Masquerade: Midsummer Nights (Apply in OOC)

[Parcia]

The Prince's Estate.


Three Cracked Ribs, 4 broken fingers, a light concussion, multiple scratched and cuts, and a pair of lucky bite wounds. And to think, a few months back Jonah was doing hits for the Triad. Now he sat in the bathroom (one of many she owned) letting the warm water soak in and un wind his muscles. He had long since figured the Changes had made him different. Stronger, faster, more durable.


But now was a time to reflect, to think what he could have done better.


Earlier that night.


He made the point to take the bitches head and wrap it in to a bag behind the bar. He took a moment to look over the scene of destruction. He liked seeing his work. He wasn't sadistic, not really, he just had 60 years of near non stop fighting to work out.

Then he heard a muffled Cry. Well, he though it was, that's what his mind told him it was.

Setting the tied up head on a still standing table, he topped off his revolver and set about finding it. He swept the entire place again, pumping an extra round in to a body or two he judged to be not dead enough, and found him self in a side room. This one was another of the feeding rooms, yet the booths were up against a door that barely peeked up above the line.

Keeping his weapon ready, he pulled the Booth, ripping it free of its feeble mountings with ease. The Crying, Yes, actual crying coming from the other side of the door. He bashed off the small lock and with a whoosh ripped the door open...only to find a pitiful sight.


She was maybe...20? young thing, long blond hair, maybe 110 lbs soaking wet. She was...pretty much butt ass naked, a tattered par of undies and a dirty bra clinging to her emaciated form. By all accounts she looked like some poor soul that had been nabbed by them...but, she smelled like one of them. She had that same "New Born" Smell from the Childe he had seen back at the estate.

She was gaunt and...bony, like she hadn't been fed in days, weeks, and she had the tell tale pair of puncture wounds in her neck. He began to piece the puzzle together when she opened her mouth and tried to sinker her fangs in to his arm. In Doing so, he saw flecks of dried blood in her teeth, and then it hit him.

With a frown, and a roll of his eyes, he swatted her on the side of the head, rather lightly. She went out like a light and he pulled her out of the hole. It Stunk, she stunk, and he frowned at seeing such a pretty little thing in such Conditions. He could see it, underneath the dirt, dried blood, and filth, she was a looker.


He wrapped her up in a spare towel he found in the bathroom and carried, along with his weapons and the Bitch's head, out to his car. Ignoring the confused look John gave him as he did so, he opened the back door to lay the girl down on the seat. Storing his guns in the trunk, he sat in the driver's Seat and tossed the Bitch's head in to John Lap.

"Here proof of work done...i'm...94% sure I left one of them alive...and don't ask about the girl, at least not until I can get back to the place and tend to some scratches." With that, he started the GTX, gunned the engine, and peeled the hell out of the Parking lot.

[Fascist Republic Of Bermuda]

Gates, Kingsley & Gates Moeller Murphy Funeral Directors
Afternoon

“Are you sure this is the place?” Agent Higgins asked as the car pulled over in front of the home. “Yep. That’s what the background check said,” Sergeant Powell confirmed, flipping the file closed, “Name-” “Name Konstantin Mikhailov, born in the Soviet Union, immigrated to America sometime in the ‘90s, former university professor, sold his home a few years ago, currently believed to be residing in this funeral home,” Graves rattled off from memory, getting out of the car and adjusting her suit jacket, “Come on. Longer we stay out here the more time he has to expect us.”

“I’ll stay by the car. You get wind of any narcotics, just call me,” Higgins affirmed as Powell and Graves walked up to the door of the funeral home. Graves rang the doorbell, flashing her badge as soon as it opened.

“Afternoon, sir, I’m Special Agent Sam Graves. Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is Sergeant Powell, Los Angeles Police Department. Is Mister Mikhailov home?”

[Luminesa]

Gates, Kingsley & Gates Moeller Murphy Funeral Directors
Afternoon

“Are you sure this is the place?” Agent Higgins asked as the car pulled over in front of the home. “Yep. That’s what the background check said,” Sergeant Powell confirmed, flipping the file closed, “Name-” “Name Konstantin Mikhailov, born in the Soviet Union, immigrated to America sometime in the ‘90s, former university professor, sold his home a few years ago, currently believed to be residing in this funeral home,” Graves rattled off from memory, getting out of the car and adjusting her suit jacket, “Come on. Longer we stay out here the more time he has to expect us.”

“I’ll stay by the car. You get wind of any narcotics, just call me,” Higgins affirmed as Powell and Graves walked up to the door of the funeral home. Graves rang the doorbell, flashing her badge as soon as it opened.

“Afternoon, sir, I’m Special Agent Sam Graves. Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is Sergeant Powell, Los Angeles Police Department. Is Mister Mikhailov home?”

Mikhailov had managed to get a few hours of sleep, but he was unable to stay asleep for a long time. He woke-up around noon, and shook his head. He hated sleeping for so long-valuable hours of sleep were lost, and he wanted desperately to get back to work. Yet as he got-up and got dressed, he noticed two things. Michael was gone, and as he walked through the funeral home, he did not find any traces of him. He wondered if the Doll had gone to find Alexei, which caused him some worry. I guess he really did listen...Well, as long as he did not try to get too close to him... he thought, a little apprehensive. The last time the Doll had left the house, after all, he had returned in a pile of bloodied scraps.

The second thing he noticed was that the doorbell had rung. He decided to answer it, hoping Michael would be at the door. When he got to the door and opened it, he frowned as he noticed the official-looking individuals at the door. “...Why hello there. Can I help you?” He was rather tired of being apprehended by official-looking individuals, but he kept his calm and leaned against the doorway. “...Ah. I see. I am Mikhailov, yes. What do you need?” He wondered what they could possibly want, and then a possibility struck him.

The strip club? The gunshot outside the church? The burning bodies outside Arquart’s house? Curses, it could be a number of things. And then I got excited and used Magic all three times...Well, Konstantin, how are you going to get yourself out of this mess?... he questioned. Getting locked-up was not his concern, but invoking Paradox in this situation could cause mass panic, enough that he could get himself killed.

[Parcia]

The Young Blood

Funny thing about un holly torture is that when you finally get out of it, the after effects tend to stay behind for a while.

She awoke with a start finding her self swaddled in clean sheets and as naked as the day she was born. She felt...strange...the last thing she could recall was a bright light, a gun barrel, sinking her teeth in to some ones arm, and then a flash of lights and pain as another arm hit her on the temple.


She sat up and looked around. She was in some mansion or hotel, but it was...extravagant to say the least. She got up, only to find her arm hooked up to an iv, a blood bag at the end of it. Something...snapped in her, when she saw it, that bag of red nectar.

She ripped the iv out of her arm and snatched that bag and sunk her teeth in to it and drunk it down in a second. It...it felt amazing. That coppery red liquid feeling like an orgasm sliding down her throat better then any sex she had ever had.

With the Bag empty, she dropped it, blood dripping down her face and painting her lips. She got out of the bag and took a few shaky steps. That's when she heard...or, rather, smelled the Maid in the other room.

This thing her new found instincts Kicked in. Everything became clearer, she could hear things, smell things she would have never would have been able to experience before...and the Hunger...the Hunger...the Hunger was sharper, more defined, it cut through her mind like a Hot Knife through butter.

She Crossed the room with a stealthy grace that she would have been hard pressed to achieve before. The poor women must have been in her late 40s, old, slow, yet she could sense the life that pulsed inside her, the bountiful blood that lay in side her, that pumped through her veins.

She stopped her self for the slightest of moments, hesitation brought on by the smallest slice of Humanity that made it self known in some small defense of what remained of her psyche.

In the end, its what saved the old women, as she stood there an had this small conflict of self she felt a large hand take hold of her through and pick her up clear of the floor.

"OIe, women, get out and lock the damn door, she's Liable to eat ya fucking heart out right now, damn girl has nearly gone feral." The Maid, a little startled, did so in short order.

She kicked grunted and hissed at the man as he held her aloft like a small child, and compared to him, she was a small child. "You, for some one vary much so on death's Door, you got a lot of fight left in ya."

She hissed at him, actually Hissed at him. This drew a laugh from him and this unnerved her. "Calm down and stop hissing at me like a damn kitten." He held aloft a plastic cooler, and while it was closed, she could see the multiple bags of blood in side, she could sense the blood inside. She reached for it only to have this giant man keep it out of her reach.

"Uh Uh little Kitten, you have to promise me you will behave your self, and by that I mean not try to rip mine, or any one else throat out, understand?" She hissed at him again and, to get his point across he dropped the cooler, drew his .357 and leveled it on her. She froze, even in her frenzied state, she recognized the gun as something that could vary easily end her for good.

So she piped down a bit and gave a him a glare. Smiling, she holstered the revolver and picked up the cooler. "Now, im going to put you down on that bed, and your going to sit there and feed, quietly, and if you try to claw my eyes out...or escape, I wont hesitate to put you down." She got a shaky nod out and he smiled again.

Walking over to the bed, he set her down and took a step back. Keeping one hand on his revolver, he set the cooler down and pulled up a chair. She kept her eyes on him. "Alright, take your time, drink up, and don't be to messy about it."

She didn't hear him past "Messy" as she had ripped the cooler open and began to drink the bag dry. He sighed, and began to inspect is revolver as she fed.


This...this was going to be a hell of a ride.

[Fascist Republic Of Bermuda]

Gates, Kingsley & Gates Moeller Murphy Funeral Directors
Afternoon

“Are you sure this is the place?” Agent Higgins asked as the car pulled over in front of the home. “Yep. That’s what the background check said,” Sergeant Powell confirmed, flipping the file closed, “Name-” “Name Konstantin Mikhailov, born in the Soviet Union, immigrated to America sometime in the ‘90s, former university professor, sold his home a few years ago, currently believed to be residing in this funeral home,” Graves rattled off from memory, getting out of the car and adjusting her suit jacket, “Come on. Longer we stay out here the more time he has to expect us.”

“I’ll stay by the car. You get wind of any narcotics, just call me,” Higgins affirmed as Powell and Graves walked up to the door of the funeral home. Graves rang the doorbell, flashing her badge as soon as it opened.

“Afternoon, sir, I’m Special Agent Sam Graves. Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is Sergeant Powell, Los Angeles Police Department. Is Mister Mikhailov home?”

Mikhailov had managed to get a few hours of sleep, but he was unable to stay asleep for a long time. He woke-up around noon, and shook his head. He hated sleeping for so long-valuable hours of sleep were lost, and he wanted desperately to get back to work. Yet as he got-up and got dressed, he noticed two things. Michael was gone, and as he walked through the funeral home, he did not find any traces of him. He wondered if the Doll had gone to find Alexei, which caused him some worry. I guess he really did listen...Well, as long as he did not try to get too close to him... he thought, a little apprehensive. The last time the Doll had left the house, after all, he had returned in a pile of bloodied scraps.

The second thing he noticed was that the doorbell had rung. He decided to answer it, hoping Michael would be at the door. When he got to the door and opened it, he frowned as he noticed the official-looking individuals at the door. “...Why hello there. Can I help you?” He was rather tired of being apprehended by official-looking individuals, but he kept his calm and leaned against the doorway. “...Ah. I see. I am Mikhailov, yes. What do you need?” He wondered what they could possibly want, and then a possibility struck him.

The strip club? The gunshot outside the church? The burning bodies outside Arquart’s house? Curses, it could be a number of things. And then I got excited and used Magic all three times...Well, Konstantin, how are you going to get yourself out of this mess?... he questioned. Getting locked-up was not his concern, but invoking Paradox in this situation could cause mass panic, enough that he could get himself killed.

