There's a new procedure at the door. Metal detectors, pat downs...the works. Heh, good thing I had the foresight to not bring any of my toys. I'm trying to behave myself, after all. As I enter the club I'm momentarily distracted by the mood lighting and pounding bass of the music. Oh my. There's more than a few mortals here, tonight. My decision to gorge myself before heading out was a good idea. I'm broken out of my inner fugue by familiar, shrill laughter. I check in with my mind-bogglingly cheerful primogen, Serendipity. As I have on prior occasions, I find myself partly annoyed and partly envious of his seemingly constant joyous manner. Why couldn't I have ended up a happy lunatic, instead of...eh...whatever. I'm approached by another fellow Malkavian. He introduces himself as Trevor. Seems tolerable. His demeanor could almost pass for sanity. He departs and I'm scanning the room for Mongrel, feeling unnerved. Before spotting him I catch the most appealing scent. Subtle floral with mouthwatering sweet tones. I spot a lovely young mortal following closely behind a large affable looking Kindred. Her head is down, her two pigtails sweeping her shoulders. I smile, hungrily. What a perfect excuse to socialize! I approach them both and introduce myself. The servants name is Rose. “How delicious...ah..nice to meet you.” My slip of the tongue is marked by a squeeze at my elbow. I glance to my side and Mongrel's there, giving me his patented warning glare. Ah, piss. The four of us make small talk. Luckily Guillame doesn't seem too peeved at my hunger directed towards his servant. As they walk away I take a few unintentional steps to follow before catching another glare. I pout, but follow Mongrel to a spot against the wall. As I watch the throng of Kindred and Kine, my eyes continue to tick over to Rose. I seem to be one of the only people that notices her so thoroughly. She appears to meander around but under her bowed head her eyes constantly scan her surrounding, her head tilting in the most minuscule amount to catch snippets of conversation. Well, well. Tasty AND useful. Too useful to eat? An alluring Toreader introduces herself as Lucita and offers a consolation gift for a missed something or other. I accept the gift with glee and the slightest sense of suspicion. I spend good hunk of the night tracking young Rose when Mongrel isn't keeping an eye on me and entertain myself by snatching Serendipity's hat. Alas, the inside of his hat doesn't divulge any of his secrets so I give it back, disappointed.
The
night takes a different turn as Mongrel entices me to join in a hunt
for a group of independents. I'm tentative but my interest is piqued
so I agree to go. The two of us join up with a trio of suited types
and the Gangrel primogen, Ylva an adorable and violent ten year old.
We follow the trail to a properly ominous looking cave. Someone
inquires as to what to do with whomever or whatever we find in the
cave. “We fucking
kill them.” says
the bite size Gangrel. Oh,
I like her!
We enter the cave single file, I bring up the rear, just behind Mongrel. As much as I love
some carnage and bloodshed I'm a big fan of my own hide, so having a
hasty exit route is my priority right now. I smell the immortals
before I set eyes on them. Dirty looking creatures, with bone spurs
jutting from their extremities. In a second, both groups converge on
each other. Ylva guts and beheads one. Mongrel's tearing into
another. The stuffed suits are dealing with the other two. I tense to
join in when the smell assaults my senses. Somethings...wrong.
Before I can put any coherent thought together, Mongrel decapitates
the beast he's sparring with...receiving a face full of a black,
tarry substance. On the other side of the cave one of the suits gets
a ebony shot of goo in the eye. The smell is awful. The beasts are
dead but it seems the trouble isn't over. The suit is frantically
wiping at his eye with a handkerchief. I glance at Mongrel, who's
looking a little green around the gills. I open my mouth to crack a
clever remark and receive a shower of vitae and ichor. Theres
a body fluid I have yet to be soaked in.
I knuckle Mongrel's vomit out of my eyes in time to see the suit
blowing a similar load. This can't be good. We attempt to vacate the
cave. Ylva stops two of the suits, Mongrel and I at the mouth. We're
told to stick around here until further instruction. My stomach
churns. “That's great. But y'know I'm just a
tad claustrophobic and...” I
let loose a spew of vomit onto the leather suit coat of the guy in
front of me. I snort laughter and immediately regret it as the bile
assaults my taste buds. Christ
on a cracker.
The look on Ylva's face lets us know ain't one of us getting past
her. So, we wait. I pace the rocky floor until the walls start to
spin a bit. After a significant amount of time the vomit soaked group
of us are corralled into a van. The drive is long and quiet, save for
the sounds of retching and Old Blue Eyes crooning through the
speakers.
When
we finally reach our destination, the van pulls in front of the most
ridiculously regal house I've ever set my mad eyes on. The van door
slides open and we're greeting by half a dozen faceless folk in full
biohazard suits. This
is promising. “Oh hey! It's a welcoming
committee!”
