[Vampire: The Requiem] The Devil Went Down to Galway

[hraefn]

Spoiler

Dara takes in the earthy, musty barrow smells. After all these years, the petrychor is still as welcome to her as it always was, and she inhaled deeply, as an old reflex. She stretched, stepped out of bed her cold bare feet embracing the (also cold) earthen floor, pulled on a shirt, and languidly stepped over to her collection of books, picking up the one at the top of the pile. "Ah well..." She walks back over to her cot, pats it down, takes a seat, and flips the book open. "Where did I leave off reading, again?" she absently wonders. It felt nearly like her days as a student, staying up nights, drinking tea, poring over journals- except this time she was in a barrow... somewhere. She studied it for a few minutes, the words instantly old, familiar, even though they had been published during her torpor- Magick: Liber ABA, Book Four, Parts I-IV.


She found her mind drifting to memories of her past, her old life as a student at Queen's in Galway, and wondering what students did these days. Perhaps it was time to find out. She put down the book, pulled on a pair of pants, a belt, boots, buttoned her shirt, and threw on an old coat that smelled faintly of lavender. "Mmm... High priestess. She seemed lovely enough." She smiled quietly to herself, and stepped out into the cold, damp, night. "Let's see what the new fuss is all about, though I'm not quite sure I even know where I am."


OOC: Is Maeve the high priestess? WHERE AM I?!

 

[Ragoza]

• Raphael
• Theophilius
• Dermot
• Connor
• Dara

• 
  
  
  That Nosferatu is smirking at you. Prick. Maeve gently pushes your shoulder and you immediately sit down on one of the rough wooden benches surrounding the slab.
  
  
  "Now, my little hunter, let's pick up where we left off last night. Tell me about your allies."
  
  
  Composure roll
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  The dust, honestly! The stairs are narrow and rickety, unsurprising in a house of this age. The upstairs is kept unlit, no doubt to confuse the ghouls and project an air of "mysticism", the amateur. His office is at the end of the hall, a converted bedroom. One bedroom has been kept as a guest room, the third has been refurbished as The Renfield's private library and kept under lock and key. There's no answer when you knock at the office door.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  The ghoul waves you up without a word. You know, people talked more when you were alive. It's quiet in Anocht, but it's early yet. The club is open from dusk til dawn, after all, and most of the cities Kindred pass through a few times a week, if only on business. So far the plush couches and private booths are unoccupied, save for one twitchy Kindred you vaguely remember introducing himself as Stephen. He's anxiously fiddling with his phone and doesn't seem to have noticed your arrival.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  She sighs, and seems to untense a little. She looks smaller than you remember, more vulnerable.
  
  
  "I'm getting old, Connor. I'm nearly forty, I'm divorced, I can't have children, I teach fucking arts students. You haven't aged a day in the last decade and I'm slowly withering."
  
  
  This could be the border between maudlin drunk and depression. She's relaxing into the hug though, and the tears are drying up.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  The door opens into a short hallway, packed dirt just like your room. Tree roots lead along the hall to another heavy wooden door. The Golden Dawn would have KILLED for a place like this. Hand-scratched pagan symbols line the walls, but something about them feels a little off. You can hear muffled conversation from behind the door at the end of the hall.
  
  
  Academics roll, please
  
  
  

 

[The Fuzz]

Connor


"Illegitimi non carborundum*, Clíona. And trust me, you're not old."


No, you're really not. Helen remembers WW II, for fuck's sake.


Connor squeezes her shoulders fiercely, then gently leaves her back down on her stool.


"Is the teaching actually annoying you, or is it just the day? There are other things you could do. Could take a year off to research in the Highlands, roar around on a huge, vulgar motorcycle, entertain a string of boyish lovers, that sort of thing."


*Don't let the bastards grind you down.

 

[HairyDM]

Raphael


Christ, of course she'd ask me about them again. Can't she just leave off? Sure as Hell below awaits me I want to tell her, but I won't betray my friends, even if they will want my heart on a stake when they find out I'm a leech now.

Spoiler

[dice]21514[/dice]


I smile as my body and mind betray me, bowing before the majesty of my queen and Sire.


"We lived in a little hole under Costa coffee, y'know, down by the Sparch?. Nothing fancy, but fairly defensible, we had some cameras set up and all. Mark was our tech guy, bright enough, useless in a fight. He makes out that he's haunted too, still not sure if I buy that or not. Catherine is a bitch, and wasn't exactly fond of me, but she's a fine shot with that pistol she carries. Saved my life once. Martin's a nice guy, dependable, quiet. Ex-military man, French Foreign Legion, I think, he didn't like talking about it."


