Masquerade: Midsummer Nights (Apply in OOC)

[Imperialisium]

Anna's Residence

"A favor you say. Kai, if you please." Kai, her Chancellor opened up a ledger and made note of the request. In return for this request, Phillip would owe the Prince a small favor as well. Should she ask and such was the nature of the tit for tat in Kindred society. "I will spread the word." nodded the Prince. It was at that moment she spotted Alexei approaching, but she said nothing, assuming he'd stop and made to speak to Phillip more. That was when he abruptly came up and kissed her. She felt the texture of his lips upon her own. Her eyes widened as he pulled away and rushed off. The Prince froze in her seat over what just happened. So many formalities had just been broken and true to form the whispers began to whirr about the ballroom. Over two dozen conversations started over the nature of Alexei and Anna. Why did the Prince keep him around? Was she going to embrace him? Was she going to drain him and throw him by the wayside? Was she using him? Was he using her? Who was he? What just happened? Every second that past the gossip got more wilder.

Manning remained where he was and just eyed the room nervously. Meitz let out a chuckle and looked at Bulehard. Bulehard, in turn, had redness to his pupils. He sneered and made to follow Alexei. Nails elongating in claws and fangs bared. Nikolai moved to step forth and in a polite tone spoke, "Primogen Bulehard, rules of Elysium mu-..." The Nosferatu elder shoved Nikolai out of the way. Meanwhile, Kai behind the Prince had his mouth a gap in shock. Across the room, John could see the Prince however finally come to terms of what just happened. What she was seeing.

Her pupils glowed a crimson red. Her hands clenched her seat and a cold rage brewed. "Not in my domain." she said. Bulehard, however, did not seem to hear her and continued to stalk towards the door. Then she stood up, faster than everyone in the room's eyes could follow, and bellowed with a command laced with Dominate. "Not. In. My. Domain." Bulehard suddenly stopped in his tracks. He made to move forward but could not. He took a step and his feet literally slid back. Like gravity was pulling him back into the room.

Bulehard growled, "You cannot keep me here! Witch! Traitor! He had a crux--" He bared his fangs to her. Anasztazia just frowned and rocketed from her position. All that everyone saw was literal after images of her movement. Suddenly Bulehard was held above the ground. The Prince's hand about his throat like an iron manacle. "Traitor, no. Witch, if you wish, but better the witch you know."

"Unhand me!" Bulehard gasped.

"Certainly."

The Prince threw Bulehard. The Nosferatu Primogen sped through the air to crash through the stone wall and onto the front lawn of the mansion's East wing. Hitting the ground he rolled until he came resting in front of a tree about thirty yards from the Mansion. The gathering of vampires was still. Meitz and Terrence Manning just looked about cautiously. What the Prince spoke next no one would object. "Clan Nosferatu will pay for the repairs. Unless anyone would like to say something else?" Silence.

The Prince left the ballroom and moved through the Mansion making for the stairs that led to the lower level. The security system on the reinforced door recognized her and yawned open. "What of the human mum?" the voice of Brutus, her lead Gargoyle came to her from behind. She didn't turn around. "He's confined to the grounds tonight. Should he leave then it's a thousand lashes."

"That is all?"

Anna squinted, "Remind him of his place and our customs."

"Yes, mum."

Brutus moved away with surprising silence as the Prince vanished downstairs. The security door closing shut behind her. Leaving Brutus to hunt for Alexei. Which, by tracking Alexei's smell, he found him rather fast. Coming up to the young man Brutus moved before him and grabbed him quickly by the collar. "Need I remind you that while in this abode you abide by our rules." The Gargoyle backhanded Alexei. Busting his lower lip and dropping him to the floor. Brutus turned and left.

[Parcia]

The Giant

Jonah had his jaw open in shock before his whit caught up with him. How ever, his mind kept up just enough to wait until the Prince left the room. "Well I'll be a som'bitch, little bastard actually had the balls to do it, i'm impressed."

He took a moment to down the rest of his drink, though his mouth kept running. "Did you see what she did to the old fucker, damn, had him twirling in the air like a damn yo yo, surprised he didn't hurl." With that, being unknowingly loud in his insults, he went to retrieve another drink.


He was loose, a little fuzzy and altogether having a fun night. Oh boy how would that change.

[Luminesa]

Alexei’s breathing was fast and heavy with fear, as he worried for his life and for his soul. He prayed, knowing that he could very well die for causing such a disruption. He could feel the stony tension of the building around him, echoing in the silence of the huge halls around him. Alexei sat hugging his knees, staring at the floor as he tried to calm himself. When he finally heard panting down the hall, the servant-girl had come to find him. Her steps were light and quick on the floor, and she peeked into the room to see him.

“There you are! You caused quite the commotion! I don’t think we’ve ever had someone walk-up and kiss the Prince in front of her court!” When Alexei did not respond, and instead ducked his head into his arms, she frowned. “...Hey...don’t feel terrible for it...I...maybe she knows how you feel. She’s a lot smarter than most of the vampires in there anyway, between you and me. It’s just...sometimes it’s hard for them to feel the same thing back...But that’s not your fault...” she consoled him.

“Of course not. It is a part of their curse...Prince Anna...she knows how I feel...I am sure...But...this was far from the right time. I let myself do something I would not usually do. I was reckless...” He lifted his head, and then put a finger to his lips. “...The worst part is...I felt a thrill when I kissed her. I knew was doing wrong, but...in the moment...I felt we had become a single person...I love her...” He bowed his head, and sighed deeply.

The servant-girl gave him a worried stare, until she herself began to hear footsteps down the hallway. Large, storming footsteps. As they got closer, and the shadow of Brutus loomed down the hall, she fumbled to grab the door and to close it, for Alexei’s safety. Yet Brutus moved fast, and found Alexei before she could even figure what she was doing. “Eek!”

Brutus grabbed Alexei off the ground, and the former Inquisitor offered no resistance. He stared blankly at Anna’s servant as he spoke, and then hardly flinched when the mighty stone hand cracked his face. As soon as he was gone, and Alexei coughed a little blood, he held a hand to his swelling cheek and tried to heal it through Faith. His eyes met those of the servant-girl, but said nothing. Inside, however, he knew what message he had received. Brutus was Anna’s butler, after all, and one of her closer ones. He even called her “mum”, as he remembered from their first meeting. He had broken the rules, and Anna did not even wish to speak with him in-person. If he had felt tired that morning, now he felt as though a thousand years of sleep would not cure the exhaustion that had burrowed through his heart, creating an endless well in which his tears could settle. The tears on his cheeks fell down freely, stinging the cheek which had been slapped.

Know your place, Alexei.

His own mind had spoken the words to him, and as some of the swelling subsided in his cheek, he gazed down the dark hallway. “...Abide with me: fast falls the even tide; the darkness deepens: Lord, with me abide! When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, O abide with me...” He whispered the lyrics to a hymn, unable to sing as easily as usual with the heaviness of his heart. Turning to the servant, he added then, “...I...I will stay here for at least another day and night...but I do not know...what shall come in the days that follow...All I now know is...I must know my place.” He then turned and headed toward his room, though he knew that he still wished to wander. His body and soul were restless. He needed to find some way to distract his aching self from his latest failure.

[Kingdom of Irhk]

The Giant

Jonah had his jaw open in shock before his whit caught up with him. How ever, his mind kept up just enough to wait until the Prince left the room. "Well I'll be a som'bitch, little bastard actually had the balls to do it, i'm impressed."

He took a moment to down the rest of his drink, though his mouth kept running. "Did you see what she did to the old fucker, damn, had him twirling in the air like a damn yo yo, surprised he didn't hurl." With that, being unknowingly loud in his insults, he went to retrieve another drink.


He was loose, a little fuzzy and altogether having a fun night. Oh boy how would that change.

Phillip Kensington

Starting his business owing someone wasn't a positive way to start things, but the situation called for a desperate measure. Undoubtedly, Anna was a powerful Kindred, and Phillip made a mental note to not get on her bad side.

Right after that, the Nosferatu Primogen broke the rules of Elysium and then he confirmed his suspicions. Her use of blood magic was perfected to the point where she dominated a Primogen without difficulties, and sent him flying through a wall. A nearby man that looked like a wall built with bricks of violence and alcohol.

"Well, our Shakespeare here described the scene with the proficiency of the great poets. I'd love to watch how he crafts the words into a piece of art, but unfortunately I have business to attend. If you excuse me..."

Leaving the troubled court of Anasztasia, Phillip now had a job: to stay at his hotel, expecting the Toreadores of the city to come. Of course, he had plans of his own. But now he had to focus on the meeting that was about to happen...

