaming hit the shelves and it rounded out my collection of books for Saturday Night Angst in Mom's basement. It was also the same year this golden oldie hit the airwaves, enjoy. This one's for you, Ranger. Lead the way." Through his ear bud's The Offspring's 'Gone Away' began to play and the voice calling herself 'Deb' was silent.
  23. Casey Mason

    IC: Casey - "Hear I Am"

    Finally the morning rush was over and Janny and Petra were watching the front while she did some office work. Barb, Barbara Cullen, had called and asked Casey to take care of things today. Henry, Barbs husband was sick and she wanted to stay home and tend to him. Casey told her to just take care of Henry that she had the shop under control. Which was about as far from the truth as could be and still not be a lie. Oh sure she had the shop under control at the moment but that was just the shiny front that world saw. In the office the rotten truth was all laid bare before her. The Full Pot was running on empty. Barb and Henry had bought the place back in the early nineteen seventies. They had been in their twenties just out of collage and madly in love. They had met at the coffee shop while at university and both of them had worked there, it was as much a part of their romance as anything else and when the owner passed suddenly they had stepped in and taken it over as an act of love in a dirty dark world. The shop had thrived for many years it was the quintessential coffee shop, right down to the lunch counter with the fresh pies in the glass case and a blue plate special to die for. Stepping inot the Full Pot Coffee Shop was like walking into a time-warp right back to the late fifties or early sixties. But as with all things, time caught up. By the nineties the Starbucks phenomena was in full swing and Barb and Henry were feeling the pinch. Serving breakfast and lunch and pot after pot of Folgers just wasn't cutting it so they renovated and modernized. And never recovered. They couldn't compete with Starbucks they just didn't have the money or the branding. The changes alienated a great many of their long time customers and new ones just didn't replace them. By the mid 2000s they were struggling just barely keeping things afloat. That's when Casey had started working here part time when she was in school. She fell in love with the Cullens they sort of became the grand parents she never had. And the stories of the shops heyday in the seventies were enchanting. When she had lost her legal firm job, the Cullen's had taken her back and in return she had made it her priority to make the Full Pot successful again. So here she was sitting in the office looking at the bills. She had deliveries coming today and payroll at the end of the week. And the books showed less than half what was going to be needed even if they did 100% business for the remainder of the week. "What the fuck am I going to do..." She muttered out loud. It wasn't her responsibility but she had to do something. She had to save The Full Pot. Somehow.
  24. "Seriously?" the assistant librarian growled indignantly under her breath as she glared in the direction of Lorraine's exit, silently counting to ten and closing her eyes. She could feel the droplets of water trickling from her disheveled hair down the back of her neck, soaking her third-best blouse in a way that was likely to be uncomfortable for at least the next hour, her shins would be purple by tomorrow, and she hadn't even really gotten the day started yet. I need this job. I need this job. I need this job. I fucking hate this- "Excuse me." It wasn't phrased as a request. Her inner mantra interrupted by the brisk male voice, Maya's eyes flew open, and she forced a smile past the frustration lodged firmly in her clenched teeth. His suit was dated, wire frame glasses slightly bent, tie poorly knotted, and briefcase in dire need of some leather conditioner; she guessed he wasn't a businessman, or at least not a successful one, and judging by the looks of him, he'd been caught in the rain. Well, she thought with a hint of schadenfreude, at least I'm not the only one having a crappy day. "Welcome to Yorkville library, sir. How may I help you today?" she asked, hoping she sounded more chipper than she felt. "You can help me," he began, hefting his dripping briefcase up onto the counter and promptly sending rain dribbling indiscriminately onto the paperwork accumulated there as he opened it. "By finding these books. I tried doing a search for them online, but your website is completely useless." His bleary eyes scanned her, taking in her as-yet unkempt appearance, and he frowned with what she supposed was disapproval. "How long have you-" "Three years, sir. I've worked here for three years," she managed, trying not to scream. "If you have a list of titles, I would be happy to take it from you, but I'm going to have to ask that you remove your briefcase from the circulation desk, and keep it away from any books or periodicals." He started to protest, a red flush blooming under his collar and spreading slowly up into his face as he spluttered, but she cut him off with a curt wave of her hand. "Otherwise, the library will have no choice but to hold you responsible for any loss of NYPL property due to water damage while you're visiting. Those fines cannot be waived during library forgiveness week." She paused, glancing pointedly at the water pooling on the desk, then back up at him. "Would you like to give me that list now, sir?" By the time she had cleaned up the water, tracked down the half-dozen books on ancient Babylonian history and myth that he wanted, twisted her hair up with a rubber band from the desk, and gotten back to her chai latte, it no longer qualified as hot. Still, at least they had a microwave, and she hadn't seen the library manager since she'd practically thrown a stack of books with insulting titles at her. Maybe the rest of the day would be easier. A girl could hope, right?
  25. Mel Grimson

    IC: Mel - 'Deb By Dawn'