"Mister Mikhailov, you're under arrest for suspicion of participation in severe damage caused to the Coven of the Purple Hearts. Powell, cuff him," Graves ordered, the LAPD Sergeant taking his cap from under his arm to put it back on. "Nobody's not being charged with anything just yet, we just need to bring you in for questioning about the whole thing," Powell tried to soothe the man, before launching into a little spiel, "Please slowly turn around and slowly put your hands behind your back. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, and if you cannot afford one a Public Defender will be appointed for you. I wouldn't worry too much, Mister Mikhailov. We're not even sure the case is going to court yet." Powell got out a set of handcuffs to cuff the mage.

"Mister Mikhailov, it is in your best interests you come with us," Graves jumped in again, putting her FBI badge away, "Other persons involved might not testify kindly about the man who shot lightning from his hands."

[Luminesa]

Mikhailov had managed to get a few hours of sleep, but he was unable to stay asleep for a long time. He woke-up around noon, and shook his head. He hated sleeping for so long-valuable hours of sleep were lost, and he wanted desperately to get back to work. Yet as he got-up and got dressed, he noticed two things. Michael was gone, and as he walked through the funeral home, he did not find any traces of him. He wondered if the Doll had gone to find Alexei, which caused him some worry. I guess he really did listen...Well, as long as he did not try to get too close to him... he thought, a little apprehensive. The last time the Doll had left the house, after all, he had returned in a pile of bloodied scraps.

The second thing he noticed was that the doorbell had rung. He decided to answer it, hoping Michael would be at the door. When he got to the door and opened it, he frowned as he noticed the official-looking individuals at the door. “...Why hello there. Can I help you?” He was rather tired of being apprehended by official-looking individuals, but he kept his calm and leaned against the doorway. “...Ah. I see. I am Mikhailov, yes. What do you need?” He wondered what they could possibly want, and then a possibility struck him.

The strip club? The gunshot outside the church? The burning bodies outside Arquart’s house? Curses, it could be a number of things. And then I got excited and used Magic all three times...Well, Konstantin, how are you going to get yourself out of this mess?... he questioned. Getting locked-up was not his concern, but invoking Paradox in this situation could cause mass panic, enough that he could get himself killed.

"Mister Mikhailov, you're under arrest for suspicion of participation in severe damage caused to the Coven of the Purple Hearts. Powell, cuff him," Graves ordered, the LAPD Sergeant taking his cap from under his arm to put it back on. "Nobody's not being charged with anything just yet, we just need to bring you in for questioning about the whole thing," Powell tried to soothe the man, before launching into a little spiel, "Please slowly turn around and slowly put your hands behind your back. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, and if you cannot afford one a Public Defender will be appointed for you. I wouldn't worry too much, Mister Mikhailov. We're not even sure the case is going to court yet." Powell got out a set of handcuffs to cuff the mage.

"Mister Mikhailov, it is in your best interests you come with us," Graves jumped in again, putting her FBI badge away, "Other persons involved might not testify kindly about the man who shot lightning from his hands."

Mikhailov nodded, put his hands behind his back, and let the authorities handcuff him. He was annoyed by how tight the cuffs were, as well as by how his suspicion had turned-out to be correct. He was being arrested for his relation to the mess at the strip club, and he had to wonder if perhaps they had found Alexei as well. ...As long as I don’t tell them about Alexei or Silvanus...or the Inquisition...or my powers...I should be fine...but in that case, what do I tell them? Think, Mikhailov, think! he thought as the agent read him his rights. He had quite a few obstacles through which he would have to weave a very good, complex story, and he did not have a whole lot of time to consider the details. He needed to be careful, and to only indicate what of the story was absolutely necessary.

On the outside, however, he remained silent and obedient, getting into the car and allowing himself to be taken for questioning. He leaned his head against the window, and wished he could go back to sleep and disappear. He wanted to dream, as his sleep had been sufficient, but empty of dreams. As he closed his eyes, he went right back to sleep and began to dream. Two arms approached and pulled him into darkness, with the only spotlight being the pale moon. Shining over him, the moon made the world appear to be silver and glittering. Before him was not Alexei, but Silvanus, dressed entirely in a glittering, silver suit, and smiling knowingly at him. Mikhailov merely stared back, doing nothing to stop him. He did smell blood, however, and went to look around, but Silvanus took his head and turned it back toward him.

Why am I dreaming of this? Silvanus...we haven’t spoken in a while...in a few days...what could you possibly want from me in a dream?... he wondered, not aloud. He realized, however, as he stared down at Silvanus’s hands, that his own face and hands were freezing cold...and a pale, grey-white. He felt the moon blanketing over him, and thousands of whispers filling his ears, flooding his brain with conflicting, impossible, enthralling knowledge. ...The...Embrace... He felt weak and infinitesimal in size, but also invincible in wisdom and power. The world smelled sweet...but in an eerie fashion of sweetness. Blood, sweet death and unlife.

Mikhailov was not fazed, once he understood, but looking at Silvanus’s expression brought gloom into his heart. ...So it is...Ah, but...you would never look at me with such a welcoming face...would you?...You know me too well...You know how I am when others are kind to me...And you are too beautiful to be kind for too long...The wrath of the gods... In his dream, he approached, and put his head on Silvanus’s shoulder. He then jolted awake, and stared ahead in the police-car, his heart beating fast.

[Fascist Republic Of Bermuda]

"Mister Mikhailov, you're under arrest for suspicion of participation in severe damage caused to the Coven of the Purple Hearts. Powell, cuff him," Graves ordered, the LAPD Sergeant taking his cap from under his arm to put it back on. "Nobody's not being charged with anything just yet, we just need to bring you in for questioning about the whole thing," Powell tried to soothe the man, before launching into a little spiel, "Please slowly turn around and slowly put your hands behind your back. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, and if you cannot afford one a Public Defender will be appointed for you. I wouldn't worry too much, Mister Mikhailov. We're not even sure the case is going to court yet." Powell got out a set of handcuffs to cuff the mage.

"Mister Mikhailov, it is in your best interests you come with us," Graves jumped in again, putting her FBI badge away, "Other persons involved might not testify kindly about the man who shot lightning from his hands."

Mikhailov nodded, put his hands behind his back, and let the authorities handcuff him. He was annoyed by how tight the cuffs were, as well as by how his suspicion had turned-out to be correct. He was being arrested for his relation to the mess at the strip club, and he had to wonder if perhaps they had found Alexei as well. ...As long as I don’t tell them about Alexei or Silvanus...or the Inquisition...or my powers...I should be fine...but in that case, what do I tell them? Think, Mikhailov, think! he thought as the agent read him his rights. He had quite a few obstacles through which he would have to weave a very good, complex story, and he did not have a whole lot of time to consider the details. He needed to be careful, and to only indicate what of the story was absolutely necessary.

On the outside, however, he remained silent and obedient, getting into the car and allowing himself to be taken for questioning. He leaned his head against the window, and wished he could go back to sleep and disappear. He wanted to dream, as his sleep had been sufficient, but empty of dreams. As he closed his eyes, he went right back to sleep and began to dream. Two arms approached and pulled him into darkness, with the only spotlight being the pale moon. Shining over him, the moon made the world appear to be silver and glittering. Before him was not Alexei, but Silvanus, dressed entirely in a glittering, silver suit, and smiling knowingly at him. Mikhailov merely stared back, doing nothing to stop him. He did smell blood, however, and went to look around, but Silvanus took his head and turned it back toward him.

Why am I dreaming of this? Silvanus...we haven’t spoken in a while...in a few days...what could you possibly want from me in a dream?... he wondered, not aloud. He realized, however, as he stared down at Silvanus’s hands, that his own face and hands were freezing cold...and a pale, grey-white. He felt the moon blanketing over him, and thousands of whispers filling his ears, flooding his brain with conflicting, impossible, enthralling knowledge. ...The...Embrace... He felt weak and infinitesimal in size, but also invincible in wisdom and power. The world smelled sweet...but in an eerie fashion of sweetness. Blood, sweet death and unlife.

Mikhailov was not fazed, once he understood, but looking at Silvanus’s expression brought gloom into his heart. ...So it is...Ah, but...you would never look at me with such a welcoming face...would you?...You know me too well...You know how I am when others are kind to me...And you are too beautiful to be kind for too long...The wrath of the gods... In his dream, he approached, and put his head on Silvanus’s shoulder. He then jolted awake, and stared ahead in the police-car, his heart beating fast.

"Thanks bud," Powell patted Mikhailov on the shoulder at the lack of resistance he was putting up. He was shoved into the back seat next to Higgins. The car drove off, headed back to the Field Office. "I think he's asleep, Graves," Higgins updated the FBI agent in the passenger seat. "Don't let your guard down. He might be faking it to get a grab at your gun."

Mikhailov snapped awake just as the car pulled into the parking lot.

He was escorted by an LAPD officer to a fairly nondescript room, the only objects inside of interest the a table in the middle and the two chairs facing each other. And the mirror that took up a good portion of the side wall. Provided with a plastic cup of water nabbed from a water cooler, he was allowed to simmer for a few minutes before Graves entered, holding a bundle of papers, taking the seat opposite the Russian.

"Mister Mikhailov, before we begin, do you wish for an attorney?" She asked, flipping through some of the papers she brought in, "You can legally request an attorney be present for your questioning. One of your choosing or a public defender."

[Luminesa]

Mikhailov nodded, put his hands behind his back, and let the authorities handcuff him. He was annoyed by how tight the cuffs were, as well as by how his suspicion had turned-out to be correct. He was being arrested for his relation to the mess at the strip club, and he had to wonder if perhaps they had found Alexei as well. ...As long as I don’t tell them about Alexei or Silvanus...or the Inquisition...or my powers...I should be fine...but in that case, what do I tell them? Think, Mikhailov, think! he thought as the agent read him his rights. He had quite a few obstacles through which he would have to weave a very good, complex story, and he did not have a whole lot of time to consider the details. He needed to be careful, and to only indicate what of the story was absolutely necessary.

On the outside, however, he remained silent and obedient, getting into the car and allowing himself to be taken for questioning. He leaned his head against the window, and wished he could go back to sleep and disappear. He wanted to dream, as his sleep had been sufficient, but empty of dreams. As he closed his eyes, he went right back to sleep and began to dream. Two arms approached and pulled him into darkness, with the only spotlight being the pale moon. Shining over him, the moon made the world appear to be silver and glittering. Before him was not Alexei, but Silvanus, dressed entirely in a glittering, silver suit, and smiling knowingly at him. Mikhailov merely stared back, doing nothing to stop him. He did smell blood, however, and went to look around, but Silvanus took his head and turned it back toward him.

Why am I dreaming of this? Silvanus...we haven’t spoken in a while...in a few days...what could you possibly want from me in a dream?... he wondered, not aloud. He realized, however, as he stared down at Silvanus’s hands, that his own face and hands were freezing cold...and a pale, grey-white. He felt the moon blanketing over him, and thousands of whispers filling his ears, flooding his brain with conflicting, impossible, enthralling knowledge. ...The...Embrace... He felt weak and infinitesimal in size, but also invincible in wisdom and power. The world smelled sweet...but in an eerie fashion of sweetness. Blood, sweet death and unlife.

Mikhailov was not fazed, once he understood, but looking at Silvanus’s expression brought gloom into his heart. ...So it is...Ah, but...you would never look at me with such a welcoming face...would you?...You know me too well...You know how I am when others are kind to me...And you are too beautiful to be kind for too long...The wrath of the gods... In his dream, he approached, and put his head on Silvanus’s shoulder. He then jolted awake, and stared ahead in the police-car, his heart beating fast.

