Rawk

World of Darkness: City of Angels

[UPDATED]

For more fun in the dark, meet one of LA's Tremere...

World of Darkness: City of Angels

---

Downtown Los Angeles | Gladys Ave & 6th Street

Skid Row, one of the least hospitable spots in the greater Los Angeles area -comparatively-, and certainly not a place you'd make a conscious decision of moving to. For some, it was the end of the line from a long life wasted away on drugs, alcohol, and general self-destruction. To others it was a pass-through to greater horizons beyond the muck and mire. But for those who dwelled in the darkest part of the shadows for a living, it was most certainly called “home" in one capacity or another. The younger Sabbat Anarch population rarely cared about keeping up appearances, but instead ruling the shit piles of the world knowing that the forgotten will one day rise up again to conquer. And for many, the end was already here.

The pink haired girl sat at the top step of the tenement building entrance stairway unlacing her black roller skates, loosening the leather supports and pulling both skates off of her sore feet, paying special attention to the left. They both hurt, but this one in particular, and for whatever reason, was the most painful. She wasn't sure if it was a muscle cramp or an ankle sprain, but whatever her master's blood did to mitigate the physical pain for the last few hours worked too well, at least until the effects began to subside. She slowly peeled off the sweaty sock on her left foot, clenching her teeth from the sharp spike of pain that coursed from her heel to about mid-calf. Part of her wanted to cry, but what the hell would that do except make her appear to be just another weak-ass mortal vessel for her Sabbat superiors. A “Ghoul" they called her, and probably more so out of humor at her expense than anything practical. But as far as Alex was concerned, the vampire creepers she’d had the displeasure of associating with all watched too many B-rated horror flicks.

Either way, it was a bittersweet relationship with her relatively newfound “friends”. On the one hand, she loved the acceptance they offered, a sense of belonging really, and all the perks and power that came with their bestowed gifts via blood bondage. It was exhilarating to say the least to be part of something bigger than herself. But, no benefits came without its conditions, and harsh they were, especially as a newly created Ghoul, serving the Sect’s cause in any capacity they saw fit no matter the physical or psychological impact to their mortal herd. Additionally, like any good addict was well aware, functionality without the source of their addiction was damn near impossible. Blood was the necessary element for sustenance, power, as well as subservience, and without the allotted amount per day, a bound Ghoul would simply go mad, even to the extent of starving itself or attempting to feed off their own flesh. Yeah, it can get ugly when fucking with the fragile mind and physiology of a human vessel, but the Sabbat kindred excelled at such things. It's what made them the assholes they are today.

“Jake?” Alex’s voice carried with it an undertone of apprehension as she stepped lightly through the already unlocked front door of her second floor apartment, unsure if her boyfriend was about. The scent of sweat, mold, decay, and expired dairy products hit her still heightened senses, and the flickering fluorescent lighting from the kitchen in the next room spilled through its entryway. “Jake? Don't fuck with me, dude.” Her voice cracked a bit as a feeling of dread crept into her head, pushing against thoughts as it slowly began to formulate into fear. She placed her skates and damp socks down on the stained carpet, and closed the front door behind her, before making her way over to the kitchen, her left foot still sore from earlier, causing her stride to be off balance.

“Well hello there.” A rather cheery, yet gravelly voice from the kitchen responded before the girl rounded the corner. “I was wondering when you'd be back.”

The male's broken English and slight lisp was unmistakable to the young girl. ”Cyrus?...ohmygod...”

Her hand instinctively went up to her mouth to stifle a shriek, and what came next sent chills up and down her spine at the bloodied corpse that laid ravaged in the middle of the checkered kitchen floor, and the head of her now very dead boyfriend sitting atop the small square table in the corner where Cyrus was seated. “Well don’t be so dramatic, my dear, it’s not like he was the best thing that ever happened to you.” The vampire grinned, licking his bloodied fingers before lifting the mangled head and hovering it over a tall mason jar full of thick vitae. “At the very least, I expected some gratitude for ridding this world of another deadbeat, yeah?”

