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Game System

World of Darkness


  1. What's new in this game
  2. I've decided my character concept would be better for a changeling. So I'll post it soon (hopefully).
  3. As the quarter approached the gothic-styled manor that only Puck and Darrik knew belonged to the Margrave, Isabel and Claire marveled at the ancient-looking but well preserved gargoyles. The ultimate proof of the affluence of their dates. "Wow... this, this is magnificent." Claire murmured. "Indeed." Darrik chuckled, even as he locked eyes with Puck and the two shared glances. They may have become monsters now, but some old habits never died, or became out of place. As the group rounded a corner along the grand domicile, Darrik pulled Isabel up to him, leaning back against the wall. His lips were so close now, a sultry gorgeous mouth just waiting to kiss herself. Isabel's breath caught with Darrik's arms around her waist... yeah, with enough liquor in her to ignore the alleyway surroundings - she could certainly see the fun in sealing the deal with a good man. "There's more than this house we want, and I think you girls want it too, am I wrong?" Darrik purred, hands poised on Isabel's hips, but waiting for her response, it was more fun if she complied, than struggling.
  4. They paraded through the city with their conquests, bribing their way into one of the more exclusive restaurants along their path. Puck always believed that even food deserved a last meal, and preferably a few other pleasurable lasts. Except, of course, when his better angels were tied up somewhere and his demons were far more interested in a different kind of screaming. But then what was a Sabbat Toreador if they never indulged their Pervert side? Boring, according to Puck. And he was never boring. It was a rule. The girls were swept up into a world of outrageous expenses and intensely alluring men. Even level-headed Isabel allowed herself to indulge, drinking perhaps a bit than she should have, but how often does a girl get a chance to drink wine more expensive than all her college text books for the next semester combined? The entire meal would come close to her tuition for the same period....she guessed. It was one of the restuarants with no prices on the menu - either you could afford it or you couldn't, and Darrik and his friend obviously could. "Come, chers," Puck held out a hand for Claire while Darrik did the same for Isabel. "We shall go see the house I am thinking I might just take one night and then we shall go to Le Baron for the rest of the evening, yes?" Claire shot Isabel a look promising dark days ahead for her friend if she refused and fluttered eyelashes at her unexpected date for the evening. "You can get us in? Do you go there a lot?" "Ah, ma cher, not as often as I would like," Puck murmured teasingly, "but I am known to the owner. We have a unique relationship." He flashed a mischevious grin at his partner in crime. Le Baron was owned, through a maze of shell companies and a ghoul or two, by a Camarilla Toreador elder, another favorite mark of his darker clanmate. "Wouldn't you agree, Darrik?" "Cousins," Darrik chuckled at Isabel's suspicious look. "And family is everything, wouldn't you agree?" Claire gave an indelicate snort and muttered, "Not if you're my family." At the curious looks from the two men, she shrugged and clarified, "My mother left years ago and my father has been-" "Busy," Isabel cut in. "He's a workaholic." She shot Claire her own look, warning her against making either one of them look classless in front of potential husband material. She added her own shrug and leaned up against Darrik, giving her best 'damsel' look. "I'm an orphan. My parents died in a car accident when I was little. It would be nice to have a family to care about," she added wistfully. "He's some kind of 'holic." Claire muttered again, then found a bright smile for Puck. "Le Baron sounds wonderful. Where is this house you want to go see first?" "Not too far. We can walk there, then call for a car to take us to Le Baron. I do so abhor the Metro." Smiling and thinking extremely different thoughts, the walking dead and undead made their way from the restaurant and into the night. ************* It was infuriating, watching corpses live better than most of the living and certainly better than his pack. Pack. He really should call them. There were two leeches and while he might be able to take them both himself, if he couldn't then someone needed to know who and where they were. But if he called, Patrice would take over and tell him to just wait. The girls might be dead by then, and he certainly wouldn't gain any glory in the eyes of the pack. He'd stay bottom of the totem pole, spending most of his time stuck doing boring-ass research or guarding the locus while the pack went out and did the real work of protecting the world. Killing corpses wasn't as good as fighting the Ridden or keeping the spirits in check before they crossed over, but it was part of their duty in keeping the world in balance and it would impress the pack. Well, everyone but Patrice. He fished out his phone, took a few quick pictures, and sent off a text to Zoe knowing she'd be in bed by now and wouldn't get it until morning. If he died, at least the pack would know where and what to look for. Now, it was time to hunt in earnest.
  5. "Sir, the security detail reports no problems at the gates. Perhaps the autumn chill has driven away the canaglie." "You know better than that, Stephan. The scoundrels are our welcome guests... it's the trespassers I'm worried about." Stephano's lips flickered in a wry smile, and he bowed slightly, an old habit Gianluca had failed to break him of, even after centuries of friendship. "Of course, sir." That was as informal as he'd ever gotten Stephano to be - he'd finally convinced him, around the turn of the 20th century or so, to drop the 'My Lord' in favor of a "sir". Not because Gianluca didn't value tradition, but because he considered his relationship with Stephano to be beyond such formalities, and had for some time. Stephano disagreed, and they'd managed to reach a respectable compromise on the matter, so long as there were no visitors around. Company still brought out the formality in Gianluca's closest friend and manservant. "Anyway, that should do it for the evening, sì? I imagine Mariella will be awake soon, and I--" The two youthful-looking Italian men exchanged a startled glance with each other. Neither of them had heard the lady of the estate shout - nor sound so excited about something - in decades. "Sir?" "I've no idea, Stephan. I'd best check, though!" __________ They heard the door to his study burst open, and he hurried into the main hall. "Mariella, my dove, what--" Like his wife, the sight of their guest stopped him in his tracks. He was stunned, and for a moment he could do naught but stare at the ragged (yet handsome) man with an arm through his wife's. But then joy, like a dam bursting, flooded across his features, and he rushed forward, embracing the other Kindred as a mortal man might embrace a long-lost brother. It was a startling display of affection, witnessed at this point by many of their confused servants and family members. For most of them, they had never seen the Lord or Lady of the house display this level of fondness for anyone, save each other. And even then, never this dramatically, save for a select few. "My God, Nicu! It is you, my good friend! I can not believe my eyes!" He, too, had reverted to his native Italian, and after a moment the two men stepped back after a moment, sizing up the changes that several centuries had wrought. Though their faces and bodies were as young and immortal as always, the clothes had changed, though not their significance. In contrast to Nicolae's sexy thrift-store finds, Gianluca was dressed in the casual apparel of the super-rich, a pair of slacks and a button-down shirt, all Italian-made designer clothes, sleeves rolled up to the elbows in a way only a wealthy man would dare to do to a 400€ piece of clothing. But it was also obvious that neither the differences in their clothes, nor their social status, made any difference whatsoever to Signore di Camporgiano. "Where on earth have you been? We have been waiting for you, there is much to catch up on. Please.. please, come in, make yourself at home here, Nicu. Tell us everything."