"Thanks bud," Powell patted Mikhailov on the shoulder at the lack of resistance he was putting up. He was shoved into the back seat next to Higgins. The car drove off, headed back to the Field Office. "I think he's asleep, Graves," Higgins updated the FBI agent in the passenger seat. "Don't let your guard down. He might be faking it to get a grab at your gun."

Mikhailov snapped awake just as the car pulled into the parking lot.

He was escorted by an LAPD officer to a fairly nondescript room, the only objects inside of interest the a table in the middle and the two chairs facing each other. And the mirror that took up a good portion of the side wall. Provided with a plastic cup of water nabbed from a water cooler, he was allowed to simmer for a few minutes before Graves entered, holding a bundle of papers, taking the seat opposite the Russian.

"Mister Mikhailov, before we begin, do you wish for an attorney?" She asked, flipping through some of the papers she brought in, "You can legally request an attorney be present for your questioning. One of your choosing or a public defender."

Mikhailov had genuinely fallen asleep. If one looked closely at his face while he was dreaming, they would have seen hints of a conflict, and sorrow. He had wanted to speak to Silvanus, to ask him what all of this meant, but his mouth would not move. He could only stare and wonder, and while he felt cold in the dream, his body was warm. When he awakened and felt his pulse, he knew his heart had started beating quickly. He was not afraid, but rather...surprised. Shocked. Confused. ...No. I wish to Ascend...Why am I dreaming about the Embrace?... He remembered how he had thought Silvanus was perfect, when he had first met him. He wondered whether he still thought that way. ...Ahh...it is because the Embrace is perfect...perfect destruction...and rebirth...Losing myself to gain everything from him... he reasoned. He gave a deep sigh as the police-car finally came to a halt.

He got out the vehicle and followed the agents into the building. He remained silent and calm, his eyes down and unfocused. He only seemed to focus when he got to the interrogation room and was handed a glass of water. Sipping it, he listened as the agent asked if he wanted an attorney. He put the glass down and frowned. “I do not have too much money on my person at the time, but if you would like then I could bring money from home to use to pick an attorney. If this is not allowed then a Public Defender is no problem. What do you wish to know about me?” he inquired, his voice softer and meeker than usual.

Part of the unusual demeanor was his own design, to avoid suspicion, but part of it was also genuine. His dream had softened him and had lifted his heart elsewhere. Ahhhh Silvanus...if only I can defend you here...maybe you will forgive me...and we will be able to speak on such matters...I will be able to find the truth...but first, this trial I must pass... he thought.

[Fascist Republic Of Bermuda]

"Thanks bud," Powell patted Mikhailov on the shoulder at the lack of resistance he was putting up. He was shoved into the back seat next to Higgins. The car drove off, headed back to the Field Office. "I think he's asleep, Graves," Higgins updated the FBI agent in the passenger seat. "Don't let your guard down. He might be faking it to get a grab at your gun."

Mikhailov snapped awake just as the car pulled into the parking lot.

He was escorted by an LAPD officer to a fairly nondescript room, the only objects inside of interest the a table in the middle and the two chairs facing each other. And the mirror that took up a good portion of the side wall. Provided with a plastic cup of water nabbed from a water cooler, he was allowed to simmer for a few minutes before Graves entered, holding a bundle of papers, taking the seat opposite the Russian.

"Mister Mikhailov, before we begin, do you wish for an attorney?" She asked, flipping through some of the papers she brought in, "You can legally request an attorney be present for your questioning. One of your choosing or a public defender."

Mikhailov had genuinely fallen asleep. If one looked closely at his face while he was dreaming, they would have seen hints of a conflict, and sorrow. He had wanted to speak to Silvanus, to ask him what all of this meant, but his mouth would not move. He could only stare and wonder, and while he felt cold in the dream, his body was warm. When he awakened and felt his pulse, he knew his heart had started beating quickly. He was not afraid, but rather...surprised. Shocked. Confused. ...No. I wish to Ascend...Why am I dreaming about the Embrace?... He remembered how he had thought Silvanus was perfect, when he had first met him. He wondered whether he still thought that way. ...Ahh...it is because the Embrace is perfect...perfect destruction...and rebirth...Losing myself to gain everything from him... he reasoned. He gave a deep sigh as the police-car finally came to a halt.

He got out the vehicle and followed the agents into the building. He remained silent and calm, his eyes down and unfocused. He only seemed to focus when he got to the interrogation room and was handed a glass of water. Sipping it, he listened as the agent asked if he wanted an attorney. He put the glass down and frowned. “I do not have too much money on my person at the time, but if you would like then I could bring money from home to use to pick an attorney. If this is not allowed then a Public Defender is no problem. What do you wish to know about me?” he inquired, his voice softer and meeker than usual.

Part of the unusual demeanor was his own design, to avoid suspicion, but part of it was also genuine. His dream had softened him and had lifted his heart elsewhere. Ahhhh Silvanus...if only I can defend you here...maybe you will forgive me...and we will be able to speak on such matters...I will be able to find the truth...but first, this trial I must pass... he thought.

[Collab Post between myself and Lum]
“Evening, Mister Mikhailov,” the man offered his hand, smiling warmly and nodded, “Name’s Barry Mitchell. I’m from Warren, Michaelson, and Associates. I’ll sit in on your questioning and offer you any legal counsel you need from me.” Graves rolled her eyes and motioned for the two to reenter the questioning room, a chair having been pulled up beside Mikhailov.

She sat down across from the mage and his attorney, and tapped her pile of papers. “Your legal name is Konstantin Mikhailov. You were born in the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, and immigrated to the United States after the Soviet Union’s collapse. A former university professor. You’re a clean individual, Mister Mikhailov. Not even a driving ticket. So it makes it a little concerning that security footage shows you doing this.”

She slid him a photo, showing him using lightning. “You channel lightning. You use it to cause pandemonium at a massacre at the strip club known as the Coven of Purple Hearts. You understand how this looks?” “Are you accusing my client of mass murder, Agent?” “I am not accusing him of anything, Mister Mitchell. Mister Mikhailov, what was your involvement at the strip club massacre?”

Mikhailov stared at the man calmly as he entered, giving a cordial smile and shaking his hand. He knew how to act polite, and given he was in a bind, now was the time to be as polite as possible. He nodded as Mr. Mitchell introduced himself, and he followed Graves without a word into the questioning room. He nodded as she mentioned he was born in the Soviet Union, though internally he smiled as Graves mentioned his “clean” record. She of course did not know everything about him, and that was due to his mostly-careful handling of his everyday life. For decades he had played the part of a normal individual, a professor in the fields of theology and biology. He had been considered respectable, intellectual, even charismatic. Now he had to defend that persona.

He looked at the tape. He noticed the moment when he raised his hands and used the lightning, and his stomach dropped. Of course, he kept a cool poker-face, though he knew explaining what had happened would be difficult. Lying would land him into hotter water, and would put Silvanus at risk. His dream was a message: he had a chance to preserve himself and everything he wanted, or it would all fall to dust in a matter of moments. One thing he noticed was that the FBI had not gathered the entire video, only what they saw of Mikhailov using lightning. Nothing of Alexei’s swordplay, or of the gun-toting giant nearby. At least that was one relief. He only had to explain his side of the story. “...I am sure that this looks very strange, Agent Graves. After all, lightning coming down from the ceiling over an individual almost seems like an act of God, does it not? You see, I did not necessarily fire the first shot. These people were aggressive and believed I had taken part in some wrongdoing. I had gone into the club to find an individual, an old friend of mine. She was shot, right before my eyes, and the club’s staff and patrons turned against me. Now, I have a concealed carry license from the State of California, so I was prepared to defend myself. After all, a citizen is allowed lawful self-defense if a person is threatening to kill you. What you see is that the lighting on the ceiling burst in the midst of the violence…” He pointed to the ceiling, which did indeed have light panels that seemingly burst open during the fight. “The individuals were struck and electrocuted.”

He was glad to have noticed the lighting. It made for a perfect Devil’s Proof. Now these individuals would have to explain how a person might shoot lightning from their hands, so he decided he would offer a question back. “Given you...might not believe my words, I have to ask. How would a man shoot lightning through the ceiling and onto a man? I do not believe Star Wars is a real continuity in our world, and so we do not have Darth Vader or Emperor Palpatine using Force Lightning on anyone,” he inquired smoothly.

“That is true, gunfire started before the little sparkler display…” Graves wrote down what Mikhailov was saying, “You were meeting a friend, friend was hit… do you know your friend’s name, for the record?” She glanced up at him as Mikhailov offered his version of events. “Mister Mikhailov, that is not how lighting works. We are not claiming you are any sort of Star Wars villain. The timing is a little too convenient.” Some new drug. If the Russians could make a drug that made people explode, then they could make one that manipulated electricity. That fact that Mikhailov himself hailed from the good old CCCP certainly didn’t lower her suspicions. “Mister Mikhailov, do you associate with any individuals who are also Russian or otherwise ex-Soviet in descent?” “Hey, that’s racial prof-” “Mister Mitchell, if I want your opinion, I will ask for it,” Graves snapped back at the lawyer, “There is a drug in the streets of Los Angeles that make people explode when they contact sunlight. A Russian drug. Mister Mikhailov, I am not concluding you are a member of the Russian Mafiya nor am I attempted to get you convicted on those grounds. I need information. Who was your friend? Why would somebody- Mafiya or otherwise- want her dead?”

“Elena Valentina. She was a student I had met while working as a professor. She had a difficult life, but...well, she wanted to be successful. Of course, ambition for some is...not always enough. So she ended-up in a rather...miserable place...” he explained, giving his voice the gentleness and wistfulness he needed to sound convincing. The girl’s name had come to him immediately, a spark of inspiration which had caused even himself a bit of surprise. An Elena Valentina did exist, and she had disappeared sometime after she had graduated as a philosophy student. He was not certain if the girl in the club had been her, but she looked quite similar to the girl he remembered. He had recalled her being a bright mind, and if she had indeed been the Ghoul whose head had been shot, her life had indeed been a tragedy, one he considered with a spark of contemplation. “I had not seen her for some time, and given she...went off the grid for some time, from what I had heard, I figured she might have changed her name, maybe her appearance a little...She never liked herself very much, from what I recall…”

Then he listened to Graves mention this Russian drug, and she asked about his association with any other Russians. He actually chuckled when she implicated that she thought he was a member of the Russian Mafiya. Of course, he still had to be careful not to implicate Alexei, who unfortunately in this instance happened to have a native-USSR-born mother, even though he himself was born in the States. “I do not mind, you do not need to be offended on my behalf. I have suffered much worse in my life than a poorly-timed question of my nationality. If you would like a clarification, I have not claimed any connections to the USSR or the Federation of Russia since my defection from the country. I have no intention of having any connections to it either, Russian friends or not. As for the Mafiya and Elena, I do not know why anyone might want her dead, or if anyone might have even been targeting her specifically in the first place. Someone fired shots on quite a few people, and I happened to be caught in the onslaught. But...this drug...hmmm…”

He took a moment to consider his next move. A Russian drug that caused people to explode...clearly this was some way of covering for the Masquerade. He did not want to remove this illusion, even if the FBI agents could not explain Magic even if it did exist. They were Sleepers, unknowing of the other world which surrounded them. At the same time, he was now given another weapon with which he could defend himself. “As for this...drug you are mentioning...I do not know much of it myself. I do not associate in the sales of drugs. Rather, I have taken some time off from my work as a professor to do my own research on religious and philosophical subjects. Sure, that does not make as much money as drug-trafficking, but I have never cared much for money,” he explained. What he said now was truth, and he knew he had the advantage. A little truth, a few deflections, and maybe a lie or two. They would have to decide which was which, and they would look like fools if they guessed wrong. “...I have to ask, how is this drug generally administered? Orally? By syringe? Do you drink it, or does it dissolve in someone’s drink?” he inquired.

