Masquerade: Midsummer Nights (Apply in OOC)

[Parcia]

Vaeghorod

He eyed the man as he spoke, his mouth clamped shut. Letting him finish, he grunted and flexed his arms. After a few tugs, he gauged the tensile strength of the straps before jerking his right arm clear out of its socket. This loosened the grip they had on him as a whole, allowing him to slip his left arm clear of the straps holding them down, though he had to similarly dislocate his thump to slip it through the wrist retrained. Popping it back in its socket, he went about unlocking the restraints around him.

As he did so, he spoke. "I have no problem with people helping me, but never, and I mean ever, Strap me down like this. Considering the Fae I was abducted by, its about the worst way to wake me up." With a slight "tink" the straps fell of him and he sat up more so in the bed. With a Grunt he popped his right shoulder back in to its socket and gave The Russian his full attention.

"Me and Kitten, the Fledgling left what seems to be shortly before the attack happened, found the Prince's Favored Crow, John Korvinus, half dead in road." He felt over himself as he spoke. "Jaw and teeth are fixed, leg is fixed, spleen feels not ruptured...Damn Tremer Healing magic actually works for once..."

He swung his legs over and got up, finding him wearing nothing but his pants. "Were the fuck is my shirt, and my boots, the fuck is my gear?" He shook his head and stretched his arms out. "Considering Anna is...well, to say older is an understatement, but she is, I have a few ideas but nothing concrete. Some one that powerful couldn't just be staked and killed, so she's likely in torpor some were." He chuckled, "Bitch is tough enough, Figure the only thing they could do is get her some concrete shoos and toss her in to a lake, about the only way I figure they could keep her down."

He sat on the edge of the bed. "Were the fuck are we, and who was the Sir Lancelot fucker who came to save me."

[New Minahasa]

Richie Rain, the Manus Nigrum

The hidden floors and basements of Rain's condominium tower in Little Tokyo are accessible by two ways; through the staff-only entrance, a single metal door placed at a shady corner in the underground parking lot which is then continued by a set of staircases that continues further downwards and monitored 24/7 by surveillance cameras, but also through a hidden elevator access in Rain's personal penthouse high up at the top of the tower, though this particular information is only made aware by the higher-ups in his small and humble secret society of Antediluvian-worshipping cultists.

This elevator access leads directly to several rooms on the different underground floors, including the Nagaraja's Research & Development Room down in the underground floors (though this room can be accessed by normal means and not only through the elevator, as long as you're permitted that is), a horrifying mix of modern technology and the blood sorcery of necromancy, headed directly by a Nagaraja herself, one Chinese Kindred (not Kuei-jin unsurprisingly) who goes only by the name of Dr. Ming. News of the Prince's untimely 'demise' has seen an increase in the production of Risen as potential prospects and members of the various street gangs under the criminal organization secretly headed by Rain, the Eng Suey Sun Tong, commonly known by its legal facade the Eng Family Benevolent Association, are being mystically experimented upon, willingly or not.

Not only gangsters, but any veterans and ex-soldiers who's fallen from grace as they usually do, and have resorted to more 'illegal' means, are routinely being offered jobs and contracts as they're lured into their demise, and sooner or later find their souls being torn away from their mortal bodies and replaced with loyal wraiths, ultimately creating the perfect fusion of human and ghost, the Risen. These footsoldiers are generally more durable and capable than your mortal henchmen, with their innate ability to access vampiric disciplines to further their prowess in combat, and coupled with their non-dependence to vitae, these servitors are seen as a better investment than ghouls, although it's very arguable that the process of their creation is much more time-consuming than the prospect of granting mortals the gift of vitae.

All the while, spies and informants of the Manus Nigrum are making their moves, constantly poking their ears into the flow of supernatural ongoings in the City of Angels, primarily whatever's happening in the Kindred society. Without the Prince's powerful restrains and the current chaos that just befell the Camarilla's hierarchical structure, all agents of the Black Hand can freely be on the move. This network of intel gatherers has caught scent of various rumored artifacts scattered throughout the city, and some are even rumored to be presented in museums, the mortal keepers ignorant of the magical powers that these items possess. Thus several agents are tasked with the retrieval of said ancient prizes, some being sent to scour the museums while some act as a delegation to one hedge sorcerer which supposedly owns an artifact. The rest are sent to investigate the ruins of the Los Angeles Cenaculum in an effort to search for one Inquisitorial weapon known only as Feldmann's Staff and its counterpart, the Saint Vincent's Hood.

And finally, to fully exploit the chaos in Los Angeles' vampiric society and the current non-existent enforcement of Camarilla laws, the Tal'mahe'Ra works on locating and rounding up the scattered remnants of Anarchs and Thinbloods that populate the city, offering them safety and a fighting chance against the bickering Primogens in exchange for their allegiance. This operation is led by Rain's left-hand man himself, an ancilla of the True Brujah, to act as an intimidating presence during the negotiations that will follow and as a safety insurance of sorts, in case these rowdy outcasts decide to thrash on their offers. Then a message is sent to Enoch, one that informs their situation in the city, to motivate the Del'Roh for the resources and reinforcements required in this new crusade.

[Luminesa]

Quest: Clan of Madness

The Spectre kept the bath of fire spewing from the staff. Even as Silvanus crushed the coffin and grabbed the staff. The Spectre angled it down and bathed part of Silvanus in fire. Yet, the Spectre was suddenly silenced as the staff snapped in two. Weakened by the acid on the aged wood it finally succumbed. Its break signaled the end of the fetter and with the spectre vanishing the zombies collapsed in a heap. No longer under the Spectre's power. But Silvanus was injured, fire burnt some of his tentacles, shoulder, and torso. He would need to put them out lest it spread and force him into Torpor. But probably the most annoying aspect would be the time to heal and the vitae he would need to consume to replace his strength.

However, in a hollow, hidden within the bottom of the coffin now crushed open. There would be a small book. Its pages largely ruined yet with Auspex one could feel the psychic imprint of its owner. Possibly the priest before he perished and became a Spectre? One could not be certain. But touching it would yield visions of the Shakespeare Bridge in Los Angeles. Based in the dim light of an eclipse and a yawning black gate way. Tendrils of dread spewing forth as something dark and fundamentally hungry came into being onto the Earth. Another clue, a location, another lead.

Augustine Maxwell

"I will not allow but tolerate hellspawn." spat Maxwell at Endymion’s feet. "Until I can find my way to Heaven or Hell." Maxwell knew Endymion was probably some demon sent by God to test him. Neither of them were gods or angels. Just twisted eldritch abominations he would not hesitate in destroying in a heart beat. Even if it doomed him to this place of deceit and temptation for all eternity. Such could be his purgatory.

Manning vs Slaid

"I like your style." said Manning. Terrence Manning, Brujah, Primogen, originally from West Africa and only in North America by cause of a long ago slave ship. Cracked his knuckles before letting the gun hand idly in his hand. Precious seconds flitted past. Manning whipped the gun using Celerity. The butt smacking against Slaid's guarding hands. That was not the real strike. The actual strike came from a savage heel kick which struck Jonah in the lower leg. Crunch. Fibia fracture. Manning spun into a boxing guard position and delivered a swift jab at Slaid's face. Not a full commitment but to test the Changeling's reaction time. Manning at least was taking the melee more seriously.

John

John shuffled Jennifer along onto a side street. The sounds of gunfire and rushing crowds away from the fighting could be seen. Down the street a block away in another section of Chinatown. One could barely see the lights of other SWAT vehicles and more gunfire. The Brujah was evidently not holding back in hitting other parts of the Kuei-jins operations in Chinatown. "Come on get in." said John as Jennifer pulled out Jonah's keys and hopped into the passenger seat of the GTX. John made to get in and paused. Something white had caught his eye. He focused on it. A snowflake. Holding out a hand a second snowflake hit his palm. Then another. The temperature in the area had dropped suddenly and precipitously.

Endymion frowned, touching a finger to his chin as Maxwell continued to call him a demon. He was serious about standing his ground, though he did not know the force that kept him in such captivity. If Endymion could feel saddened or distressed, he did feel so now. Such insults were not thrown lightly from a man of such bravery. Yet when the Fae caught Kannon's frightened eye, and felt Paione hiding her face in his chest, he smiled to both of them. Without a word, suddenly, Paione lifted her head and began to head back to the castle. Kannon stood her ground, but she felt more peaceful for some reason. She felt that Endymion had the situation under control.

"...If this place is to be your Purgatory, then so be it. I shall be your guarding Angel...and I shall help you..." he explained. Maxwell would feel the burning of Purgatory in his chest, as all of his sins were laid before the Fae. After all, for a few brief moments he had held his pure soul in his hands. The Fae's smile widened, and his eyes glittered. "...Such cleansing fire is necessary...for you to enter Heaven. Yes?...I know you wish to attack me, Augustine...but I...do not desire your suffering. I wish to keep you safe, so that the process of purification may be complete..." he whispered.

As the fire rose in Maxwell's heart, he felt a soft, cool embrace, that of a woman dressed entirely in a long, white, tulle gown. Glittering and majestic. Her hair was raven-black, and her eyes were glittering gold. She was angelic, and she soothed the flames rising in his heart. The vision was meant to give the old Inquisitor what Endymion had seen he desired in his heart. Pure love. "Accept this gift, and all else shall follow..." the Fae whispered. “I know every movement of your heart right now. I know what you desire, what will heal you. Take my gift, and I shall make you whole...”

[Laurvier]

Gabriel Sweeney Coterie

The incidents in Chinatown was not difficult to miss. Gabriel's men had been keeping tabs on the police scanners and noise this loud would not be able to escape the notice of Sweeney's coterie. In Chinatown, a mobile listening post in the form of a contractor van had been setup with Sweeney's hired agents doing some signals intelligence gathering and observation. Among their equipment were signals jammers, broadcast monitoring equipment, directional microphones, night and thermal imaging equipment. As far as a force went, Sweeney's had plenty of resources and men. But what did all the gear and money in the world mean against the supernatural?

The man in the driver's seat had seen snowflakes and checked the thermometer on the car. That made his eyes go wide. He signaled those in the back about it so they would know.

"Castle, Bishop." A man said into the communications equipment. "We've got a temperature drop. Unnatural for this part of town." He added.