  6. "Is he hurt, the little lord?" "No, no, he is fine. It is the girl, she is dying." "Dying? I heard she was dead already." "Might as well be. I heard she hasn't woken in days." "Best if she doesn't wake up, most likely. I knew a lad that fell off a horse, and woke up a cripple. Who would the Lord marry her off to, then?" "Hush yourself! The little lord's in the next room over, and don't you reckon he's feeling bad enough, what with his mother in such a state?" "Lady Giovanna? Sì, the woman hasn't stopped wailing since they brought the bambina to her nursery." "I would wail too, and cry out to the Lord for forgiveness. To lose so many children, she must have committed a great sin against God." "Didn't I tell you two to hush up?! Who knows what ears are listening, and what they will say to Lord Giuseppe?" "Psh.. that little lord will be avoiding his papà like the plague, if he's smart." _________________________________ "Luca! Luca, let me!" "No, Mariella! You're too little, Papà said already!" "Too little for my own pony! That is okay, I can ride yours!" The handsome little noble sighed impatiently. He normally loved playing with his little sister, but this was different. This was something special for him, he was learning his duty as a future lord. His groomsman said so, that a little lord must ride well and proudly. And he was seven years old now, plenty old enough to start learning to be a proper Tuscan nobleman. "Please, Luca?! I want to ride too!" "Alright, alright! But it's not a pony, it's a horse. A grown-up horse, so you can ride with me." "Urrà!!" _________________________________ They slept together, his sister motionless, pale against the bedding, her dark hair framing a ghost-like face. His mother tossed fitfully, her upper body laid across the bed, head in her crossed arms, her skirts puddled around the stool she sat on. Tear streaks marred her normally beautiful face, and her lips were dry and cracked from dehydration. Gianluca had heard the servants whisper that if his mother died too, then he would have the sinful burden of two deaths upon his shoulders. They hadn't let him in to see them, so he waited until late at night, after all the servants had fallen asleep, to sneak into his sister's room. He thought he was coming to plead with his mother, to try to make her better so that they wouldn't both die. But the sight of his sister lying death-like upon the bed in his mother's arms stopped him short. He stumbled backwards, away from this evidence of his sins, and fell back onto the rug with a little cry as he hit the hard floor. His mother jerked awake, sitting up, her beautiful brown hair flowing unbound in loose waves around her face in a way he didn't remember ever seeing before. "Gianluca? What are you doing here, you shouldn't be here!" "Mamma, I'm sorry, please - please, is Maria going to die? The servants all say it." "I don't know - I don't - I think God is punishing me, my children have died, so many of them! And you, foolish boy, what were you thinking?! And your father, you are too young, you should not ride yet, I--" "Mamma, stop. Stop, please! I will pray, please let me pray, I have sinned. I will pray to God to wake her." "That is good, Gianluca. You must kneel here, and pray until your sister is awake." The little boy knelt, his fingers threaded together and his head bowed, at his sister's bedside. Anything, anything to stop his mother from crying, and to make his sweet little sister wake up again. He felt the guilt of murder on his soul, and he began to pray. "Mariella, Mi dispiace, Mi dispiace tanto little sist--" "Gianluca! You pray to the Vergine Maria! If your sister wakes up you can apologize to her then!" "Scusa, Mamma. Cara Mary, Madre di Dio..." _________________________________ "Just me, just me - pleeeease, Luca?!" "Maria, no! You're just a little girl - I told you, this is a grown-up lord's horse!" Maria giggled as she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with laughter at her silly older brother up on his chestnut-colored steed. He was like a handsome knight, and she admired him, but she wasn't supposed to tell him that. The maid said he would get a 'swelled head', and that didn't sound very nice at all. "You're not a grown Lord - you're just Luca!!" "I am too!" "Are not! Besides, Mamma says a proper lord is kind and polite to ladies. A kind lord would let me ride a pony, all by myself!" "I told you, it's a horse, not a -- oh, nevermind. Fine. But just this once, you promise?" "Sì, I promise, I promise!" He sighed, and climbed off of the horse. He was learning very easily, he'd overheard the groomsman telling his father so the other day. Any day now he was expecting a visit during one of his lessons, and he wanted to practice as much as possible before his father came to see his progress. Perhaps if he let his sister ride the horse a bit, then she'd finally get bored with it, and leave him alone. "Lift me up, Luca!" "Okay, okay. Here.. hold onto the reins. Come over here, I can't lift you all the way up." Together they guided the horse over to the fence. It was a small horse, for a young lord, but still too big for a little lady. He helped his sister climb up onto the fence, and then together they moved her over to the horse. Gianluca hesitated then.. she looked so tiny on that horse, her skirts up around little-girl knees and her tiny hands on the thick reins that even he struggled to hold onto firmly. "Okay, look - give me the reins, I'll help lead you around a bit so you can get a feel for it, and then--" "OH MIO DIO, WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING?!" In a disaster, it can be as if time slows down. Everything moment seems to take forever, and that was how it seemed to Gianluca in those few seconds. He heard the groomsman's cry, just as his sister clicked her little boots against the sides of the horse. The reins jerked in his hand as the horse abruptly trotted forward. He heard Maria's scream, and the horse's whinny, and the thud of her small body as it hit the ground. He felt the hands shoving him aside, and heard the groomsman crying out for help, and the screaming of the maid as she ran down from the estate, and his own heart thudding in fear, and his own sobbing as he cried out for his sister. "Mariella, Mariella, no - wait! No!" _________________________________ "NOOOOO!!!!" Gianluca jerked awake, sitting up in his bed and gasping, just as the door to his room was thrown open. He expected a servant, or perhaps even his mother, even as he acknowledged the foolishness of that idea - his