Fuck! I'm going to have to warn them somehow. Lord, help me get out of this room, sooner would be best.





I look up at Maeve even as I finish my silent prayer, looking for any scrap of approval in her bottomless eyes.

 

[Warplock]

Spoiler

I look around the richly decorated room, who paid for all this? Is this a remnant of the Lancea's occupation or someone elses?


Stephen huh? I eye him for a minute, wondering what could put him so on edge; . Do I know anything about him, what clan or covenant he belongs to?


One other thing; any blood to be had here? Mortals maybe? Or does it come in glasses? I'd rather not go out on the prowl, I'm on a schedule here and I'd rather not be late.

 

[Grey]

Theophilius E. Creed





Creed growls irritably. Or perhaps his Beast does.


He opens the door and steps inside, ready to deliver a sound castigation to this upstart.

 

[Ragoza]

(OOC: Sorry for the delay, Muse gig happened.)

• Connor
• Raphael
• Dermot
• Theophilious

• 
  
  
  She grins, in spite of herself.
  
  
  "Volunteering as a boyish lover, are you?"
  
  
  She visibly relaxes and takes a swig of her pint. Red ale, she has good taste.
  
  
  "Thank you Connor, I needed that."
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  A grin splits her face, and a predatory gleam fills those bottomless eyes. A rush of happiness fills you, you know you've pleased her.
  
  
  "That's a good boy. Don't feel guilty fledgling, we're the only family you need now."
  
  
  That fucking Nosferatu is sniggering to himself. She breaks eye contact with you and the spell breaks, your stomach drops as she turns to him.
  
  
  "Ferdia, go to Costa, find this basement, kill anyone you find skulking there and burn it to the ground."
  
  
  She turns back to you, and her face is all business.
  
  
  "Take the fledgling with you."
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  The Renfield told you before that Anocht is a gentlemans club dating back 200 years that the Lancea Sanctum maintained before the hunter attacks in the 90s. These days the covenants grudgingly maintain it together, each devoting ghouls and resources. Off course, this means that every wall has ears.
  
  
  Stephen is unaffiliated to your knowledge. Got turned about a year ago by a Daeva nomad who got bored of him and moved on. Sad, really.
  
  
  There's a two blood dolls in a back room, best not to think about how the got here and why they don't speak English.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  The Renfield starts as you enter, composure broken for a moment. He's short, maybe about 5'5 and spindly. Brings to mind a rat fallen on hard times. His guest, meanwhile, is unrattled by your arrival. A bald, slender black man in a nondescript grey suit sits across the "antique" desk from the Kogaion, calmly shuffling sheets of notes back into a folder.
  
  
  "Mister Creed, you're early," The Renfield growls. "I'm afraid I'm in a meeting." He slams his notebook shut, murder in his eyes.
  
  
  

 

[HairyDM]

Raphael





I look at Maeve, unspoken plea in my eyes. If her expression changes, and I'm not sure it does, it only gets harder.


"Fine," I reply, then glance towards Ferida. "I left my sword in my room. I'll grab it and meet you outside."


Sweet Mother of Mercy give me strength, I silently pray as I turn to leave the central chamber. At least Maeve hasn't thought to take my phone off me yet. Side effect of age, no doubt, she's a little out of touch.

 

[Warplock]

Spoiler

Blimey, this place is old then. Was it hit during the hunter attacks?


Well, it would probably be rude not to go over and say hello, poor chap. I put on my best 'friendly acquaintance' face and saunter over to Stephen, approaching from behind him. I'll have a drink later, the thought of those blood dolls is freaking me out a bit.


'Stephen, how's tricks?

 

[Grey]

Theophilius E Creed.





Creed folds his hand at his waist and glares at The Renfield.


"In London, you would still be a slave," he sneers. "If this bureaucratic appendix was run more competently, I would not need to interrupt. Excuse me, then, until this business is concluded."


He offers a curt bow to the bald fellow, whose is not at fault, and steps back out again, closing the door.

 

[Ragoza]

• Raphael
• Dermot
• Theophilius

• 
  
  
  "Don't keep him waiting Fledgling, he's not a patient man."
  
  
  The ugly fucker has already stalked off. Maeve stands up and pointedly nods towards the door.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  He flinches, startled. The phone disappears into his pocket as he hurridly stands up.
  
  
  "Oh, uh, Dermot, was it? I'm good, good, you?"
  
  
  He doesn't speak in sentences so much as bursts of syllables. Agitated, hand constantly straying to his pocket.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  Specialty in Thrown Weapons: Shade
  
  
  Your Beast purrs in contentment as you stride out. The memory of his face, a rictus of impotent rage, will keep you warm at night, as will the angry gibbering you hear through the door. You fancy you caught the visitor smirking as you left.
  