[Imperialisium]

The Ballroom, Anna's Residence

As Jonah said his remarks, louder than they should have been, a few of the Ventrue joined in and gave some profanities to the Nosferatu. Who in turn began to seethe with anger. The Brujah sensing a fight began to crack their knuckles. Meanwhile, Nikolai slowly came to his feet in time to witness a Nosferatu and Ventrue, swiftly followed by Brujah, and thus a multi-way brawl started. A chair was flung at Jonah. John hustled Medorna out of the danger zone to a side door. While Meitz and Manning shouted commands to their Clan members. But it was too late. The Nosferatu Primogen had clambered back through the hole. Bruised, battered, and enraged. He picked up a Brujah and flung up fifty yards outside. Suddenly, this brought Manning into the brawl. Fangs bared, nails elongated into claws, while the members of Clan Tremere disparately began to try and cordon off the area to attempt what was basically vampiric riot control.

All hell had broken loose in the ballroom. Furniture was overturned, and a valuable painting crashed too on the floor. A couple of windows broke and chair legs broke off to be used as clubs. Nikolai looked at Kai with shock and reached began to shout for order. Kai joined in, at least until a hulking Brujah grabbed him by the collar and flung him into the wall. Letting the Tremere apprentice fall onto the floor.

Medorna, ushered through a side door by John, looked back, "Call everyone on site in for this. Alert Brutus." was all John said as he shut the door separating him from Medorna. A few minutes later a frantic Medorna was in the security suite pulling all on-site security to the ballroom to contain the situation. While also managing to alert Brutus via the security system's cameras which had audio mic capabilities. The Gargoyle let out a roar and called his brethren in as they joined the throng of security personnel storming into the ballroom.

A chair broke over Brutus stone chest. The hulking Gargoyle looked and with a surprisingly fast savage punch. Crushed the face of a young Gangrel. Not killing what was essentially a neonate. But putting him in Torpor none the less. He'd feel that for a week. It took a solid fifteen minutes for the situation to come under control and only the threat of calling in an Archon got the Primogen to stop brawling with each other.

The festivities at the mansion would end with a trickle of Kindred and attendant ghouls or mortal servants leaving to filter out to their respective clan properties.

[Parcia]

Jonah

He never saw the chair coming.
Cue music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y8OtzJtp-EM
It hit him in the head, just as he turned around, maybe 3 feet from the bar. He was dazed, took a step back before feeling that fire in his veins. Shaking his head, he growled a deep, rumbling tone and jumped up on to the bar just in time to kick the barkeep's Shotgun out of her hands. Turning, and letting loose a loud cry of "CARAHEE!" he dove in to the gaggle of fighting vampires.

Before he landed, he made sure to charge up that neat new power The good Prince bestowed on him, feeling that energy rip through his being and the ozone around him start to burn, landing with a resounding crash and a bang, not unlike that of lightning, resonating through out the room. Landing smack dab in the middle of it, he out right crushed one poor fucker, 380 pounds of man and ballistics plate, combined with 50,000 volts of electricity knocking him right out. Getting up he caught a punch from a Ventrue and returned it with out looking, feeling the crunch of impact and the discharge of Electricity. He turned just in time to see the fucker fly back and get swallowed in to the crowed. Getting up, he kicked the vampire out beneath him, making sure he was out cold, and looked to see a Nosferatu flying at him.

He took the brunt full on to the chest and had the wind knocked out of him, falling on to his back. The Disfigured vampire started ripping in to his vest, shredding the Kevlar and finding his claws raking against face hardened steel. He growled again and grabbed this man by his neck, his stature allowing him easily reach him, and pulled...he found his normal strength to be lacking and so, with not a single twinge of regret, recited that old incantation through his mind...oh boy did it work.

Feeling the fire in his blood grow much, much hotter, his muscles began to grow in size, his veins bulging and his eyes going a bright, deep red hue. This was the one token ability of a blood brute, the product of 60 years of fighting and combat, the pinnacle of Jonah's Magical ability. that magic coursed through his veins and enhanced his strength, his size, and his rage.

He was nearly lost though, the primal will to kill this...thing on his chest overwhelmed it all and for a moment, he almost let it control him...Almost. Decades of training and experienced kicked in and he kept control. Locking his hands around this creatures neck he squeezed hard, enough to cut his air supply though not enough to crush his spine, with that, he let that electrical energy flow in to this creature, hitting him with the force of 100 tasers at once. The thing hissed, twitched, and went limp.

Feeling his foe alive yet unable to fight, he up and threw him full force at a near by ventrue, not caring if either lived passed that point. Getting up, he towered over them, his sized increased by the spell to nearly 7 and a half feet and 450 pounds of sheer rage and supernatural will power. With this, came the breaking of his more normal appearance, his feature turned fierce and beastly, his gaze piercing. He began to work his way through the crowed, punching, kicking, knocking out as many as he could while trying his best not to kill any of them.

He found he mostly fought the younger ones, neophytes and apprentices who were either too weak or too stupid to counter him in his true form. His vest had ripped at the seams of its straps, falling off some were in the fight and his tank top was tattered after moments. This left him bare chested, covered in scratches, claw marks, a few stab wounds and a few bite marks. He avoided the Primogens, leaving them for the few who were stronger then he and worked on controlling the crowd as a whole.

When Brutus and his men would enter the fight, they would soon find them selves standing before him and for a tense moment, he debated engaging. Instead, he smiled and spoke. "Bout damn time, Haven't had this much fuckin fun in decades!." He was interrupted by another charging Gangreal, one who he promptly close lined and fallowed up with an atomic elbow. Once he got up, he called out to them, "You handle the big dogs, these pups are mine!" With that, he lept back in to the crowed, conking heads and catching blows.

[Finsternia]

Silvanus

"Or... Perhaps not." The cold, claw like pressure around his throat vanished. His body still felt raw and ruined and his nerves still screamed with pain. Mikhailov's high resistance to pain is nothing in front of the Primogen's psychic assault and Vicissitude aided cruelty. Silvanus turned his eyes back to his papers, about an inch thick for the night, and continued writing what looks like either reports or ledgers. "You are now a property of the Prince," he said, focusing on the word property, "and not under my employ now. As we speak, you have no obligations to serve me nor do I have any care as to what you do. However..."

"Brand in that stupid brain of yours that you live in our world now and not your world. And in this world, you ought to show respect to me... or I'll ask the Prince to allow me to personally disembowel a defective tool and dispose of it. Go fix your rabble with the police and if you do not, death awaits you... and my loving caress in the laboratories." With that the Primogen returned to his papers. The sound of a ticking clock, which had not made a sound for the entirety of the time the Mage is present in the room, announced the continuation of the flow of time. It was as if time slowed for those moments, Mikhailov's perception affected greatly by Silvanus' presence. A knock on the door followed soon and the Doll, Sylvester, walked in with poise.

Whispers came from his mouth towards Silvanus' ears. If Mikhailov would try to use the Arcana of Forces, he could only hear static from their conversation and the lingering glare of Abyssal influence. Silvanus is channeling the subconsciousness of the human Dolls as a buffer against the Mage. The Doll finished his report and stood by Silvanus' back, awaiting orders. The Primogen produced a clean sheet of parchment paper, accented by designs loved by the previous century. Swift, elegant strokes graced the parchment, careful to relay the intent to the supposed receiver. Sylvester accepted the letter and moved on to have it fetched by a Malkavian neonate. The Malkavian Primogen moved not to engage conversation with Mikhailov again.

The letter was addressed to the Prince of the City, of course, which expresses dire sadness and regret about the recent ballroom brawl and asks of the status of any present Malkavians in the hall. Information flies fast in regards to Silvanus' web.

[Luminesa]

Silvanus

"Or... Perhaps not." The cold, claw like pressure around his throat vanished. His body still felt raw and ruined and his nerves still screamed with pain. Mikhailov's high resistance to pain is nothing in front of the Primogen's psychic assault and Vicissitude aided cruelty. Silvanus turned his eyes back to his papers, about an inch thick for the night, and continued writing what looks like either reports or ledgers. "You are now a property of the Prince," he said, focusing on the word property, "and not under my employ now. As we speak, you have no obligations to serve me nor do I have any care as to what you do. However..."

"Brand in that stupid brain of yours that you live in our world now and not your world. And in this world, you ought to show respect to me... or I'll ask the Prince to allow me to personally disembowel a defective tool and dispose of it. Go fix your rabble with the police and if you do not, death awaits you... and my loving caress in the laboratories." With that the Primogen returned to his papers. The sound of a ticking clock, which had not made a sound for the entirety of the time the Mage is present in the room, announced the continuation of the flow of time. It was as if time slowed for those moments, Mikhailov's perception affected greatly by Silvanus' presence. A knock on the door followed soon and the Doll, Sylvester, walked in with poise.

Whispers came from his mouth towards Silvanus' ears. If Mikhailov would try to use the Arcana of Forces, he could only hear static from their conversation and the lingering glare of Abyssal influence. Silvanus is channeling the subconsciousness of the human Dolls as a buffer against the Mage. The Doll finished his report and stood by Silvanus' back, awaiting orders. The Primogen produced a clean sheet of parchment paper, accented by designs loved by the previous century. Swift, elegant strokes graced the parchment, careful to relay the intent to the supposed receiver. Sylvester accepted the letter and moved on to have it fetched by a Malkavian neonate. The Malkavian Primogen moved not to engage conversation with Mikhailov again.