mother was in the room with Maria, praying to the Virgin for her daughter's life the way he'd left her, hours ago. What he didn't expect was the tall, imposing figure of his father. He trembled a little, and then burst into childlike sobs. Little lord or not, he was seven years old, and waiting for his little sister to die. It was all his fault, and he knew it. Everyone said so, though they didn't dare say it to him. Lord Giuseppe crossed the room, and sat down on his son's bed, pulling him close. He wasn't an uncaring father, and the last few days had been torturous for him in his own way. He'd worried about his wife, and feared for her mental condition if her only living daughter were to die. He'd feared for his son, the lost little boy sobbing in his arms, if he'd been forced to live with the guilt of causing his sister's death. And he'd feared for his daughter, one of the only two children who'd made it to birth, and lived past the dangerous age of early childhood sicknesses. But now he could set those fears aside. It was alright, the girl had woken, their little Mariella was safe. "Shhh.. shhh, Gianluca. Your sister is fine, she woke up a couple hours ago. She is weak, and tired, but she will be okay." Gianluca pulled back, looking up at his father with tenuous hope. "Really?" "Really. Your mother is sleeping, finally. You must not scream any more, for she is very tired and needs her rest." "Papà, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean--" "I know, son, I know. But you must be more careful. Your little sister is a treasure, we must cherish her. You are her older brother, and you must always love her, and protect her, and treat her as a princess. Do you understand, mio figlio?" "Yes.. yes Papà." "You promise you will do this?" "I promise, Papà. I swear it." Lord Giuseppe ran his hand over his young son's head, threading his fingers through his hair. "Very good. Now go, and apologize to your sister. She has been asking for you."
  7. Pierce-Niege was once a grand country estate, a summer home for foriegn nobles just far enough outside of Paris to bask in the glory of the throne - from a safe distance. Like so many things, the hamlet of Anteuil had eventually been swallowed by the great city, but the family had kept the marbled buildings and green expanse safe from the predations of time and unrest. It was a quiet home, usually - the Camporgiano family entertained, but the events were exceptionally exclusive and occurred with an almost obsessive regularity throughout the year. Mysterious campers could sometimes be found among the trees and small clearings away from the main roads around the estate, though those that intruded on the estates to catch glimpses of these odd guests were far more lucky to be found by irate security than by those elusive campers. They were a source of endless speculation by tabloids and slow news cycles, but not even the most dedicated paparazzi or would-be journalist had yet to completely suss out the relationship between the family and these strange denizens of the estate. As the sun set over the city, old fashioned candelabras were lit in the main rooms, with electric lights ignored in favor of the flickering flames of the candles. Drapes were folded neatly back from their windows by crisply dressed servants, and the itinerant guests of the true masters of the house made their way to the servant cottages, entertaining with fiddles, guitars, and dances. They kept a teasing distance from the main home, both eager and wary of an invitation by the lord of the manor or his lady. They kept their own dance, the lord and lady of the house. He rose before her these nights, he had ever since the second Great War. He used the time to see to the household and their larger holdings, leaving the rest of the night once she rose for his undivided attention. She, of late, had started to smile again and play little games with him - sneaking out of the manor house to go dance with the gypsies or leave clues for him to follow her 'round the city. Lovers games that reminded him of nights before wars of guns and trenches. She was still deciding the entertainment for the evening, if she felt more to be hunted or to seek her love out to hunt together, when she came across the flowers in the front hall. They were handpicked, the stems ragged instead of precisely cut as shop flowers would be, and laying vase-less on the small table near the entrance. Rosemary and viscaria, tied with a laurel branch instead of ribbon. She'd been dead for centuries, her body a mockery of the natural order, but her blood pushed through her body so her heart could skip a beat and she took in a sharp breath the hold as she stared at the message. She picked up the crude bouquet petals catching on the fabric of her gloves as she turned it over her hands, caught between a keen sadness and the bright pangs of renewed hope. "I've been told it's proper to bring the lady of a house a gift, when visiting." She started at the voice from behind her, and flushed; she turned blindly, throwing herself in the arms of the Kindred behind her with a childish abandonment. She held him tightly, crushing the flowers between them in her carelessness and bursting out in her native Italian. "We thought you-...that we'd might never see you again, but we hoped!" She smiled up at him as he grinned, his own Italian still spiced with the exotic accent she'd never been able to properly place. "So I see. Pierce-Niege? The Ventrue have infected you," he teased. She playfully brandished the bouquet at him and asked archly, "Just us?" "Fair play," he relented and kissed her cheeks. He twined her arm in his, acting the proper gentlemen she knew he wasn't and certainly didn't look in his off-white t-shirt and threadbare jeans. "Where is your better half, little dove? I was told you were both here..." She almost teased him back, but caught the slight look of fear in his eyes when he asked. After so long, it's hard to believe until you see him. I'd want - I did want proof and now you're here. She squeezed his arm and smiled reassuringly. "Gianlucetto!" she called out, startling the servants and mortal family within earshot with her unheard of indulgence in impropriety within the house. "Gianlucetto, we have a guest!" The Guest
  8. It's taking me a while to flush out my character. I'll post him/her when I'm done.
  9. This is an Open World game, meaning that there is no Storyteller or Gamemaster and that anyone can join. It is more like interactive fiction than a game, though. The rules/mechanics are there for guidelines.