Soon after they had spotted the John and Jennifer fleeing the scene and radioed in a quick reaction team that was on standby. Sweeney's men in the van took pictures of both their faces and viewed them with infrared optics.

"Castle, Bishop, we got two. One unknown, one Kangaroo. Uploading images to you now." Said one of the van agents into their communications equipment.

"Invitation." Said a voice in reply.

They radioed a special reaction team on standby. This was just an reconnaissance operation and there was no intention of getting into any sort of trouble. Nevertheless, the men were quite well armed. Fisk, a Gangrel, was leading them. The other three men in the black Escalade were ex-military. Some foreign, some American. All wearing plate carriers and armed with suppressed Sig Rattlers. Their magazines included incendiary rounds.

"Castle, Knight, we got visual on the POIs." One of Fisk's men radioed.

The SUV pulled up with the back window rolled down. Fisk was looking at John and Jennifer smugly with his red glowing eyes. Next to him was a man with his Rattler shouldered in a non-threatening position. He extended a hand out the window to hold out a fancy card in eggshell coloring. It was the kind used for wedding and business invitations. The writing on it was in cursive calligraphy.

You are cordially invited to meet with me at my estate. Hospitality and protection shall be yours while in my Domain.

Gabriel Sweeney
Clan Ventrue

Included on it was an address in Beverly Hills. As soon one of them would have taken it, the SUV would speed off into the night. If not, another car would follow them.

[Kingdom of Irhk]

Connor Mac Domhnaill

As the truck started to distance itself from the plant with the contents the Gangrel prized so much, Connor started to laugh out loud. They stole the boxes right under their dirty fangs, while the Beast inside them probably stirred with the hate of the Gaia's children. The two bullets didn't even scare Connor, as his heart pumped with the adrenaline once more.

"HAHAHAHAHA TAKE THAT, YOU FAKE WOLVES! TÁIMID FIANNA! SEE THAT, DERRICK? Derrick?"

As the greenish eyes of the redhead giant turned around along with his body, he met the sight he knew that one day he was going to see, but it was impossible to prepare for that. A bullet tore through the walls of the truck and struck his childhood friend. Dropping his LMG, he quickly picked up his friend from the ground, blood pouring out like a fountain from the wound as Derrick coughed out.

"Don't you fucking die on me, boy! You promised me that we were only going to die after the Celtic wins a Champion's Cup or we marry, whatever comes first! Come on boy, this will be just like Romania... A bad ride, but we will make it through this, remember? We don't die to fucking alcohol, Kindred or anything they throw at us! Remember? Derrick! Derrick!"

In a frenzy, Connor shook his friend's corpse, waiting for an answer. Any answer: a threat, a flirt with Connor's sister, an invite for a drinking competition... But nothing. Silence lingered between the two always talkative friends, as Derrick's eyes were, for the first and last time ever, devoid of the passion for life that every Fianna had. As the bigger Garou hugged his dead friend and cried as he prayed for his soul in the Irish language, pacing back and forth.

As the truck reached the docks and the other Garou opened the back doors of the truck, the scene was chaotic, yet touching: Among the boxes filled with guns, drugs and money, Connor was on his knees, holding Derrick's body in a tight hug, his shirt and bulletproof vest stained with blood. The bards had no song to sing or a poem to recite at that moment, and slowly backed away with their heads down, with Connor's quiet sob being the only sound. In his always frenzied mind, series of memories struck his mind...

Romania
Years ago, Tzimisce's Stronghold

The Great Hunt. A suicidal mission throughout Europe, devised by an alliance of Garou that decided to cripple every adversary they met. Wyrm worshippers and Kindred met the rage of the Gaia's offspring. One last obstacle remained between Connor's pack and the return to their homeland.

The Sabbat leader in the area was a quite powerful Tzimisce. His appearance itself was a matter of mystery: he guided the Caine's warriors through messages and distant orders, isolating himself in a basement, experimenting with Vicissitude and comprehending the mysteries of vampirism. Bless or curse, it had to be understood in its entirety... but now, theory would come to practice. Through the corridors of his complex.

The pack of Garou stormed furiously, lashing at the ghouls "blessed" by the practice of Vicissitude. Claws of different natures clashed, fangs of different makers fought with equal ferocity, as the walls got sprayed with blood from the creatures that resorted to violence as the only possible way to settle their differences. At the very end, only two Garou remained, bursting through the reinforced door that kept the Tzimisce vampire safe.

The room itself seemed to be a carefully planned blend of the worst nightmares conceived by the supernatural minds. Drawings of future "plans" scattered through the walls made the Kindred look like a demented Da Vinci, studying the non-existent anatomy, composing Vitruvian Inhumans fueled by his twisted creativeness. Slowly, the seemingly normal spawn of Caine got up from his chair, staring at the duo of Garou.

"You deserve a prize for getting so far, Garou. Once you are defeated, I'll mend you two together as one... And unleash you to every other being that enters this place. After all, I need to replace the bodies that you took away from my grasp..."

With one move, the normal body became a hellish vision. Two more arms spawned at his torso, while his body seemed to craft extra muscles around his body, becoming a beast far from the slim built man that was sitting on the chair.

"I shall compose a symphony of agony using the screams you'll give once I tear your flesh apart with my own hands, stupid dogs... It's only a question of how I shall sew them together in a manner that pleases my ears... Triumphant, like the Walkürenritt? Intense, like Vivaldi's Quattro Staggione? Oh, all the great works I could make with such fine specimens... Maybe an opening tune, like they use the work of Strauss? Well... Let's start the research!"

The Kindred lunged at them with ferocity, as the duo of Irish Garou - Connor and Derrick - knew that it was a matter of life and death. Dodging, punching, trying to harm the Tzimisce who reciprocate their aggression with his unusual anatomy. The four strongly built arms stunned them with each hit. The battle seemed to be doomed against them, but in a last effort, Connor and Derrick looked at each other in a similar way that soldiers did when bullets flew over their heads: it was a do or die situation.

Two warriors fought like one, in a manner that displayed their years of partnership. Sequences of punches now had four arms instead of two separate pairs, given how their connection didn't need any words. Their link - crafted in alcohol, brawls and family - worked anywhere in the world, against anyone.

As Derrick pushed a knife in one of the the shoulders, Connor pulled it off tearing through muscle and bone, before the bigger member of the duo charged at the Sabbat leader, giving Derrick enough time to run and stick another knife, but this time, right in the chest, slowing their opponent down and pinning him against the wall. Using his enormous strength, Connor picked Derrick by the legs, swinging him around while his partner had a blade in his hands, before Connor released him straight at the Tzimisce's neck, decreeing the divorce of his brain from the rest of his body.

The two Irishmen sat down, looking at each other. Covered in blood, but smiling like they were kids who just arrived to a playground. Wounds were still open, ribs were still hurting, but they were done. When the rest of the Garou finally reached their room, the fight was over: their loud laughter was the sign that the mystery was dead, and two drunks killed him. Suddenly, Derrick stared at Connor and delivered the question that no one (or maybe everyone) was expecting:

"- Hey, Connor... Technically we killed him, so how that bet of ours stay, eh?

- ... First to fall pays the bill.

- Deal."

Now
Los Angeles

The silence was still present. But now, there were intervals made by footsteps. Out of the truck, Connor came carrying the dead body of his friend, using every bit of the strength he still had to carry on with the funeral his friend deserved. Logs were gathered and organized in a bonfire, while Connor held his friend in his arms, waiting until everything was ready.

And for the first time in years, his arms trembled. His legs started to shake, along with his chest that started to pound in pain. It wasn't just the physical weight of the body, but the metaphysical weight of the death that now settled upon Connor's shoulders. The giant Fiann failed to withstand the hit that just hit him.

Derrick was one of the few friends he had since he was a child marked by his anger and his red hair. The boy who divided fights in school hallways and in the urban alleys, a brother of war and bar, someone that he could trust openly, something that he had trouble on doing. The years of frenzy and uncontrolled rage made Connor a hard person to deal with - a hard person to love - yet Derrick was one of the few who always took the mission lightly. They never shared the same blood but as the saying goes, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb, and even if the Fiann pack leader had a big family, he lacked a brother. Sons and daughters of the same parents hardly make up siblings, anyway.

The pyre was ready, yet Connor wasn't. Somehow, he hoped that Gaia herself would come out of any hole and resurrect his fallen mate... But that wouldn't happen. Placing him on the pyre, Connor took a few steps back, the tears now forming a river across his weary complexion, as he kept staring at the lifeless body.

"Before we do this... I'd like to say a few words. I'm not known for my ability with words, but... This fucker who left us today deserves this effort. I knew his mother. I knew his father. I knew his grandparents, but what is by far more important is that... Bloody Gaia, I don't know if I'll finish that, but eh... I knew his heart and I knew his soul. Half my size, but his heart was big. No matter the situation, this lad always had my side. In Éire, in Spain, in France, Germany, Romania... Anywhere in this fucking world, he had the heart to fight against a bloody wave of Kindred if needed.

We always knew that one day, we would meet death. But this... This... Bloody disgraced mate played a prank on me. He's dead now, and I'm alive. You see? He's dead now, and I am still alive! I get to watch the game without him criticizing the strikers, I get to drink without his provocations, I get to fight without having to look down to see if I don't hit him...

But I don't want to. I don't want to do any of those things, because I'm a fucking loner, away from my home, away from my kind, and now away from my brother! That's my life! BECAUSE HE IS DEAD NOW. AND I AM ALIVE. But I don't want to be. Two bullets hit that truck, and if one bullet hit me, I would die laughing alongside the only true brother I met in my life.

Goodbye, you fucker."

As the Fianna burned his body, Connor sat against a container, staring at the flames that consumed the body of his friend. Bottle after bottle, he kept on going, even when he was alone. But no amount of whisky could drown the feeling of loneliness and sadness that he had. The flames danced, burning not just the body, but Connor's hope of it being a nightmare, as he kept on emptying the bottles and throwing them around.

"This was our last drinking contest, Derrick."

And alone, he stared at the burning pyre, while the Fianna started to return to the pyre, their eyes divided between the flame and Connor. In a low tone, and pacing back and forth, words came out in the middle of a mumble...

