Theme Music: Gimme Shelter by The Sisters of Mercy (cover) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OOl-diNxEys
The first thing I noticed when I walked in was, well.... me.
I've been in more goth clubs than I care to recall. Travel is definitely part of my job description for Clan Ventrue, and for some horribly cliche reason all the cool leeches hang out in goth clubs. While it certainly makes the feeding easy (find me a cute little goth girl that doesn't think she wants to be bitten by that guy who just looks so much like Lestat or Blade or Buffy or..... wait, Buffy isn't a vampire, is she?) it tends to all blend together after the 50th or 100th or 500th time.
So you can imagine my surprise when I walk into club Orpheus and there I am, staring back at myself in the mirrors lining the club walls. I have to admit, most of those in attendance probably had good reason to think I was a Toreador, because I just stood there for I have no idea how long, looking at the impossible reflection of myself that shouldn't be there - and if I do say so myself, I looked damn good for a 500 year old man. I haven't seen myself since the night of my embrace. Even recent kine developments like cameras and film rely on some form of reflection to do what they do.
There's a joke in there somewhere, I think. I'm out of my mind. I've gone looking to find me. If I return before I catch up to myself.... yeah yeah, I'm sure the punchline is old and stale for you too.
I did what any self respecting Kindred in that sort of situation would do - I stared at those mirrors like an inbred farmboy the first time he sees a girl that isn't his sister. Then, just so I could tell Ray that I did it, I fixed my hair. Because dammit, I could fix my fucking hair. Then I went to the bar and ordered a drink.
There's a trick to drinking and enjoying other chemical treats when you're dead. Normally, we can't enjoy the things that kine take for granted, like good scotch or omlettes or those awful smelling sandwich-burger things from Mc.... something-or-other that Ray is obsessed with. The trick is to mix in blood. Kindred vitae will work, but honestly I've found that human blood works better. It doesn't work with food, but liquids are fair game, and whoever owned this bar was prepared for his guests this evening. Some local brewery named Yuengling makes a damn fine low-end ale. It was actually enjoyable to the point that I had four of them as the evening went on. It works for other things too if you get creative. I knew an anarch with a severe addiction to suspiciously red colored form of cocaine at one point.... bad times ensued. He's dead now.
The club was already pretty full when I made my fashionably-late-turned-stupidly-slackjawed arrival, and from what I could tell most of the kindred there were of the young, dumb, and stupid variety. Franca tells me that I've grown calloused as the decades have dragged on, but at this point in my unlife I have little patience or tolerance for stupidity. Stupidity causes messes that I invariably end up having to fix. By the night goddess, sometimes being a halfway competent Kindred is a fucking curse.
The first notable exception I encountered was a female that goes by the name of Zero. I've gotten pretty good at figuring out a kindred's clan just by watching how they move and interact with those around them, and I had her pegged for an Assamite before we started talking. Good to know that the old instincts still work. Zero turned out to be charming, intelligent, witty, and fucking lethal - my preferred type of coterie mate and every warriors favorite type of woman. Franca is going to love her. I'll ignore the fact that she likely could have killed 80% of the club's occupants on her own, given enough time. Pointing such things out is rude and unprofessional, after all.
My conversation with the most dangerous thing I could find on short notice (what? I get myself into trouble fast. It's a gift.) was cut short by one of the afore-mentioned young and stupid licks deciding to try to deck another one. On Elysium. I saw the fist coming and was preparing to, ahem, discipline it's owner when someone appeared out of freaking nowhere and intercepted the fist midway to it's destination, and then proceeded to explain how doing stupid things can make you dead to the person doing the punching. As it turns out, the fist interceptor was a Caitiff with more than his fair share of common sense.
Oh, be quiet. I can hear you already. "Tybalt, you associate with the clanless? They're dirty, and they have vampire cooties, and....."
And get your head out of your ass, please. I've found that the Caitiff are, almost to an individual, competent and capable, and when it comes to having someone at my side who can potentially pull my ass out of a fire, I do not discriminate. If that bothers you, I suggest living a little.
Where was I before I got cranky? Oh yeah, Caitiff fist interceptors....