Graves turned to the mirror, “Run that name,” She pointed to the personnel on the other side of the one-way glass, before turning around to face Mikhailov again as the Russian went on. “So you claim no connections to the Russian mob… carry on,” She waved him on, writing it all down. She nodded at his alibi, but stopped writing and shot a glare at him when he moved on to making fun of the mystery drug. “Mister Mikhailov, that information is not your concern.” “Agent, you can clearly see my client is no bedfellow of the Mafiya…” “Mister Mitchell, if Mister Mikhailov is not a suspect he is at the very least a witness. Now. The shooter. There was only a single one, correct? Please describe him.”

“I was concerned because you suggested I have connections to the Mafiya, and that I could have possibly administered this drug to individuals in a club. I was asking information about how this drug works, but I suppose that is superfluous to this investigation…” Mikhailov tried to recall the shooter’s appearance. He recalled that he had dwarfed Alexei, who already was a few inches smaller than himself. He packed a huge gun as well, though he could not tell what kind it was, in the darkness. He could hardly remember the man’s face or features, but he decided to take a shot anyway. “Well, given that the club was dark, his features were rather hard to...pinpoint. He was definitely enormous, and I am six feet tall. He was much, much bigger than myself. Rather angry face, broad build...and he carried a massive gun of some sort. I do not know why he was in the club, but he started some of the ruckus. I do not have a name which I can give.”

“I was implying nothing of the sort. I was pointing out that this new generation of drugs far exceed what was previously thought possible, Mister Mikhailov,” Graves retorted, staring daggers into the Russian. And then the shooter’s description. Not much but… workable. A good framework to build off of for a profile. “Thank you, any details help towards his identification and arrest.” So they were looking for a basketball player- in height, at least. “Mister Mikhailov, I have one more question. Did you notice anything abnormal about your drink at the strip club? Taste, color, and such.”

One more question. He felt he was close to passing a huge exam, one that would determine his fate within the Masquerade. He wanted to grin, but he kept his calm, amicable facade. “I apologize for not having more information, as do I apologize for seeming rude at all. I am a curious mind, I like to know things. I suppose being too nosy can be annoying for some. But as for my drink…” He had not noticed anything about it at all, beside how girly it was and how the vodka had an awful taste. “It was a Mai-Tai...as girly and silly as that might sound, I’m sure...nothing was atypical about it. The vodka tasted normal for vodka, though subpar. The color had not changed, nor had the smell or texture. I did not watch my drink being made, so someone very well could have attempted to put something in my drink. I would not know if they had. I should be more careful about my drinks in the future, maybe watching whoever makes my drinks rather than moving away from the counter. You never know these days who might want to see you unconscious on the floor of a club…” he answered. Internally, he held his breath. An agent could create another question at any moment, if they felt they needed to question his persona further. He had no room to celebrate just yet.

“Understood,” Graves marked it down. If Mikhailov was using drugs, it certainly didn’t seem to be negatively influencing his health. That was the initial suspicion she had- yet another new Russian drug, what had gotten her involved on this wild goose chase in the first place. So either Mikhailov was lying through his teeth, or his drink was spiked. “That should be all for the moment. You’ll remain detaine-” She grimaced, holding a finger up to her earpiece. She swore under her breath. “You’re free to go, it would seem,” her personal reservations about that easy to spot, “No arrest warrant. We just need one more thing.” The door opened and Agent Higgins entered. “Senior Agent Higgins, Drug Enforcement Administration. We just need a blood and urine sample. It’s perfectly safe and harmless. Free, too. If you’ll follow me.”

A blood and urine test. Mikhailov grimaced inside, as he knew he had been too cocky and had forgotten that they would still want a record that he was not using drugs. Of course, the drugs would not be the problem. He rose from his seat and followed Agent Higgins, hoping the procedure would be quick. He would have more explaining to do, and he did not look forward to it. Just a little more. Just a little more time, and I’ll be finished. I’ll go back to the funeral home, and I will find Silvanus. Yes...all will be well, he told himself, though he did not allow himself to show fear or excitement.

“Oh sweet dear, split your skin and show me that sweet elixir that lurks within!” The doctor declared when Higgins presented Mikhailov, eliciting a confused “What.” from the DEA Agent. “Nah, just messing with you. What, I extract blood for a living, my son expects me to dress up like Dracula every Halloween, I get into it a bit. Here, sit down,” the doctor motioned to a seat, preparing a swab of alcohol and an empty syringe. “You’ll feel a little pinch,” he said, cleaning the inside of one of Mikhailov’s elbows before inserting the syringe, drawing a syringe full of blood. “There we go,” the doctor applied the bandage after cleaning the area again, “You can pick up a lollipop on the way out.” “Now. Urine sample?” Higgins picked up an empty little bottle and handed it to Mikhailov, helpfully indicating, “Bathroom’s over there.”

Mikhailov gave an amused snicker as Higgins teased Mikhailov, acting as though she was a vampire. He gave a grin and replied, “Oh dear, if I had known what I was dealing with today, I would have worn a few more crosses. Maybe I could have worn some silver as well.” An ironic response, considering his dream. Then with a distant, blank look, he remembered those days, drawing blood from creatures, examining them, watching as some wasted away...He shook his head, and quickly came back to the present. He sat still, as she rolled-up his arm, revealing a tattoo on his shoulder of three lines arranged in a wave moving from north-to-south, and one on his forearm of the word ‘radiance’ written in Hebrew. Perhaps they were insignificant, except that the FBI might use them in the future for identification. Nevertheless, he got his blood drawn, and then got his urine sample. He came out of the restroom and handed her the small container. “Anything else you need, Doctor?” he inquired.

“Yep, wooden stakes too,” the doctor smirked. At least somebody around here appreciated her sense of humor. She nodded after all was said and done. “That’s it. You’re through. You’ll get your results in the mail in a couple of workdays.”

“Thank you very much. I’ll wear my silver earrings next time, I hope you’ll notice,” he replied, with a chuckle. He then got up, nodded to her, and left. He walked through the facility and out of the building, and finally drew a soft breath. He looked at his watch. 2:45 PM. He still had so much time until evening, and he needed desperately to speak to Silvanus. He could always sleep until the evening and could record more of his dreams...but he loathed the idea of simply wasting another day in bed. At the same time, his head throbbed and his body wanted desperately, for some reason, to rest. I really have lost my touch, haven’t I… he thought. At the very least he could be pleased that the interrogation was a success for him. Perhaps Silvanus would be pleased to know he had defended the Masquerade. Keeping him in a good mood, after all, would allow him just a slight bit more ease in getting information from him. Maybe being nice every now and then did pay. He wondered if he could perhaps show the same sort of amiability to get info from Silvanus...or perhaps the old Malkavian liked his torturous, brooding, cold personality. He could never tell, but showing some charm never hurt. He headed back to the funeral home, deciding that he would know what to do when he got there.

[Parcia]

The Giant and the Kitten.
The Prince's Estate.

He watched her as she emptied the bags of plasma, watching as she ripped in to the first one and drank it down in a few seconds. This seemed to make her perk up a bit and when she tore in tot he second one, she did so a tad bit slower, taking a bit more care not to spill as much as she had before.

It was interesting to watch her, like a junky getting their first fix after a good long while. He passed the time by cleaning under his nails with his Blade. It was a Kukuri, a long curved blade he had picked up in China during his stay with the triad. He took a moment, embedding the blade in to the wooden floor with a thud, and shed his jacket, leaving him in a wife beater style tank top. On top of the Sanskrit Tattoo, the rest of his arms and back were taken up by a large, intricate depiction of a Chinese dragon, white in color and with the same Sanskrit tattoo on its tail. It was a parting gift from some old friends in the Triad, one he wore with pride, being one of the few westerners to gain the right to sport such a thing.

He brought his attention back to the girl, watching as she slowly drank down the third and final bag of blood. She dropped it, taking a few heavy breaths and felt a shiver run through her nude form. "Where...where am I?"

He himself perked up. "Ah, right. Your in one of the guestrooms of the Estate of the Prince Angelos of the Camarilla." She gave him a blank stare while licking her fingers clean. Had his member not worked or really shown any life in 60 years, he might have enjoyed the sight as bit more. "Right, so, hear's a big bomb...your a Vampire."

She blinked again. "Ok..." He nodded. "Yea, lot to take in. So, how this works, as I have been told, is that you suck blood. Now, that's fine. But you can't, and I mean can't under any circumstances expose your existence, or the existence of the Camarilla, or the existence of the Vampire race and other creatures because well...once you do, not even i can keep your safe."

She took this information in as he said it. "So, Vampire? a Nosferatu, a creature of the night, romantic..." he laughed, a deep, hearty laugh. "No love, most vampires, spare the elder ones that are pushing 250 years in age, or complete fucking pricks. Self centered bastards who really only care for their own existence or petty blood line feuds...Well, the "Good Prince" is a noted Difference from that, and that's not just me being nice in case any one is spying on us. So far, she has acted with respect, something I have yet to get from most others."


"So, now that your not going to shank me for the blood in my veins, what did you mama Call you." She leaned back on to the bed, wrapping her self in the silk sheets.

Her Accent would come out for once as she spoke, "Jennifer...Jennifer Ann Ziegler."

[Luminesa]

Connor seemed to be allowing Alexei a chance to calm Michael, and the former Inquisitor knew he had to try and act quickly. The heat of the many firearms around him continued to burn, and he felt his knees trying to buckle from the terror. He could not decide if he was more frightened by the multitude of angry Garou or by Michael’s transformation into a cruel, raving beast. He hugged Michael more tightly, trying to act as the Doll had acted toward Silvanus. The irony was palpable.

“...Michael...listen to me, please...” Alexei whispered, as he felt the sharp spines in Michael’s back sticking into his chest, “...You don’t need to fight...I am not asking for you to fight. We...we were only talking about...”

“...About Mikhailov...I heard everything...” the Doll responded, in the horribly distorted voice which caused Alexei to shiver as he heard it again. The Doll had decided to lower his voice to a grumble, as he felt that his purported charge was afraid of him. “...You said you do not know...how he feels about you...and this Garou has decided that he...he hates you...” The growl grew slightly louder, alarming Alexei.

“No, no, no, no, no, he didn’t say that. But...he does not know Kostya. He does not have a reason to trust a person he has not met...Do you know why he wishes to protect me?...Why he sent you?...” Alexei inquired, walking to the front of the Doll in order to keep his focus away from Connor and Derrick.

The Doll grew quiet, strangely so, and he dodged Alexei’s gaze. The silence was full of painful static and fearful breathing, but after some time Michael found a response. “...He...hallucinated...that you were with him...and he...wanted to speak to you again...I fear he...he has lost his ability to be content by himself...I fear...he shall get himself hurt...seeking for a way out of his loneliness...but you...You keep him sane...You keep him peaceful and happy...” he explained. He glared toward Connor again, but Alexei turned his face to him.

“Don’t focus on Connor then. Focus on me...I do not hate you...I have never hated you, Michael...You are afraid that I won’t be able to love you if you can’t fight, but...I already love you. It’s okay...” he whispered, trying to console the beast. He wondered if he had been born to be so belligerent, and whether he was constantly fighting between his beast-like instincts and the kind, polite persona he showed to others.