  10. “You should stay the night.” Sabine flushed a second later as she heard her words and realized that wasn’t a proper answer for a request for dinner. “So I can watch you.” “I have imposed enough.” Adam assured her, that smile still on his face. Sabine was going to worry about him all night, but what did that matter if she patched him up now only to have her relatives rip him apart later? Adam was dangerous to her, not because he posed a threat but because he made her want to believe he was right. Standing in the light from her bare bulb, holding her hand and smiling, Sabine felt as though she could trust what he was saying. She knew she couldn’t, but that didn’t change the way that she wanted to trust. There was something special about him and now that she’d interacted with him, she could see that. It wasn’t anything bad, but a sense that he was greater than this world. And as much as she knew she should tell him to stay away, a lonely, sad part of her wanted him to save her from her nightmare of running. She couldn’t save herself; that much she knew. It wasn’t a matter of desire but pure strength; she wasn’t capable of defeating her family. All she had was the ability to hide in cities, where they didn’t dare to go, and avoid their cousins that resided in the shadows of the urban areas. Sabine drew herself out of her fugue and took a deep breath. “If you will not stay, then please come see me in the morning. I wish to check the bandage again.” She drew another deep breath and added, with a touch of her usual shyness, “I would accept dinner, as well. If you are still offering.”
  11. A slow smile formed on his lips, the iridescent hue of his eyes once again seemed hypnotic in the low light. Indeed shadows crept in from all sides but dared not come too close to the fallen Knight and his rescuer. Like in the story books, they sat within their circle of light, just the two of them, and the world beyond seemed none to important. "Sabine, what you ask, I can not promise you." He squeezed her hand with his. "You, Dee, Markus, Mrs. Connelly in 7F who hates everyone. I couldn't allow anything to happen to any of you. It's simply my nature, it's who I am. While I shan't interfere with your life, or your business, I can't allow others to simply walk in here and do you harm, or to take you away some place you do not wish to go." He looked down at his wound and rotated his shoulder to flex the muscles below. "Nice work," He smiled warmly, his body had a few scars on it from old service injuries, but he was by no means a walking battlefield. They all seemed to add to the mysterious energy that drew people to him. "Like me, you are running. You are left to wallow in solitude in fear of what lurks in your past. I'll not judge, nor tell you your business, but while you're here, fear not, for you are not alone." He looked to his wound and looked back up at her, "They are only men. This world, no matter how dark it may seem, no matter how evil it may seem, all our fears and boogie-men are just flesh and blood. There are no demons, monsters, or things to go bump in the night. Dangerous as they may seem, your enemies are just men, and men we can deal with, together." He tried to stand, and on the second attempt he painfully managed to rise to his feet. Some blood seeped through his bandage, but it was to be expected with a wound that large. "Tis' late and we have imposed on you long enough. You've been most kind. If there is anything I can do, please, let me know. Dinner perhaps?"
  12. Sabine didn’t look pleased at Diedre’s assurances. In fact, she looked a little freaked out at Adam’s promise, particularly given the hint of spiritual mojo behind his vow. Scowling, she bent to her task, rapidly stitching the wound shut. The numbness from the ice was fading quickly, and Adam could feel the sting of the last two sutures. He lay still and silent despite the pain. “There. You are done.” Sabine pulled away the materials she’d used, shoving them aside and slumping slightly. A moment later, she reached out and took Adam’s hand, holding it as if to kiss the knuckles. “I have no wish to stitch you up again. Do you understand?” “I have no desire to be sewn upon,” Adam assured her but Sabine shook her head. “If my family were to come calling, promise me you won’t fight them.” Shadowed blue eyes held his with quiet desperation. “Promise me, before I see another good man turned into a corpse.” “I shall not fall so easily.” Adam started to sit up, but a hand on his chest stopped him. Sabine seemed to have forgotten that he was shirtless; she did a double-take, looking at her hand against his impressive physique. “My family are dangerous. Please, Adam. Others need you.” Sabine managed a smile. “I shall survive, but not if I’m the cause of your unnecessary death.”
  13. "Darrik, mademoiselle." The Lasombra simply took Claire's hand and brushed his lips on it, much as Puck had done earlier. It would take a bit of time to get to the Margrave's, but Darrik had a trick to lead them there. "So I have a proposal. There's a rather nice house I think you ought to see, splendid view... and we get something along the way?" Meanwhile.... The wolf in man's clothing had been simply walking and quietly patrolling the area, a young looking man with a bit of brown facial hair and wrinkled clothing. But then, he smelled something wrong. A ways off, but still in view for his enhanced eye sight, two of the Herd, females both, drunk but acquiring the company of two attractive young men. Attractive as the grave - they stunk of death and the walking corpses. This wolf was young, and had the zeal to match. To him, corpses stayed dead, no matter what. Lest they seen him and get suspicious though, the wolf began to simply stalk and shadow.
  14. "Forgive my hypocracy, but running away rarely solves our problems. Eventually we grow tired where as the wolf grows hungrier with the hunt." Adam had no idea how close to home his choice of words really were. "Eventually we must all give the Devil his due." Dee scoffed and sarcastically added. "Well aren't you a bucket of sunshine." "I've an eight inch laceration, courtesy of your admirer, in my side." Adam reminded her, despite his serious tone Sabine could detect sarcasm in his rebuttal. "Do pardon my lack of 'happy thoughts', Wendy." Dee smirked and stuck a tongue out at him, to which he smiled. Despite the pain, she kept his spirits relatively high. "In any case, Sabine, fear not. Regardless where your road takes you, as long as you are here, I will protect you from anyone who comes calling." There it was again... that glimmer in his eyes as spoke the words, like the spirits were reinforcing his vow. "And if privacy is what you desire, I'll see that you have it. T'is the least I can do after what you've done for me." "Yeah, Adam's good at that." Dee's tone shifted to a more somber, kid-sister tone that showed a measure of respect for Adam. "All of us here, we... we don't have a lot, y'know? No one to turn to, no real friends or family. We're kinda on our own. Adam keeps us safe, what few of us there are. He keeps out the abusive boyfriends, the pimps, the dangerous dealers and bookie thugs. Sure, this place is still a real shit hole, but hey, thanks to Adam, it's a safe one. We can actually sleep peacefully. Oh! And the best part is, he comes with the building, so it's like nothing extra on our rent or anything to have him beat up ex-boy friends whose cars you totally didn't key because he was a douche' bag." She nodded emphatically. "Quite the bargain."