I jump out of the van, surprising the closest bio-man with a refuse
coated embrace. His pure shock is probably the only thing that keeps
him from lopping my head off. We're hustled through the mansion and
I try to sneak glances at the splendor as we head into the lower
levels of what I'm made aware is the Sheriff's house. We stop at a
what looks like a bank vault.
One of the bio-men heft open the door and direct us in. Everyone hesitates. “Is this going to be a problem? Or are you all going to go in calmly and quietly?” The van driver goes in first, followed by the suits, leather coat being supported by the other two. I cast a glance at Mongrel, but he seems too ill to put up a fight.
All eyes are on me as I huff and head into the subbasement. “I'll be damned if I'm gonna be quiet about this! Ahh! AHH!” My yelling turns to a coughing fit and I cut myself off to prevent another puke explosion. The room is elegant but sparse. Couches, chairs, a TV and a small fridge. Leather coat collapses on the nearest couch and one of the taller suits checks the mini fridge. A quantifiable amount of bagged blood is in there. No fucking way. I don't do fast food. We're informed that we are under quarantine for the next three weeks until the Tremere figure out what it is we're infected with and how to get us...uninfected. Outside communication is cut off. The last of the bio-suits leave the room and the vault door slams. The click of an industrial strength lock echoes around the room. “This is going to be fucking fantastic for my business.” one of the suits gripe. Leather guy scratches at his skin were several angry looking boils are raising. I'm afraid to look at my own skin so I glance at Mongrel, whose taken a spot on the floor. Sure enough, he's prodding similar boils with his claws. We share a wordless look of distress. I shrink into a crouch, balancing on my heels as I strenuously ponder my situation. Locked in the Sheriff's basement for three weeks with three strangers all of whom are sharing some unknown, infectious, festering disease. Nothing but bagged blood. I am not going to do well at all. I already feel the first tugs of hysteria and hunger for a fresh, tenderized kill. How will I control the madness if I have no playthings to dissect? Mongrel can only help so much once the voices start. How long before reality cracks and I start tearing apart everything in my reach? And how long after that before one of the suited strangers puts my rampaging to an end with True Death? I'm so fucked. Ass fucked, even. Sans lubrication. I bounce up and grab one of the chairs. Situating it facing the wall, I sit, head down and fingers interlacing across my scalp. I close my eyes and imagine nice things, like limbless strippers and small children with flayed skin, as I count the seconds.
One of the bio-men heft open the door and direct us in. Everyone hesitates. “Is this going to be a problem? Or are you all going to go in calmly and quietly?” The van driver goes in first, followed by the suits, leather coat being supported by the other two. I cast a glance at Mongrel, but he seems too ill to put up a fight.
All eyes are on me as I huff and head into the subbasement. “I'll be damned if I'm gonna be quiet about this! Ahh! AHH!” My yelling turns to a coughing fit and I cut myself off to prevent another puke explosion. The room is elegant but sparse. Couches, chairs, a TV and a small fridge. Leather coat collapses on the nearest couch and one of the taller suits checks the mini fridge. A quantifiable amount of bagged blood is in there. No fucking way. I don't do fast food. We're informed that we are under quarantine for the next three weeks until the Tremere figure out what it is we're infected with and how to get us...uninfected. Outside communication is cut off. The last of the bio-suits leave the room and the vault door slams. The click of an industrial strength lock echoes around the room. “This is going to be fucking fantastic for my business.” one of the suits gripe. Leather guy scratches at his skin were several angry looking boils are raising. I'm afraid to look at my own skin so I glance at Mongrel, whose taken a spot on the floor. Sure enough, he's prodding similar boils with his claws. We share a wordless look of distress. I shrink into a crouch, balancing on my heels as I strenuously ponder my situation. Locked in the Sheriff's basement for three weeks with three strangers all of whom are sharing some unknown, infectious, festering disease. Nothing but bagged blood. I am not going to do well at all. I already feel the first tugs of hysteria and hunger for a fresh, tenderized kill. How will I control the madness if I have no playthings to dissect? Mongrel can only help so much once the voices start. How long before reality cracks and I start tearing apart everything in my reach? And how long after that before one of the suited strangers puts my rampaging to an end with True Death? I'm so fucked. Ass fucked, even. Sans lubrication. I bounce up and grab one of the chairs. Situating it facing the wall, I sit, head down and fingers interlacing across my scalp. I close my eyes and imagine nice things, like limbless strippers and small children with flayed skin, as I count the seconds.
<3 H-Hey... I um.. whittled some extra chess pieces... to replace the ones you um... wanna play?
ReplyDeleteThree tasties, I promise. I won't even look or judge. Sorry.