"When you walk through a storm
Hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark..."

The song was known to them. A lonely voice got accompanied by the other voices, who now were a loud choir, gathered around the symbolic fire. And as if the fire just awaited for everyone to gather around, the magical flames started to subside, and nothing was left of Derrick now, only the memories the pack had of him.

"NOW YOU LISTEN HERE, FOLKS. The Gangrel... will pay for this. If you see a Gangrel, kill him. He's walking around, thinking that he can enjoy the nature on his own? He's wrong. We, the true wolves, will hunt them down. We will kill them until nothing is left of them besides their fear at the mention of our names! Let our Rage show them who we truly are! We are the beasts! We are Garou! We are Fianna!"

[Parcia]

Samantha Slaid
Junior Field Agent
Vanguard Serial Crimes Unit
Los Angeles

With a Blaring klaxon and a large slobbery kiss, Sam groaned and sat up in her bed. Bass was an english mastiff and by all accounts a giant puppy. "Alright alright, stop whining." Getting out of bed she stretched, the morning sun coming in through the windows. First order of business was the morning walk of her dog who was patiently waiting at the edge of her bed. Throwing on a pj bottom and a tank top, she hooked him to his leach.

On her way out she grabbed her duty harness, a leather holster complete with 10mm side arm, 4 spare mags, and a FBI shield, and threw on a windbreaker to cover it haphazardly. Setting out on their morning rock around their little block of Culver city she got a few looks and stares but shrugged them off. Bass was a big dog, being a fairly young yet fully matured English Mastiff the sight of the massive jet black dog deterred most people from accosting her, and scared the shit out of most smaller dog breeds...being armed and with a Federal ID badge helped.

Despite that, it didn't take long for an LAPD Cruiser to pull up besides her. A pair of slightly out of shape looking beat cops got out and approached her. "Good morning man, mind if I can see some ID?" With a groggy nod, she told Bass to sit and produced her wallet. Out of it she retrieved her FBI badge, her drivers licence, and her ASIS card. This drew a moment of hesitation from the cops as they thumbed over the ID, one went back to his car to run her ID while the other continued to speak. "We got a call about a half naked women walking a large mangy dog and that she might have a gun on her, and uh...well, we weren't expecting a Federal Agent and her pet."

She nodded. "Big guy had to go out." She petted her best friend on the head. The other cop soon came back and handed her IDs back to her. "So you carry your duty fire arm when your off duty?" She nodded. "It's a personally owned one, Penal Code 32000 Says I can, so I do." He nodded, "Looks like a 45, neat grips on it and I dig the holster." She flashed a fake smile, "Its a 10mm, and yea, I ordered the Holster custom made."

His partner rolled his eyes and spoke up. "Don, stop flirting with the Agent, she's likely got a job to do." She gave a half hearted chuckle and wished them fare well.

Getting back to her house, she spent most of the day working out and doing paperwork at home as this was her day off. Her little house was a rare find, a property that was affordable at her pay grade and it was in a rather Safe part of Culver city. As the afternoon drug on she was going over old Case files when her phone went off the hook.

"Slaid her...wait, what? Fuck me...what's the address? Fine, i'll bring full kit and gear." Cursing up a storm, she went to her closet and swung it open. Contained inside was several extra pistols, a pair of M14s, one a Vintage Vietnam era model and the other a surplus M39, and her favored rifle. She had left her M40 with the marines and ended up surplussing a M24 from the Army for a surprisingly good price.

She had it retooled for .30-06 and accessorized it to her liking. Securing her rifle in its bag with it's optics and ammo, she slipped on her hard vest and Base ball Cap. Loading her gear up in her beat old Ford LTD and made her way to the address she was given.

Arriving down the street she parked her LTD behind the other unmarked cars and kept to the shadows, rifle in hand. She had slung on an old MARPAT jacket to cover the Plate vest she wore and did her best to stay quiet. Picking a roof two building's over, she clicked in to the radio and quietly notified the other Agents of her arrival.

"Cougar here, im go for over watch, over." She went prone and deployed her rifle's bypod and began to scope out the outside of the Funeral home.

[Imperialisium]

Nikolai Samerikov

The Russian Tremere Ancilla watched with a half-cocked eyebrow as Jonah Slaid wormed his way out of the straps. "You know I could have just undid them for you." The Russian chuckled as he listened to Jonah describe his point of view to Nikolai. The Russian vampire merely pulled out a fat cigar and chomped down on one end, spit out the bit off end, and flicked his other thumb. A small flame sprouted out of thin air to light the tip. Taking a long drag the vampire let out the smoke slowly. Plus side of Vampirism, you could light up fat Cubans hourly and never worry about lung cancer or emphysema. "Glad your words match your conscious. We rummaged around you head a bit when the Apothecaries were putting you back together." Nikolai squinted at Jonah's mouth, "Demetrius did a good job." Nikolai half turned and paused to point the cigar at Jonah's skull, "Some fucked up shit in there, comrade." Nikolai motioned Jonah to follow. Taking him along some winding corridors and out into a courtyard.

The massive fortress, practically city, of Vaeghorod reared high above them and well below them. Seeming to be half carved, half built into the mountainside. A wide blackstone bridge reached across a twinkling wide river in the moonlight. Nikolai didn't bother to turn to Jonah as he explained, "You my friend are in Vaeghorod. Primary stronghold of House Angeloi, deep in the Carpathians, as to exactly where I cannot tell you. As for Comrade Lancelot, well that was Raziyon of Sopron, Castellan of Vaeghorod and Captain of the Rothai. He sortied to Los Angeles in hopes of finding Lady Angelos and bringing her back here for safety. But as circumstances be had he tracked you down to Chinatown in Los Angeles and needed you alive for questioning. Hence, his immediate intervention on your duel with Manning."

In the courtyard Jonah would see regular Humans, Ghouled humans, Revenants, Gargoyles, and Vampires meandering about. Squads of armored soldiers patrolled the courtyards while sentries stood watch over battlements. Fearsome siege engines dotted the walls. Some of which would be unclear to Jonah in how they worked. No doubt some combination of Vampiric engineering and Tremere sorcery. Nearby on the walls Katarina wheeled Alexei around, eventually noticing Nikolai who waived her over, and thus she drove Alexei in his wheelchair over to them.

"Quite the reunion is it not, da?" mused Nikolai. A grunt from behind the quartet and they noticed a Gargoyle, Tiberias who had chastised Alexei and Katarina in the library, walking towards them while clutching something....that Jonah had seen before. It was Anasztazia Angelos' ledger. How did it end up here.

"I was checking the Prince's private collection in her outer chambers. This appeared suddenly on a pedestal. Further, look." Tiberias opened the book to Katarina only. So that only she may see it's contents. Her face darkened. "Her Grace's instructions?"

"It is her handwriting." confirmed Tiberias. Katarina shot looks at the others. Tiberias pulled out of his side satchel a vial and a syringe. "Sorry, lad, this is going to be a bit of a shock to the system. But, Lady Angelos' orders." Tiberias extracted a generous portion of the red liquid in the vial and unceremoniously. Stuck it in Alexei's neck abruptly. Pressing the contents into the young man without remorse before pulling it out of him. A very small dot of blood formed on his neck.

Anna's vitae coursed through Alexei, re-affirming the Blood Bond, but also something was different. He was seeing memories. The battle from Anna's point of view in crystal clear first person. Her cutting through the Papal soldiers on the lower levels. Passing the body of Medorna near the security suite. The death of Arquart and Maxwell. The sensation of the stake going through her heart. Her witnessing, frozen, the deaths of Hideyoshi and Manning. Of being put in a coffin. Then nothing after that. But it offered a face. Alexei knew the face of Joaquin Murietta now.

Additionally, Alexei would feel stronger, as Anna's potent blood laced with whatever unknown Thaumaturgy coursed through his veins. The wounds he suffered knitted themselves back together in record time. His muscles repaired themselves. He felt alert, alive, and his senses heightened.

"So what are Her Grace's instructions...exactly?" questioned Nikolai.

"You three are going to Los Angeles. The Lady Angelos knows someone must have betrayed her to another group. Your only objective is to kill them. Whatever you do in between, on the side, or after she cares not. To summary of course." said Katarina as she read from the page. Tiberias clamped the book shut and looked over to the side. A trio of servants wheeling over several large cases. Pressing a button they opened themselves up to reveal dozens of weapons, knives, grenades, and equipment. All state of the art and seemingly brand new. The lead servant, noticeably the man who had equipped Jonah prior at the Mansion, nodded to them all, "Take what you wish to get the job done. You'll find everything from small side arms to high powered sniper rifles. Machineguns to grenade launchers. Flashbangs to Fragmentation grenades."

Nikolai smiled as he began to take weapons and equipment. Katarina meanwhile moved over behind the containers and pulled out a Mosin-Nagant. Of fine make and quality. While also pulling out some side arms, plate carrier, and helmet. "I know a safe house, hasn't been used in years by Clan Tremere, in Central City. The teleportation spells of Vaeghorod should be able to put us there on its own homing runes." Katarina was evidently going with them it seemed.

John and Jennifer

John and Jennifer had sped away from the scene in all due haste. Once they were deemed far enough away John slowed to blend in with the traffic. Coming to a stop another vehicle pulled up. A man held out a card? No, an invitation, as Jennifer gingerly took it with a confused look on her face. Opening it to reveal the contents. The random car sped away as the light turned green. Meanwhile, John pulled down another street. Heading to a safe house.

[Luminesa]

Any and all peace Alexei felt was short-lived, and he knew this fact as soon as Katarina turned him away from the beautiful view of the mountains and back toward the courtyard. He was first surprised to see Jonah, a familiar face who did not want to possibly devour him. He wished he could stand to hug him. He would welcome any kind of affection now, even from a man who hardly knew him. Yet as soon as he saw Nikolai, his desire to reach forward and to make himself more vulnerable receded. He stared up at the tall, muscular, Russian Tremere, and he shuddered. They had never stood this close before, and Alexei could see the pure power slipping through his veins. He wanted to run, but running he would not do.