Alex had to give herself a moment to even remotely process what had happened in her apartment, and the realization that the guy she’d spent the last six months with was now a bloodied mess on the floor with his head ripped off in the most violent of ways. The girl wanted to vomit, but hadn’t hadn’t really eaten anything throughout the day for much to come up, and yet the gagging started regardless.

“Oh please.” The other said in a mockingly pathetic tone of voice. “Don’t be a pussy.” Cyrus tossed the severed head back onto the table, lifted the glass jar of blood and held it out for Alex. “Drink it. One part me. One part of asshole over there. It’ll make you feel better.” The vampire kept the same smug expression across his veiny face.

“I-I don’t want-”

“DRINK IT!” He growled, his hand shaking enough from the outburst to spill a bit of the blood over the rim of the jar and causing it to run down and splash onto the floor, mixing with the rest of the blood, guts, and caked-on grime. “Now look what you made me do.”

The supernatural fear brought on by the vampire’s dark presence engulfed the poor girl as she slowly stepped toward her master and went to reach for the lifeblood that would re-orient her thought pattern and push away any further anxieties, even if for a little while. Cyrus suddenly let go of the jar and watched it crash to the floor, the glass shattering into a thousand pieces, and the blood splattering in all directions, leaving a pool at the foot of where the vampire was seated.

“Now drink it.” The Sabbat’s voice took on a much more guttural tone while he motioned his pale hand toward the crimson mess at his feet. “I want to see you on all fours like the slut hound that you are.” A wry grin slowly crept across his thin, bony face before it disappeared into a stern expression. “You will drink, regain your composure for fucks sake, and you will tell me why that piece of shit Archon is still alive…”

---

“Remind me again why I agreed to this?” Nicolaus stepped through the doors to Gallery 66, accompanied by his underling Servire, Adriana, who -judging by her sunshine and unicorns expression- was way more excited to be there than the Ventrue.

“Because you know a good thing when you see it?” The red-haired woman chuckled, elbowing the other as they both entered into the front area of the club, the relatively pleasant atmosphere easing it way into their senses. “Besides, this place has that ‘Old World’ flair, which your kind are into, yeah?” She smirked again, taking a bit of pleasure at little fun jabs toward the Elder; smoothing the fabric along her navy blue cocktail dress and do a last make-up check in her cell phone’s camera.

Nicolaus had to agree with the fledgling though, the two-level club was something he could definitely warm up to, and somewhat reminiscent of the Sunset Lounge in certain aspects. But either way, he was there now, and hopefully -aside from a semblance of relaxation- he may be able to discover answers to several pending questions.

“Mmm, who’s that yummy morsel of pale flesh near the bar?” Adriana said in a whispered voice, as her attention fell squarely on the host and entrepreneur of Gallery 66.

Nicolaus turned his head toward that direction and saw the tall, dark-haired figure standing near the end of the long bar, his aura giving away more than the Ventrue had expected, but perhaps not. It was non-threatening, but if he were to guess the kindred’s age…

“It’s someone you may want to exercise some caution with, Fräulein.” He said, raising a hand to greet the their host from across the floor, followed by a nod of acknowledgment and thanks for the invitation.

The Fireflies Settlement

@Days Everything good? O.o

The Fireflies Settlement

What this RP needs is a...

No Turning Back - Surving the Abyss

"Alright, I'm gonna get going. I'm seeing the famous Gavon TreVayne tomorrow..."

@Xandrya

Aw shucks, you're just stroking my already inflated ego. ;)

No Turning Back - Surving the Abyss

Alrighty peeps, per my latest post w/@Heat, Ark Sec will be cracking down on illegal narcotics before things begin to spread more than they already have. Not to say there is an epidemic right now, but it does exist through various other unknown sources/channels.

That being said, feel free to include anything related to "known or potential drug smuggling", and those of you in the medical professions will probably be more savvy to what has been going on with stolen pharmaceuticals, etc.