  
  

 

[The Fuzz]

Connor


El Skeffington





Connor has a momentary, wordless debate with himself, and wins. And/or loses. Respect for Clíona's mental fortitude wins the day.


"About the lover thing....I have to decline, but not for reasons of attraction. No, there's summat else going on there, which I'll have to explain at a later date? Take this as a floating promise, that there really is something else going on, and that it really does need to be addressed at a time which isn't now?"


I'll taste you. I will. I'll breach you, and I'll taste you, I'll take what I want, and when I stop it'll be because I choose to-





Shut up. Shut the fuck up. We're not going to think about Clíona that way.





Connor's mouth quirks a little, and he'll slowly turn his gaze from Clíona in search of something resembling a barman.

 

[Warplock]

Spoiler

'Oh, you know, surviving.' I have a wry smile at my own joke. Why's he so fidgety? Maybe I can get him to talk, might need something to start him off. Think; Daeva, often charismatic, 'life' of the party, attractive in some way or another, seek attractiveness in others. Ah.


I sit across from him, staying casual. 'You seem at a bit of a loose end, man' I nod towards his phone pocket 'latest girlfriend giving you hassle?'

 

[HairyDM]

Raphael





I have to clasp my hands to stop them wandering to the phone in my pocket as I leave the cavern. Hopefully Maeve'll chalk it up to reluctance over murdering my friends. I rush to my room and haul my phone out, and type out a quick message to Mark.

Mark

them

sally's?

them

have a lead on a leech. need you back here

me

k

them

pints?

me

She knows about Costa. She's sending a hit. Get the fuck out.

No signal, shit. I'll have to hope it sends on the way. I srap the five foot long slab of steel I call my sword to my back and grab my keys as I head out to meet Ferida in the field that serves as this hole's garage. He's leaning against a fence post, the image of vampiric patience.


"All set, fuckface?" I spit in his direction.

 

[Ragoza]

• Connor
• Dermot
• Raphael

• 
  
  
  You catch her smiling out of the corner of her eye.
  
  
  "Always the gentleman, Connor. We need more like you."
  
  
  The barman catches your eye from the other end of the bar and makes his way down to you.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  He winces slightly at that one. Looks like you've touched a nerve.
  
  
  "Something like that, yeah. Hah."
  
  
  The phone vibrates and you can tell it's taking all his restraint not to pull it out right now. His eyes keep shifting towards his pocket.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  He's gotten changed since you saw him, black biker jacket buttoned up to the neck and motorcycle helmet covering his face. For the best, really, it's a horror show under there.
  
  
  "Put the keys away, new blood. You're riding shotgun where I can keep an eye on you."
  
  
  His raspy voice is muffled by the helmet and he nods towards a battered black '97 Corolla. It appears you won't be travelling in style tonight. Your phone buzzes as he unlocks the car, and you get a chance to check it unseen.
  
  
  
  Mark

  them

  Way ahead of you. Where you been Preach? Long time no see. And who's this she?
  
  
  

 

[Warplock]

Spoiler

Ohh, I almost feel bad for the guy, he's got it bad.


I consider leaving him to it, but the poor bastard is clearly without direction or purpose beyond getting by. So I'll chance my arm here. Actually, no, not today.


I offer him a smile, 'Well, I'll leave you to it, I'm sure she'll give you your fix.' I wink and smile again before turning towards the back room with the blood dolls.

 

[Grey]

Theophilius E. Creed





Creed smirks, briefly, and waits patiently.

 

[Ragoza]

• Dermot
• Theophilious

• 
  
  
  His eye twitched at that one. Boy has it bad. The feeding room is at the back, behind a black wooden door. No-one challenges you as you enter, the Renfield has your tab covered. The room is small, just enough room for a large couch and the glassy eyed girl sprawled across it. She barely lifts her head as you walk in.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  A few idle minutes pass, you pick up a few snatches of conversation. It sounds like negotiation, from what you can pick up, something about a "dolmen". Something to file away for later, perhaps. After about ten minutes the door creaks open and the guest saunters out, closing it gently behind him. He approaches you quietly, a pearly white smirk shining in the gloom.
  
  
  "Mister Creed, I presume?"
  
  
  His voice is low and soft. Definitely not local.

 

[Warplock]

Spoiler

Well, he could have at least excused himself if he wasn't interested in conversation. Poor lad though, turned in his early twenties, what does that do to someone?


This fucking room. This right here, this summarises vampires. We're fucking wrong. For any good we might do during our existences this is what it really comes down to. We're disgusting. I lift her arm gently and drink from her wrist. As I drink I try to concentrate on the flow of the blood, feel it course through my cold veins and arteries as life is briefly breathed back into me. Trying to focus and understand the action of drinking blood, how I react to it, and how my beast reacts.