As he gasped, Tiberias came to his side and injected a needle into his neck. Alexei did not even have time to look and see what drained into his neck from the syringe, but he allowed the pain to wash through him. Moments after the stinging wore away, the infatuation melted into his veins, and his heartbeat sped. The Blood Bond had been renewed. A moment of dreadful serenity, as Alexei hardly had time to resign himself to the fate he had tried so hard to escape. Yet a new terror played in his mind as he received her blood, and he began to sweat. He was still himself, but somehow also Anna. He saw the battle, the way she nearly died. He witnessed her slashing through his fellow Inquisitors as though they were tree-trunks in a forest. His stomach dropped, and he felt himself become pale and ill. "...No...make it stop...make it stop...please, have mercy...God, have mercy..."

He shakily lowered his head into his hands and closed his eyes, but the visions would not stop. They railroaded through his mind, until he saw Maxwell and Arquart face Anna. He saw an anguish he had never quite understood, when he looked at his father-figure. A rare revelation, the kind in which a son comes to truly know their father, flashed through his eyes and his heart. Something in Maxwell had loved Anna, but he had also carried the burden of a life of mistakes made for the sake of that love, and then his desire for redemption had turned him to become a martyr. Arquart's gory death nearby shook Alexei to his core, but as Maxwell's heart was torn from his chest, the young Inquisitor felt the life drain from himself. "No! Please! Let go of his heart! Put it back! Please God, put it back!" he screamed. Even before Anna was stabbed with the stake, he felt the helplessness, the horror, of watching a loved one die before your own eyes. The sort of pain the Blessed Mother felt watching Christ die on the Cross. He felt his entire body shake, as he dropped out of the wheelchair and onto his knees. "...Please God...please...please...no...take me instead...take me instead...ahhhhhhhhhhh..." He released a moan of despair, as he also felt the pain of the stake through his heart. Maxwell stabbed him with his dying movement, and the connection was complete. He knew Anna and Maxwell had danced the danse macabre, and neither had won. Their passions had consumed them, and now Anna was...somewhere...somewhere dark and cold.

Soon, while he remained on his knees in supplication of God's mercy, Anna's blood healed Alexei's wounds and strengthened his body. His muscles became firm, his eyes became clearer, his senses became almost superhuman. And yet even with all these boosts, and the instructions Katarina spoke so sweetly, he could not pull himself off his knees. He wanted to remain there, to continue to suffer along with his father-figure. How dare Anna demand his aid after killing him. How dare she. He desired nothing more than to find her and to crush her throat under his boot. For God, for Maxwell, for all of his fallen brothers. He felt a power he had not felt in years. And yet he had no choice. He had to stand, and to fight, to kill anything that Anna wanted dead. I hate her...but I cannot say no...I must die a coward...or I must die a coward, and destroy some of them first...I must take their blood, I'll take their blood and write a Psalm for God with it...I'll redeem myself, and come back to God by destroying them...

Slowly, shakily, with a face stained by tears, he gave none of the people around him eye-contact as he approached the cases. He recalled how Mikhailov had tried to teach him how to hold and shoot a gun. For some reason, that slight, small memory calmed him. He remembered the dream. The Mage guiding him, standing behind him as though he was guarding him with his own body. He wiped his tears, and picked-up an AK-47. He also grabbed a belt of grenades and some light armor. His Faith would allow him to use his sword and his spear, but he knew distance weapons might be necessary. Whatever group had betrayed Anna was strong enough to take her position, and he would need to keep his distance. "...Tell me who to kill...This is my job, this is the only job I have ever had...tell me who to kill, and they will be dead..." He spoke to Katarina, his throat hoarse from crying.

[Parcia]

Guns...lots and lots of Guns.

Jonah nodded along as the Russian walked him through the Castle. When Arriving to the courtyard he greeted Alexei with a smile. "Good to see you again Ruskie-" He was cut off by the mans episode and took a careful step backwards as he went about pleading to god and an unknown force for mercy.

Soon enough it seemed to be over, and the smaller man got to his feet. For the sudden burst of confidence, he received a hefty yet good hearted slap on the shoulder. "There he is!" With the mood some what rebuilt, Jonah went about picking his tools for this upcoming storm. First was a refill of .44 and .454 HP rounds, courtesy of the good Charon, as well as an interesting armor set that seemed purpose built for his stature.

The Armor spoke as he went about flipping it on. "That is a purpose built armor set the House Armor maintains for its Ogre troops, designed to give them excellent all round armor and to prevent...rather cowardly attacks from unexpected angles from having any real effect." Jonah nodded and slipped it on before filling out its pouches with gear and items. It included the chest piece that covered his whole torso and his shoulders, a pair of more flexible plates for his shins and legs, secured with straps, and a set of armored sleeves for his lower arms. Lastly was a pair of fingerless armored biker's gloves.

First came what he chose to be his long arm. Finding it hall hidden under the same stack of AKs Alexei had dove in to, Jonah produced an RPK of Romanian make, with the iconic wooden fore grip replacing its standard hand guard. For his magazine and ammo choice, he went with the 75 round drums that the rifle was originally designed to use, choosing three of them, before he noticed the red ring on the exposed rounds. "Shit, this is Soviet Make HEI ammo, I do so dearly hope you kept them in good condition, because these will be handy." Fitting one drum in his gun, he fit two more on the large ammo pouches on each side of his rig, filling the 4 remaining large ammo pouches with the 40 round box magazines. Slinging the LMG, he dug through the box some more before he produced a weapon that likely made the Vampires Present tense up.

"No way...this...this is Flame thrower, shit I didn't think ya'll even kept these, its like you people fuckin know me." Checking to make sure the Gas system worked, he lit the pilot light on and off a few times to make sure it was in working order. Loading a tank of gas, he placed to more in the other two reserve pouches on his rear. Slinging this as well, he went about rummaging through the grenades before producing a quartet of AN-M14 THC incendiary Grenades and fitting them to his rig web. He chose to fill the two remaining grenade pouches, the ones on each hip, with a pair of Fragmentation grenades.

Seeing he had a pair of multipurpose loops on his belt free, he picked through the small stack of melee weapons before settling on a set of Nordic style war axes that were of fine quality with polished ax heads and real leather grips. Peering around, he tapped his skull looking for something that was missing...with a dropping of his jaw, he reached down and padded through the creates before producing a Vintage M1C steel helmet. Complete with leather "A" chin straps and authentic liner, he quickly found the lot code spot welded to the inside and found the Unit Inscription. "101st Airborne, 506th PIR, Dog Company. " With a smile, he fit the helmet on his head and the smile grew even more. "70 years and she fits like a fuckin glove." Lastly, he retrieved his hammer and slid it in to the special loop on the rear of the rig.

As a last minuet thought, he attached a small camouflaged IFAK (Individual First Aid Kit) to each of the attachment points on the sides of his leg. "These will do me fine, I recommend you grab a Trauma kit, Alexei since we lack the regenerative abilities of our friends here." He also tossed the man a second Helmet, this one being a more modern Combat helmet. "This too, 60% of Combat related injuries are head wounds...well, that's what they told me in basic."

He also bent down and retrieved a duffel bag and opened it. He rummaged around some more and soon found what he was hoping to find. He started to place around half dozen or so green plastic blocks in to the bag. "M112 Demo Charges, well, ok, they ere each half a charge, the M102. Good for a car, door, your pick." He made sure to pack a set of extra detonators and even a remote one.

Pulling the Charging handle on the LMG, he looked around. "Well, im good to go."


Jen.

As they slowed in to traffic, she set the shotgun down in the seat behind her. "What...what the fuck was that...the temple...I...I think I killed a couple of them..." She looked at the drying blood on her hands and sunk in to the seat and her mind. "What...What are we doing now?"

[Imperialisium]

Abandoned Cenaculum

The Abandoned Cenaculum was ostensibly, by Public Records, the Los Amigos Mental Hospital, abandoned in the late nineties due to an out of control fire that spontaneously occurred on the property. However, in reality it had been operating since 1953 as a Cenaculum of the Society of Leopold. The Inquisition's chamber militant. The original base of operations for the Cenacle until operations moved to Saint Vincent in the late 90s. The only survivors of the fire being Augustine Maxwell, at the time known as Dr. Fechtstein, and Jordan Manning. Registered as a patient cured of a personality disorder then vanishing from public records. The Inquisition, since the 80's had been increasingly strapped for manpower in regards to the Society of Leopold. Thus, no formal investigation could be spared and quite frankly the Provincial of California, Arquart, never seemed that interested in condoning a thorough research of the battle that destroyed most of the Los Angeles Cenaculum. Despite, lobbying from the Albertines and Order of St. Joan to do so.

The Hospital was a medium sized establishment of two closely positioned buildings built in the revived Spanish colonial style popular in the 20th century. It was certainly pretty when in operation and maintained. Now, however, it was a musty, dusty, debris strewn, ashy and forlorn looking place. The third structure, the parking garage, was half collapsed as if some great force had hammer fisted its upper floor until it submitted. The interior was even worse. Burnt interiors. Peeled paint. Rusty and blackened steel frame beds along with strewn hospital equipment. It looked like a regular fire. The Inquisition or whomever had attacked them had at least done the due diligence to cover up the actual battle that had raged there for a few hours during the fateful night the 'fire' occurred.

La Brea Museum

The Staff of Ahriman was suspended on a clear plastic support, allowing onlookers to view the entirety of the staff from a raised plinth about half a foot off the ground, and slightly angled back to rest in the plastic cradle. The Black Iron core of the staff was wrapped in Gold wire. Giving a black and yellow diagonal pattern along the body of the staff till it reached the head. Whereby four solid Gold Gryphons reared in an ivory girdle that screwed in the top. Lapis Lazuli, a pair of rubies, and numerous sapphires studded the ivory girdle and the eyes of the Gryphons. To the Sleepers about it the staff seemed, well, mundane save for its seven figure value as an artifact. It's name after the 5th Century BC Persian Mage that forged and bore it. Yet for the supernaturally attuned it gave off a dull aura of power.

Clear, bullet proof, thick hardened plastic encased the staff. A key lock barring easy access. Along with the usual security suite of a web of invisible lasers that would sound off if one broke in at night. A weight plate underneath the case was synched to the precise ounces of the staff's own weight so someone could not just lift the case off without tripping the alarm. It was suitably protected from mundane snatching that was for sure.