That is all. Carry on...

o7

No Turning Back - Surving the Abyss

---

_{A collab with @Heat as Chief Investigator Raymond Conley}

The Vibe Nightclub | 21:13
The Hub | Entertainment District

One of the newest and hottest entertainment spots that the Hub has had the pleasure of cradling within its bosom, The Vibe’s popularity among the younger crowd only outshined by the massive pulse-pounding sound system, multi colored laser light and glow effects indicative of 1980s synthwave pop clubs, and nonstop energy running through its veins. Eating, drinking, dancing, or simply hiding away in the many dark corners for a while to forget, were just a few of the draws. Like most businesses within the Ark, the opportunities to sell “distractions" from an otherwise stressful journey was rarely passed up, knowing that most citizens aboard would just rather be somewhere else, whether they'd like to admit it or not. Regardless of the methods though, the effects of the Devastator’s swift and indiscriminate attack against humanity and the decimation of the homeworlds was something that could never be erased in the hearts and minds of those who lived it five years prior.

As tensions grew over those seemingly short few years, so did the need for counteractive measures to ensure security and military personnel were able to do their jobs effectively by protecting those caught within the slow uprising of civil unrest from harming others or themselves. No matter the background, religious affiliation, political affiliation, or a number of other things that make humans who they are, there will still be the one asshole who simply lights a match and walks away just to watch the whole place burn to hell. It was a physical and psychological balance that both Ark Security agents and military police forces had to maintain for there to be any continuity of order throughout the Vitae. Order, that was slowly pulling at the seams.

“Geez this place is packed tonight.” The young man chuckled while weaving through the masses crowded near the entrance. “Of course now I know where all the good-looking girls are.”

“Yeah, well keep your head in the game, kid.” The other said, trailing behind him with an uninterested expression.

Dressed in civilian attire for the evening, both Security Agents made their way past the congestion of people and A.I. serving units and into their pre-appointed positions while waiting for further instructions. A team of six agents lead by Chief Investigator Raymond Conley, systematically stationed themselves throughout the interior awaiting confirmation of their target, who was spotted entering the club earlier.

“Alright people I need eyes.” The stern and calm, yet somewhat nasally voice of Jarrol Haas came over the inconspicuous earpiece communicators given to each undercover agent. He was essentially the Watchman for this op, surveying via floor plans, target coordinates, and ensuring that all physical security measures are taken into consideration to mitigate any suspects from fleeing the scene, whether it be through camera detection, or bulkhead lockdown, Jerrol Haas was the “eye in the sky”, allowing support to Conley and his team.

For the last few days, Haas has been acting CoS while Chief Gavon TreVayne took advantage of much needed R&R, as well as medical leave due to mandatory artificial heart replacement after the previous cybernetic system simply shutdown. Although with the cause still unknown, Gavon was assured that the technology has been significantly upgraded since his first procedure over five years ago and there would be little if any risk. Knowing Gavon, however, he continues to put little faith in A.I, no matter how revolutionized it has become.

“Target spotted.” One of the female agents nearer to the back of the club chimed in. “Rear left corner, situated between the holodancer terminals and the sushi bar.”

“Confirmed.” Another agent acknowledged. “It’s Lowry alright, but he appears to be alone for the moment.”

John “Thunderbird” Lowry was one of the military’s top pilots and a great asset to the Vitae’s fleet, but things began to crumble around him personally and professionally. The arduous course of five years aboard the Ark took a toll on the thirty-something Fleeter career pilot, and while his life practically revolved around space travel and the harsh living and survival conditions that followed, the man couldn’t help by allow the separation of his family to break him down no matter how strong he thought he was. Sure, there were plenty who’d lost someone close to them after the attack, and there were plenty of outlets for coping that were considered non-destructive and perfectly legal, but the end result for those who left the door wide open was a downward spiral of vices that would never take the pain away fully. A simple whisper in his ear, and a chance to not only make a few extra credits on the side, but to trade for just about anything he could think of, John Lowry decided it was “within his right” to steal painkillers from the Medical Sector’s pharmacies by tunneling it through various proxies. It took less than twenty-four hours for medical personnel -through cross referencing inventory logs- to realize that supplies were dwindling, and yet it had been the more potent formulas that were specifically focused on. The problem was, because of the number of hands it exchanged through the smuggling process, it was difficult to pinpoint just who was responsible, until a tip surfaced through the diligent work of Chief Investigator Raymond Conley.