Michael’s eyes grew large, and they sparkled. Alexei felt an odd sensation as he stared at his face, and he had to remind himself this was not Mikhailov. The Mage would never show such pure, innocent emotion on his face. He did not seek the approval of others as a part of his existence, or at least not overtly. The Doll, however, knew his survival depended on being loved. Thus Alexei’s words struck his heart. His voice even began to change to its sweeter tone, though his body was still a monster’s form. “...You...you do?...You...do not hate me for...not protecting you?...” he mumbled.

“I do not hate you. I want you to be the sweet, gentle friend I love. That’s all I need you to be, okay?...” He continued to watch the reaction to his words in Michael’s face. Michael was mystified. He had never been told he was loved simply for being himself, and especially not in his hideous monster-form. Alexei felt he was speaking now to a child, and he ignored the pain that came from hugging him. “...Now...I want you to change back. We’ll get you new clothes, I promise...” he whispered.

The Doll obeyed, changing back to his lovely humanoid form slowly. His spines receded into his back, he became smaller again, and his original appearance slowly reformed. Michael did not fight against Alexei now, but rather dropped his head onto his shoulder as he returned to his old form. Blood trickled from his mouth, and his breathing was labored. His clothing was also torn, with his shirt reduced to shreds and his pants torn at the legs and knees, and underneath one could see much of his body. Alexei stared with shock. Long scars and trails of stitching wrapped around his limbs, parts of his chest and back, and his neck. He had indeed been put together much like a doll that had been torn many times before, and Alexei was reminded that Michael was at his core one of Silvanus’s creations. His pain and his madness came from his creator, who ordered him to act as he was commanded to act. “...Alexei...help me...I am in pain...” he whispered.

Alexei nodded, and whispered a prayer to begin healing him. He would not be able to entirely save Michael’s broken bones, but he could stabilize them. As his Faith began to work, he looked to Connor. “...He will not hurt you now. He misunderstood what was asked of him, and now he is docile. Do...do you have any spare clothes which I can place on him? I’ll repay you, I promise, as you allowed for both of us to live. I am very grateful.”

[Kingdom of Irhk]

Connor seemed to be allowing Alexei a chance to calm Michael, and the former Inquisitor knew he had to try and act quickly. The heat of the many firearms around him continued to burn, and he felt his knees trying to buckle from the terror. He could not decide if he was more frightened by the multitude of angry Garou or by Michael’s transformation into a cruel, raving beast. He hugged Michael more tightly, trying to act as the Doll had acted toward Silvanus. The irony was palpable.

“...Michael...listen to me, please...” Alexei whispered, as he felt the sharp spines in Michael’s back sticking into his chest, “...You don’t need to fight...I am not asking for you to fight. We...we were only talking about...”

“...About Mikhailov...I heard everything...” the Doll responded, in the horribly distorted voice which caused Alexei to shiver as he heard it again. The Doll had decided to lower his voice to a grumble, as he felt that his purported charge was afraid of him. “...You said you do not know...how he feels about you...and this Garou has decided that he...he hates you...” The growl grew slightly louder, alarming Alexei.

“No, no, no, no, no, he didn’t say that. But...he does not know Kostya. He does not have a reason to trust a person he has not met...Do you know why he wishes to protect me?...Why he sent you?...” Alexei inquired, walking to the front of the Doll in order to keep his focus away from Connor and Derrick.

The Doll grew quiet, strangely so, and he dodged Alexei’s gaze. The silence was full of painful static and fearful breathing, but after some time Michael found a response. “...He...hallucinated...that you were with him...and he...wanted to speak to you again...I fear he...he has lost his ability to be content by himself...I fear...he shall get himself hurt...seeking for a way out of his loneliness...but you...You keep him sane...You keep him peaceful and happy...” he explained. He glared toward Connor again, but Alexei turned his face to him.

“Don’t focus on Connor then. Focus on me...I do not hate you...I have never hated you, Michael...You are afraid that I won’t be able to love you if you can’t fight, but...I already love you. It’s okay...” he whispered, trying to console the beast. He wondered if he had been born to be so belligerent, and whether he was constantly fighting between his beast-like instincts and the kind, polite persona he showed to others.

Michael’s eyes grew large, and they sparkled. Alexei felt an odd sensation as he stared at his face, and he had to remind himself this was not Mikhailov. The Mage would never show such pure, innocent emotion on his face. He did not seek the approval of others as a part of his existence, or at least not overtly. The Doll, however, knew his survival depended on being loved. Thus Alexei’s words struck his heart. His voice even began to change to its sweeter tone, though his body was still a monster’s form. “...You...you do?...You...do not hate me for...not protecting you?...” he mumbled.

“I do not hate you. I want you to be the sweet, gentle friend I love. That’s all I need you to be, okay?...” He continued to watch the reaction to his words in Michael’s face. Michael was mystified. He had never been told he was loved simply for being himself, and especially not in his hideous monster-form. Alexei felt he was speaking now to a child, and he ignored the pain that came from hugging him. “...Now...I want you to change back. We’ll get you new clothes, I promise...” he whispered.

The Doll obeyed, changing back to his lovely humanoid form slowly. His spines receded into his back, he became smaller again, and his original appearance slowly reformed. Michael did not fight against Alexei now, but rather dropped his head onto his shoulder as he returned to his old form. Blood trickled from his mouth, and his breathing was labored. His clothing was also torn, with his shirt reduced to shreds and his pants torn at the legs and knees, and underneath one could see much of his body. Alexei stared with shock. Long scars and trails of stitching wrapped around his limbs, parts of his chest and back, and his neck. He had indeed been put together much like a doll that had been torn many times before, and Alexei was reminded that Michael was at his core one of Silvanus’s creations. His pain and his madness came from his creator, who ordered him to act as he was commanded to act. “...Alexei...help me...I am in pain...” he whispered.

Alexei nodded, and whispered a prayer to begin healing him. He would not be able to entirely save Michael’s broken bones, but he could stabilize them. As his Faith began to work, he looked to Connor. “...He will not hurt you now. He misunderstood what was asked of him, and now he is docile. Do...do you have any spare clothes which I can place on him? I’ll repay you, I promise, as you allowed for both of us to live. I am very grateful.”

Connor Mac Domhnaill

His shoulders were bleeding, yet his eyes were filled with rage. He slowly went back to his human form, as he stared at Alexei who healed the man who just attacked him, but in a different form: one that was a Frankenstein's Monster made by someone with a twisted mind. He was clearly someone with a disturbed mind, maybe a reflex of his creator.

"You are truly a mad man, Alexei... I can't give him any clothes, lad. He attacked my brother, desecrated my home, and nearly attacked you as well... This man doesn't deserve my hospitality or my favors at all. Get him the hell out of here, or I may regret my decision of letting you leave here at all.

And if he ever returns here I swear I'll cut his head off and send it to the hellhole where he came from!"

[Luminesa]

Connor seemed to be allowing Alexei a chance to calm Michael, and the former Inquisitor knew he had to try and act quickly. The heat of the many firearms around him continued to burn, and he felt his knees trying to buckle from the terror. He could not decide if he was more frightened by the multitude of angry Garou or by Michael’s transformation into a cruel, raving beast. He hugged Michael more tightly, trying to act as the Doll had acted toward Silvanus. The irony was palpable.

“...Michael...listen to me, please...” Alexei whispered, as he felt the sharp spines in Michael’s back sticking into his chest, “...You don’t need to fight...I am not asking for you to fight. We...we were only talking about...”

“...About Mikhailov...I heard everything...” the Doll responded, in the horribly distorted voice which caused Alexei to shiver as he heard it again. The Doll had decided to lower his voice to a grumble, as he felt that his purported charge was afraid of him. “...You said you do not know...how he feels about you...and this Garou has decided that he...he hates you...” The growl grew slightly louder, alarming Alexei.

“No, no, no, no, no, he didn’t say that. But...he does not know Kostya. He does not have a reason to trust a person he has not met...Do you know why he wishes to protect me?...Why he sent you?...” Alexei inquired, walking to the front of the Doll in order to keep his focus away from Connor and Derrick.

The Doll grew quiet, strangely so, and he dodged Alexei’s gaze. The silence was full of painful static and fearful breathing, but after some time Michael found a response. “...He...hallucinated...that you were with him...and he...wanted to speak to you again...I fear he...he has lost his ability to be content by himself...I fear...he shall get himself hurt...seeking for a way out of his loneliness...but you...You keep him sane...You keep him peaceful and happy...” he explained. He glared toward Connor again, but Alexei turned his face to him.

“Don’t focus on Connor then. Focus on me...I do not hate you...I have never hated you, Michael...You are afraid that I won’t be able to love you if you can’t fight, but...I already love you. It’s okay...” he whispered, trying to console the beast. He wondered if he had been born to be so belligerent, and whether he was constantly fighting between his beast-like instincts and the kind, polite persona he showed to others.

Michael’s eyes grew large, and they sparkled. Alexei felt an odd sensation as he stared at his face, and he had to remind himself this was not Mikhailov. The Mage would never show such pure, innocent emotion on his face. He did not seek the approval of others as a part of his existence, or at least not overtly. The Doll, however, knew his survival depended on being loved. Thus Alexei’s words struck his heart. His voice even began to change to its sweeter tone, though his body was still a monster’s form. “...You...you do?...You...do not hate me for...not protecting you?...” he mumbled.

“I do not hate you. I want you to be the sweet, gentle friend I love. That’s all I need you to be, okay?...” He continued to watch the reaction to his words in Michael’s face. Michael was mystified. He had never been told he was loved simply for being himself, and especially not in his hideous monster-form. Alexei felt he was speaking now to a child, and he ignored the pain that came from hugging him. “...Now...I want you to change back. We’ll get you new clothes, I promise...” he whispered.

The Doll obeyed, changing back to his lovely humanoid form slowly. His spines receded into his back, he became smaller again, and his original appearance slowly reformed. Michael did not fight against Alexei now, but rather dropped his head onto his shoulder as he returned to his old form. Blood trickled from his mouth, and his breathing was labored. His clothing was also torn, with his shirt reduced to shreds and his pants torn at the legs and knees, and underneath one could see much of his body. Alexei stared with shock. Long scars and trails of stitching wrapped around his limbs, parts of his chest and back, and his neck. He had indeed been put together much like a doll that had been torn many times before, and Alexei was reminded that Michael was at his core one of Silvanus’s creations. His pain and his madness came from his creator, who ordered him to act as he was commanded to act. “...Alexei...help me...I am in pain...” he whispered.

Alexei nodded, and whispered a prayer to begin healing him. He would not be able to entirely save Michael’s broken bones, but he could stabilize them. As his Faith began to work, he looked to Connor. “...He will not hurt you now. He misunderstood what was asked of him, and now he is docile. Do...do you have any spare clothes which I can place on him? I’ll repay you, I promise, as you allowed for both of us to live. I am very grateful.”

Connor Mac Domhnaill

His shoulders were bleeding, yet his eyes were filled with rage. He slowly went back to his human form, as he stared at Alexei who healed the man who just attacked him, but in a different form: one that was a Frankenstein's Monster made by someone with a twisted mind. He was clearly someone with a disturbed mind, maybe a reflex of his creator.

"You are truly a mad man, Alexei... I can't give him any clothes, lad. He attacked my brother, desecrated my home, and nearly attacked you as well... This man doesn't deserve my hospitality or my favors at all. Get him the hell out of here, or I may regret my decision of letting you leave here at all.

And if he ever returns here I swear I'll cut his head off and send it to the hellhole where he came from!"

