[center][img]https://images.fineartamerica.com/images/artworkimages/mediumlarge/1/nightscape-of-los-angeles-michelle-choi.jpg[/img][/center] [i]Fear[/i] The scent was in the air, calling to the hunger, the Beast within. She could taste it in the air. While food would never have the same appeal to her, emotions, natural responses, they made her taste buds fire. Even when the fear was her own. She did not breathe anymore, not truly, but sometimes in moments of heightened sensation, her form went through the motions, forgetting that she was quite dead. Now was certainly one of those times, her chest heaving to breathe in air she did not need, expelling it with the exact composition she inhaled it. For a dead person she was fast. She was fast for any person at all, some would say impossibly fast, barely more than a blur to the eye of any mortal. For the first time in her unlife it wasn't fast enough. She could sense it behind her, not from hearing or touch, even if those too had been enhanced by her untimely demise years ago. No, it was supernatural dread that kept her informed that whatever was moving after her was certainly still there. If she'd had a moment to stop, she could likely have been able to ponder on whether this is how humanity felt in the presence of her kind. She had no time for existential questions, however, all her ability to think was devoted to keeping her moving and desperately planning a way out. The Brujah had run the rooftops on many an occasion, although perhaps not quite this high up. She lunged through the air from skyscraperer to skyscraper, feeling the gradual pull of gravity begin to tug at her each time before her blood-bound gifts carried her to her intended target. The latest jump was further than she could comfortably managed and so her landing became a crashing roll. She snarled in pain as her ankles collapsed on themselves, but the Beast soon silenced the pain, her eyes flaring as vampiric vitae rushed to heal the injury in a matter of moments. She didn't have a few moments alas, and a much heavier thud than her own landing signalled the arrival of her pursuer. Unlike her, it needed no time to recover, she could feel it moving closer through the chrome. In one swift motion the Kindred rolled on her back, the darkness of night lit up by the muzzle flash of her sidearm. Whatever it was, it was huge. Fur lined it's vast form, interrupted by the tatters of business suit which still clung to it. It had been a human, she'd seen it...shift...into this thing. A Hollywood nightmare made real. The gunshots thudded into flesh, but the rounds fell away, even more useless than it would have been on one of her own kind. "W....W...Werewolf." She sputtered, the thought finally reaching her mind, now that she had time to study the beast. She'd been a little busy running. The word seemed to only pull another growl from the creature as it stopped down, one huge claw gripped around the Brujah's body, her struggles to free herself as inconsequential as the spasms of a fly stuck to paper. It's palm almost entirely encompassed her neck and shoulders both, crushing her tightly with but a fraction of its power. "You kind have been warned...The Valley is ours." Despite it's huge canine-like jaws, it spoke discernably, it's wolf-like lips moving unnaturally to do so, as if it took a strength of will to not simply howl in rage at her actions. "A message will be sent." It spoke again, the heavy thud of its rear paws trembling across the chrome once again. "I....I can bro...bring you mess...message." She gasped between crushed breathes, her form squirming beneath the beast's tight grip. "You shall." It growled again, before there was a sudden rush of movement. The Brujah spun, turning end over end, and that brief kiss of gravity from before returned, then grasped her. Undead lungs that had no need to breathe emptied as she screamed, the curse of unlife keeping her awake and alive for the duration of her plummet. "This city...will be ours." [center] [img]https://www.therooftopguide.com/rooftop-bars-in-los-angeles/Bilder/AndazWestHollywood_6_slide.jpg[/img] [u][b]The Sunset Lounge[/b][/u][/center] "Now Gentlemen, I don't really think I could be any more fucking clear." Americans loved a British accent, it was a widely known fact of existence. They loved it until they were staring down the barrel of an incredibly pissed off London accent with a knife big enough to demonstrate just how pissed of they were. This duality of purpose apparently transcended the bounds of life and death. "I don't have many rules, do I, Connor?" Henry turned slightly from the two men that were currently bound 'tightly' to a pair of rather uncomfortable looking chairs, to speak to another man, currently occupying the doorway. Connor was a smartly dressed man. No amount of suit and tie could ever hide the fact he looked like a rottweiler in human form, however. He was practically bred for violence, tall and broad. He was quite nice when you got to know him, which is why Henry only ever needed him to deal with people he didn't know. "No Sir, in fact I can only really think of one off the top of my head." "And what rule is that, may I ask, Connor, ol' buddy o' pal?" "No fighting, Sir." "No 'fucking' fighting, aye, that would be it." With that Henry turned back to the two bound men, waving his knife uncomfortably close to the younger's face. "So when, as it so happens, we find you both in a scrap right here where I park my car, my very 'nice' car..." "We didn't think it counted...outside." The other man humbled, earning him a rather contemptuous look from Henry. "Oh you didn't think it counted did you? You didn't think my carefully maintained presence of law and order in this damned pissup of a city extended two 'fucking' meters from the back door, did you?" The sound of silence that followed expressed a resolute lack of ability to argue the finer detail of this point. Henry stood, as they stopped talking, rising from his crouching position to his full height, casting the knife aside onto a nearby table. "As you're both clearly not the brightest bunch, I will be letting you both off with a warning, and a 'do not fucking come back until I say so,' note. And you can tell Nines if any of his lot pull anymore shit like this, I don't care if it's among yourselves, I will come Downtown and shit all over his crappy little bar, not that the smell would get any worse, this clear?" The two kindred nodded frantically. "Cut them loose Conner and let them out...I've got a shift to get back to." It took a fair few minutes for Henry to move from the secluded chambers of the Lounge out towards the customer-facing areas. While the shadier business of the man was completed in rooms just about fit for purpose, the staff areas were more than comfortable, and then the Lounge itself, both as a bar and with a few 'very' exclusive guest rooms were some of the nicest in LA, at least he thought so, without reaching the needless tacky levels Hollywood was so keen on. As he was walking a fresh shirt was provided for him, there were far too many vampires in this damn city for him to walk out even spattered in kindred blood and not cause a scene, least of all a line to lick him clean. He smiled a thank you to that particular member of staff before pausing to change, studying himself in an errant mirror, watching the man looking back at him. [i]Look How Far You've Fallen[/i] He shook his head, before he finished linking his buttons together, a dark waistcoat thrown on over the top, before exiting out onto the bar, his usual slightly-to-charming-to-be-real smile stretching across his face. That was when he saw her, and paused, immediately. It wouldn't be unusual to stare at a woman like that, her long slender form dressed for the occasion at an establishment like this, probably wasn't the only man in the room doing so right then, but the only one to know who she was, truly. She was often early like she was chasing the Sun, hoping to catch what she could never see. "Connor, that young woman there, I'd like to see her out on the terrace." Henry spoke as his assistant caught up to him, the door our onto the bar still swinging. He took only a brief moment to track down who Henry was referencing. "As you say Sir, will you be needing company?" "No, and neither will she."