This individual - and by the night goddess I cannot remember his fucking name, and it's driving me crazy - turned out to be extremely pleasant company. And by "pleasant" I mean not stupid, not boring, and capable of getting things done. What things? Don't you worry your pretty little head about that. Let's just say that he introduced me to other interesting and un-stupid kindred, and I like any lick who can do that sort of thing for me while having enough spare time to intercept fists mid-flight.
The intended victim of said fist was even more interesting, but for very different reasons. Turns out the poor bastard was a hit-and-run embrace. His first night of unlife, and he ends up in a club with me. He had to piss someone off in a past life, because trouble tends to follows me like a lost little puppy that needs to go to the pound for a long nap. After talking to the kid and a fellow Ventrue who had taken an interest in him, we got him squared away as far as figuring out what sort of blood was in his veins and what the basic rules of our society are. My family member now has a new protege, it seems. I'm completely ok with this, because if the kid turns out to be useful he's with us, and if he does something stupid, he's not my problem. Win-win.
I spent most of the evening with either Zero or the Caitiff my brain refuses to name, dealing with suspicious personages appointing themselves and others to the Princes court and naming themselves as authority figures and other nonsense. Seriously, I can't imagine what in the Cold Night would possess you to just decide that you are now Sherriff or Prince. This seems decidedly dangerous to me when you haven't even seen the Prince yet. Speaking of which....
The Prince never showed up. Now I understand that this sort of thing is a Prince's perogative under normal circumstances, but really? You have a city of new kindred and a freaking Archon in attendance, and you decide to skip the meet-and-greet? Unprofessional. His Seneschal wasn't even there. And that's how my evening got interesting....
You see, I was just trying to be helpful. I was explaining to my new Archon friend (no, that's not really something that exists. Archons don't have friends) that I thought it was just bad form for the Prince not to show up. I may have mentioned that the city needed someone on the throne, and if no one else was stepping in to fill the role, I would. The next thing I am aware of is the fact that I'm staring into the grinning face of a Tremere Archon as he asks me "So, are you officially challenging the Prince for praxis of Baltimore?"
Being the kind of lick that always likes to double down on his mistakes, I told him that yes, I would stand in contention up until the point that the Prince came out of hiding and resumed his rightful place in the city, if that was needed.....
..... fuck me. Did I just appoint myself Prince? Wasn't I just saying how very stupid that sort of thing is?
The first thing I noticed when I walked in was, well.... me.
I've been in more goth clubs than I care to recall. Travel is definitely part of my job description for Clan Ventrue, and for some horribly cliche reason all the cool leeches hang out in goth clubs. While it certainly makes the feeding easy (find me a cute little goth girl that doesn't think she wants to be bitten by that guy who just looks so much like Lestat or Blade or Buffy or..... wait, Buffy isn't a vampire, is she?) it tends to all blend together after the 50th or 100th or 500th time.
So you can imagine my surprise when I walk into club Orpheus and there I am, staring back at myself in the mirrors lining the club walls. I have to admit, most of those in attendance probably had good reason to think I was a Toreador, because I just stood there for I have no idea how long, looking at the impossible reflection of myself that shouldn't be there - and if I do say so myself, I looked damn good for a 500 year old man. I haven't seen myself since the night of my embrace. Even recent kine developments like cameras and film rely on some form of reflection to do what they do.
There's a joke in there somewhere, I think. I'm out of my mind. I've gone looking to find me. If I return before I catch up to myself.... yeah yeah, I'm sure the punchline is old and stale for you too.
I did what any self respecting Kindred in that sort of situation would do - I stared at those mirrors like an inbred farmboy the first time he sees a girl that isn't his sister. Then, just so I could tell Ray that I did it, I fixed my hair. Because dammit, I could fix my fucking hair. Then I went to the bar and ordered a drink.
There's a trick to drinking and enjoying other chemical treats when you're dead. Normally, we can't enjoy the things that kine take for granted, like good scotch or omlettes or those awful smelling sandwich-burger things from Mc.... something-or-other that Ray is obsessed with. The trick is to mix in blood. Kindred vitae will work, but honestly I've found that human blood works better. It doesn't work with food, but liquids are fair game, and whoever owned this bar was prepared for his guests this evening. Some local brewery named Yuengling makes a damn fine low-end ale. It was actually enjoyable to the point that I had four of them as the evening went on. It works for other things too if you get creative. I knew an anarch with a severe addiction to suspiciously red colored form of cocaine at one point.... bad times ensued. He's dead now.