[How much can i take here? I've got 7/10 blood points, can I bring it up to ten?]

 

[hraefn]

Spoiler

[dice]22238[/dice]


[dice]22239[/dice]

 

[HairyDM]

Raphael





I stuff the phone back in my jacket. I can't answer that question right now. I'm not sure which would be worse, right now, a lie or the truth. There shouldn't be anyone in our old safe house, at least, but that Molotov on the stairs should still be good.


I try to put my mind at ease as I get into the car beside Ferida. "Onwards, my steed" I sneer.

 

[The Fuzz]

Connor


El Skeff





"...you know, Clíona, you really don't want too many of me kicking around."


He smiles easily and asks for a yellow label Stonewell, while his hands work on a mostly blank beermat.


A moment later, Connor slides the beermat across the bar, right under Clíona's nose. He has a biro in his pocket, but it hasn't been used. The emblem he's rudely scratched into the roughly stamped card of the beermat is supposed to be carved, not painted. It's a sign used by the sect of the Acolytes in London to indicate a place of learning and contest, lifted from Kindred way signs of a hundred years back, and subtly drifted into one or two of the mortal mystery cults which broody Acolyte priestesses cultivate. Connor saw this sign long before he met Her.


No, fuck that. One day, we'll meet as equals.





Connor saw this emblem long before he met her.


"Clíona, ever seen this thing around? It's this weird piece of graffiti which was popular among the gothier than thou crowd I knew in London."


Technically true.

 

[Ragoza]

• Dermot
• Dara
• Raphael
• Connor

• 
  
  
  You can bring it up to ten, but it’ll leave her quite weak. You aren’t her first visitor this evening.
  
  
  She twitches as you drink, heavy eyelids drifting closed. You hear faint mumbling in a language you don’t understand, something Eastern European. As the Vitae flows you feel your veins burn with a sickening approximation of life.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  No successes, hard luck
  
  
  Something about the writing on the walls irks you, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. The conversation behind the door seems to have ended, but you can still hear the faint noises of people moving around. The occasional scrape of something heavy being moved.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  The car coughs and splutters to life. Your minder doesn’t bother turning the headlights on, guess he doesn’t need them. It’s in comfortable condition, if not good condition, you can tell he spends a lot of time in here. A heavy machete is mounted on the passenger’s side of the dashboard, hilt towards the driver. As you pull out of the field your driver is as silent and unflinching as a gargoyle, no way to see his facial expression behind the darkened visor.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  She studies it calmly, holding it up to the light.
  
  
  “Hmmm, that does look familiar. London you say?”
  
  
  She sips her drink, eyes never leaving the symbol.
  
  
  “It reminds me of symbols we found in some Neolithic tombs in Meath a few years ago. We thought they were to ward against evil spirits.”
  
  
  She takes another sip.
  
  
  “No bones in those tombs, just jars full of ashes. Odd, cremation wasn’t a part of their culture. I wonder how that found its way to 21st century London.

 

[The Fuzz]

Connor





"I hung with a kind of pretentious, artsy crowd there, all about the glories of the past, nature's dark majesty-" six inch claws and sawn-off shotguns "- into some amateur anthro and archaeology. You know, folks who spell magick with a k." I'm actually rather glad that I don't know any magic. I'll need to burly some knowledge of it, but I'll never be a priest.


He grins.


"I was actually pretty interested for a while. Woohoo, sex and violence, drugs and mysteries, all that jazz. Had to cut some ties when the crew got genuinely weird and creepy, blood rituals and shit. Anyway, they used this symbol not for warding off bad juju, but for marking places to suffer and learn. Same thing, for them, kinda. They had a whole homebrew theology, all about the blood is the life, learning through adversity, etc."

 

[HairyDM]

Raphael





I match his silence beat for beat. Quiet reflection was always stressed back in the Seminary. Heaven knows why. Never seemed to bring me any closer to Himself Above. Nor did scripture, for that matter. The only thing approaching divine communion I ever had was cleaning the streets of the sort of scum sitting in this car. Hell below, I'd kill myself if She hadn't forbidden it.


I brood the short ride away, just as happy as my companion not to make small talk. Town is still busy at this hour, with people scurrying out of the way as Ferida pulls into Kerwin's Lane. I realise that I won't be able to get my sword out of the car unseen. Five foot bars of metal are just to conspicuous. I'll have to use my damned claws if things get hairy down here. We get out at the corner of the alley. "There's a camera over the door covering both of the ally's entrances," I say, glancing at Ferida, "no real way of getting in unseen."