The letter was addressed to the Prince of the City, of course, which expresses dire sadness and regret about the recent ballroom brawl and asks of the status of any present Malkavians in the hall. Information flies fast in regards to Silvanus' web.

Mikhailov released his breath, but with that released breath came anger. He rose to his feet and gave Silvanus another long look, especially as the Malkavian described him as property of the Prince. His blood seethed. If he could last for another month, perhaps then he could escape Anna. In his mind, however, escaping Anna meant going back to Silvanus once and for all. He wondered if he could find a way to break the bond earlier. His mind began to calculate esoteric functions in his mind, but then he remembered his other blood-related problem.

Apparently the FBI was waiting for him, according to Silvanus. He needed to deal with them carefully, to protect the Masquerade and to continue trying to win-back Silvanus’s favor. He wondered if the Malkavian had even noticed his reactions, the way he had bent and blushed when his body’s nerves had been set aflame. After all, the Malkavian always kept more to himself. He watched him write for a moment, and then gave the tiniest smile. A part of him enjoyed this difficult chess-match between Silvanus and himself. ...I wonder...Conventional affection does nothing for him...He has long-since decided he has no need for it...But...perhaps...something else...But what...

This thought lingered in his mind before he walked out of the room. He turned to take a step toward the door, but then took a glance back. Silvanus had not even looked up to see him. A soft whisper trailed off Mikhailov’s lips, in Russian. “Farewell, milyi...I will see you soon...” He then stepped out, still blushing as he went to see what the FBI might want with him. When he stepped outside the funeral home, he traveled through the lights, and appeared at the police station. Silvanus’s judgment was not wrong, and he felt something amiss around him. He walked to the front door and stared up at the security camera. He then entered the building, awaiting whatever might come for him.

[Parcia]

Brawl of the Century.

He was having the time of his life, diving again and again in to the crowed, beating down Vampires, toreadors, Gangreals, Tremers, he made no distinction between clan and allegiance and simply kept punching, kicking, and even biting as he worked through the crowed.


That was until a particularly ugly blur slammed in to him, knocking the wind out of Jonah and sending him in to the wall hard enough to put a sizable dent in to it. Getting back on to his feet, he found the Nosferatu Primogen holding him by the throat against the wall, if Jonah was a bit smaller, he would have been able to hold him up off his feet. How ever, Jonah was currently 3 feet taller then the ugly man and while he likely wasn't as fast, he was sure as hell as strong as this bastard.

He hissed, snapping his teeth in Jonah's Face and roared something about "The Prince's Bitch" before Jonah wrapped his own hands around his arms and began to pry them off his throat and found the man to be a match for his strength...as for Jonah's new found ability to manipulate Electricity, that seemed to be a surprise to the primogen as Jonah put every ounce of will power in to channeling that power through his hands, pumping normally lethal amounts of electricity through his body, the primogen let loose a screech of pain and let go, using this opportunity, Jonah grabbed by his throat and began to lay in to him, Jab after jab after punch after punch he steadily began to beat this man in to the ground.

Every punch came with a ever growing growl and roar as well as another shock of electricity. He was quickly loosing control and had no problems with ending this ugly fucker's life right here and now. That was until another Vampire caught him with a right hook. While he lost his grip on the primogen, the contact discharged another bolt of electricity sending the second Nosferatu on to the ground.


Turning back to the Primogen, he found him self staring down the barrel of his own gun. He blinked, his brain freezing for the slightest of moments as he realized the vampire had drawn Jonahs own gun. The Bastard smiled and spoke, "4 centuries changeling, you should have been smarter." He pulled the trigger...only to look confused when the weapon clicked. Batting the weapon out of his hands, Jonah laughed. "After 4 centuries, a smart man would have racked the slide at the least, though, it wasn't loaded to begin with." With that Jonah threw the old Vampire back in to the crowed before turning and retrieving his new gun. Taking a moment to load a magazine in to it, he raised it and fired a round.

The Gunshot, while not as loud as a hot loaded .454 would have normally been, was enough to get the attention of everyone in the room. "Alright Liston up, I'v got 40 of these big ass bullets that are more then able to kill most of you in a single shot, now unless you all want me to start shooting in to the gaggle of you fucking lot, pick your selves up and fuck off back to your rooms before I start depopulating the Local Camarilla sect."

This seemed to quell the mood for the time being, and those that were still awake and able began to filter out, leaving the few remaining primogens, their personal guard, Brutus and his team and lastly Jonah him self standing in the room.

[Imperialisium]

Aftermath of the Brawl

Brutus, the rest of the Gargoyles, Clan Tremere vampires, ghouls, and human servants alike eyed the crowd of dispersing vampires. As the various Kindred groups broke off into their respective clan safe houses human servants brought up tarpaulins to be spread over the hole in the Ballroom, over broken windows, and the removal of broken furniture removed from the mansion. Brutus turned around as the clean up began and eyed Jonah and John. "The Prince will be in a foul mood due to this." His tone was not so much a warning but for them to keep that under advisement. The situation itself offered complications for simply happening. Clan Nosferatu had considerable clout in the Los Angeles Camarilla for their actions in fighting the Sabbat and they would not take this incident lightly. Indeed, as Bulehard and the Nosferatu left the scene the Elder would order Jonah be banned from any aid his clan could give to him in the service of the Prince. Not that Jonah was aware of this of course. After all wouldn't that be convenient?

Meanwhile, Manning left with the Brujah feeling a bit unsatisfied with the whole brawl. Though, they would certainly talk about it over the course of the night as such things were rare. Meitz, however, would be smiling leaving the mansion. A divide in the Camarilla, even if temporary, was enough to grant the opening his co-conspirator needed to make their move. Denied of Nosferatu support, Ventrue being in smaller numbers, Clan Toreador being spent, Silvanus and his Malkavians being largely absent lately, and clan Brujah possibly unreliable. That left Meitz's Gangrel to support Clan Tremere in Los Angeles; and, when that charade was revealed the Prince would be alone in this struggle to put the founder of Los Angeles back on his throne.

FBI Field Office

A lone black SUV pulled into the field office parking garage. Flashing their badges and walking out in black suits, shades, and shoes. Side arms at their hips and duffle bags being carried at their sides. The five members of this FBI unit entered the building after meeting all security parameters. Their badges and credentials came up as, "The Vanguard Serial Crimes Unit." A small, well funded, clandestine FBI division reportedly founded from the Special Affairs Division dating back to President Hoover. Moving into the building the five agents proceeded to a sublevel. Pressing the elevator buttons in a special sequence the lift moved down. Beyond the number of floors listed. Onto a secret level where they moved out of the left and into a series of rooms allowing extended living accommodations, workspaces, laboratory, and weapons lockers.

"Local police and FBI have been investigating a series of cases in Los Angeles. Corpses with unusual features. It's time we intervene, get this case solved, cleaned up, and filed." said the lead agent as he put his duffle bags onto a counter. The other members of his unit did the same and nodded to their superior. VASCU had arrived.

[Parcia]

Jonah.

Watching in satisfaction as they dispersed, Jonah checked and cleared his side arm, holstering it in his shoulder holster.

He wen't to turn to the Gargoyle when he noticed it. It was faint, sparkling red and tied around his wrist. "Jesus god almighty it can't be...holly mother of god.." He began to grab at it, clawing at his skin as if to make sure it was really there and he wanted to make sure it wasn't just the booze and the likely concussion.


He let the spell die off, growing back to his regular size and look. His face was contorted in a mixture of fear and confusion. It all made sense to him now...the killings, the ones he had been reading about in the papers...

He looked up to the Stone faced man. "I need to talk to the Prince ASAP, I take full responsibility for this fight but...but I might be able to redeem my self and secure something incredibly dangerous..."

Jonah had a feeling deep in the pit of his Stomach, a feeling he hadn't felt since the day he first jumped out of that plane...it was a bad feeling, one of dread and fear of the unknown.

[Luminesa]

It’s easy to search places you’re not supposed to look when you’re feeling empty inside. Once again, Alexei decided wandering was the best idea. This time, however, he began to wander with a purpose. The more he thought, the more his mind gnawed at him. Dark thoughts began to invade his mind. You know you wanted her to accept you. You thought being bold would impress her, would make her love you. Showing your strength...your reckless courage...Ah but now you’ve caused chaos, and she ran away. Think about all the ones you killed who didn’t run away...You cannot kill her, but she is running away...It’s what you deserve. He began to feel sick. For just a moment, he wished his Blood Bond would snap, and that he would just lapse into free-fall. Not living, not dying, just walking through the clouds until the sun hit his face.

