[Prelude: Sable] Artistic Integrity [Blood from the Stone]

[Chaka]

You get the phone call a couple of hours after sunset. You recognise the somewhat distorted voice of Fabian, one of your sire's ghouls.


"Greetings, Sable. The mistress wishes to inform that a unique talent of your clan has come to the city and will be putting on a very special exhibition this evening. You are invited."


He gives you the address of a relatively well-known S&M club that will be acting as tonight's venue, and hangs up without waiting for you to reply.

 

[WhiteKnight777]

Sable


The Tzimisce rose, a fanged smile on his lips as he recieved the call. Good - he had been so very bored lately. A little party might serve to liven things up, and it would be interesting to see the work of one whom his sire considered a luminary. He'd had almost no contact with the rest of his clan, and he thought he might enjoy examining the creations of another disciple of the flesh.


Sable decided he might as well dress for the occasion. Put his best face forward, as it were. He laughed a little at the joke, even though it was truly terrible. He moved over to the full-length mirror and let blood flow. His skin ran like so much clay, but the sight did not disturb him - he'd done this before, after all, many a time. His body was canvas, his skin the paints and pigments. He shifted and dabbed here and there, moving parts around, subtly altering the arrangements. His already reasonably handsome face became, for a time, a thing of angelic beauty - perfect, classical symetry, porcelain white lips and flawless alabaster with just a hint of androgyny, a face that would make any mortal melt in his hands with but a whisper. Then, with a touch of whimsy, he decided on something a little more -a pair of tiny horns jutting from his brow, almost an afterthought - the demon behind the angel's mask, and a subtle declaration of truth.


Satisfied at last, he dressed himself, considering the outfits available. He decided that, for the evening, he would pick something simple - A decent suit, cut in modern fashion, but once again highlighting the slight androgyny of his features. He picked up a walking cane and a top-hat, rakish accouterments to complement the ensemble, and headed out the door to see what the night had in store.

From the Umbral Echoes Roller: 2009-05-17 01:42:57 Sable rolls 10 dice to Intelligence + Body Craft 9,10,10,4,9,3,9,9,1,6 (6 successes)
Edit: Oh, and 1 Blood Point spent, of course.

 

[Chaka]

Heads turn as you walk down the street. Men and women stop and stare at the beauty walking past them. You can hear their hearts start to race, the whispers of lust and jealousy. It's five city blocks to the club, and you have an audience all the way there.

 

[WhiteKnight777]

Sable


The vampire merely smiled as heads turned, concious of the attention but not bothering to return it. He entered the club with a wide grin on his face, looking for who - or, perhaps, what - his sire had brought him here to meet.

 

[Chaka]

Fabian greets you at the door, bowing and kissing your hand. You feel his bifurcated tongue flicker out to taste your skin in greeting, and he rises again, smiling. "You are welcome here, Sable. Please, come in."


He leads you in to the main area of the club. Heavy raucous music is playing, almost drowning out the cries of the people using the "equipment". No sexual activity as such is taking place here, but you see men and women about the place indulging some of their lighter fantasies.


The real show, you know, is upstairs.

 

[WhiteKnight777]

Sable


Sable nodded regally to Fabian, giving him a slight smile. He took in the amusements occuring around him, still wearing that smile as he headed up the stairs.

 

[Chaka]

Walking upstairs, you pass through a set of doors unlocked for you by more of your mistress' ghouls, nodding to you deferentially. There is a second set of stairs here, leading up, and as you step through the door at the top here, you see...


Beauty.


A sculpture of living flesh, suspended from the ceiling by tendon ropes and connected to the floor by a pedestal of bone and vein, the flesh moulded and sculpted in ways you'd never imagined possible. In the centre, a woman's face looks out, screaming silently. The whole is a nightmare of non-eucledian geometry and pulsing, tortured meat.


You've never seen anything more perfect in your whole life.


Nearby, a small group of vampires sits in admiration of the piece, and you see (for the brief moments you turn your eyes away from the artwork) your sire sits among them.