John

"We're going to find a safe place to hunker down for the remainder of the night and tomorrow." said John matter of fact. John sped North, into the Northern extremes of the city, eventually pulling up next to a beat up and consigned apartment building. John had been here before. About four months ago he had gone here with a gravely wounded Nikolai Samerikov during the heavy fighting throughout Los Angeles between the Camarilla, Anarchs, and Sabbat. Right after the Silver Lake mission which took Nikolai's legs via explosion. The Russian vampire had nearly died that night and would have if it hadn't been for John. The Nosferatu, Johannes Vitorski, had run a small safe house for the Camarilla during those events. This dingy little apartment. Unfortunately, an enemy assassin had tracked John and Nikolai down, and during the fight in the apartment, both the assassin and Vitorski had been killed.

John killed the engine, and grabbed Jennifer from the arm as he walked around the car. He whispered, "Act natural." He hooked his arm in hers. His other hand he kept in his coat clutching his pistol. Looking around but not moving his head a lot. Expertly panning the environment around them to look for potential enemies. They never seemed to have been followed. But Terrence Manning was no amateur in warfare and could have followed them to set up an ambush easily. Stepped by the back door John busted open the back door window. No alarm. Crappy apartment building with faulty wiring and inspection way over due. Camarilla hush money ran deep. Unlocking the door the deo entered and John shut the door silently behind them. Moving up the cramped stairs they arrived in the small, musty apartment, with mildew above the bathroom door.

"Find a place to hide from the Sunlight during the day. I'll try to find you some blood later. Try to feed on me...I'll kill you." John looked her dead in the eye at that last part. Jennifer visibly gulped. This was not Jonah. Whose hardened features could soften at her. John's face was cold, merciless, a true killer. At least he had got her this far and seemed intent on keeping her alive. John took Jen's gun and tossed it on the couch. "Too big and loud." John moved over to a drawer and lifted up a false bottom. A Colt .45 with six rounds. From the encounter with the assassin months earlier. John picked up the pistol, slammed the magazine home, and readied it with a quick pull. He handed it to Jen. "Safety is on. Six rounds. Someone comes through that door. Hide. They find you, fire, and run like hell." At that John left the apartment. Evidently, going out to find something for Jennifer to feed on tomorrow night.

Vaeghorod

Nikolai grinned with the cigar in his mouth. "Alright lets go." Katarina pressed her hand to the ground and began muttering a string of spells. She pulled out a vial of blood and splashed it on the cobblestones. The blood fizzled and disappeared. The temperature cooled and frost formed, a portal snapped into existence. A black foreboding void of total blackness ringed in blueish light that gave the texture of flames. Like some giant demonic eye. "Ladies first." shrugged Nikolai. Katarina grimaced and stomped through the portal. Followed by Nikolai, Jonah, and Alexei.

The thing with portals is that unless the person creating them is an expert or there are fixed locations with maintained glyphs they could be a bit...inaccurate. As they found out shortly. For instead of depositing them safely into the safehouse in a lower class apartment suburb in East Los Angeles. Katarina, Nikolai, Jonah, and Alexei would find themselves walking out of the portal and into empty air. Falling. Two stories onto the mildewing grass outside the building. Katarina yelped and hit the ground hard. Landing on feet then her buttocks. Nikolai grunted as he hit the ground and rolled. Swearing several obscenities in Russian.

"What the blazing fuck was that Katarina?!" said Nikolai hoarsely. Katarina frowned, "Glyph probably wore off a little inside. Spit us out a few meters off."

Nikolai growled something about how lucky it was a few meters and not a few miles up in the sky.

[Luminesa]

Abandoned Cenaculum

The Abandoned Cenaculum was ostensibly, by Public Records, the Los Amigos Mental Hospital, abandoned in the late nineties due to an out of control fire that spontaneously occurred on the property. However, in reality it had been operating since 1953 as a Cenaculum of the Society of Leopold. The Inquisition's chamber militant. The original base of operations for the Cenacle until operations moved to Saint Vincent in the late 90s. The only survivors of the fire being Augustine Maxwell, at the time known as Dr. Fechtstein, and Jordan Manning. Registered as a patient cured of a personality disorder then vanishing from public records. The Inquisition, since the 80's had been increasingly strapped for manpower in regards to the Society of Leopold. Thus, no formal investigation could be spared and quite frankly the Provincial of California, Arquart, never seemed that interested in condoning a thorough research of the battle that destroyed most of the Los Angeles Cenaculum. Despite, lobbying from the Albertines and Order of St. Joan to do so.

The Hospital was a medium sized establishment of two closely positioned buildings built in the revived Spanish colonial style popular in the 20th century. It was certainly pretty when in operation and maintained. Now, however, it was a musty, dusty, debris strewn, ashy and forlorn looking place. The third structure, the parking garage, was half collapsed as if some great force had hammer fisted its upper floor until it submitted. The interior was even worse. Burnt interiors. Peeled paint. Rusty and blackened steel frame beds along with strewn hospital equipment. It looked like a regular fire. The Inquisition or whomever had attacked them had at least done the due diligence to cover up the actual battle that had raged there for a few hours during the fateful night the 'fire' occurred.

La Brea Museum

The Staff of Ahriman was suspended on a clear plastic support, allowing onlookers to view the entirety of the staff from a raised plinth about half a foot off the ground, and slightly angled back to rest in the plastic cradle. The Black Iron core of the staff was wrapped in Gold wire. Giving a black and yellow diagonal pattern along the body of the staff till it reached the head. Whereby four solid Gold Gryphons reared in an ivory girdle that screwed in the top. Lapis Lazuli, a pair of rubies, and numerous sapphires studded the ivory girdle and the eyes of the Gryphons. To the Sleepers about it the staff seemed, well, mundane save for its seven figure value as an artifact. It's name after the 5th Century BC Persian Mage that forged and bore it. Yet for the supernaturally attuned it gave off a dull aura of power.

Clear, bullet proof, thick hardened plastic encased the staff. A key lock barring easy access. Along with the usual security suite of a web of invisible lasers that would sound off if one broke in at night. A weight plate underneath the case was synched to the precise ounces of the staff's own weight so someone could not just lift the case off without tripping the alarm. It was suitably protected from mundane snatching that was for sure.

John

"We're going to find a safe place to hunker down for the remainder of the night and tomorrow." said John matter of fact. John sped North, into the Northern extremes of the city, eventually pulling up next to a beat up and consigned apartment building. John had been here before. About four months ago he had gone here with a gravely wounded Nikolai Samerikov during the heavy fighting throughout Los Angeles between the Camarilla, Anarchs, and Sabbat. Right after the Silver Lake mission which took Nikolai's legs via explosion. The Russian vampire had nearly died that night and would have if it hadn't been for John. The Nosferatu, Johannes Vitorski, had run a small safe house for the Camarilla during those events. This dingy little apartment. Unfortunately, an enemy assassin had tracked John and Nikolai down, and during the fight in the apartment, both the assassin and Vitorski had been killed.

John killed the engine, and grabbed Jennifer from the arm as he walked around the car. He whispered, "Act natural." He hooked his arm in hers. His other hand he kept in his coat clutching his pistol. Looking around but not moving his head a lot. Expertly panning the environment around them to look for potential enemies. They never seemed to have been followed. But Terrence Manning was no amateur in warfare and could have followed them to set up an ambush easily. Stepped by the back door John busted open the back door window. No alarm. Crappy apartment building with faulty wiring and inspection way over due. Camarilla hush money ran deep. Unlocking the door the deo entered and John shut the door silently behind them. Moving up the cramped stairs they arrived in the small, musty apartment, with mildew above the bathroom door.

"Find a place to hide from the Sunlight during the day. I'll try to find you some blood later. Try to feed on me...I'll kill you." John looked her dead in the eye at that last part. Jennifer visibly gulped. This was not Jonah. Whose hardened features could soften at her. John's face was cold, merciless, a true killer. At least he had got her this far and seemed intent on keeping her alive. John took Jen's gun and tossed it on the couch. "Too big and loud." John moved over to a drawer and lifted up a false bottom. A Colt .45 with six rounds. From the encounter with the assassin months earlier. John picked up the pistol, slammed the magazine home, and readied it with a quick pull. He handed it to Jen. "Safety is on. Six rounds. Someone comes through that door. Hide. They find you, fire, and run like hell." At that John left the apartment. Evidently, going out to find something for Jennifer to feed on tomorrow night.

Vaeghorod

Nikolai grinned with the cigar in his mouth. "Alright lets go." Katarina pressed her hand to the ground and began muttering a string of spells. She pulled out a vial of blood and splashed it on the cobblestones. The blood fizzled and disappeared. The temperature cooled and frost formed, a portal snapped into existence. A black foreboding void of total blackness ringed in blueish light that gave the texture of flames. Like some giant demonic eye. "Ladies first." shrugged Nikolai. Katarina grimaced and stomped through the portal. Followed by Nikolai, Jonah, and Alexei.

The thing with portals is that unless the person creating them is an expert or there are fixed locations with maintained glyphs they could be a bit...inaccurate. As they found out shortly. For instead of depositing them safely into the safehouse in a lower class apartment suburb in East Los Angeles. Katarina, Nikolai, Jonah, and Alexei would find themselves walking out of the portal and into empty air. Falling. Two stories onto the mildewing grass outside the building. Katarina yelped and hit the ground hard. Landing on feet then her buttocks. Nikolai grunted as he hit the ground and rolled. Swearing several obscenities in Russian.

"What the blazing fuck was that Katarina?!" said Nikolai hoarsely. Katarina frowned, "Glyph probably wore off a little inside. Spit us out a few meters off."

Nikolai growled something about how lucky it was a few meters and not a few miles up in the sky.

Alexei's eyes stared outward into a vast nothing as he waited for Katarina to bring him back to Los Angeles. In a way, he desired this return. He wanted to go back. A part of him still wanted to simply go home, and he wanted also to find Mikhailov. He needed to see him again, to know that his dream was not merely a dream but a sign of some truth. He swallowed his fears and clutched the large machine-gun in his arms. He had never held a gun this big before, and his arms were shaking. Yet he kept a stony gaze as he turned to watch Katarina. He saw the portal, and he was the first to walk into it after Katarina. This time, he would defend his home.