Alexei turned to him, and nodded understandingly. He was not exactly a part of a line of work in which he was often thanked. With Michael calmed and breathing deeply in his embrace, he addressed the head of the Garou pack. “I am sure that at some point I did indeed start to go insane...I have reason to doubt my sanity these days...but I hope that...I can at least hold onto it so that I can weave my way through the pain I have caused myself. I apologize for the request, I know it was probably insensitive. Derrick’s wounds are stable, however, and he should heal perfectly fine. I have prevented infection on his part, and I hope you will forgive any and all damage my presence has caused.”

With this answer he sadly turned back to Michael, who had been committed a deep crime against the Masquerade. Sure, nobody except for Alexei saw his actions, but if he had been forced to take action then far, far worse could have occurred. His Faith glowed beneath his skin, and his eyes glittered, still ready in case a sudden outburst of rage from one of the involved parties caused the tension to escalate. “...Let’s bring you home, Michael. Please...do not do something like this again. You will cause yourself and others to get hurt, and I will not always be able to help you and to keep you from losing control of yourself...” he whispered to the Doll. Michael only nodded, too exhausted and too crestfallen to answer. Alexei then walked away from the Garou hideout, discreetly moving Michael through the docks and through the alleyways heading home.

Despite the danger of alleyways in Los Angeles, neither Alexei nor Michael faced many incidents. Gangs who saw the duo looked-on in confusion or nonchalance, except for a couple men who commented on Michael’s scars. A couple of gangsters catcalled Alexei mockingly, which the former Inquisitor ignored. About an hour later Alexei had Michael home, and the Doll was stable enough to enter the building alone. As they arrived at the funeral home, Michael stood at the doorway and looked at Alexei. “...Do you...do you want to come in with me?...Kostya may be home...I would have to check, but...you can ask the questions you wish to ask...” he suggested gently.

Alexei thought for a moment. He really did have plenty of questions now, but he knew that Mikhailov might be sleeping. He also had to return to Anna’s mansion first, if only to gather his items and to head home. He did not know what he would do quite yet, and based on Connor’s words, he knew he was stuck between the Devil and the deep blue sea. Either he could accept Mikhailov’s possible affections, try to understand Anna’s affections and her clandestine plans for him, or accept neither and try to start again. Alone. He had been around others now for long enough that he hated the idea of going back to his life alone. Considering he did not have his job as an Inquisitor now, at least officially, he was not keen on going home either. He shook his head. “...I wish for him to come to me first...If he does care so much for me, then he will do what he forced you to do in his stead. He is intelligent enough, and strong enough...” Alexei answered, sounding a little more stern than usual.

The Doll did not argue, and instead gave the former Inquisitor a warm smile. However, this warm smile seemed to be offset by an odd feature that Alexei would have had to look closely to see. For just a blink, Michael’s eyes had seemingly flashed that sickly citrine color which was so similar to that of his Malkavian creator. Alexei could not see why he suddenly felt such a chill, but he knew that somehow this was a test. He was being observed closely. The Doll stepped closer to Alexei and continued to smile, before embracing him. “...You are stronger than he is, Alexei...Right now, he is weak...remember the verse that says a child shall lead them...You are a child in the eyes of the world, naive and unknowing...but you are far wiser than you allow yourself to feel...” he murmured.

Alexei of course allowed the embrace, and he felt a peculiar calm in this hug. Mikhailov had never hugged him with quite as much tenderness, and he was not usually one for compliments. Michael, on the other hand, was kind...but the former Inquisitor knew he was inherently distorted in some way. His patch-worked body was the only body of proof he needed, to know that the Doll was not all he seemed to be. Yet he knew that Michael tried to be sweet, and genuinely so, so Alexei returned the hug. “...Thank you, Michael. Please go rest,” he replied.

The Doll left and went indoors without another word, still with that knowing smile on his face. The former Inquisitor was left with a strange sensation, like he was floating above the world and looking over it. All of the busy, lonely people, who had no idea of the existence of such people as Michael or Kostya. All of the wonder of the sleeping world, which he defended though it did not know he existed. Nor did it accept him. He felt the world passing him slowly, and he wondered if at some point his life would truly stop in time. He closed his eyes and took a breath. In a moment, all of this world could be gone, all at the hands of forces in Los Angeles which were far beyond anyone’s control.

He decided he would head back to Anna’s home to see if he could collect his things and leave. When he arrived, closer to the evening, he noticed a white van in front of Anna’s mansion. He raised an eyebrow, as he did not see too much activity happening outside the mansion. Quietly, he entered, and he heard the bustle of servants, soldiers, undead courtiers, and Ghouls moving through the building. 5:00 PM. He wanted to sleep now, given how busy his day had been, but he felt sleepless at the same time. His body would not be able to sleep, so long as he was pricked by the electricity of such a strange and rapturous place. Even now he wondered how he was allowed to move through such a building so freely. The first thing he needed was a bath, however, and so before he went to do anything else, he walked to go take a shower. The only time he stopped walking was when he sensed Faith somewhere in the building. Somewhere close.

His eyes shifted around, and he began to sweat lightly. If an Inquisitor was here, then he had brought friends, and he would not wish to chat. ...Maxwell... he thought grimly. If Maxwell was not the man, then Alexei would have to save someone from being killed as an intruder. He had no idea where to look, however, and he wondered if perhaps he was just exhausted. He walked upstairs to take a shower, which he did quickly, unlike the night before. He then changed into some other clothes-a lavender cashmere sweater that Anna had found somehow, jeans, and his sneakers. He walked out of the room then to investigate, only to hear noise in another room.

Uncertain of what he would encounter, he decided to sneak into the room. He did not feel Faith in the room, but he sensed some wild energy, the supernatural force of a newer, much younger vampire. He creaked the door open, and silently peered into the room. The sight startled him. He noted the man he had seen shooting vampires alongside him in the strip club...and a strangely pretty yet feral-looking vampire. A Toreador, and a young one. Even worse, she was naked, and he blushed bright-red with mortification as he saw her bare, slim, bony back. He did not know whether or not to consider the larger man a friend or a foe, and so he backed away only a little. However, both would have noticed the open door.

[Parcia]

The Giant and the Girl.

They both did, though they reacted differently.

Jennifer grabbed for the slightly bloody sheets and tried her best to cover her modesty the best she could, though there would be little mistaking what happened as she did so.

Jonah, to credit his surprisingly speed, had the revolver drawn and leveled at the door as soon as he caught the movement in his eye. "Alright, I don't care much for peeping toms, come on in and make your self known before I start pumping lead through that door."


The Wild, youthful energy of a young vampire would be blatant, but if the Good Priest focused a little harder on the Tall man, he might find something rather interesting.

[Luminesa]

The Giant and the Girl.

They both did, though they reacted differently.

Jennifer grabbed for the slightly bloody sheets and tried her best to cover her modesty the best she could, though there would be little mistaking what happened as she did so.

Jonah, to credit his surprisingly speed, had the revolver drawn and leveled at the door as soon as he caught the movement in his eye. "Alright, I don't care much for peeping toms, come on in and make your self known before I start pumping lead through that door."


The Wild, youthful energy of a young vampire would be blatant, but if the Good Priest focused a little harder on the Tall man, he might find something rather interesting.

“A-Ah...I am no peeping Tom! Please, I apologize for stumbling into the room while you were both...busy...” Alexei answered, more embarrassed that he had walked in on Jennifer naked than he was frightened about having a revolver in his face. After all, a pack of Garou had aimed guns at him just a few hours ago. Obediently, he stepped into the room, and looked up at Jonah. He remembered him now from the club, and paid more attention to his details. He was enormous, broad-shouldered indeed, and had a menacing glare. Yet he also had Magic within him, and Alexei blinked as he stared up at him. “...My name is Alexei Bancroft. We have met before, but you don’t remember me. I remember you, though. You were at the Coven of the Purple Hearts. All of us managed to get into a gunfight, yes? Though not between the two of us obviously...”

He paused to examine Jonah a little more closely. He was tiny in comparison to the huge man, but he did not seem too worried about the size difference. Mikhailov, Connor, Silvanus, Jonah, and even Anna were all taller than him. “...You are...a Changeling, I presume?...I sense you have Magic, but you could not be a Fae and interact freely on this plane...If I am wrong, of course, then please do not mind me. I am not a Magic-user myself, though I can recognize Magic quite easily.”

[Parcia]

The Giant and the Priest.

Jonah paid her no mind as Jennifer rose out of bed and, with out really giving a care towards the small man as she walked, in plain view, fully naked to the bathroom. She got a bit of a thrill, seeing the man go beat red with embarrassment.

Jonah, keeping the gun on Alexei, smiled. "Forgive her, she's a hellion."

He took a moment and lowered the gun, though keeping it ready. He eyed Alexei for a little while longer, getting a read for him. He was small, though stout figure. He eyed him and his gun.

He chuckled again and relaxed. Alexei, with the New Borne Vampire out of the room, would be able to get a much better feel for Jonah, and what little Humanity and faith still remained.

"So tell me Alexei, why are you here."

[Luminesa]

The Giant and the Priest.

Jonah paid her no mind as Jennifer rose out of bed and, with out really giving a care towards the small man as she walked, in plain view, fully naked to the bathroom. She got a bit of a thrill, seeing the man go beat red with embarrassment.

Jonah, keeping the gun on Alexei, smiled. "Forgive her, she's a hellion."

He took a moment and lowered the gun, though keeping it ready. He eyed Alexei for a little while longer, getting a read for him. He was small, though stout figure. He eyed him and his gun.

He chuckled again and relaxed. Alexei, with the New Borne Vampire out of the room, would be able to get a much better feel for Jonah, and what little Humanity and faith still remained.

"So tell me Alexei, why are you here."

Alexei did not turn toward Jennifer as she rose from the bed, more or less because he knew his situation was precarious enough. One wrong look and he would have to fight, and he did not wish to fight at the moment. He smiled up at Jonah as he apologized on her behalf, though his smile had some sadness. “...Most younger vampires do not have much control over themselves. Her humanity was stripped from her, after all...or some of it. But in time, she will remember some of it. Provided she survives long enough...” He did not speak with condescension, but rather as a man who had seen many like Jennifer before. Many whom he had slain without a thought, because that was what he needed to do to defend the Veil.

“...She might need some clothes, however. If she has none, I have some I can lend her. She’s almost the same size as me, it looks like...” he added, before he examined Jonah again. With Jennifer at a distance, now he could tell that the man was not only a being of Magic, but a being of...Faith? He looked closely and noticed his crucifix around his neck. He reached into his own shirt and revealed his own, as he sensed that he was with a kindred spirit. “...Interesting...you have Faith. As do I. I am formerly an Inquisitor...but...I was stripped of my position due to my actions...because I have chosen to try and prevent a full war between those living here in Los Angeles...”

He paused, and his eyes flickered toward the bathroom. Given that Jennifer was so young, keeping an eye on her and on her wild proclivities was a must. He knew almost for certain that she was a Toreador. Even just seeing her for a second had given him enough information to know she was one. Her pale, well-chiseled face and long, wild, blonde hair only needed to be cleaned of blood and dirt to reveal the unique, sparkling beauty underneath. Yet with that beauty always came danger, the danger of seduction and of the destruction of the soul each time he gave into such darkness.