  15. He grinned at Darrik. "Normally, I'd like at least some challenged, but eh, I'm hungry and they're not rich enough to cause problems when their bodies are found. Also, I think we should take them into Paris..." The dark angel showed a flash of the demon inside. "Leave them somewhere nice, say on Margrave de Courcillon front gates?" The Margrave, also known as the Honorable Lord Seneshal of Paris among the dead of the city, was a favorite target of the young Sabbat hellion. The local Kindred on either side of the philosophic divide weren't sure if he was still alive because he was that good or because the Margrave had a 'thing' for prettyboys. Either way, Puck, as always, pushed every inch and mile anyone would give him. He waved back to the drunken kine and made his way over, laughing and pulling one of them into a goofy dance spin. He ended with her wrapped in his arms and invited, "Ladies! We are into the city for the night, but it is so sad. We are all alone, no one to come with us, keep us company, lavish our affection on...." The girls giggled at his over-the-top delivery and then glanced at each other. Puck made a sad face at the second woman over the shoulder of the woman he was holding. "Ah, now, ladies, so cruel! Will you leave us to the chilly night alone?" "Claire, c'mon," the brunette Puck was holding pleaded with her sorority sister. These two guys were hot and their clothes screamed money to burn. They had classes tomorrow, but merde, it wouldn't be the first time they showed up hung-over. Claire glanced at Darrik, giving him a far more thorough and sober once-over. Darrik was used to the look: calculating his net worth, her chances at scoring more than just one night of free drinks, and checking a mental list of the rich and famous to see if he was on it. So she was one of those, a woman who goes to college and study 'husbandry'. Apparently he rated high enough and she smiled, sliding up to him. "Ah, alright Isabel. I'm Claire, monsieur....?"
  16. She had cleaned the wound; all that was left was to close it and bandage it. “I’m not questing for anything. I seek only to be left alone.” Sabine’s words were harsher than she meant. After she heard them, she sighed and did something she never did – she shared her pain. “My fiancé was not the man I thought him to be. He… I saw someone die at his hand.” “Oh, shit!” Diedre’s exclamation escaped before she could stop herself. “Oh, god, what did you do?” “I ran.” Sabine touched the needle lightly to Adam’s skin. It was cold enough that he didn’t feel the slight sting and she said, “Adam, roll onto your side. Diedre, I need the light above the wound so that I can keep the stitches small.” Even as Adam complied with her order, he told her, “I am not a vain being. My scars are merely marks.” “I am your healer, and it is my duty to mend you as best I can. That means minimal scarring. So be still and let me close your wounds as best I may.” Sabine’s blue eyes held him while she spoke, her sincerity clear even as she bent to her task. For a moment it was quiet; the only noise was a soft grunt from Adam when Sabine gently pinched the skin together. “So why did you run? Was he trying to kill you?” Diedre asked suddenly. “Diedre!” Markus said quickly. “It is fine. A story might take our minds off of this.” Sabine wasn’t keen to tell these two her story; it was Adam who had touched her with his sad story and caused her to share. “He still wanted to marry me, and it was… agreed. None in my family or my community would release the idea that we should marry. It was an accident they told me, and yes, I know my fiancé did not mean to become that angry. But I couldn’t… I looked at him and I saw the blood and horror again. And no one would let it go. So I left. And still they tried to persuade me to marry him, even… if I did not wish it. So I ran, and still I run.” Two stitches were done and she started on the third as she said, “I would appreciate if you tell no one, so that word would not get back to my family. It is easier to avoid them than to struggle against their desires.”
  17. The Losmbra looked wickedly amused and let out a breathy mock sigh. "You have me about to swoon right now, Puck." As for Puck's question, Darrik too had no qualms about taking a few risks, as it was. "I'd say food around here, just to make sure we get our strength up... Then we can go mortal shopping in the Cam-land. Sound fine?" "Sure," Puck assented, and the two Sabbat vampires headed up the stairs and into the night. The gay lights of the Versailles entertainment brought light in some profusion on the streets, though if someone were to truly look at Darrik, they would observe the lights cast no shadow, though illuminated as his form was. Glancing about, Darrik observed a pair of semi-intoxicated woman of college age, clad in somewhat scanty outfits, and giving cheery waves to any attractive seeming male on the street. Ideal for food. "How bout them, Puck?"
  18. Much of Adam's past the Mists had stolen, all that remained for the most part was just his mortal life, and the painful memories it had brought him. His lips pursed a bit as he scrounged the memories up. For a moment his eyes finally left hers be, their twinkle muting somewhat as he sifted through the Mists of his former life. "Well, t'was a long time ago, but I was a Federal Agent. I, uh, my children, they, uh, passed away. After that my marriage fell apart and I fled here for a vacation and decided to stay. That's the short version of it." "I'm sorry, I didn't know." She was mildly embarrassed and lost focus on her work for a moment, giving Adam reason to flinch. "It's okay, you didn't know. How could you have?" He relaxed a bit, letting her get back to work. "This is not a kind world we live in. It is a dark and dismal place filled with naught but tragedy and sadness. I guess I just wished I could find a place where I could live in obscurity and wait for things in this world to change. I don't know. I like it here now, no reason to live, nor any reason to want to leave. Who would look after Dee?" "Nice try hero," Dee snorted. "Dude, you only hang around because I feed you. Oh, which reminds me, Sabine, seriously, if you're ever hungry, stop by. I'm taking these awesome culinary classes and I always end up with a ton extra. If you can pry a plate away from "Eats-Like-No-Tomorrow" lying on your bed there." He managed a laugh, wincing slightly. "She's right, I only permit her my continued company on the terms she keep me well fed." He could feel it in Dee's mirth that flicker, that glimmer of something that he used to call hope. "Your eyes, though," He said plainly to her. "They tell me a different story. One of sadness like mine. I wish you luck in whatever it is you're questing for."