As the Lead Investigator surveyed the scene, his dark brown eyes scanned the room for any immediate dangers. A packed club such as this was unpredictable in many ways. The patrons tended to be inebriated or high on whatever drugs they could get their hands on in order to amplify their experiences. He did not have his handgun on him, and he’d ordered his agents under his command to follow the same protocol. Gunshots would cause a stir, and might lead to a chain reaction of chaos. This was a simple “by the books” deal, nothing too extreme, at least compared to many of the missions he had gone through back on Earth.

It didn’t compare to knocking down doors and taking down a group of radical Martian terrorists, and for that he was thankful. A smile crept onto his face as he recalled those events, it all seemed so long ago. He had done what was typically done in this situation, interrogating and squeezing info from every person connected to Lowry and the smuggling ring. Ray knew the moment one of the men most highly associated with Lowry squealed and gave the tip his people needed.

“Don’t lose track of him, but don’t let him know he’s being watched.” Ray stated into his commlink, from a distance in a position across from the target. The loud music pummeled his ears and the stench of alcohol filled his nostrils, but he was entirely focused on the task at hand. All minor distractions were cast aside.

“Lowry’s being approached by a female, dark hair, lavender cocktail dress.” The young agent responds, keeping himself between the target and a support beam. “She's at least a few feet from him, and they're exchanging words.”

Jerrol Haas zoomed in the holo map which was laid out on the large center table within SecCom. “NOAH, bring up the Vibe’s audio and enhance focus within coordinates 25-point-6 by 78-point-01.”

What followed was a mixture of static feedback and garbled background noise with muffled voices overlaid.

“What the hell is that?” Haas responded flatly, arching an eyebrow while repositioning the three-dimensional map for a better overhead vantage point.

NOAH’s voice prompt came on over the communications with SecCom. “Electrical pulses from the Vibe’s holographic terminals have generated temporary interference to the audio and video feeds within that radius.”

“What?” Haas exclaimed, clearly annoyed. “We've been through this dozens of times during routine tests and inspections and why hasn't it shown up in the logs?”

There was a momentary pause as NOAH queued up the previous diagnostics log, its contents appearing across the screen in front of where Jerrol Haas stood, before continuing. “Records indicate it had never been an issue, as all holo-terminals are calibrated specifically not to interfere with security systems and related mainframes. There is, however, another probability-”

“Dammit I lost visual.” The female agent chimed in again.

“Same here.” Another closer agent responded. “The holoprojection strobed for a moment then disappeared. Lowry was already on the move, and the girl I don't see anymore.”

“He’s on the run, heading towards one of the side doors! Lock down both sides, follow the reactions of the crowd!” Ray exclaimed loudly to the agents, then started shuffling through the hordes of party goers and dancers.

He could make out Lowry as the man dashed through the bustling club, causing a commotion as he knocked over people even as he tried to avoid doing so. The ex pilot was certainly startled, it seemed he had been tipped off on his status as a wanted man with authorities stalking his location. Ray darted through a group of dancers, slipping around them as he broke through to an opening in the dance floor. Lowry was still making a move, but he was trapped and the poor sap didn’t even realize it.

“I want that woman tracked to, if she knows anything. She may be an associate of his and might have tipped him off.” Ray stated calmly, jogging through the club as he made his way towards the same exit as Lowry. He was closing in on the man, but had to do this carefully.

As the song changed in the club, and the the mad dancing continued on, Ray emerged from the crowd as he bustled towards the target. As he closed in, he found another clearing, rapidly zeroing in on Lowry. The lead investigator lowered his shoulders, extended his arms and adjusted his stance just right. Then he made a pinpoint tackle, slamming into Lowry as his body pulsed with adrenaline. The smuggler didn’t have much time to react as he crashed into the ground, Ray on top of him as he kept the man unable to stand up. They were right near the exit the man was bolting for, two security agents appeared around them, exclaiming loudly that they were Ark Security.

“Don’t move a muscle, Lowry. You’re under arrest for the crimes of theft and running a smuggling ring.” Ray stated calmly, then harshly grabbed the man’s hands and cuffed him. He could practically sense the rage steaming off of Lowry as he stood up, bringing the criminal to his feet as well.