For now, however, he decided that he needed to see her once more. He felt bubbling anger and resentment at being simply told through her butler to “respect the rules”. They had come so close only a night before, and now she did not seem to want him at all. Even an innocent kiss seemed to disgust her. He wanted an answer. He wanted the why. ...If she truly does not want me in her life...If this is what I get for...being the timid, unassuming lover who remains in the background...no...Not again. Not again... His heart squeezed, and he fought away the painful memories. He refused to become his past. He thus decided to move through the mansion searching for her.

He remembered her room, with the giant coffin and the majesty study. He found the room and knocked on the door. Nothing. He backed away, and looked elsewhere. Making sure to keep to the shadows, away from anyone who might be trying to find him. His neck began to itch, his heart throbbed, his stomach twisted. So many dark corners that blended together, he began to see them all as one large shadow. The mansion was a maze, and exhaustion began to wear on him. No...I need to find her...I need to see her...I want to hear it from her that she does not want me anymore... In his recklessness, he eventually found a set of stairs, which he literally stumbled upon when he flung open a door leading into more darkness. Entering the room, he lost his footing and almost fell down the steps. Grabbing the rail, he held himself steady and took a deep breath. He could feel her presence. ...Forgive me...This is unlike myself...but I cannot bear this anymore... He closed the door behind him carefully, and moved down the steps.

In front of him, at the bottom, was a reinforced door. His breathing was labored from walking down so many flights of stairs, and he rested against the door. He did not know how to enter, and despair seemed to be creeping into him. How much of him had fallen apart in the last few days? How much of his life was in his hands now? How much could he actually change? He did not know the answers. All he wanted was to know if he was truly, as Bulehard had said, only a toy. “...Anna...I’m sorry...” he spoke to the door, wondering if she could hear him. “...I know you must think...I have committed a grave mistake. I may have...broken rules and harmed you unintentionally...And I know...in your world, I am only a very small part. But...I cannot take this any longer. Am I a part of your life...or simply a piece on a chessboard?...”

A deep, ragged breath ripped through his chest. “...I spent four years in a relationship where I was only someone’s toy. I gave myself to other Kindred...selfishly, wanting to feel a piece of happiness after such a long, broken loneliness...and I thought I could truly love this time...I thought...showing affection was something a couple was supposed to do. I...You ask me to know my place. I cannot know my place if I am told my places is many different places. A secret lover and an ornament in public?...Which am I?...”

[Fascist Republic Of Bermuda]

Mikhailov released his breath, but with that released breath came anger. He rose to his feet and gave Silvanus another long look, especially as the Malkavian described him as property of the Prince. His blood seethed. If he could last for another month, perhaps then he could escape Anna. In his mind, however, escaping Anna meant going back to Silvanus once and for all. He wondered if he could find a way to break the bond earlier. His mind began to calculate esoteric functions in his mind, but then he remembered his other blood-related problem.

Apparently the FBI was waiting for him, according to Silvanus. He needed to deal with them carefully, to protect the Masquerade and to continue trying to win-back Silvanus’s favor. He wondered if the Malkavian had even noticed his reactions, the way he had bent and blushed when his body’s nerves had been set aflame. After all, the Malkavian always kept more to himself. He watched him write for a moment, and then gave the tiniest smile. A part of him enjoyed this difficult chess-match between Silvanus and himself. ...I wonder...Conventional affection does nothing for him...He has long-since decided he has no need for it...But...perhaps...something else...But what...

This thought lingered in his mind before he walked out of the room. He turned to take a step toward the door, but then took a glance back. Silvanus had not even looked up to see him. A soft whisper trailed off Mikhailov’s lips, in Russian. “Farewell, milyi...I will see you soon...” He then stepped out, still blushing as he went to see what the FBI might want with him. When he stepped outside the funeral home, he traveled through the lights, and appeared at the police station. Silvanus’s judgment was not wrong, and he felt something amiss around him. He walked to the front door and stared up at the security camera. He then entered the building, awaiting whatever might come for him.

“Agent Graves, Mister Mikhailov is standing outside,” Powell leaned into the FBI agent’s office. “He is?” Graves looked up from her frenzy of filling out the request for the search warrant, “Get Agent Higgins and that lab tech, I’m going to go grab him.” She stood up, straightening her tie as she walked briskly straight past the entrance and into the plaza.

“Mister Mikhailov, welcome back. Your blood tests are complete. You are just in time. Please, follow me,” The FBI agent waved Mikhailov into the building. He was lead quite a bit through, back to the lab where his blood had been taken. Wagner was where she had been when doing so, even dressed in the same baby blue tone of medical scrubs and white gloves. She was wearing protective glasses and a surgical mask. Higgins stood in similar clothing, but his DEA badge hung from his belt, betraying his not being a medical professional.

“Mister Mikhailov, please take a seat,” None of the levity that had been in the good lab tech’s voice earlier was present, replaced by the solemn seriousness of a medical professional about to give a grim prognosis. After he did so, she cleared her throat and started. “Mister Mikhailov, some of your blood cells are black. These blood cells are also completely inactive, acting similar to sickle cells in their inability to carry oxygen. There is no medical explanation I can give for your black blood cells.” “Maybe you can offer us some insight, hm?” Graves raised an eyebrow at the suspect, crossing her arms. “Either way, I'm going to need more blood samples, Mister Mikhailov,” Wagner ignored the FBI agent.

[Kingdom of Irhk]

Phillip Kensington

As he drove his Mercedes-Benz 300SL away from Anna's mansion, he could still hear the screams that contained insults that came from there. Certainly, the troubled court of Anasztasia had its fair share of eccentricity, and that could be noted even by a newcomer like Phillip. However, he had issues to solve now.

An hour later, a dozen Toreadores were gathered in a small conference room. They were somehow a representation of LA's soul: a few actors, models, artists, performers, musicians... But what they did was far less important at this moment. Compared to the other clans, they were such a small force that could barely be considered active.

Sitting on a chair where everyone could see him, Phillip observed the group of Toreadores in the city occupy just one table: a clear sign that hard times were ahead.

"- Good night, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Phillip Kensington, 10th Generation Toreador. I do know that your minds are formulating questions about who I am, where I came from, and how far from home this British man is. All of that will be answered in due time. What I need from you now, you see... I need a few answers.

- And who do you think you are?", a Toreador quickly answered. Phillip changed his posture in the chair, staring at the Toreador who received him with a certain hostility.

"- You see, right now, under Camarilla laws, I am the Primogen of the clan in this city. Not just that: I am the only person here who have the resources to re-establish the clan in LA.

- You surely are full of yourself...

- Because I have the experience to do so. There's a reason why I could leave New York behind with a peaceful consciousness. You know why? Because unlike Mister... Apostolos, yes, Max Apostolos, I didn't lose my headquarters to some accident: and please, I won't even enter the merit if it was an accident or not. I don't care about how it ended. I care about how he was incompetent enough to let a thriving clan like ours reach this state of affairs. We are hiding like Nosferatu, damn it!"

The mention of their opposite in the Camarilla sent a shock wave through the brains of the vampires that were listening to Phillip across the room. The Toreadores always took pride in living among the virtuosos of the world; Their own Embrace was based on the virtuoise they displayed on their life, and the fact that they had always circled around in the places that produced objects of high culture - or pop culture, given that this was the 21st century - struck a deep nerve. While they all looked at each other, Phillip continued.

"- So I am going to rebuild the Clan in this city. But there's no way I can do that without some professionalism from every single one of you here. I am going to visit the Prince tomorrow, tell her about what happened here and our resolutions. But first... We are setting up some new headquarters. Suggestions?

- Second best club in town is a nice place. There are some nice artists, it's a place for people who want to be noticed, so it might be nice grounds for us to live in... And a new Elysium would be nice, too."

Between doubts and whispers, Kensington was a much needed ally. Even if his personality was obscure to them, he had the resources and the mindset to help the situation of their clan. As the night seemed to bid farewell to the artists until their next meeting, they all returned to their hiding places... But before Phillip's rest, he had one more thing to do. Before he slept, he wrote a check directed to the Prince, destined to pay the repairs of the mansion with his personal regards in a side note.

With that, his first set of affairs were done, and now he had to rest until fell upon LA once again...

[Luminesa]

Mikhailov released his breath, but with that released breath came anger. He rose to his feet and gave Silvanus another long look, especially as the Malkavian described him as property of the Prince. His blood seethed. If he could last for another month, perhaps then he could escape Anna. In his mind, however, escaping Anna meant going back to Silvanus once and for all. He wondered if he could find a way to break the bond earlier. His mind began to calculate esoteric functions in his mind, but then he remembered his other blood-related problem.

Apparently the FBI was waiting for him, according to Silvanus. He needed to deal with them carefully, to protect the Masquerade and to continue trying to win-back Silvanus’s favor. He wondered if the Malkavian had even noticed his reactions, the way he had bent and blushed when his body’s nerves had been set aflame. After all, the Malkavian always kept more to himself. He watched him write for a moment, and then gave the tiniest smile. A part of him enjoyed this difficult chess-match between Silvanus and himself. ...I wonder...Conventional affection does nothing for him...He has long-since decided he has no need for it...But...perhaps...something else...But what...