  19. “It is fine, I do not mind.” Sabine spared him a fraction of a second to smile, though she didn’t feel it. She didn’t like him prying into her past, but had he been truly interested in her, he would have been sniffing around her before tonight. “I am not Italian.” Her English was very passable and accented with French, but it sounded different than the French Adam heard daily. “I am Canadian, and I believe my mother thought the name beautiful.” “It is a lovely name.” Adam’s honest statement drew a slight flush from her, as she had chosen the name for her new life. “Broken bottle, you say?” Sabine glanced at Dee, who nodded. “Yeah, this guy, he was getting hands-y… touching like he shouldn’t?” Dee waited until she saw comprehension in Sabine’s eyes. “Anyway, he grabbed at me and Adam is the bouncer and it’s his job to stop grabbing. So when this guy did, Adam totally pushed him toward the door, only the guy snatched a bottle off the table and smashed the bottom, then stabbed him with it! Then Adam hit him, knocked him right out!” Dee had been accenting her story with gestures, such as a thrust of her arm when she described Adam getting stabbed. Each movement caused a gyration in the bed, making Adam’s body wiggle and causing him pain. “Get off the bed.” Sabine’s voice wasn’t cross, but it was commanding. “There, on the floor, that book light. I need you to stand over my shoulder and hold it above the wound.” “Um, okay.” Dierdre swallowed nervously at being asked to do something that might affect the outcome, but she did as asked. “Move it slowly back and forth. Yes, thank you.” After a moment, Sabine relaxed. “I do not see glass fragments, merci Luna. Markus, I will need a bowl, the rubbing alcohol from the bathroom, and bring me the ice from the refrigerateur.” Sabine had left the wound alone again so she could dig in her bag; Adam’s jaw set tightly when he saw her draw out a needle and thread. She also set up a candle next to the bed, lighting it from a match. When Markus brought her the alcohol, she poured it into the dish and set the thread in it to soak. Taking the ice, she warned, “This will be cold. I apologize.” She removed the shirt and firmly pressed the bag of ice against the wound, wincing when Adam jerked in reaction. “When you are numb, we will begin.” “How does a Canadian come to reside in Paris?” Adam asked, his voice terse with discomfort. “Via Holland, and Germany before that. I wanted to travel and see the world.” Sabine had rehearsed this lie so well it rolled out of her mouth and seemed almost the truth. “So I left Canada and found a group of carnival… eh, entertainers, and traveled with them. I gave massages at stops. When they went broke, they were here, and here I stopped.” She tilted her head as she looked down at him. “How does an American come to France to be a bouncer in Paris?”
  20. Puck grinned at his packmate, slithering over to him and playfully nipping at his neck. "I'm hungry. Let's get someone to eat, then find some toys to bring home." He stood, moving with a mesmerizing fluidity that truly was a deadly weapon in the hands of the monstrous Sabbat Toreador. "I need some new canvas anyways. I had an idea for a painting, but it'll be several panels." His grin turned challenging, though still playful. "So, here, or are we going a-Viking in Camarilla territory tonight? You know how picky I am about anyone I want to use for art, and Versailles clubs are just so small compared to Paris." It was a dangerous thing, to poach in the city itself, but then Puck had never really been one for playing it safe. He'd risen as quickly as he had in the Sabbat not for a particularly politically savvy mind, but because he just kept surviving the stunts he pulled so often. And managed to usually get all or most of his pack though, as well. He took Darrik's hand, raising it to his lips and gently brushing the skin, managing to look both gallant and absolutely wicked in the same moment. "Our little date before everyone else wakes up, with presents when we get home."
  21. [This is open to any of the Sabbat PCs that are in Darrik's pack. Warning: As per Sabbat stuff, this will include mature nastiness. You have been warned.] Darkness swathed the basement even more than the nighttime outside, a key feature of any worthy vampire hideout. The bodies on the floor were corpse-still, motionless. Until one of them snapped up, eyes flashing out, awake and active. The dye in the coldly beautiful youth's normally black hair remained by some trick or chance, leaving Darrik Reynold's hair a mix of red and black, He grinned as he arose, noticing that his leader looking at him as well, the rest were still slow to rise and awake. For a brief moment, he debated waiting and talking with them - but Darrik was feeling the beastly impulse to do something, to some people. He'd bring back some human prey for the pack to have fun with then. "You mind if I go grab some nubile playthings and drinks, or want to come with me?"
  22. "Please, forgive our intrusion." Adam said while lying back on the bed. His deep baritone breaking momentarily as a flare of pain ran through his side. His voice was perfect 'American English', straight out of the Dakotas... somewhere. He did that sometimes, forget he was in Paris, and his Frech was most often laughable. When out he'd sometimes have to have Dee or Markus order something for him. After six years, French was just one of those language his country boy accent just never stopped butchering. "I know this is an inconvenience, I'm sorry we've woken you at this late hour." Dee never stopped getting a kick out of the altruistic way Adam spoke, she never knew it was simply a throwback of his noble kith. What still lingered in the dying light of his faerie soul pushed out from every crack it could, trying to remind him of who he was. Adam simply accepted it as how he talked and never paid it any mind. "Wow, even bleeding to death Sir Galahad talks like Sir Galahad. Me? I'd be like 'BLAAAAGH'..." She made choking/gurgling noise and fell backward onto Sabine's futon of mattresses next to Adam. The sudden jolt of her movement made him wince in pain. "Ew, sorry dude, just trying to make your final minutes on Earth all... surreal and entertaining and stuff. After all, you did take a broken bottle to the side for me. Help a girl kill some of her guilt, would ya?" "You are safe, and that is what is important. Now stop fooling about and let me find solace in Sabine's ministrations." Everyone thought Adam talked funny. Back on the Bureau he was indeed nicknamed 'Galahad'. Not that anyone here knew that. "I will pass on Dee, but it shan't be this day. Please forgive her, once you get to know her, she quite... fun." The last part almost seemed force, like a borther trying to offer his annoying sister a compliment because their parents said he had to. He was still as she examined the wound. Yes it was big. Yes it was deep. And yes it looked very bad... to someone who'd not seen what werewolves do to people. By comparison she should have slapped a band-aid on it, told Adam to put on his big girl panties and 'suck it up pansy', but Adam was just a mortal man. In truth the wound looked a lot worse than it was. Thankfully nothing aside from skin was cut open. The bleeding had already begun to slow down and congeal by the time she pried all the sticky, bloody shirt away from the cut. Several stitches and a balm to prevent infection looked like all the big hero would need once she staunched the rest of the bleeding, she had to admit to herself, this guy was handling it well from someone who should have been in a lot of pain. "Sabine?" He asked. In the shadows of her apartment at this late hour his eyes seemed to be the only thing visible at times. They glimmered, like the mirrored finish of a felines' the flickered about depending on ho he shook his head. "An Italian name. Are you from Italy?" He winced a bit as she plied her trade. "Forgive me," He said wearily. "I'm just trying to make conversation. To keep my thoughts off this... situation."