Then again, being around Anna was hardly any safer, though she was much older and more in-control of her impulses. “...Why am I here?...” He turned back toward Jonah without giving any hints of his fears or temptations. “...I am a servant of God who wishes to keep the world safe from darkness, regardless of the cost to myself. For this reason I am also associated with the Camarilla, and that includes Prince Anna...” He blushed as he mentioned her name, knowing she would be awake soon. He wished to greet her when she awakened, though he did not know what he wanted to say. He wondered if she would be able to read his mind. “You have no reason to fear me. I wish no harm to you or to the newborn Toreador. As long as you are here, I shall make sure you are safe. And I shall not peek in on you in the future.” He gave a self-deprecating smile as he finished.

[Parcia]

Jonah Continued to eye the man as he spoke, keeping silent until he flashed that smile. "I would understand a man of such Humility to be of the Church. As for my faith...my faith, and the burning hell fire of utter determination they beat in to me at Camp Currahee."

He took a moment to rolled up his sleeve, showing the old, slightly faded yet still readable tattoo of the Airborne.

"Enlisted back in 41, sent most of 41 and 42 training, got dropped in to Africa, Italy...Made the Jump in to France in 44...but the Fae grabbed me before I hit the ground, right out of my harness..."

He paused, took our a machbook and a cigar and lit it. He offered one to Alexei, then thought otherwise. "When I managed to get out of the Fighting Pits of Fortuna, the land of my Fae masters, I was transported to what...quite literally is the incarnation of hell."

"Came out of that Hell after some 40 years. Didn't Eat. Didn't Sleep. Never Rested. Just fought to Survive. I came out the other side on a slope of snow in the Himalayas, spent a few years running with the triad out of China. Learned how to read and speak Mandarin and Cantonese, picked up some Japanese acting as a neutral Mediator of sorts between them and the Yakuza."

He took off his trench Coat, leaving his double plate Vest and tank top on, showing the distinctive Dragon tattoos, while they covered his back and arms, the right arm stayed mostly clear, the only thing inked in to that arm would be his Unit Insignia and rank.

"I see the world as it is, Alexei, the prince, the Vampires. Hell, if I had it my way none of this would exist...but, alas, this is how it is. A mans Faith and his Self determination is the few things I can find reliable...well, that, and Blued Carbon Steel." He pat the Model 29.

[Luminesa]

Jonah Continued to eye the man as he spoke, keeping silent until he flashed that smile. "I would understand a man of such Humility to be of the Church. As for my faith...my faith, and the burning hell fire of utter determination they beat in to me at Camp Currahee."

He took a moment to rolled up his sleeve, showing the old, slightly faded yet still readable tattoo of the Airborne.

"Enlisted back in 41, sent most of 41 and 42 training, got dropped in to Africa, Italy...Made the Jump in to France in 44...but the Fae grabbed me before I hit the ground, right out of my harness..."

He paused, took our a machbook and a cigar and lit it. He offered one to Alexei, then thought otherwise. "When I managed to get out of the Fighting Pits of Fortuna, the land of my Fae masters, I was transported to what...quite literally is the incarnation of hell."

"Came out of that Hell after some 40 years. Didn't Eat. Didn't Sleep. Never Rested. Just fought to Survive. I came out the other side on a slope of snow in the Himalayas, spent a few years running with the triad out of China. Learned how to read and speak Mandarin and Cantonese, picked up some Japanese acting as a neutral Mediator of sorts between them and the Yakuza."

He took off his trench Coat, leaving his double plate Vest and tank top on, showing the distinctive Dragon tattoos, while they covered his back and arms, the right arm stayed mostly clear, the only thing inked in to that arm would be his Unit Insignia and rank.

"I see the world as it is, Alexei, the prince, the Vampires. Hell, if I had it my way none of this would exist...but, alas, this is how it is. A mans Faith and his Self determination is the few things I can find reliable...well, that, and Blued Carbon Steel." He pat the Model 29.

Alexei listened as Jonah told his tale, examining the tattoo and hearing the tale of his fight against the Fae. His eyes became distant as he thought about Jonah’s story of his battle to survive Fortuna, a world he had only heard about in hushed whispers and in uncertain voices. None of his fellow Inquisitors had ever encountered a Fae, and few had seen a Changeling. Carefully, Alexei touched the tattoo, and felt the Magic glowing beneath Jonah’s skin. “...So you are indeed a Changeling...This would be my first time meeting a Changeling then, officially...though that should not change our encounter at all. You are who you are, and you have suffered much. To see Hell itself...I imagine it must be quite frightening, and to fight in such a place for 40 years...I wonder sometimes at what God has planned through our sufferings...” he muttered.

Jonah revealed his other tattoos as well, as he told his tale of his encounters with the triad and with the yakuza. The fierce, violently-beautiful dragon’s image scrawled and rolled across his back, as though his body was a large, muscular piece of scroll-art. Alexei was almost mesmerized by it, and he studied the details of such a design. The dichotomy of the violence of being in such gangs while gaining such magnificent art played in his mind. “...Interesting...” he mumbled, before he looked up to Jonah as he finished speaking.

He thought for a moment, and then sat on the bed, facing toward Jonah. He smelled blood, and looked toward the garbage can. The bags of fresh-blood tickled his nose, and the sickly-sweet smell brought memories to his mind. “...My father gave me my life as an Inquisitor...I was 14 when I took-up my position as a soldier for God. I have served as well as I can...I have killed many vampires, and many other strange creatures...To many I am considered a cold-blooded killer. To others I am a heretic...Being among vampires for so long has caused me to...learn more about them than I have ever learned about humanity...But I have always cling to my Faith, and I shall even when I die. I do not believe, after all, that I shall live long...I never have.” He held his crucifix in his hand, and kissed it. He then looked to Jonah.

“...The supernatural world exists in its many forms because we have accepted both faith and sin into the world. The wages of sin is death, and so we live in a world that thrives on death. Yet at the same time, Faith peers into this death, and the undead, and sees through it. Those with Faith must recognize the Masquerade, and must stare into death so those who are weak and frail do not have to. We are the messengers of God, who protect a fallen world, in hopes that one day it shall recognize the light of its Creator...until then, the Masquerade must be defended, and humanity must be guarded from those who wish to bring chaos and to pull the world further from God.”

When he finished speaking, he looked once again toward the bathroom door. “...Pardon me for just a moment...” He stood, and quickly left the room. When he returned, he had a pile of fresh clothes. A nude-colored sweater, some jeans, a blush-colored scarf, and pale-pink canvas shoes. Anna knew far too well the colors Alexei liked, and she had provided him with plenty. He knocked on the door, and spoke to Jennifer. “I apologize for my rude intrusion on you a few minutes before. I have brought you some clothes if you would wish to keep them. I have enough for myself. I also have blood I can offer, though not much...” he spoke. His words seemed odd, and almost-scripted in how precisely he spoke. Yet he did not blink or flinch, and he waited for her answer.

[Imperialisium]

A lot of people wonder why things happen. Why great and horrible things occur throughout their lifetimes. No matter how small and insignificant they are. Why such thing's come to past or currently exist? After all, it is it not a wonderous conundrum? This universe and all of its intricate, oft unseen, workings. Is it all planned? Or is it all random? What are the choices people make in life? You tell me.

Anna's Residence
Los Angeles
Nightfall

In Anna's private chambers well below the official ground floor of the Mansion. In the sub-levels that housed the Camarilla's arsenals, laboratory, and cells were Anna's own chambers. Her coffin had been laid out and a pair of Revenants, borne of ghouled parents in House Angeloi's service, walked up carefully with a vial of blood. Pressing a seemingly nondescript part of the silver inlay effigies ringing the black lacquered coffin a latch opened to reveal a small silver dish. Pouring the blood slowly into the dish, whereby it disappeared through a small hole and down a tube to drop into the mouth of the slumbering Vampiress. As it emptied the Revenants hustled back quickly. Meanwhile on the ground floor the Revenant child Sophie began to play the organ in a side room. Expertly playing Toccata and Fugue in D Minor by Bach. It was one of Anna's favorite pieces. After all, she had seen it performed live by Bach himself when he was alive.

As the piece continued with its powerful notes rounding through the mansion the coffin lid opened silently. Arms crossed the Lord of all Tremere in Southern California rose with a straight posture. Defying gravity as her legs and torso did not bend. Like some unnatural force swung her up like a pendulum to stand on her toes on the lip of the coffin. Her fangs resting on her lower lip as her eyes suddenly flared open. She adjusted her mouth so that her fangs were hidden and lowered her arms. Stepping down from the coffin whereby she went to her wardrobe. Putting on a black corset with matching stockings, garter belt, and a red thigh length skirt she rose from her chambers to the Mansion proper. But she did not go where she normally held hearings in her study. Instead, she went where she was wont to receive formal audiences and took her seat there. It was the large ballroom hall that John had taken Jonah too when he first arrived after the incident in Glassel Park.

Taking her seat there she leaned back and crossed her legs. The Piano music halted and the atmosphere in the Mansion changed. From largely silent to the movements of various vampires from all the Camarilla clans awakening and making themselves known. The vampires whirled about in their intricate social lives. The Harpies, the vampires that kept track of Prestation or the literal currency of favors that binds Camarilla society together, flitted about adjusting ledgers and tabs. Taking note of contracts and debts repaid. The transactions of Prestation varied and were wholly bewildering in complexity at times. Some were made and repaid in kind like material goods, others simply through favors and actions.

But through it all there was the constant gossip that accompanied vampire society. Whispers of everything true or false made their ways about the court. These whispers invariably made their way to the Prince's ear. One noticeably of how Jonah, of recent employ, had come to the residence with a plus one. A Vampire. A Fledgling too. By rights, the Prince could demand her presence be known and have her destroyed if need be. But no, Jonah had done his job well, she would let this play out. Other news came to her as well. Reynolds had so far refused to yield information and was going to be tortured more tomorrow. Nikolai, who entered the ballroom in a nice tailored blue suit mused to Kai about possibly taking the Inquisitor's eyes. Pickling and keeping them as a trophy of sorts.

Vampires, Cainites, various names and all creative I might add. Borne of the blood of a cursed man. The first man I cursed by the way. For good reason of course, after all, being the world's first murderer is a bit of an accomplishment needing an equally deserving punishment don't you think? Their kind is an anomaly I must say that never ceases to amaze me. Typically in regards to depravity and excess. The ceaseless machinations however I do find amusing.

Guest Room Floor

John made his way along the floor and rounded the corner. He was in a black three-piece suit with a white dress shirt. Black tie with a simple silver pin. He had his pistols under his jacket on his belt and wore black dress pants. Black dress shoes completed the ensemble. His beard freshly trimmed and hair parted. He moved along and eyed Alexei warily as he passed Jonah's room. Well, almost passed the room. He stopped to see Jennifer there. Seeing the spent blood pack and reading the room he stepped in and closed the door.

"What is going on here. Tell me you didn't bring a Fledgling here unannounced?" John's voice was surprisingly neutral, then again it usually was, but he did let out a sigh.

Changelings are interesting, at least I think so for what it is worth, essentially borne of two worlds by prolonged contact. Plucked by ethereal beings that are the antithesis of those of Earth. The origin of the Fae, well, the universe does need to keep some secrets right?

Down the Street

Hideyoshi and Manning had passed the street twice. They had seen Reynolds vehicle and had confirmed the residence matched the one on their missing compatriot's research papers. "He's either dead or captured. Not sure which is worse," said Manning. Hideyoshi did not reply and simply looked down the street. "We should tell Maxwell." continued Manning. "What do you think that will achieve?" said Hideyoshi with a dour tone. Manning looked at his compatriot in a puzzled fashion.