Unfortunately, re-entering Los Angeles through the portal was not a painless process. Katarina's portal was not as well-tailored as Anna's, and thus when the portal opened again, it opened in the sky. Several stories high. Bracing himself for impact, Alexei held his feet steady and tried to keep himself upright so that he would not land on his head or back. He managed to land properly, but even so the sting of falling from dozens of feet rang through his bones, and he grimaced. He thought something had fractured, but as the pain melted away he realized that Anna had changed something about his body. She really did want him alive, but why and how he did not understand even now. He held the machine-gun under his arm as he approached Katarina and helped her to her feet. He did not look into her eyes, and once she was on her feet he turned and walked to help Jonah.

He stood near Jonah and did not move from his side. The only companion he had, a man he hardly knew, a Changeling who shared his Faith. He wondered if he understood the pain of losing so much in a single night. He helped him to his feet as well, and as his eyes met Jonah's, the Changeling would see a glint of softness, of sadness, in his eyes. Alexei wondered what side he was truly on now, and whether or not he could ever return to his place as a Gatekeeper. Perhaps after he killed the men who caused Maxwell to die. Perhaps after this Murietta was dead. Maybe once he made-up for his betrayal of Silvanus. So many possibilities, and his fate was a fragile thread in the hands of a possibly-dead vampire. Yet he wanted that thread for himself, and the only way to get it from her was to kill until the Vitae flooded the Los Angeles River.

[Parcia]

Impromptu Paradrop

Traveling through a portal like that was interesting...dropping 20 feet from the air on to wet ground was not what he was expecting. For a split moment his training, buried deep in to the back of his mind, surfaced. Tightening his back, he brought his legs in close and let them crumple underneath him when he landed.

His muscles groaned in protest and his legs spoke out their protest in as he impacted the ground. Letting the pain sharpen his senses, he rolled off from his side and got up to one knee and shouldered the LMG. Scanning around while his compatriots recovered, he got up and checked their surroundings. "I don't see anything, but this place smells...off."

"Come on folks, we got shit to do."


Jennifer.

She nodded to him as he left, flinching ever so slightly as he shut the door behind him. Getting up she bolted the door behind him and paced for a few moments, her mind starting to slowly come back in to working focus. she went about checking the room for anything really and while she was hoping for a forgotten smart phone or something but at the end of the search she found little. Deciding to let her nerves settle a little bit, she drew a hot bath in the slightly dingy tub and stripped out of her sweat and blood stained clothes. She set the Shotgun down next to the bath and set the vest next to it.

Slipping in to the water she felt the warmth begin to relax her knots. She contemplated the events of the last few months and what she would have to do in the coming days.

[Laurvier]

Beverly Hills
One thing that Sweeney could not pry himself away from was luxury. Even before his embrace he was dangerously close to outspending his income. Now with over a hundred years of scheming and building his assets, he could easily afford to indulge without worrying about going in the red. The money from railroads had been parlayed into Chicago real estate, then commodities and into the securities market. Then compounding interest took hold and he was enjoying the pecuniary benefit of being immortal. He took a brief dive during the Crash of 29 but was able to recover.

Now, using the wealth he had at his disposal he had set himself up in a multimillion dollar Beverly Hills estate. It was a sprawling mansion of three floors, two above ground and one below. More money had been invested in the security which included cameras, motion detectors, emergency flood lights and ghouled private military. As far as Kindred havens went, Sweeney preferred fortresses over hidey holes. Not that he did not have those as backups either. On top of that were his generous donations to the Beverly Hills Police Association that outdid any other donor.

The mansion itself was of brown stone walls and columns. In the back a small set up steps lead down to a swimming pool that was surrounded by several gazebos, daybeds and lounge chairs. Many rooms allowed for Sweeney to stable his herd from which to feed. All of them were attractive girls with long dark blonde hair. They were adults but young. Several of them were now frolicking in the pool and happy to have left Chicago. The girls were ecstatic when they were told the entire household was moving to Los Angeles.

Sweeney had them on a strict and rigorous regimen. During the day they would be driven to the colleges they attended such as UCLA, Pepperdine or USC for class where they pursued studies in STEM, business, law, languages and politics. Once classes were over they were taken back home and made to study for a few more hours. Then they began their exercise regimen that involved a combination of aerobics, yoga, weights, martial arts and swimming. It differed every day to keep things from becoming stale. Every month a doctor would come to perform a physical while a nutritionist tailored and regulated their diets individually.

Of course, none of this was forced upon them. They could leave at any time. Not that any wanted to. At one point these girls were wretches. The lucky ones were living in orphanages, on the streets or in foster homes with caretakers who were indifferent to them at best. The unlucky ones lived with abusive their parents who beat and violated them. Some even had went as far as to prostitute themselves to stay fed. Sweeney had found them, made his golden offer and they had accepted. After a few years in boarding school and when they were old enough, each was asked again whether they wished to continue under his patronage. They always accepted and were moved into his estate. Now they had all expenses paid, lived in a large beautiful mansion and were being groomed for a future brighter than they ever could have managed on their own. Sweeney was careful about protecting his investments.

None even knew they were being fed on or of the existence of the supernatural. He would have the girls brought to his room one or two at a time for his sustenance. Then their memories would be altered to believe that Sweeney had used them for his carnal pleasure, which they were willing to do. After they woke up believing they had a wonderful time and feeling completely satisfied albeit tired. At some point of course, they would outgrow Sweeney’s taste for them. He would then transition the girls into the big wide world now armed with an education and stunning good looks. These girls would find their way into influential jobs in law, business and politics either on their own or with Sweeney’s help. There they would further serve him as useful connections and assets in his network. That was why he did not ghoul them. He needed them to remain independent and not an addict. It was a rotation that suited him well and added to his expansionist ambitions.

One of Sweeney’s aides, a handsome ghouled man in a suit walked over to the pool. The girls were laughing, splashing each other and riding on each other’s backs. Others were sitting on the lounge chairs tapping away on their tablets and remembering the strict rules of not posting anything on social media. Of course, their activities on the internet were monitored to make sure they were not being indiscrete.
The aide cleared his throat. “Bridget.” He said to one of the girls in the pool. She was of mid-height, slim, hair in a ponytail and wearing a white bikini. Sweeney allowed them the individualism of letting them choose their wardrobe. She removed herself from the back of another kine to look up.

“Mister Sweeney will see you tonight. Prepare yourself and go to the living room.” He said then walked off.

Bridget, looking excited, climbed out of the pool and grabbed one of her towels from the seat. Later she had changed into a black kimono and undid her hair to let it flow. Now the pretty girl was sitting in between Sweeney’s legs on a sofa with her back up against him and mewling pleasure from Sweeney feeding from her neck. One hand was on her shoulder, the other holding the top of her head to keep it in place. Fisk was standing in front of them making his report.

“Lot of noise in Chinatown. Police, gunshots, all of it. We’ll be combing through the signals intelligence we gathered to get a better idea of what happened. The two we spotted seemed to be fleeing the scene.”

Sweeney finished up his meal, licked her wound clean then gave her a peck on the cheek. He gently pushed her aside so that she was laying down with her legs on his lap. Bridget was weak, limp but conscious. “Bridget darling, look at me. We made love and it was wonderful. That’s all that happened. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mister Sweeney. We made love and it was wonderful.” She replied hypnotically.

“Ok, you go to sleep now.” He said soothingly.

Her eyelids closed. He stroked her bare legs for a bit. “Good girl. When I found her she had run away from home. Only 15. Her father liked to beat her black and blue.”

“You know how to pick them Sweeney.” Fisk replied blandly.

Sweeney’s aide who was there snapped his fingers. Two guards came in to carry Bridget off to Sweeney’s bed upstairs where she would awaken. Not that it was his real room. Like the other vampires who lived here they slept in the basement behind reinforced steel doors. But it helped secure the narrative when the girls woke up in “his” bed.

Sweeney checked over his suit to make sure there was no blood on it. Satisfied, he took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his mouth. “Unfortunate they did not come here. I would have been happy to feed the girl at least. Perhaps tomorrow night. I want you to keep monitoring the situation in Chinatown. We need to figure out who the players are and broker some deals." He said then looked up to Fisk. "Have you had something to eat tonight old boy?"

Fisk raised an eyebrow. "You know I prefer to hunt rather than raise livestock."

"The offer is always on the table. I think I saw Laura's gaze linger upon you for too long just the other night..." He said.

"I'll consider it." He said before Sweeney dismissed him.

[Parcia]

Jennifer.

Partying through out a lot of her young life, how ever eternal it may now be, she had taken a few precautions the night she had been snatched and it was only with the reclamation of her mind in the last few days she remembered one of those precautions.

Retching in to the toilet, she vomited though nothing but blood, dark misty drolly liquid that made her stomach turn again. This time something came up in and dropped in to the bowel with a plop. Shuddering as she dove her hand through the warm goo, she found what she was looking for and brought it to the sink. One of the few tricks she had learned after the last time she had been kidnapped was to take a copied Sim Card, a "Ghost card" as the movies liked to call it, wrap it in a plastic sandwich bag then seal the thing in a layer of paraffin wax and swallow it. In the event she would escape from potential captors, she could acquire any cellphone made after 2006 and use it to call for help.

She had swallowed the thing just before she left her hotel room the night she had gone to that damn club since she would be going with out an escort and now that she had some semblance of her sanity returning back to her she had recalled that she had...almost no movements of any kind after she was turned.

With this, she cracked the small wax ball in half and fished the card out of the bag. She felt weak as she searched for any damage to the card, finding the little piece of purpose made platinum and circuitry to be in good condition.

She still had to find a phone to use it in and for a few moments she lamented at the fact that she lacked a- Wait, the plate vest! With a shuffle and a cry of hope she rummaged through the vest until she found an old Iphone. Not being able to properly enter it due to a password she didn't know, she jail broke the devised using a few old tricks and reset its memory to factory conditions before inserting the chip...and then she froze.

Who was she going to call? Her parents? would they even want to see her now, some undead...thing feeding on other things...No. She would not get them involved with this, in that moment she made the choice to just let them think she was dead...