The club was already pretty full when I made my fashionably-late-turned-stupidly-slackjawed arrival, and from what I could tell most of the kindred there were of the young, dumb, and stupid variety. Franca tells me that I've grown calloused as the decades have dragged on, but at this point in my unlife I have little patience or tolerance for stupidity. Stupidity causes messes that I invariably end up having to fix. By the night goddess, sometimes being a halfway competent Kindred is a fucking curse.
The first notable exception I encountered was a female that goes by the name of Zero. I've gotten pretty good at figuring out a kindred's clan just by watching how they move and interact with those around them, and I had her pegged for an Assamite before we started talking. Good to know that the old instincts still work. Zero turned out to be charming, intelligent, witty, and fucking lethal - my preferred type of coterie mate and every warriors favorite type of woman. Franca is going to love her. I'll ignore the fact that she likely could have killed 80% of the club's occupants on her own, given enough time. Pointing such things out is rude and unprofessional, after all.
My conversation with the most dangerous thing I could find on short notice (what? I get myself into trouble fast. It's a gift.) was cut short by one of the afore-mentioned young and stupid licks deciding to try to deck another one. On Elysium. I saw the fist coming and was preparing to, ahem, discipline it's owner when someone appeared out of freaking nowhere and intercepted the fist midway to it's destination, and then proceeded to explain how doing stupid things can make you dead to the person doing the punching. As it turns out, the fist interceptor was a Caitiff with more than his fair share of common sense.
Oh, be quiet. I can hear you already. "Tybalt, you associate with the clanless? They're dirty, and they have vampire cooties, and....."
And get your head out of your ass, please. I've found that the Caitiff are, almost to an individual, competent and capable, and when it comes to having someone at my side who can potentially pull my ass out of a fire, I do not discriminate. If that bothers you, I suggest living a little.
Where was I before I got cranky? Oh yeah, Caitiff fist interceptors....
This individual - and by the night goddess I cannot remember his fucking name, and it's driving me crazy - turned out to be extremely pleasant company. And by "pleasant" I mean not stupid, not boring, and capable of getting things done. What things? Don't you worry your pretty little head about that. Let's just say that he introduced me to other interesting and un-stupid kindred, and I like any lick who can do that sort of thing for me while having enough spare time to intercept fists mid-flight.
The intended victim of said fist was even more interesting, but for very different reasons. Turns out the poor bastard was a hit-and-run embrace. His first night of unlife, and he ends up in a club with me. He had to piss someone off in a past life, because trouble tends to follows me like a lost little puppy that needs to go to the pound for a long nap. After talking to the kid and a fellow Ventrue who had taken an interest in him, we got him squared away as far as figuring out what sort of blood was in his veins and what the basic rules of our society are. My family member now has a new protege, it seems. I'm completely ok with this, because if the kid turns out to be useful he's with us, and if he does something stupid, he's not my problem. Win-win.
I spent most of the evening with either Zero or the Caitiff my brain refuses to name, dealing with suspicious personages appointing themselves and others to the Princes court and naming themselves as authority figures and other nonsense. Seriously, I can't imagine what in the Cold Night would possess you to just decide that you are now Sherriff or Prince. This seems decidedly dangerous to me when you haven't even seen the Prince yet. Speaking of which....
The Prince never showed up. Now I understand that this sort of thing is a Prince's perogative under normal circumstances, but really? You have a city of new kindred and a freaking Archon in attendance, and you decide to skip the meet-and-greet? Unprofessional. His Seneschal wasn't even there. And that's how my evening got interesting....
You see, I was just trying to be helpful. I was explaining to my new Archon friend (no, that's not really something that exists. Archons don't have friends) that I thought it was just bad form for the Prince not to show up. I may have mentioned that the city needed someone on the throne, and if no one else was stepping in to fill the role, I would. The next thing I am aware of is the fact that I'm staring into the grinning face of a Tremere Archon as he asks me "So, are you officially challenging the Prince for praxis of Baltimore?"
Being the kind of lick that always likes to double down on his mistakes, I told him that yes, I would stand in contention up until the point that the Prince came out of hiding and resumed his rightful place in the city, if that was needed.....
..... fuck me. Did I just appoint myself Prince? Wasn't I just saying how very stupid that sort of thing is?
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