This thought lingered in his mind before he walked out of the room. He turned to take a step toward the door, but then took a glance back. Silvanus had not even looked up to see him. A soft whisper trailed off Mikhailov’s lips, in Russian. “Farewell, milyi...I will see you soon...” He then stepped out, still blushing as he went to see what the FBI might want with him. When he stepped outside the funeral home, he traveled through the lights, and appeared at the police station. Silvanus’s judgment was not wrong, and he felt something amiss around him. He walked to the front door and stared up at the security camera. He then entered the building, awaiting whatever might come for him.

“Agent Graves, Mister Mikhailov is standing outside,” Powell leaned into the FBI agent’s office. “He is?” Graves looked up from her frenzy of filling out the request for the search warrant, “Get Agent Higgins and that lab tech, I’m going to go grab him.” She stood up, straightening her tie as she walked briskly straight past the entrance and into the plaza.

“Mister Mikhailov, welcome back. Your blood tests are complete. You are just in time. Please, follow me,” The FBI agent waved Mikhailov into the building. He was lead quite a bit through, back to the lab where his blood had been taken. Wagner was where she had been when doing so, even dressed in the same baby blue tone of medical scrubs and white gloves. She was wearing protective glasses and a surgical mask. Higgins stood in similar clothing, but his DEA badge hung from his belt, betraying his not being a medical professional.

“Mister Mikhailov, please take a seat,” None of the levity that had been in the good lab tech’s voice earlier was present, replaced by the solemn seriousness of a medical professional about to give a grim prognosis. After he did so, she cleared her throat and started. “Mister Mikhailov, some of your blood cells are black. These blood cells are also completely inactive, acting similar to sickle cells in their inability to carry oxygen. There is no medical explanation I can give for your black blood cells.” “Maybe you can offer us some insight, hm?” Graves raised an eyebrow at the suspect, crossing her arms. “Either way, I'm going to need more blood samples, Mister Mikhailov,” Wagner ignored the FBI agent.

Mikhailov was surprised by the quick reply he received. He nodded to the agent as she came to grab him, and as he walked he kept his eyes open. Higgins was calm, but when he entered the room, he could tell some of the agents had been caught in a panic. Someone had been writing a request for a search warrant, and others had been busy at their computers. Every body in the room was tense, and they all whipped around to face him when he entered the room. He definitely had an audience, but whether or not it was one he wanted was another story. He saw the same lady who had drawn his blood earlier, only now she had a serious expression on her face. He was curious as to what she had found.

Seating himself a nearby chair, he listened as Wagner told him the results of the lab testing. He raised an eyebrow at her worries, though he was quite aware about what the problem was. If he had been alone, he would have grinned to himself. Ahhhh it's still there then. That's right...I haven't tested my blood in a long time...And even after these pinons tested it for me... He was glad that the agents could not see the tiny, thin scars that had once littered his arms. He always wore long sleeves, however, just in case someone peeked. The doctor and the agents either had not been keen enough to notice them, or they simply were far too old now to be visible. Maybe scars did actually heal when given time. For a moment, his face took-on an inquisitive look. I wonder...How much of the original amount is still left...Now that I think about it...I wonder if it's the reason I've had my hallucinations... he pondered. Yet he did not have too much time to ponder. These people were busy and wanted answers.

Sitting back in his chair, he relaxed and smiled. "Oh! That? Well that's a condition I've had for quite some time. Anemia of Chronic Disease. Rather rare, actually. Nobody has ever quite been sure what the disease is, but ah. A little fatigue, a little lightheadedness at times, I occasionally have night-terrors also...I've actually been...quite fatigued lately..." He blinked, and once again he felt something...or someone...next to him. His heart skipped a beat, and he looked at the chair next to him. Seated quietly by him, once again, was his hallucination of Alexei. Now dressed in plain clothes-a white knit sweater, jeans, and white sneakers-he looked more like his everyday self. Mikhailov was careful not to speak, as he did not want the doctors to notice he was hallucinating.

It's okay, Kostya...I'm here... The hallucination placed a hand on his, and then looked up toward the FBI agents. Mikhailov looked up with him, to make sure that he did not look suspicious. ...Anemia?...That's when the iron in your blood is low...That does indeed cause blood to get dark...But is it really anemia, Kostya?

Of course not, Mikhailov wanted to tell him. Yet he could not speak to a vision, not in front of these people. He needed a moment to settle this quietly with...whatever image this was. "...Please excuse me, I just remembered I had forgotten something. I only need to go to the bathroom..." Without explaining further, he hurried to the bathroom, and locked the door. Knowing someone would come looking for him, he understood he had to be quick. He whipped around, and sure enough the hallucination was in front of him. "...What do you want with me..." he whispered, too softly for the agents to hear.

The image observed him, growing concerned as it saw the change in his face, and heard the frustration in his tone. Walking toward him, the image of Alexei took his hands, and then rolled up his sleeves. ...They cannot see them, Kostya...but I do...I know how much you hide... The vision took its time, feeling each scar with a careful finger. The Mage could only watch him, and as he did he felt dread begin to eat at his heart. He was waiting once again for the punchline, for the moment when he knew this Alexei would be fake. Yet nothing seemed overly unusual. The sweet face, the saddened, worried eyes, the way those eyes flickered up toward him every now and then, before turning downward to hide from Mikhailov's cold glare. I remember...hiding so much from others...my classmates, my mother, fellow Inquisitors...hiding the times I went by myself to fight evil...and coming home with such terrible injuries. Nobody knew...even though many asked...I never told them what was wrong...I could not. But you...you can... he explained.

Mikhailov narrowed his eyes, but he leaned closer, listening carefully.

Tell them...these scars come from your self-hatred. You wish to be loved...but you do not feel love. Only fear...That is why you do not believe that I care... The hallucination seemed forlorn, and ducked his eyes once again. ...Once you free yourself from your chains...you will be much happier... Alexei pulled him close once again, and hugged him. He could feel more scars, all around his shoulders and back, and traced them with his fingers, almost as though he was giving a sort of massage to Mikhailov. ...Trust me, Kostya...please...I want you to be happy...I want you to heal... The hug was indeed comforting, and the Mage gasped at the warm, soft sensation on his back.

Yet at the same time, he knew he could not trust this vision. Telling them the truth of the scars would indicate Silvanus, and far, far worse things as well. He grabbed Alexei's arms, and stared into his eyes. He shook his head, and then brushed Alexei's hair along his face. The former Inquisitor closed his eyes, content with the gentle touch. His stoic expression hid the wonder in his eyes, the surprise, and something else...Squeezing his eyes shut now and then opening them again wearily, he walked to the sink to wash his hands and face. “...One day, Alexei...” he whispered, without turning to look at him. When he finished, he walked out of the bathroom, and faced the FBI carefully. Putting his calm grin back on, he continued speaking...even with the hallucination out-of-eyeshot behind him. "...Sorry for the delay. You wanted to run other tests?" he inquired.

[Finsternia]

Silvanus

As the Storage Room became fully silent, the annoying sound of mortal breathing gone, Silvanus swiftly finished his reports. Reports on the ongoings of his own small territory of Santa Monica, the ins and outs of trade, the current state of the Doll Project, the expenses of Clan Malkavian (which is rather low as Malkavians have no need for opulence) and so on. The Elder had centuries of experience with paperwork, such small stack wouldn't be of a great deal for him. After an hour or so into the night, every document is neatly filed, signed and stamped with his seal and signature, and they were then packed into folders and envelopes. Status reports are to be sent to the Prince and the others will be kept in the file cabinets. Two Malkavian neonates entered the room and fetched them for him, seemingly commanded with no words, and took off with the papers after bowing before him.

The old Malkavian bid his peaceful office work farewell for a more stressful affair. Silvanus patted his suit, now a three piece Prussian Blue set of an inner shirt, a vest, and a coat, and strutted off. The Funeral Home is with its hidden doors and hallways, stretched well deep underground through tunnels and hidden floors. Hidden through the use of Obfuscate, blood rituals, and Silvanus' own overpowering aura of madness, the Malkavian Haven is one gigantic death trap and infernal labyrinth for both Kindred and kine alike. Soon he arrived at one of the lowest floors, a sprawling laboratory where his prowess of Vicissitude is honed and tested. While the Malkavians under Silvanus' rule cannot replicate their Elder's abilities, these facilities are for their minds to wander and be exercised (as Silvanus designed apparatus that could replicate Vicissitude powers at the lower levels). A Malkavian's mind is perhaps one of the most creative of the Kindred; through periods of manic creativity, depressive down episodes, and lavish bursts of energy do the Malkavians express themselves. Silvanus prides his Clan as tortured artists, more than the crybaby Toreadors when his Clan need to shoulder and suffer from mental illnesses through out their undeath when the Bull Fighters scream at their inhumanity and love for mirrors.