  23. The thunder roared ominously over their head, but the party-goers didn’t seem to mind—or notice. It had been sunny; it still was. Sabine could see the dappled shadows from the light coming through the leaves. Late May high in the Torngat Range meant that the trees were just starting to put forth their greenery, so it wasn’t exactly shaded under the trees. But that was good—the sun was warm after the fridgid winter. Her father grinned proudly at her; he’d worked hard to secure a good marriage for her and he was pleased she was happy with it. Her fiancé was a handsome man and Sabine shyly exchanged a smile with him as thunder rumbled again with a strange, wooden boom. That wasn’t thunder. The thought penetrated her dream, drawing her out of it before it became a nightmare. She didn’t dream of that day often, but when she did, she relived it fully. She was just awake enough to be grateful she’d been pulled out of it when she heard the third knock followed by, “Sabine?” One hand grabbed her bug-out bag the second she realized someone was at the door. The paranoia that had fueled that action faded a moment later as she recognized the voice. It was that man on the second floor; she couldn’t remember his name. But he was not her family. Staggering off her mattress on the floor, Sabine crammed her feet into slippers and shuffled to the door. Just to be safe, she checked the peep hole. That nearly sent her scurrying back into the bathroom to hide; he wasn’t alone. The woman with him looked harmless, but the big guy wasn’t. Sabine had avoided him once she’d gotten a good look at him. He wasn’t quite human; he could be a werewolf. If so, he had a masterful ability to disguise himself—except for his eyes. They marked him as other and Sabine was taking no chances. Despite his reputation around the complex for helpfulness to anyone in need, she’d never sought his help. Thankfully, he’d never sought her, either. “Shit,” she muttered in French, even as her eyes checked to see if the door chain was in place. She didn’t want to open the door, but there was only one reason why Markus would knock on her door at two-forty in the morning. Someone was hurt. With a sigh, she opened the door to the limit of its chain. From the vantage of the people in the hallway, she was a shadowed blur of rumpled clothing and a blue eye. “Markus.” The word was a greeting, but it was also a shy question. “Sorry to bother you so late, Sabine, but Adam has been hurt.” Markus moved so she could see the bloody shirt. Sabine felt her eyes widen at the amount of blood; then she shoved the door shut and unhooked the chain. “Hurry, come in,” she ordered, standing back and clicking on her light. She winced as the bare bulb in the overhead fixture blazed brightly but it didn’t stop her from moving to her cabinet of supplies. She grabbed a towel from the top of the cheap furniture and thrust it at Diedre. “Put him on the bed. Lay the towel under him.” It was probably a futile effort to save her bedding from bloodstains. There was nowhere else to put him. The apartment was a studio; the room held the pressboard cabinet, a small fridge, a folding table for the second-hand hotplate and microwave, a counter with a sink and a mattress. A radio sat on the floor next to the mattress and several library books were piled inelegantly within grabbing distance of the bed. The cabinet held her clothing as well as her healing kit, and Sabine grabbed one of her tattered shirts to use for bandages. The soft cotton had several holes in it and she’d been saving it for this purpose anyway. She just hadn’t known she’d need it so soon. “What happened?” she asked as she set her basket of herbs and first aid gear on the floor next to the bed. Impatiently, she grabbed her mess of disheveled curls and scraped them into a ponytail as she waited for them to lay him down and let her get to work.
  24. Personal Information Known Name: Sabine Cyr Real Name: Evangeline Ouellette Occupation: Massage Therapist Legal Status: Canadian citizen, illegal French immigrant Marital Status: Unmarried Physical Traits Weight: 130 lbs Height: 5’7” Age: 24 Sex: Female Eye Color: Blue Hair Color: Black Appearance: Sabine is tall for a woman, with a strong frame well-used to the rigors of her early life. Her complexion is pale and tends to make her look pallid until she put some color into her cheeks. Her tendency to not smile leaves her expression overly somber most of the time. Her black hair is thick and curly, though she tends to wear it tightly braided or under a scarf. Powers, Skills and Personality Known Powers: Sabine doesn’t have powers; she’s a normal mortal, save for being a Kinfolk. Abilities/Special Skills: The blue-eyed mortal’s two greatest skill are tied together: her empathy toward others and her homeopathy. She truly has a generous, caring heart. But that empathy has given her trouble as well; Sabine finds it hard to know when to draw the line, when she’s already overtaxed and doesn’t need to help one more person. The problem is that she can do so much to help people; she’s familiar with herbs and tinctures. These cheap cures often save people a trip to the hospital (while France does cover medical care, sometimes odd things happen to people who visit them). She also has a great knack for looking over her own shoulder and noticing things that most people wouldn’t see. Personality: Though she can be jumpy or paranoid, Sabine genuinely cares about people. She’s very kind-hearted, often to a fault. She’s subdued and meek most of the time, but can surprise people by being forceful when dealing with a health emergency. She pushes others away actively, fighting to remain alone just in case her family finds her. Background Sabine grew up Evangeline Ouellette in the northeastern part of Quebec. Her extended family is a large one: over a dozen families, packs and septs of Fianna and Get of Fenris spread out over the Torngat Mountains in Newfoundland and Quebec. Torngat means place of spirits and the Gauntlet was thin there, allowing close contact with the Umbra. Most of the children were given small fetishes to protect them from spirits; Eva’s is a necklace she never removes. Eva grew up aware of her heritage, just as she knew she wouldn’t become a werewolf herself. No one in her immediate family got that honor, a disappointment to her father. Her people are isolationist descendants of the original settlers in Arcadia and Louisiana. They speak a rural dialect of French, one which is understandable by Parisians but considered hick. Eva grew up