Fishing out the card she had been given, she dialed the number.

[Laurvier]

Gabriel Sweeney

A voice on the line spoke to Jennifer. "Please hold."

Fisk had already been dismissed while Sweeney went back to typing on a laptop. The operations for the night were shutting down so he decided to spend the time drafting more emails. Of course, these would be set to be sent out tomorrow mid-morning which was a more appropriate hour. The aide was listening to his ear piece. "Sir, there is a call on one of the invite lines."

Sweeney raised an eyebrow. "Well, well. We have a bite. Perhaps I can manage to reel in the catch." He said with a smile. "I'll take it in my study." It was a brief walk up the stairs to the study. Out the window he could see the lights of Los Angeles. From the mansion's elevated position, it was quite the view. The glass of course was bulletproof. He picked up the telephone and hit one of the beeping lines. Already his team would be trying to trace who the phone belonged to. Not that they would come up with anything. At least the conversation would be recorded and the audio analyzed to glean whatever they could.

"Good evening. I'm glad you called but disappointed you have not come to see me. Please, introduce yourself." He said on the phone in a friendly voice.

[Parcia]

Gabriel Sweeney

A voice on the line spoke to Jennifer. "Please hold."

Fisk had already been dismissed while Sweeney went back to typing on a laptop. The operations for the night were shutting down so he decided to spend the time drafting more emails. Of course, these would be set to be sent out tomorrow mid-morning which was a more appropriate hour. The aide was listening to his ear piece. "Sir, there is a call on one of the invite lines."

Sweeney raised an eyebrow. "Well, well. We have a bite. Perhaps I can manage to reel in the catch." He said with a smile. "I'll take it in my study." It was a brief walk up the stairs to the study. Out the window he could see the lights of Los Angeles. From the mansion's elevated position, it was quite the view. The glass of course was bulletproof. He picked up the telephone and hit one of the beeping lines. Already his team would be trying to trace who the phone belonged to. Not that they would come up with anything. At least the conversation would be recorded and the audio analyzed to glean whatever they could.

"Good evening. I'm glad you called but disappointed you have not come to see me. Please, introduce yourself." He said on the phone in a friendly voice.

She Froze for a little while. Biting her lip, she spoke. "I...and Jennifer Anne Ziegler. I am the...Childe of Jonah Slaid, one of your mean handed me a card earlier tonight and I wish to take you up on your offer...I guess." She shook likely, the recent retching of her stomach and the overload of Sensations she was still experiencing were still running deep with in her. "I wish to seek asylum if you are willing to take me."

[Laurvier]

Gabriel Sweeney

"Madam Ziegler it is." Sweeney replied politely. "Oh my, Madam! You must be in a world of trouble to be asking for something like that. We shall see what can be done after we have spoken. Such weighty agreements cannot be struck over the phone. The reason for the invitation is to have a conversation on how we can help each other. For now, I shall grant you three nights protection and hospitality within my domain. That is, if you bother to make your way here at all." He said to her smoothly.

"Tell me, the gentleman you were with, does he require asylum as well?" Sweeney asked.

[Parcia]

Gabriel Sweeney

"Madam Ziegler it is." Sweeney replied politely. "Oh my, Madam! You must be in a world of trouble to be asking for something like that. We shall see what can be done after we have spoken. Such weighty agreements cannot be struck over the phone. The reason for the invitation is to have a conversation on how we can help each other. For now, I shall grant you three nights protection and hospitality within my domain. That is, if you bother to make your way here at all." He said to her smoothly.

"Tell me, the gentleman you were with, does he require asylum as well?" Sweeney asked.

She shook her head before speaking. "No, he...I don't know were he is...I will try and see if I can chart a Taxi to your address...and Mister Sweeney, I think we can both imagine my patron would vary much like my safe return so I thank you in advance for this service."

Awaiting his reply, she started to put together a plan for getting to the address on the card.

[Laurvier]

Sweeney

"For now, I only guarantee your safety whilst you are in my domain, Madam Ziegler. And I very much do. You have my word. But not while you are traveling to and from it. My influence, unfortunately, does not extend so far. Do not worry if you are light of purse at the moment. I can have your cab fare paid when you arrive and I look forward to meeting you in person." Sweeney said to her over the phone.

[Parcia]

Sweeney

"For now, I only guarantee your safety whilst you are in my domain, Madam Ziegler. And I very much do. You have my word. But not while you are traveling to and from it. My influence, unfortunately, does not extend so far. Do not worry if you are light of purse at the moment. I can have your cab fare paid when you arrive and I look forward to meeting you in person." Sweeney said to her over the phone.

Again she nodded subconsciously. "Indeed, I look forward in meeting you, Mr. Sweeney." With a click she hung up the phone and gathered her things...which consisted of Jonah's .45, which she still had tucked in her belt, her plate vest, which she manged to have slipped her hoodie over and her new phone.

Taking a moment to clean her self up, she took a moment to write a note to John, explaining why she made the choice she had and hoped he could forgive her.

Taking a moment to look at her self in the mirror, she noticed the paleness of her skin, the vividness of her eyes, their normal blue being even more piercing then before. For a moment she lost her self in her own beauty and not knowing the clan curse that she carried with in her own blood, stared longingly in to the mirror. Shaking her self out of the Illusion, she opened the door and stepped out in to the night.

It took her some time to flag a checker cab. Climbing in, she gave the driver the address and belted her self in. "Bit late for a young women such as your self to be out." She gave him a guarded look and spoke, eyeing his red sunglasses in the dim yellow light of the passing street lamps. "I uh...yea, not in the best of situations." He nodded. "Well, it's a solid hour drive, why don't you tell me kid."

Strangely enough, she did. She spilled her whole story to him, her conflicted feelings about what she was, this fight against this..beast that dwelled inside her, the events of the last few weeks. He seemed Genuinely interested in her in such a way she hadn't felt since her talks with Jonah. It felt nice to get her shit off her chest and she actually heeded the advise of the old man. "Shit happens, and you can either take it on your feet like a proper...person, or on you knees, like a bitch. Don't be a Bitch kid."


The hour passed quickly and she honestly felt just a little bit better. Arriving at her destination, she gave the Old Man a fare well, turning to look at the gates of Sweeney's estate before remembering to pay the cabby, only to find the car gone with out a trace when she turned back.

Shaking her head, she made to the gate.

[Laurvier]

Gabriel Sweeney

From the gate the estate could be seen in the background lit up. It was no lonesome mansion, but a place of activity and a sort of headquarters for Sweeney's operation. There were men in dark suits but with a black plate carriers over them. They carried AR style rifles with all the bells and whistles on them. When the gate opened, these men simply nodded at Jennifer then stepped aside making it clear she was allowed to enter.

The road up to the mansion was a short one. It curled around in a round about at the front of the mansion as well as branched off to the side to lead so some garages. Several black SUVs and sedans were parked. As Jennifer passed, she would have seen more guards patrolling the grounds with German Shepherd sniffer dogs. They barked at her immediately until the guards forced them to calm down with well trained commands. Some of these guards wore suits which was pure vanity on Sweeney's part while the less seen ones wore combat fatigues.

Sweeney's aide was waiting for her at the front door along with two guards. He was a man of Asian features wearing a gray suit, tie and had a pocket square neatly folded on his jacket. "Madam Ziegler. I am Liam, aide to Mister Sweeney. Welcome." He greeted her.

"I'm afraid these men will have to pat you down before you enter." Liam said to her.

They moved to do so and did swiftly along with a sweep of a metal detector. Her pistol was easily found, taken and handed over to Liam who examined it. "A fine weapon." He said admiringly.

Liam ejected the magazine then racked the slide to take the bullet out of the chamber if there was one. He would then have inserted the bullet back into the magazine, the magazine into the gun and presented it back to Jennifer with two hands for her to take.

"Mister Sweeney is really more worried about those who have listening devices or a bomb strapped to their chest. But I must insist you keep your pistol unchambered during your stay here." Liam explained.

It was of little consequence to let her keep the pistol and Sweeney was willing to do so if that made her feel more comfortable. The extra-second or that she would need to rack the slide would be all Sweeney's Kindred retainers would need to take her down. Not only that. There was also the chance she would short stroke the gun and thus, improperly chamber a round when in a pinch or under stress. It was a common mistake for even experienced gunslingers.

Liam held the door open for her and followed. They entered a sort of large hall with scenic paintings of American landscapes and followed by black and white photographs of various city skylines. These included New York, Chicago, Singapore, Shanghai, Hong Kong, London, Paris, Tokyo and others. She would have seen some of Sweeney's dark blonde girls as well walking around in lingerie silk kimonos to go about their business. They entered a smaller room that had a billiards table along with some sofas. In the backdrop was a large window with the view of the swimming pool and Los Angeles beyond that.

A well groomed man was seated on one of the sofas wearing a charcoal suit and blue tie in a relaxed posture. One hand was on the back of the sofa sporting an expensive looking silver Rolex on the wrist and the other held a tablet. His entire outfit would be worth more than ten thousand dollars. Another dark blonde girl in a lingerie kimono sat next to him and looked to be in some kind of hypnotic state. On another sofa was a handsome man in a bathrobe. Finally, leaning against the wall and sitting on a stool was another man with long hair who dressed more casual. This being jeans and a black oxford shirt. Most remarkable about his accessories was the Glock 18 equipped with a compensator he held in his lap with a claw like hand. The extended magazine on the gun jutted from the handle.

The man in the charcoal suit stood when Jennifer entered and buttoned his suit jacket closed. He smiled at her. "Madam Ziegler, welcome to my home in Los Angeles. Allow me to introduce myself." Sweeney put a hand to his chest. "Gabriel Sweeney. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He held out the hand for a shake.

"Now I seem to recall promising you some hospitality. That should come first for we are not barbarians here and I have my pride as a host to maintain. Are you hungry? I have prepared Cara here for your pleasure." He gestured at the pretty dark blonde. "Or perhaps a male is more to your taste." Sweeney then pointed at the man in the bathrobe who stood and bowed his head to Jennifer. He seemed to still be lucid.

"Rick is one my guards. I don't really keep male kine around for feeding you see." Sweeney explained. Rick had combed brown hair, an athletic build and certainly was handsome. He looked at Jennifer and smiled.