Passing by tubes and tubs of liquid immersed specimens, many are Dolls and some are for augmentive purposes, Silvanus entered a secluded room which was guarded by heavy Dementation enchantments. Inside is are a couple secrets only his lieutenants could behold. In the middle of the room is where a specimen is under scrutiny. It was a large tube, filled with cycling vitae of almost black coloration. A beating heart is connected to fleshy tubes and glass like equipment, supplying the substance and is being nourished by the vitae. A Malkavian ancilla is waiting for his liege, bowing by the waist as his right arm carries a clipboard. The base of the specimen tube shows a screen of vitals and many other data encypted with a specific type of coding, which was even enchanted with Dementation.

"Lord Elder, a wonderful evening."

"Raise your head, Malcolm. What is the status of the specimen?"

"All affirmative sir. The core is functioning properly and is continuously pumping out sample vitae of the best caliber. It is consistent in potency and Generation. We have also made sure that there is no lingering conscience nor life pertaining to the previous owner. All that is accompished with our Lord Elder's power." The ancilla stood properly and presented him the clipboard and maneuvered the keyboard by the specimen tube's display.

Silvanus nodded as he scanned both data sources at the same time. "Very good. Prepare two experimental groups tonight and proceed with Project Black Corps and Project Abyssal Orphan." The ancilla bowed once more as he received the clipboard back, now signed by Silvanus. "Oh and Malcolm, I want you and two more Ancillae to prepare some of our best quality ivory. The lykos variety."

"What is the occassion, my Lord, if I may ask?"

Silvanus looks back at him before bringing his attention back to the beating heart. "The Prince needs new furniture for her ballroom. A couple rowdy children got quite excited and I find it that we should make the Prince smile again with some wonderfully crafted chairs and sofas. Perhaps I could also craft a new chandelier for her. I hope such ivory would interest her." Malcolm nodded and bowed once more replying with a, "Yes, my Lord," before leaving the room. The Malkavian Primogen smiled at the heart and then at his reflection, chartreuse eyes burning with anticipation staring back at him.

[Imperialisium]

Beneath the Hollywood Sign

"The Prince handles many of her transactions through the Bank of America lender Johnathan Estevez. Kindred. Tremere. Acolyte and probably good if he's stuck with an important task as handling much of the Prince's funneling of cash." said Murietta to Houghton. The youthful-looking Toreador Elder smirked, "Then we make our move there first. But not too far in advance. This will need to be quick like a surgery. We hit Estevez. Disrupt the Prince's financial assets. Make it look like she's up to something to get the Kine onto her as well. Then with our Pentex friends, we hit her at home. Pentex will hit her during the day and stake her. Or kill her. I could care less."

"Perhaps you should do it yourself once she is staked?" questioned Murietta. "Why should I! She is beneath me!" spat Houghton childishly. Joaquin Murietta just shrugged, "Will make you look very powerful to the other Kindred in Los Angeles. Cement your right of succession and all that." A hint of his old Spanish accent came out with those last words. Houghton's eyes flared for a moment at a suggestion that he was weak. But, they softened and he smiled, "Yes of course. Now, leave me be. I need to call our Pentex ally to inform them of the plan, time, and place of their strike."

Joaquin left without a word.

Anna's Residence

The Prince had been in the Security suite, watching the chaos unfold with her arms folded, she was unamused. Medorna sat before her watching the screens. When the proverbial riot ended and the crowds dispersed Medorna looked back up at her nervously. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. Medorna was always unsettled by how still, granite cold, and impassive her expressions could be. It was inhuman. At times she did not blink for minutes. Several minutes. Hell, he'd seen her not blink for an hour a few times. She was otherworldly, eldritch, and ancient. Medorna shifted the camera above the Security door leading to the sub-levels. Alexei was there and he pressed the audio button. Allowing them to hear Alexei speak. Medorna curled his lip at the young boys words. His heart panged for him, it truly did, but he could not tell the Prince's reaction.

"Should we respond, My Lord?" said Medorna nervously as he shifted the microphone to her. "Do you question why I keep him around? And did not hang him by his intestines weeks ago?" spoke the Prince. Medorna looked at her mouth agape and stuttered in speaking, "I--I ass--ume uh-um for per-er-er-sonal reasons?" Anna's eyes did not look at Medorna but she replied with the rest of her body unmoving. "He's a candidate. It is rare that I take an interest in individual humans. Perhaps it is time that he goes to Vaeghorod. To start his new life? What do you think?"

Medorna gulped and was saved by the voice of Jonah being picked up by the comm system. Brutus was leading Jonah to the Security door. Medorna took the mic, "Brutus what is going on?"

Brutus, paused and looked at Alexei standing there and the camera, "The Changeling says he needs to speak to the Prince. That it is incredibly urgent." The stoney gargoyle's voice was like rocks cascading in its ruggedness. Medorna looked at the Prince again. Anna knelt down and took the microphone. "They will be coming with me." At that, she left and moved to the Security door. A buzz and it yawned open. Revealing the trio before her. "Both of you. Follow. In silence." She pointed to Alexei on the matter of life or death. At that, she turned around and didn't wait for them to start following her. The Security door would close behind them. She led them down the hallway to the elevator and stepped in. Pressing the room marked C and it moved down three sub-levels and yawned open. Revealing a second hallway and a door in the middle on the left. Opening it she stepped into a winding staircase descending down into the room she had brought Alexei earlier. The stone structure giving way to old fashion cobble stone lining. Velvet carpentry and her casket on the dais. Her armor and sword hung on a panoply. Moving to a softly padded recliner she sat back. Snapping her fingers a decanter poured an unusually cool, crimson red, substance into a crystal goblet. It floated to her and she grasped it in her hand. Taking a long sip she made a short whistle sound. Her sword unsheathed like lightning and pointed itself at the duo. Runes on it glowed orange, red, and blue. An inner fire could be seen in it.

"My sword has it's own thirst. One prick...and the blood will flow from your body into the blade...until you die. Then...well...if you listen close you can hear the souls it's claimed." Taking a second sip she relaxed a little but the blade continued to hover aiming at their necks maliciously. She looked at Jonah but pointed to Alexei, "Jonah, start talking, you...you live or die tonight so I suggest being silent until our Changeling friend is finished." The you's indicated Alexei. Anna waved a hand at a platter of food and drink that had clearly not been there before. Yet, inexplicably now was. Roasted meats, steak, fruits, vegetables, salad, bread, even a pasta dish. Drinks included everything from wine to soda. "Help yourself. The worst thing that can happen is that your souls spend eternity in my blade." She winked. It was off-putting.


Saint Vincent's

"You went behind my back!" said Maxwell with some anger in his words. Hideyoshi and Manning remained silent with bowed heads. "One of our own is captured. We are losing the fight for this city Augustine. We need reinforcements to rescue Reynolds and hopefully even the odds." said Hideyoshi. At the mention of Reynolds capture, which Maxwell knew about given the verbal report he had just heard before they told him that they had also contacted Arquart, his facial features softened. "No, you're right. We are losing and we need help. You boys are right." Manning and Hideyoshi looked up. Arquart will be here within hours and they needed to prepare. This was an all hands on deck operation after all.

"We take all that we can. Hit them Arquart's men. We grab Reynolds and run as fast as possible. They'll probably outnumber us and we won't have much time once regular human services take notice. Though I imagine the vampires will use some foul sorcery to shield their operations there. Make it seem normal when reality horrible things occur on those grounds." Hideyoshi and Manning both nodded their heads in agreement. "Do you have any idea where Reynolds is in the building?" asked Maxwell with squinted eyes. Both men shook their heads. Maxwell held his hand to his mouth in thought. "Probably on some lower level. Basement or cellar maybe. Perhaps even a secret sub-level...We will need to bust out all the ordinance we have in that case."

"We have enough TNT and C4 to level a parking garage in one go." remarked Hideyoshi. Manning grinned. "We take it all just in case." said Maxwell with finality, "We're getting our friend back." The trio busted into action to gather munitions, supplies, and analyze maps of the grounds. They would stike tomorrow night.

Kai Erasmus

"A gift from Silvanus." said the Malkavian before Kai as he took the check and missive from Silvanus. "The Prince extends her well wishes. But Clan Toreador has already sent assistance." The Malkavian frowned with a trace of worry of their face. Kai smiled. "No, worries this will be put to good use. Please, inform Lord Silvanus that his gift is most appreciated by her eminance." said Kai with a wide smile. He opened a ledger and made notes of the gift, amount, time of receiving, and also some other records under CLAN MALKAVIAN. He struck a few debts accrued by Clan Malkavian neonates made during the nightly activites at court off the record. Symbolizing that Clan Malkavian as a whole stood in better standing with the Prince and within the tradition of Prestation.