    Mel raised his head up, startled. Had the DJ just dropped his name? No, he must have misheard. But he pulled up to a sitting position as the song played. You can have a sound of the thousand voices calling your name You can have the light of the world blind you, bath you in grace But I don't see so easily what you hold in your hands 'Cause castles crumble, kingdoms fall and turn into sand It was a truism. Mel had grown up in a world where life - well, life wasn't exactly cheap - but it would be spent readily for the right thing of value. Be it in the tenements of Wicker Park, the sands of the Middle East, or as Cecilia had found, within the Big Apple, the red-head had always found himself haunting environments that soaked up blood with regularity. Peace seemed like a foreign concept. You can be an angel of mercy or give in to hate You can try to buy it just like it every other careless mistake How do you justify I'm mystified by the ways of your heart With a million lies the truth will rise to tear you apart Woah Except where his wife was concerned. Where his role models had been uniformly masculine, from his abusive father, the DIs, or senior non-coms and officers leading a fresh new Ranger, all steeped in conflict and violence, Cecilia had been something different altogether. A toughness that he could respect, yet mixed with a personality that could extract joy from the viewing of a successful new romantic sit-com, or cooking wonderful meals. She made peace and 'ordinary life' a reality when they were together. No one gets out alive, every day is do or die The one thing you leave behind Is how did you love, how did you love? It's not what you believe those prayers will make you bleed But while you're on your knees How did you love, how did you love, how did you love? Nothing ever feels the quite same when you are what you dreamed And you will never look at anything the same when you see what I see How we forget ourselves, lose our way from the cradle to the grave You can't replicate or duplicate, gotta find your own way Of course, she was gone now, and indeed, everything felt dull. He had always lived life in those sharper, finer senses, and truthfully, Mel had to admit, deep down, to live a quiet humdrum life, fitting within society as such had ill-suited him. The one person who might have changed that way dead. And the police's statement of 'still investigating' kept him from having the benefit of closure - or a target to direct his wrath upon. No one gets out alive, every day is do or die The one thing you leave behind Is how did you love, how did you love? It's not what you believe those prayers will make you bleed But while you're on your knees How did you love, how did you love, how did you love? This ain't no cross to bury We are the judge and jury, we are the judge and jury No one gets out alive, every day is do or die The one thing you leave behind Is how did you love, how did you love? It's not what you believe those prayers will make you bleed But while you're on your knees How did you love, how did you love? Every day had been do or die. Now, the loss of his position had taken that from which he might have been able to submerge his pain and apathy, given a little more time. Not soon enough for the high standards of the Rangers. Finally, Mel got up. Well, he couldn't spend all day on the couch. For now... he'd settle for a run. Through one of the parks. Closest thing to PT now.
  26. Casey Mason

    OOC: The Chosen PCs

    Name: Casey Mason Nature: Defender Demeanor: Stoic Concept: Over Qualified Barista Age: 26 Physical: Strength ●●, Dexterity ●●●, Stamina ●●● Social: Charisma ●●●, Manipulation ●●, Appearance ●●● Mental: Perception ●●●, Intelligence ●●●, Wits ●●●● Talents: Alertness●●, Athletics●●, Awareness●●, Brawl●, Empathy●, Expression●●, Intimidation, Leadership●●, Streetwise●, Subterfuge Skills: Animal Ken, Crafts●●●, Drive, Etiquette●●, Firearms, Larceny, Melee, Performance, Stealth, Survival Knowledges: Academics●●●, Computer●, Finanance●, Investigation●●, Law●●, Medicine, Occult, Politics, Science, Technology Backgrounds: Allies, Contacts●●, Influence, Resources ●, Certification (Notery Public) ●● MERITS: Gall (2) (K:UH): You got moxy, kid. Add an extra die to any Social roll requiring backbone. FLAWS: Allergic (1) (vpg2, bos): you suffer from an allergy to some substance; a 1 pt. version inconveniences you and may increase difficulties in certain situations, the 3 pt. version means you have an incapacitating or even a potentially fatal reaction to the substance. Taking this as a 1 Point flaw to reflect that she is not allergic to a specific thing but rather has common sinus and food allergies which are controlled by prescription, missing her daily medicines can result in debilitating illness. Soft-hearted (1) (most): You can't stand to witness suffering, and if you do, difficulties are at +2 for the next hour. Virtues: Conscience ●●●, Self-Control ●●●, Courage ●●●●● Humanity: 7 Willpower: 7 Background: Casey was girl who had it made. A law degree from Columbia, passed the bar on her first attempt, an internship at one of the most prestigious law firms in the city, all by the age of 25. She was a girl incredible prospects, then her mother was diagnosed with a virulent form a cancer and within three months she was gone. This had a terrible effect on Casey. She and her mother had been very close best friends close. Depression and acting out followed and in a night of somewhat drunken partying after hours at the law firm. One of the partners tried to take advantage of her state. When she realized what was going on she said No and a pretty intense scene unfolded. The next morning Casey found herself without a job, and basically blacklisted in the city. No other firms would hire her so she ended up back where she had worked while at collage. A small family owned Coffee house called The Full Pot. For the last year Casey has worked full time at the Full Pot the old couple who own it are falling on hard times and Casey is pretty much the only reason the place still turns enough of a profit to keep the lights on. Casey doesn't make a lot of money even though she works more than her fair share of the shifts always taking up the slack of the younger less caring kids who also work there. She loves to old couple like they were her own grand parents and recognizes that they are well beyond the time of retirement. That is one of the reasons why she stays there. She doesn't want her surrogate grandparents to lose their lively hood and she densest want to see this place that she loves close down. Trying to make a living in the legal field would require her to leave New York and she just can't bring herself to do that. So she stays, runs the coffee house and does notary on the side. Image:
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