without running water or electricity; she traveled via foot, dog sled, or (rarely) snowmobile. She learned to hunt and forage for her own food, as well as how to treat injuries. Even her clothing was handmade either by herself or someone else in her family. When she turned sixteen, her father arranged for her to be married. Eva knew the young man; he was a werewolf, but she didn’t mind him. He was a nice guy, cute enough and he even had a respectable amount of renown. The wedding was set but on the night of the engagement party, her fiancé grew jealous of her talking to a male friend; when that friend hugged her, he was ripped to shreds by her raging husband-to-be. The young girl had thought she was ready to deal with werewolf society, but the barbarism of that act—the death of someone she loved at the hands of the man she was supposed to marry—mixed with her family’s casual acceptance of what happened fractured her sense of safety. “It’s just the way werewolves are” her mother told her. That was when Sabine understood: “It’s just the way your husband will be, too”. The girl fled her family and headed south, knowing only that large cities with lots of humans were there. In Montreal, she was able to blend into the crowds. In time, she picked up the rules of survival on the streets and eventually found her way to a forger. He created a false identity for her, and Sabine Cyr was born. Sabine attended massage therapy school, getting a job at a small new age homeopathy shop. Her knowledge of herbs and natural remedies was augmented by the school’s own information and soon she was respected among her peers for that as well. Her life crumbled when two of her cousins showed up, ready to take her home. In a panic, Sabine fled, leaving behind almost everything she’d gained. After hiding with friends, she was able to recover her passport and money, as well as a few small items, before running again. This time, the ocean itself couldn’t stop her and she came to Europe. After wandering with a summer carnival and giving massages for a euro a minute, Sabine found herself in Paris in the fall. She thought about moving on, but instead landed a job in another new age herbalism shop. Though hesitant to settle down again, Sabine was tired of running. Once she found a cheap apartment, it seemed almost destined. Hesitantly, the wary and weary kinfolk began to build another life. Concept: Kinfolk Fleeing her People Nature: Caregiver Demeanor: Loner Breed: Human Tribe: Get of Fenris/Fianna Attributes Strength – 2, Dexterity – 3, Stamina – 3 Charisma – 4 (Empathic), Manipulation – 3, Appearance – 3 Perception – 4 (Paranoid), Intelligence – 3, Wits – 3 Abilities Alertness – 3, Athletics – 1, Brawl – 1, Dodge – 2, Empathy – 3, Streetwise – 3, Subterfuge – 3 Animal Ken – 3, Crafts – 3, Firearms – 2, Stealth – 2, Survival – 3 Linguistics – 1 (French [N], English), Medicine – 4 (Massage Therapy), Occult – 1, Rituals – 1 Backgrounds Alternate ID – 3 (Sabine Cyr) Fetish – 1 (Celtic Triquetra – protection against ill-intentioned spirits) Resources – 1 (Working Poor) Contacts – 1 (Homeopathy Network) Virtues Conscience – 3, Courage – 4, Self-Control – 3 Humanity – 6, Willpower – 4 Merits and Flaws Common Sense – 1M Soft-Hearted – 1F Uninsured – 2F Natural Runner – 1M Robust Health – 1M
  25. The door to the small apartment was swung open and a large man stumbled through the threshold, clutching his side. A few droplets of blood found their way to the floor as he walked to the bathroom, followed by two others. His shirt came off only to be wadded up and held tightly to his side where a large gash spread nearly five inches between his ribs on his left side. He sucked his teeth as his makeshift compress flared the injury with pain. Things fell from the medicine cabinet into the sink below as he fumbled with his one unoccupied hand in search of something. "Everything okay in there, dude?" Dierdre asked, his long time friend and one of the people who'd left with him so he could get his injury looked at. She'd known him for the better part of three years now where he bounced at the club she danced at. She was the spry, energetic type who always had her mind on tomorrow and rarely on today. Not only did she work with him, but she lived across the hall. "Adam?" "Fine." Answered a gravelly voice barely loud enough to hear. "I feel bad." She said softly, too low for Adam to hear. "I always feel like these things are my fault, y'know?" Markus Marko, the guy who lived one floor above Adam and was on his way out to hustle up some food for his dinner caught the couple on their into the building and helped them to his apartment. "It's not your fault, Dee, you know that. It's his job to protect you and the other girls, and sometimes, it gets out of hand. He knows the risks and he takes them, every time. That's not on you, honey." "I know, but still..." She attempted a reply but Adam's appearance through the hallway pulled her attention away. "Adam, it's bleeding really bad. Maybe we should get you to a..." "No." He sad flatly. "No hospitals. The angle is a bad one, I can't do the stitches myself. One of you..." "Woah!" They both managed to say in synch as the stepped back from him, their hands in the hair like they wanted nothign to do with this brand of home surgery madness. "Don't get me wrong A-man, I love ya, but dude I'm not a doctor. Just looking at that mess is making me wanna yodel groceries. Have Markus do it." "Sorry, mate, but I don't think I could stick needles in people," Adam's disapproving glare at his two 'friends' inspired Markus with an idea. "However, I do think I know someone who could help us out. That one lady who lives in 4C. The quiet one who keeps to herself... she knows a thing or two about this stuff, trust me, we've talked a few times, she's a nurse or something, I think." "Doesn't she do homo empathy?" Dierdre asked, vaguely remembering meeting the woman sometime back. "Dee, love, I'm so happy you're beautiful," Markus placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled sweetly. "At least you have something going for ya." Dee smiled brightly at the compliment. "I know, right?" Adam shook his head and bled some more. "Homeopathy. Alright, let's see if she's home, I can't stitch this myself, and I'd prefer not to have to go to a hospital." By the time they walked to 4C Adam's shirt was soaked like a sponge and his complexion was getting a bit peaked. With a hard pound Markus banged the bottom of his fist on the door...

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