[Luminesa]

An answer came after what seemed like an eternity. Anna did not respond with a clear answer, however, though he had come to expect her cryptic answers. The door opened, and Anna appeared. She wished for him to follow...along with Jonah, apparently. He had not noticed the Changeling with him, but he felt oddly more comfortable with Jonah nearby. Perhaps having a fellow member of his Faith near him was reassuring, that he was not alone in this strange place between mortality and immortality. He walked with him, and with Anna, down into the darkness.

The stairs continued once again, dropping deep into the heart of the mansion, away from the festivities above. Upon entering the small room at the end, he gasped as he saw the room. The true study Anna kept. He had been here once before, after she had rescued him. He let a small gasp escape him. He held whatever other questions he had, however, as soon as Anna’s sword swung toward his throat. Tonight was a matter of life and death for him, she said. He needed to remain silent.

So silent he remained. Despite his lack of hunger, he helped himself to some of the food she offered. The pasta dish, the meat, the bread, and some fruit. He had a glass of water now, unwilling to allow himself to become more intoxicated. Vomiting on the Prince’s rug was a good way to get kicked out of her room as well, so he ate silently and sat in a nearby chair. He said a prayer for Jonah in his heart, fearing for his own life as well. After all, the huge Changeling looked afraid. He wished he could offer some words of comfort, but they would not come.

[Parcia]

Jonah, start talking.


He didn't slouch, he didn't sit, he stood there in the middle of the room. He stared off past her, in to the wall, not even flinching as the flying blade whissed passed him.

He took a break and started.

"When I was in Fortuna...in the pits, I was a different man. I was angry, hurt, dark and Vengeful because of were I was...because of what was done to me and so I took that anger out on every person and thing I fought in those pits. In my Rage, my never ending trip of unbridled rage and anger I forged a weapon that allowed me inflict that pain and anger I felt unto others. A dagger...well, a Short sword to you, but to me, a dagger, forged of a metal that doesn't quiet obey the laws of nature in this world, a dagger that inflicts an unending, unyielding, unbearable pain upon those who's flesh is cut by it."

"Yet I still held Hope...that one last shred of my Humanity that kept me sane through out it all....Hope."

He paused, taking a shaky breath. "It's edge never dulls, its point never bent, The Pitmaster told me that the metal he gifted me for it was once part of the Sword that Guarded the Entrance to Eden, though I never confirmed this personally." He broke his gaze from the wall and looked down at his wrist. "When I made it, I used an arcane spell, powered by my own hatred and will power, to bind the weapon to my self so that I would never loose it. It manifests as a thin, ethereal red string, tied to my wrist so that I may always know its location...When I entered Hell, I started the 40 year long walk to the portal that gave me my freedom and I fought, and bled, and killed my way across a worlds worth of demons and monsters."

"When I first forged it, despite my hatred being the source of its power, It was still pure because when i forged it, I also used what Hope I had left in escaping Fortuna to build its heart...that 40 year long walk through the Deserts of Hell tainted it, turned a weapon of Hope, fueled by my own willpower to live...in to a weapon of Sorrow that whispered sweet nothing's in to my ears...and filled my mind with dark imagery and thoughts that I shudder at to this day."

"Being left alone for 40 years with nothing but the blade, I learned to combat it influences, to check it's power and fight back the corruption it brought...When I reached that portal at the end of my long walk down that lonesome road I chose to take the weapon with me, thinking maybe I could cleanse it or destroy it or something...but when I came out the other side, it was Gone."

His gaze left his wrist and he locked eyes with Anna. "That Blade is something I though lost to the immaterial world of the Fae, something I settled on hoping I never saw again...until tonight...for one brief moment i saw that little red string again, and those whispers echoed in my mind." He paused.

"I know you have no reason to trust me, especially after tonight but that blade...I can't let the fruit of my anger and emotions run wild. That blade is a Threat to the Camarilla, and any other Kindred who might feel its kiss...I need to find it...I'm...I'm the only one that can safely control it and it will corrupt who ever wields it...Yet I lack the contacts needed to find it..."

He kept his eyes on Her and awaited her response.

[Finsternia]

Silvanus

The sound of steam and steel sliding smoothy resonated in the room as the reinforced and enchanted room slid open, revealing the form of the Malkavian Ancilla Malcolm. He watched the Eldest of the Clan watch the floating heart in the vessel, the glint of mad anticipation in his bright green eyes. The Malkavian Elder has long since wanted a childe and thus treated each and every single Malkavian under his rule as his own. Perhaps it was jealousy that he felt, that maybe the childe that comes out of this freak experiment will be treated more differently than the rest, but that's the time that Silvanus turned to look at him. Malcolm squashed the bitter envy and poisonous jealousy in his heart as those burning chartreuse eyes seem to know everything that their gaze catches.

"Lord Elder, forgive my intrusion but the ivory is prepared for your purview." The Ancilla bowed at almost ninety degrees by the waist. The reply didn't come by voice but by the sound of his clacking shoes on the metallic yet stone like floor. Silvanus' steps echoed for almost eternity, worry befalling and curdling within Malcolm's heart as that moment he knew that the Elder read his thoughts. An invisible force lifted his body from his position and the face that welcomed him is the face of the man he respected and feared. An inhuman grin is plastered in that face, literally stretched from ear to ear and showing needle like fangs within his maw. His eyes were like a cat's, glowing and alight with danger. A low growl escaped from Silvanus' throat and a heavy weight was placed upon his shoulder. The Elder's hand was placed on there and he never even saw it nor noticed him move. "You are a smart man, Malcolm. Such illogical thoughts do not befit your position. You and everyone are my Childer... And if I do nominate a mortal to be my own, they will be treated like any other Malkavian... Understood?" The Ancilla choked on his words as his hands went to his mouth, each of them shaking and preventing a yelp from coming out of his throat. "Y-Yes, Lord Elder... Your will is understood..."

Silvanus' grin, which warped his features, vanished and returned to a normal human's lips as he smiled almost sickeningly sweet. "Good. Good Malcolm. There, there." His fingers wiped a tear that Malcolm never knew was there. His touch felt calming, making his emotions fade, making him forget the fear and the terror he saw the moment before. That monster wasn't there. It was only Silvanus, the kind, the gentle, the adoring and sweet Primogen that showed them what grace, fortune, and care is in this society. What was only left is the man he respected. "Continue with your duties. For the Clan. For me. You will do that for me, right Malcolm?" His hands fell off from his mouth, once they were shaking but now they were once again solid with iron will and iron loyalty. A smile rose from what was supposed to be a gaping scream of fear, invoked by the Elder's dominating presence and madness. "Yes, my Lord. I will do as you command." Malcolm bowed once again and Silvanus nodded, left, and closed the door behind him, satisfied. The scene was something uncomfortable for an outside observer, even creepy and uncanny, but Malcolm could only scoff. Service to the Malkavian Primogen is bliss, pleasure, and happiness. Woe be to the Kindred and kine who never understood for they have missed what the true meaning of happiness is.

The Elder now made his way to his own private laboratory room, where his art could be found. He passed by some Malkavians who are here in the laboratories to study anatomy, to psychology and many other subjects that spoke to them in unlife. However, his own personal room for experiments is private for himself, where a couple reference books and state of the art tools and equipment are placed. Within the room, in the center where a metal table is placed, is where a pile of neatly assembled bones are found. These bones are of the beautiful color of milk and silver, almost glowing as if moonlight is trapped within them. Silvanus picked one long large bone, most likely a femur, and applied force to it. By any other means a piece of bone such as this should have given to pressure and broke before immense vampiric strength but this only bent like soft clay. These bones now are nothing but putty and malleable to the Malkavian Primogen. Each bone was treated with care as each and every single silver piece was shaped into artistic fervor. A ribcage was made to open like the shape of a venus flytrap's maw. Longer and sturdy bones were used to support the structure, three large skulls, almost the size of a full grown crocodile's, were placed upon the top of the structure. It took less than an hour to finish but what was born from Silvanus' hands was a masterpiece. It was a beautiful throne made of bonecrafted ivory. The back was supported by the said ribcage, glossy, imposing yet oddly comfortable to rest back on as they were less bony and spiny but more smooth and accomodating. The legs of the throne were that of giant claws from some familiar beast. The arm rests end with small canine heads and the top of the throne, above the seater's head, are three large dog like heads, reminiscent of Cerberus. Silvanus smiled and set it aside as he worked for other furniture: tables, chairs, candelabras, and a large ceiling chandelier, all marked by wonderful craftsmanship and dedication.

Tomorrow Evening

The rowdy brawl at Court was settled yesterday and the clean up crew started their work. Silvanus walked out of his limousine with confidence, as he knew his gift of monetary support and furniture should be enough to curry smiles and favorable impression from the Prince. Dolls, which the other Kindred should think are ghouls by their auras, brought packaged boxes where the bonecrafted furniture are placed and kept, and trailed behind Silvanus. The Elder stopped by the door and looked at the page and declared. "Silvanus, Primogen of the Malkavian Clan, wishes audience from Her Majesty Anasztazia Angelos, Prince of Los Angeles!"