"Liam can show you to a private room if you would like to...indulge yourself with one of them in way that is less than decorous. But you must be gentle. No maiming or killing my stock." He said ominously but not in a threatening manner.

[Parcia]

Jennifer.

She took her pistol and slid it into her belt. Taking a seat, she nodded her head. "Forgive me if i prefer to conduct business before pleasure." To see and hear this women speak with confidence could be more attributed to her Toreador blood rather than her actual state.

"I thank your for the 3 nights of asylum, I am willing to offer my services as a technology consultant and contractor, I have already eyed a few vulnerabilities that i could aid you in fixing, provided we actually come to a deal."

[Laurvier]

Sweeney

Sweeney looked at Jennifer and frowned. Clearly a bit displeased. The man leaning up against the wall simply grinned. "Straight to brass tacks. You are young then. The young are so ready to forgo social custom. A pity the culture has moved in such a trajectory. Don't you know, Madam Ziegler, that the proper etiquette is to partake in a bit of the host's hospitality and engage in some pleasantries before discussing business? These conventions are important."

"She is eager to strike a deal. Desperate perhaps." The man on the stool said in a raspy voice. Jennifer would have recognized him as the man who handed her the card.

"See? By forgoing proper social convention you may have just revealed your hand. But I do not engage in such speculation. Tabula rasa." Sweeney responded.

With a wave of a hand he dismissed the kine who would serve as her meal. Sweeney sat back down across from her and crossed his legs. "But I am willing to humor you on this matter. First, let me tell you about myself. I hail from Chicago where I have spent the vast majority of my unlife. There I am recognized as ancillae. But things had grown stale and upward mobility difficult. That is why I am here looking to carve out a fief for myself."

"So, you are looking for an employer of sorts? I could certainly use such services." He paused and tapped his chin. "But I need people willing to go out into the field and get their hands dirty as well. What about you? What do you want? Money? I have money. You also spoke of asylum...." Sweeney gestured at her to speak.

[Imperialisium]

UCLA Blood & Platelet Center

The crash of glass as a rock broke through the window. A disheveled man in black stepped through warily. Looking about in case of security. Normally, he'd have gone through the front door. After all, UCLA was a practical cash cow for the Camarilla before everything went tits up. Build luxury dorms, give all these amenities, install safe spaces and whatever else the youth thought relevant. Then charge them eighty-thousand in tuition and board. It practically sold itself. But, now with the Camarilla's network more or less focused on murdering it's constituent parts across the county John had to be more circumspect. Moving down a hall way labeled: Hematology. John broke through the glass with a chair. Stepping through he moved to a cooler and opened it. Blood bags arrayed by type and date. Did the type affect the flavor? John was unsure. Shrugging he grabbed several handfuls. Stuffing them in a nearby cooler. Closing the lid the lights flicked on.

"Who the f-."

John turned around to see a portly security guard looking at him wide eyed. John looked at his belt, there was a gun, the security guard followed his stair. "Just walk aw-." The security guard made to draw his side arm.

Bang.

The muzzle flash and the thud of the security guard's body hit the floor. The man groaned as he was shot just between his lungs but under his chest plate. Avoiding his spinal column by a couple inches. An expert shot. John stepped by him quickly as he made his way out of UCLA and back across the campus grounds to the GTX. Thrumming it's engine to life with the keys and pressure on the gas the sports car rocketed off the premises.

Safe House

John pulled back up to the safe house and walked up the stairs to find the note waiting for him. He looked about the place, checking the rooms for ambushers, and the lamps for listening devices. When he found none he just grimaced and put the cooler in the fridge. She had made her choice. For now, John needed to rest, and plan his next move.

Katarina and Nikolai

Nikolai and Katarina led the quartet up the stairs into the safe house. Katarina having to jimmy the keys a little in the lock for the tumblers to switch over. Easing it open it was spartanly furnished. Plastic coverings over the furniture. "Home for now." mused Katarina as she led the four in. Nikolai immediately made for one of the bedrooms and punched in a key code into a safe hidden behind a nature painting. Opening it to reveal cash in several currencies, several allotment of coins, and some keys of unknown nature but he undoubtedly knew. Katarina moved to the freezer and there in cryogenic containers was blood packs. A month's supply.

"We may have to get groceries for our...mortal friends." said Katarina. Nikolai's voice sounded from the bedroom. Evidently, his Vampire hearing picking up her words easily enough, "Thats fine. This place hasn't been touched. Got plenty of cash and supplies for our operation."

Nikolai emerged from the bedroom and placed his primary weapon on the table. Katarina's set hers next to the leather ouch as she removed the plastic cover. Nikolai spoke, "There is one issue. Three bedrooms. Four of us. I for one, am not sharing." The Russian turned and shut his door behind him as he moved to pull some maps out of a drawer. Katarina just smiled, looked at Jonah and Alexei, and said, "So...who wants to be room mates?" Nikolai grinned as he began noting their position and other points of interest on a map of the county. Speaking as he did so, "We move by night. Katarina and I cannot support you two during the day as you well know. So don't do anything dumb while the Sun is up. Looking at you prayer boy. We're out numbered and out gunned. But we have the element of surprise and anyone who wants to murder us doesn't know where we are. We plan and coordinate together and...well...we have a chance at making it out of this ordeal alive."

[Parcia]

The Safe house
Jonah

At the quip of sharing a room, he chuckled. Setting his LMG next to Katerina's Mosin he slipped the helmet off as well. "She's all your's, Alex, I'm going to grab some shit from the Grocery down the street. Milk, eggs, shit like that mostly for me and Alexi here...unless you guys have anything your willing to keep down."

Shedding most of his external gear, he deposited his long arms and weapons and kept just to his pistols and knife. Shirking his coat over the armor plate he put on his circle rimmed glasses and nabbing the keys he spoke on his way out. "Lock the door behind me and all that shit."

Setting down the stairs and in to the street he kept his bearings around him and his wits about him. He disliked the area he was in already, dark, cold, dingy and he half expected to be mugged in the next few minuets. He kept his pace brisk and steady and simply kept his mouth shut. A dog barked in the distance as he turned the corner to see the neon lights of the little Grocery and, checking both ways, crossed the street.

He payed little attention to the two cars sitting in the small parking lot, though he noted that one held a driver who seemed...off. He tiled his nose up and sniffed the air. The air it self felt off...some one with in his close proximity was high on their own adrenaline. Granted, he smelt no Kindred in the area, so he relaxed just a little as he entered the small store, the door making a little "ding" as the door closed behind him. The room smelt the same sort of "off" as the outside did.

Picking up a basket he went about picking up a 6 pack of cream soda, a small bottle of Vodka, some chips and a few pits of chocolate. Luckily the little store had a bakery/deli and so he went to the counter asking for some colt cuts of Salami and cheese, only to find the clerk crouched down and big eyed. Giving the portly Korean man strange look he caught movement out of his eye he turned his head to see a young looking kid in a black hoodie stomping angrily towards him with what he guessed to be a S&W K-frame revolver in hand. "You mother fucker, hand over you wallet bitch!" Jonah Laughed. "Aren't you fucking cute." this unnerved the kid who raise the gun and put it up to Jonah's chest.

This was a mistake. "The fuck you gonna do younblood, shoot me?" The kid raised the revolver and held it at his head. Jonah took a moment and noted the 5 empty chambers and likely the empty 6th. "Let me show you mine." Setting the basket down he drew the .44 revolver and leveled it on the kid. "See, the thing is about guns, is that they work better if you load them...my point here is kid, if your going to be a criminal, don't be a fucking dumbass about it."

The kid, at this point shitting his jeans, squeezed the trigger of the gun and to Jonah's Surprise, the weapon fire. For a moment Jonah just stood there, half expecting his lights to go out. Unfortunately, he turned to see the small hole in the ceiling were the bullet had impacted the tile. He put two and two together and figured the kit must have jumped when he fire and barely missed his head. "See, now you have tried to kill me, even the laws in this shit state say I can kill your ass."

He pressed the barrel of the .44 to the kids forehead and pushed him backwards. The kid tripped over his own feet and fell to the floor, banging his head on the tile floor and knocking him self out cold. Jonah tilted his head and sighed. "Fucking shit criminals." his thought was interrupted by the sound of a car peeling out of the lot. "There goes your friend kid, good luck in Jail." Holstering his gun and picking up his basket of food and asking the deli guy for the cold cuts. Likely still a bit scared, he rather quickly cut a pound of ham and Salami as well as a half pound of American cheese. Lastly, the guy handed him a pair of still warm Cuban bread loves.

Walking down to the check out, he noted the young cashier hiding behind the till, looking to be some months in to a pregnancy. "How far you along?" He said nonchalantly. Frowning at her as she looked scared shirtless of him. Rolling his eyes he set the basket down. "Look, I'm not going to shoot you or rob you, just ring me up so I can fuck off before LAPD shows up." This seemed to shake her out of her shock and she shakily rang him up totaling nearly 50$. Handing her a solid 50, he also set down about 2 grand worth of 100s and slid it over to her. "For you and the deli cook in exchange for keeping my face out of this, tell them the kid lost his shit, tripped, fainted, and put the whole in the wall."

Before he turned to leave, he gave her another thousand. "For the kid."

Stepping out in to the street, he made it a point to take a different rout on the way home and smiled as he heard the LAPD sirens off in the distance. Few minuets later he stepped in to the safe house and locked the door behind them. He yelled out to the others as he set the food down in the small kitchenette. "Alexi, Ruskie, if your not too busy getting freaky with our Dear Katerina, I'v got food and vodka."

Jennifer.

She leaned back in her seat. "Forgive me for my transgressions, I am...new to this life as is." She paused, picking her mind and subconsciously settled in to a pose. "I am more then willing to work in the field with appropriate escorts, but my greatest use to you, Mr. Sweeney, would be behind a keyboard and screen. I completed my master's in Computer Science about 4 month's back with a minor in Cyber security and Crypto-analyse."

She paused once again. "The way I see it, Mr. Sweeney, I have been forced in to this...unlife. I do not like being forced to do anything if I can help it. So, to answer your question...I want my freedom, and I see that I will get none of it from ancient courtly fuckers who's sole past time is to back stab each other."