"What do you mean? We need to rescue him or at least recover his body for proper burial," replied Manning. Hideyoshi just shrugged, "If he's dead then our dear friend is already at Saint Peter's gates. We don't have the manpower to attempt a rescue. We can't storm a place that tight in security. We will only end up dead ourselves and Los Angeles will be truly lost." Manning frowned at his friend and comrades words. Hideyoshi could sense this and continued, "We are undermanned and outgunned. We need reinforcements. We need to communicate with Arquart about the situation."

"What about Maxwell?"

"I know he's your mentor. But I feel like Maxwell has not come to terms with how bad things are. We are losing this battle, ok? We need a platoon at least to storm that place and torch any blasphemous monster inside we find." explained Hideyoshi. Pulling out a phone he began to dial a number. "I'll make the call." Manning leaned back in his seat and let out a deep breathe.

The Catholic Church, one of many churches, though I can't say which one is more right. I don't like to play favorites personally. Even if at times my hand is forced like with what happened to one of my wayward sons. But that is a story for another time. I digress. Really these two men are faced with a frightening dilemma. Everyone does at some point in their lives. Whether by happenstance or my own manipulation who could say? Take Jennifer for example. She could have made many choices to have avoided the fate doled out to her. But maybe no matter what the result would have been the same? What if I never manipulated anything and this all just happened out of pure chaos...I guess knowing which is the case is but one of the perks of being God...

[Luminesa]

Alexei had not expected more company this evening, and given that John was the person who had approached, he immediately became guarded. He placed the clothes on a nearby table and turned to face him. He showed no animosity, but he knew that John's presence meant that Prince Anna had business with someone in the room. John did not know Alexei all too well, but as an independent Inquisitor Alexei had seen John before. His eyes flickered to John's pistols, and then back up to the assassin's face. He could also read his Magic, and knew the man was also a Changeling. Meeting two in a single evening was a rather fantastical idea, but the former Inquisitor kept his stoic, peaceful expression. He knew that provoking John in any way would not bring anyone any peace. "...You have no reason to fear anything regarding the Masquerade. If a Fledgling is here, then we shall keep them safe, and we shall not allow them to harm the Masquerade. As a disclaimer, I should add that I myself am not a Kindred. Whether or not you knew that I do not know. If you believed the blood-bags were for myself, I do not drink blood." He gave a small, friendly smile, knowing John had little reason to trust two men, one Changeling Ogre and one human, whom he hardly knew. He decided to ask another question. "Is Prince Anna awake? Do you know where she might be? Given you are dressed so fancily, I imagine I should also go and find better clothes. I do not know what events are possibly taking place tonight..." Even though I want to sleep...But the night is long, and I must keep my eyes open. It is the only way I shall come to understand the truth... he thought.

[Luminesa]

Mikhailov came home to the funeral home, and he felt the lure of exhaustion pulling him back to his room. He could not understand why he was so tired. He had told himself he would stay awake, but he knew he would be unable to function tonight if he did not sleep. He entered the home, went to his room, and took off his shoes and jacket. He let his hair down again, and took a deep breath. He hoped a hallucination of Alexei would not appear again, as the sensation of the apparition being near had caused him a chill. His own mind was playing with him, rather than being the victim of one of Silvanus’s pranks. Usually he was so lucid and so clear-thinking, at least by his own logic. Now he felt he was being robbed of more than his sanity. Now, he felt he was being robbed of his coherent thinking.

He laid his back in bed, and stared at the ceiling with a sigh. 3:15 PM. Silvanus would not be up for four more hours. The Mage had many questions in his mind, and now that he was free from interrogation, he was able to think about them without interruption. The Embrace...would destroy his Magic, or would kill him. Yet his mind wandered from these logical conclusions, and he imagined Silvanus as he was in the dream. His face had been calm and serene, and he had never spoken a word. Mikhailov had waited for him to speak, even if it was to scold him for something. For some reason, the Malkavian had never spoken, but the voices...they had filled his mind. He could not translate them into any language, but they spoke secrets to him. They called to him, offering him the esoteric knowledge he sought. ...Other Malkavians?...Or Silvanus’s voice?...Or maybe even...Malkav himself...but I cannot access that, I am a human Mage...sadly...Silvanus must know then...how desperate I am for such deep knowledge...

His eyelids slowly closed, and he felt his body float away to a deep slumber. His sleep was peaceful, even as he had questions tumbling through his mind, and he smiled as he fell asleep. The hours floated by him as well, and seemed to crash onto him as he awakened several hours later. When he awakened, he looked out the window at the dusky skies, and then at his watch. 8:30 PM. At first, he did not care much, but now he remembered. Now was his chance. He sat upright, threw a jacket over his shoulders, and slipped back into his shoes. He did not tie his hair yet, however. He also almost forgot his glasses, but he was not too worried about seeing without them if the need arose. He stepped out of his room, and he looked for Silvanus.

He found him in the Storage Room, and as he stood outside the door, he decided to be bold. By bold, of course, he meant affectionate. His eyes became soft, his posture became relaxed, and his smile became gentle. He moved into the room, and just for a second he stood watching the Malkavian at work. The silence amplified his heartbeat in his ears, and he took a quiet breath. ...What are you afraid of?...You’re not one to be scared, are you? He had not told himself this advice in many years, as he normally managed to act confident and polite. Yet now he found himself anxious, and he did not know why. However, Mikhailov swallowed his nervousness and he walked toward Silvanus.

“...Good evening, Silvanus...” he muttered, already sounding a little meeker than usual. He did not wish to startle him into attacking, so he acted carefully at first. He then approached closely, and leaned his elbows on the desk, gently smiling at the Malkavian. He wished he could stop his heart from trying to break out of his ribs. He wished he could somehow swallow it and let it sink into his stomach, but the pain pulsed in his chest. ...You’re afraid of rejection...aren’t you, Konstantin?...That’s why you’re so nervous...to ask what you want to ask...

He placed a hand on top of Silvanus’s, and took a deep breath to keep it from shaking. He had held Silvanus’s hand before, though not in the same way or in the same situation. “...I know we haven’t spoken in a while...I wanted to...possibly talk with you over some things...I am sure you and I have not been on the best terms in the last few days...” he whispered, putting his usual, charming smile onto his face. As he spoke, he realized his nose was inches from Silvanus’s nose, and he wondered if he was too close. At the same time, he felt himself pushing to be bold. Silvanus wanted to see that Mikhailov was strong, and the Mage had a desire to match him madness-for-madness.

He moved his hand and held it to his cheek, and remembered briefly how he had tried to do such when they had first talked in the restaurant. He had imagined the Malkavian to be “Rabbit”, a mysterious person from his past. Before, those visions had been his prison. Now he wished to be the commander of his prison, the one who did not fear his passions and his visions when they came. As he felt Silvanus’s cheek, the cold porcelain under his hand did not move much. He stared at the mysterious, sickly-green eyes, and he saw chaos. His heart pounded at the sight, and he almost forgot his initial intentions. “...I...I’ve needed to speak to you here...for some time...I hope you will not...send me away...” he finished.

[Parcia]

Jonah Eyed John as he strode in, a flicker of annoyance hidden by some impressive level of Self control.

"Shes the one I found in the Club, The one I threw in the back seat of the Plymouth before we peeled the fuck out of there."

He got up, putting his vest and trench coat back on. Still holding the revolver, he continued. "Why, was I suppose to present her? The hell, I don't know how this shit works...Jesus."


The Bloodbrute was visibly upset, though not necessarily angry, taking the cloths Alexei had brought. He opened he door to the Bathroom, hot steam and the sound of a light tune being sung in french. "Oie, Hun, lets go, get out and get dressed!" He tossed them in and closed the door shut.

Tuning back to the Prince's Right hand, he spoke again. "Give us 5 minuets then."

[Imperialisium]

John

John didn't look at Alexei when the man spoke. "I know who you are and I know you're not a vampire. I'm referring to her." John pointed at Jennifer. At Jonah's words, however, John let out another sigh. "The Prince no doubt already knows of her presence. Presenting her now will more than likely end up in her being burned to ash and dumped in the Pacific. She needs to learn and you're going to teach her. After all, she became your responsibility when you brought her here. You'll be under Jus Noctis. The Law of the Night. Meaning if she fucks up, then you fucked up. In turn, she's basically your property so long as you don't break any Camarilla laws or the Prince's decrees."

John folded his arms and looked Jennifer up and down. He wasn't attracted to her, that was obvious, more like he was sizing her up. "She'll be considered Caitiff, clanless until one claims her, and as such she's at the bottom rung of Kindred society. So tread carefully." At that, John opened the door and made to leave, but stopped, "Oh yeah, the Prince has been awake for a while now and is in the ballroom presiding over her court. Most of the Kindred that means anything in LA are there. As for you," John looked at Alexei, "I'd remove any crosses if you plan on going down there." John shut the door behind him.

Ballroom

Anna leaned back in her throne as she watched the various proclivities of her kind. At least until Kai abruptly walked up bearing a message with the seal of Clan Tremere and that of House Szac. "A message from Pontifex Kornelius von Szac." said Kai as he handed it to her before bowing away back to the sideline to rejoin Nikolai and other Tremere vampires. Anna broke the seal and read the loose script therein. So the Pontifex and all the Lords or Regents of the Western United States are gathering here to discuss future plans of Clan Tremere. Interesting. Anna scrolled up the letter and held it idly in her hand as she resumed watching the various social proceedings before her.

[Luminesa]

The door to Jonah’s room slammed, and Alexei sighed. He stared toward Jonah, and then at the door behind which Jennifer was hiding. They would have a difficult life for now, at least until somebody adopted Jennifer and took her off Jonah’s hands. Even so, she could be killed at any time. Most vampires did not seem to have any respect for the lives of their Kin, one of the few things that made Alexei’s blood boil in regards to most of the ones he had met. Family was supposed to be family, not just another word to be tossed away. Alas, he wondered if he was too naïve.

He decided he would leave Jonah to choose what he wanted to do, as he had his own agendas for the night. He did not know if he wanted to investigate when he was so exhausted, but he knew that Prince Anna had something planned for him. He wanted to know desperately what she wanted, and so he decided he might try to spend a little more time around her. Before he left, he looked kindly to Jonah. “I will gladly help to keep her safe, if you ever need my assistance. You are my brother in Faith, therefore I must help you. Please be safe this evening, I will be around...” He then stepped out the room, and back to his own room.

When he went to change into some fancier clothes in his own room, he found a beige suit with a black tie and brown loafers. He decided to wear these, as they were not too showy and would not necessarily cause him to draw much attention. When he put his clothes on, he tucked his crucifix into his shirt, and he walked toward the ballroom. He could feel his heart beating in his ears, the echoes causing him a headache as he walked. His hands were shaking and tingling, and he wondered if he would be able to enter the ballroom without collapsing. Eventually he arrived, and he surveyed the room quietly.

He stood on the outer perimeter for a few minutes, scanning his surroundings. Important-looking vampires congregated, and he felt the immense power of their collective auras in the room. Tremere were especially numberable, and he noticed Kai and Nikolai were also in the room. After his eyes shifted for a few moments, he spotted Anna-in the middle of the room. He did not know how he would reach her, as she was so far away. Yet he wanted to try. He began to sneak into the room, remaining silent and steady as he got closer to Anna.

Finally, an opening in the crowd formed, and Anna at that moment would have been able to see him. He, in turn, saw her, and with shaky legs he approached her. Standing about ten feet from her, he spoke a quiet, polite greeting. “Good evening, Prince Anna.” He bowed to her, showing deference to her authority in her house. He also knew that not bowing to her would appear to be a sign of disrespect to other vampires. When he stood, Anna would see a slight shade of pink on his cheeks, and a shy smile. “How are you this evening?...Do you request my presence this evening?”