[Fascist Republic Of Bermuda]

-snipper snapper-

"Mister Mikhailov, while this is understandable, generally Anemia of Chronic Disease is only diagnosed as the result of a secondary issue- an infection, cancer, or the like. Do you recall what the name of the physician who gave your diagnosis was? We could get more information on your condition if you told us."

And then Mikhailov fled into the bathroom with the excuse that he had forgotten something. Higgins and Graves exchanged a glance. If he was disposing of evidence... but he wasn't, he came back out of the restroom without even flushing the toilet. So that probably ruled out trying to flush away evidence. "Yes, please sit down and roll up your sleeve," Wagner asked, turning away for a second to snap and get a fellow lab tech's attention. "McLaughlin, call County/USC. Get an actual MD down here, tell 'em we got a case of Anemia of Chronic Disease."

Satisfied, Wagner turned back and narrowed her eyes at Mikhailov's arms. Graves hadn't been with Mikhailov when he had first gotten a blood sample taken, but now... "Mister Mikhailov, how did you get these scars? Surgery? Accident?" the FBI agent asked, trying to spark a little bit of smol talk, "Those look like old scars. Very nearly healed." Wagner wiped inside of Mikhailov's elbow to sterilize it ahead of the needle that would extract another blood sample.

[Luminesa]

-snipper snapper-

"Mister Mikhailov, while this is understandable, generally Anemia of Chronic Disease is only diagnosed as the result of a secondary issue- an infection, cancer, or the like. Do you recall what the name of the physician who gave your diagnosis was? We could get more information on your condition if you told us."

And then Mikhailov fled into the bathroom with the excuse that he had forgotten something. Higgins and Graves exchanged a glance. If he was disposing of evidence... but he wasn't, he came back out of the restroom without even flushing the toilet. So that probably ruled out trying to flush away evidence. "Yes, please sit down and roll up your sleeve," Wagner asked, turning away for a second to snap and get a fellow lab tech's attention. "McLaughlin, call County/USC. Get an actual MD down here, tell 'em we got a case of Anemia of Chronic Disease."

Satisfied, Wagner turned back and narrowed her eyes at Mikhailov's arms. Graves hadn't been with Mikhailov when he had first gotten a blood sample taken, but now... "Mister Mikhailov, how did you get these scars? Surgery? Accident?" the FBI agent asked, trying to spark a little bit of smol talk, "Those look like old scars. Very nearly healed." Wagner wiped inside of Mikhailov's elbow to sterilize it ahead of the needle that would extract another blood sample.

“Heh...usually. I believe it was an infection of sorts. Given it is a chronic illness, however, they’ve not been able to get rid of it...so the symptoms remain it seems...” Mikhailov explained himself without batting a lash, giving a polite smile toward the doctor and the agents. When he thought about his past physicians, he had to take a moment to think. “...Hmmm...They do not live in the United States. And they are dead. Anatoly Vasilikov. He has been dead for many years now...I do not have a primary care doctor here specifically, though I have visited a doctor sporadically in the last decade or so...” His answer was honest, though he did not mention that Vasilikov had been dead for almost 40 years. He figured they would find that information, and further questions would come, which he would dodge.

When they called for a doctor from the local university, he suppressed a deep groan. Waiting for another doctor would mean another hour or so of questions. He needed this process to end, so he could go home to Silvanus. He needed to speak to him. He closed his eyes and rolled-up his sleeve. He remained quiet, at least until Wagner asked about his scars. His eyes opened, and he stared down at his arm. “...Oh...those?...” Out the corner of his eye, he could see the hallucination of Alexei approaching, standing near him. It put a hand on his shoulder and caressed it, trying to de-stress the Mage. The feeling was indeed soothing, and Mikhailov continued.

“...I had a tendency toward cutting myself, many years ago...” he whispered, lowering his eyes to avoid her gaze. He wished to give the impression that he was vulnerable, and he did speak another part-truth. “...The pain felt...wonderful. There were times I did not wish to live...except for the pain...I felt a rush of such happiness when the pain came...when the blood poured...but I stopped when I found...I could enjoy life for other, healthier reasons...Though the scars too much time to heal...”

[Imperialisium]

Anna's Chambers

"Interesting." Anna waved her finger and the sword moved to just point at Alexei for now. "If this blade is a threat to the Camarilla as a whole then you will be tasked to retrieve it, bring it to me, and what becomes of it will be dispensed then and there." Anna shifted in her seat, taking several sips of the crimson fluid that was obviously blood. She looked to Alexei, "Your turn Mr. Bancroft. Whatever you say in front of me can be said in front of Mr. Slaid here tonight."

The blade, however, did make Anna wonder. If she could harness it for its own ends. Use Thaumaturgy to warp it, twist it to her own ends, or maybe it was best destroyed. Yet, perhaps she could let Jonah have it. After all, it was a signature type of weapon. Perhaps for his services, he could be trusted with such a weapon's safe keeping.

[Fascist Republic Of Bermuda]

-snip-

“Ah. Name of the doctor you have been visiting?” Asked Wagner, “Don’t even need a specific person, just the name of the location.”

Wagner nodded thoughtfully, not pressing forward about the scars any more. Higgins did much the same. The same could not be said for Graves, who, inside her stoic exterior, practically lit up like a little schoolgirl. An angle. As the needle entered Mikhailov’s arm, Graves waltzed to the other side of Mikhailov and crouched down.

“Mister Mikhailov,” she asked, “Do you mind sharing your other, healthier reasons?”

Her two compatriots glanced at her like she was mad, but Graves had found her angle and she was going to gently apply the pressure. “It’s no threat, I’m just curious. What sparked it? Collapse of the Soviets? Something about a sense of purpose in life? Did you find one? Who helped you out of that hole?”

“Agent Graves, this is hardly appropriate-” Wagner remarked, withdrawing the syringe, newly-filled with blood, and dabbing at the puncture wound with a bit of cloth before applying a bandage to it. “I don’t tell you how to do your job, lab tech,” Graves snapped back, “I’m just asking a few questions.”

[Luminesa]

Anna's Chambers

"Interesting." Anna waved her finger and the sword moved to just point at Alexei for now. "If this blade is a threat to the Camarilla as a whole then you will be tasked to retrieve it, bring it to me, and what becomes of it will be dispensed then and there." Anna shifted in her seat, taking several sips of the crimson fluid that was obviously blood. She looked to Alexei, "Your turn Mr. Bancroft. Whatever you say in front of me can be said in front of Mr. Slaid here tonight."

The blade, however, did make Anna wonder. If she could harness it for its own ends. Use Thaumaturgy to warp it, twist it to her own ends, or maybe it was best destroyed. Yet, perhaps she could let Jonah have it. After all, it was a signature type of weapon. Perhaps for his services, he could be trusted with such a weapon's safe keeping.

Alexei felt as though he was floating through space alone, slowly losing the air to breathe. What was he supposed to say? He stared at Anna, his mind blank. He had just kissed her, and then he had pleaded for her to speak the truth to him. He had demanded it, a bold move upon another bold move. Nothing. She truly was unmovable. A statue of beautiful white marble wrapped in black silks. A vicious and unholy Aphrodite, a goddess of a cold, loveless sort of love. His hands began to go numb. ...I kissed her...I spoke to her...I've given her everything...What else am I supposed to say? What else am I supposed to do?...I cannot give her anything she does not have... For the first time since he had been Blood Bonded by her, he actually backed away. He took a step back, and put his numbing hands in his pockets. Make your decision. Make your decision and make it now. What do you want? Is this how you wish for things to be, a continual game of trying to understand someone...who you could never understand...and who clearly does not intend to love you as you wish to be loved...What she said that night...it was a lie. A cold-faced lie. There's no love in her eyes, only hunger. Choose. He took a shaking hand and removed it from his pocket after a few minutes, let a deep breath slip through his throat, and looked at her.

"...I wish...to go home." The words fell from his mouth like glass, smashing onto the space between himself and Anna. He did not even eye the sword which could have easily killed him in a moment's notice. "...I have no desire to stay here. Call me impatient. Call me pathetic. I wish to go back to my home. My apartment. Away from here. Perhaps I am being childish. But I have...nothing else I can say. I asked you a question through the speaker. I have asked you many questions. You do not seem to wish to answer it, or any of my questions. You have played with my heart, like many before you have done. I am better off, I believe, finding those answers myself, and finding my happiness elsewhere. I...offered you the little I have, and...all of my inexperience with love. I will take whatever punishment you wish to give for such words. I have bared my soul, and you have bared nothing...but a dream. A dream which could never be real. So please...let me go," he whispered. He lost strength as he spoke, and wanted to faint on the floor. In fact, he almost did. Yet his confusion had overtaken him. He had never seen such a cold glare from even his worst enemies. And this was an obstacle he could not defeat by force.