“Great work Conley and perfect teamwork Agents.” Haas stated, a huge grin on his face that only those within SecCom would have been able to notice, but his tone of voice may have given it away as well. “Chief TreVayne will be happy to hear about this, but let’s get Lowry underground to cool off for the rest of the evening and pick it up tomorrow. Haas out.”

The Fireflies Settlement

That seems fine by me. :)

@Days

Just don't forget about the collab link I sent ya on Monday :)

The Fireflies Settlement

@Days, I was thinking that when Fay is ready to drop off the papers to Marcus's office, on the way, she sees him leaving as he's on his way back to his house for a later lunch and to check up on Mila, his sick wife. We can do a short collab when they pass if you'd like.

The Fireflies Settlement

Marcus Bellamy

---

Michelle.

It was a name that hadn’t crossed the mayor’s mind in many years, not since well after leaving school and apprenticing with his father for many years. He and Michelle had grown up together, and were as close as any could be at the time, almost inseparable one could have said considering they were seen laughing and playing just about every waking day of their youth. The family contention however began to put strains on their relationship, as both sides seemed to show some kind of animosity toward the other’s child, as though neither were good enough to be together, even as friends. As time passed, and adolescence kicked things into high gear for them both, they still promised to never grow apart, and slowly their relationship began to turn that much more intimate. But, it seemed the more they chose to be together forever, the more reality came in as a wild fire to consume and destroy.

Both were happy as one, but their families had other uses for them as mid-adolescence gave way to professions opening up, and long roads of study which kept them simply too busy to ever truly be together again. As children, they mused over the idea of running away to part of the world, to a place no one would ever find them, just to start over. But the end result was that time and distance began the slow descent of once happy memories, until thoughts of a better life together were nothing but a wisp of smoke to be carried away by the western winds.

-----------------------------

“Mister Bellamy?”

The voice seemed so distant, as though it were miles away even, until his name was repeated again and pulled the man from his reverie, causing him to glance over at the doorway, and the little boy standing within its old wooden frame. The kid couldn’t have been any more than eleven or twelve years old, a pup really, dressed in an earth-toned shirt and pants, ragged boots, and a round face covered in soot and dirt. There he was holding one of the largest hunting rifles seen in a long time. Probably modified from various assorted pieces and complete with a long, thin leaf-shaped bayonet blade firmly secured to the front. Marcus narrowed his eyes as he stared at the boy for a moment, unsure of what he was seeing, and the kid spoke again.

“There’s been accident, sir.” The kid’s voice was dry, emotionless even, as he then pulled up the light brown shirt he was wearing to reveal a single bullet wound along the side of his torso, healed over and left only with a scar. A scar that seemed even more familiar than the man had expected.

“What happened, kid?” Marcus responded, his voice sounding echoed and hollow, as though trying to speak in a vacuum. He tried to rise up from the leather chair, but was unable; an unknown force holding him down with no give.

The boy lowered his shirt, concealing his scarred torso. “I killed him, sir.” The boy’s eyes welled up with tears as he continued. “In the woods, he came to get me, and-” He paused for a moment to wipe his watery eyes. “The roaches got to him, shot him in the head. If I hadn’t been out on my own, none of this would have happened!” The boy broke down, unable to string the remaining words together, but instead, pulled a tarnished bowie knife from his belt sheath, and held it to his throat.

“Wait!” Marcus tried to push up from the chair, but every effort only caused the invisible chains that shackled him to tighten further. “What are you d-...”

It was too late as the kid’s arm swiftly slid across his own throat, the blade slicing through cleanly, followed by the cascade of blood as the life quickly left the kid, his body crumpling to the dusty floor.

“Oh god NO!”

Marcus cried out, his own voice echoing into the darkness as his body jerked forward from it’s reclined position in the leather chair, and the eyes of the mayor opened up to an empty office. The man had fallen asleep -deeply- apparently and sweat rolled down his brow as he looked around the room, specifically at the doorway which lead out into the hall. No boy. No blood. Instinctively, however, the mayor stood to his feet, pulling his otherwise neatly tucked dress shirt out, and lifted it up to peer at the left side of his torso. There it was. The scar which would ever remind him of that failed night he’d lost his one and only uncle.

“Shit.” The man breathed as he fixed his shirt, retucking it and adjusting the belt. “Where the hell did that come from?...”