Go to the Broadway Geocities
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Sammy knows this isn't going to be easy. It never is. As when he usually tries to contact the "Real" world on any terms besides his own, things always tend to go weird. "Shows how much it cares." He thinks. "Hmm, what should we do tonight?"
"I don't know Sammy, what do you want to do?"
"I don't know me."
"I'm hungry."
"Let's eat."
"Ok."
"Where? or who?"
"I don't know."
"Hmmm."
"I'm in the mood for...something....something.....WARM!!"
"I know. What kind of warm?"
"Mmmm...Warm...Whitebread!"
"Ah. So the close to home cooking?"
"Yes."
"Very good mister Sammy. Will that be your usual hunting ground?"
"Yes. Thank you Sammy."
"Any time."
Having had that stimulating conversation with himself, Sammy decides to go out to find...DINNER!! A private alley near a McDonalds is one of Sammy's faves and usually a good place to hunt, where he hasn't been for a while. Sammy arrives to find that it was longer than he thought and that the McDonalds is now defunct.
"Ah well. What do we do for dinner now?" It is at that point that Sammy hears noises from inside. With a "Not-So-Nice" feeling of general dread, Sammy enters the McDonalds. He immediately recognises the sounds as coming from a back room and follows them there. A young woman is lying on the floor. She is moving, but Sammy notices that she isn't breathing and is not one of the Warm.
"Ah, another one."
It is at that point that Sammy has one split second in which he wishes to every deity and demon in existence that he hadn't come in here. You know that split second when you hit yourself but you don't quite feel pain yet? It was like that, but a million times worse. It's the split second in which you know your mind is being invaded but you can't do anything about it. Unfortunately for whatever was trying to penetrate Sammy's head, it hadn't picked WHICH Sammy. Sammy feels a second of gutwrenching pain and does what any insane person would do if mentally attacked in a strange place. He crumpled to the ground.
Inside his head he heard a voice that was loud. It was beyond loud. It was REALLY loud. "ANOTHER ONE?!??!?!? GIVE ME YOUR SECRET! WHAT DO YOU KNOW?"
Sammy responded with one of the most profound and memorable statement ever.
"Eh?"
"Eh?"
"WHAT IS THIS? WHAT..WHO..WHO..ARE YOU BOTH? WHICH OF YOU ARE THE MALKAVIAN? WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN ONE HEAD?"
"Oh? Him? You know, he's just hanging out."
Meanwhile the other Sammy (being more direct) decided that he had had quite enough of a giant disembodied voice invading his brainpan and threw himself in the general direction of the Voice. What Sammy hoped to accomplish by this was unclear, but...so is Sammy. The last thing the Sammy's heard before losing consciousness totally was a scream of rage and frustration. The last thing that Sammy thought before he collapsed was "Great. Now there are two of us on this floor."
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Sitting in the ruins of the McDonald's store room as twilight died, Parr twirled her fingers around a locket around her neck. It had been a gift of her late sire, and on the cover was the emblem of the Cross. He'd laughed that little insane laugh of his and said that other vamps that had true faith had always been afraid of the Cross. Instead, she found it comforting.
Inside the locket was a key. Inside the key was ...not much, maybe metal molecules? Ah, but the key itself, now that opened a rather small cardboard pencil box that her sire had left 'if things got rough'. Now just might be the time to use it.
Determined and purposeful, Parr strided out of the room and fell flat on her face. It wasn't really her fault, though, because she hadn't taken into account that a very well obfuscated and unconscious vamp would be lying outside her door. She gave the empty space a poke with her shoe.
"Eh?"
"Ughhh."
Biting her lip with impatience, she gently pulled the invisible man to the wall and left him in a sitting position.
"Hello? Yooooou-whoo. Are you ok? Helloo?" She reaches a hand out to pat his/her/it's face and instead grabs a shoe. A minute later he/she/it is really in a sitting posistion and an annoyed Parr is filling a cup with icewater. "If it calls me 'Malkavian'," she mutters, "I don't give a damn if it's the Prince. I'll kick it in the crotch...er..well approximately."
splash
"Blooorf!"
* * *
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I wake to the sound of jack hammers pounding on my brain. Ahhhh memory returns. It's Handel with my early evening wake up call. I return the favour by punching my way through the crate and trying to rip his heart out. A few gentle taps of his sword hilt on my head soon makes this game boring.
"Where the hell are we Captain Hook?"
"I'm in an aisle, you're in a crate and we're in a plane."
"Ahhha but where are the badgers?" replied I showing my skills at rebuttal.
In acknowledgement of my skills at arguments Handel started hitting me with his sword again.
Looking around the cargo hold we found a pretty remarkable number of boxes labelled 'Artifacts. Do not touch in fear of your immortal soul being forfit to the numberless hordes of Satan himself (and all his little wizards.)'
"TREMERE!" Said I after noticing the word wizard.
Handel didn't answer but started sobbing quietly in the background. He must have been upset at not seeing the connection before I did. I gently swotted him about the head a bit until he regained his composure.
"Lets go upstairs and get a drink," said Handel in way so predictable it most be a plot device.
We went through an access hatch (I didn't say anything about opening it) and obfuscated into the First Class lounge.
"Notice anything strange Badger?" Whispered Handel.
"That man has a tie from Oxford but has it done up in an anti-clockwise semiknot rather then the usual Oxford full Windsor, other then that no."
"I just throught that the number of men dressed as crusaders with the swords and branding irons seemed out of place on a Pan Am flight," replied Handel. "Oh them...oh bollocks."
"Tell me Brother Sanbenito, do you sense the presence of the unholy creatures of Satan walking amongs us or is it just my dutyfree?" Said one of the crusaders.
"Now that you mention it Father I do believe it is the unmistakable smell of the evil unlife pawns of the unholy fallen angel," replied another.
"Shuffle forward Badger my good man," whispered Handel quite urgently.
"The smell seems to have gone Brother. Maybe it was my dutyfree?" Said the crusader.
After coming to the conclusion that both myself and Handel were in deep poop
we commenced a short, but intense, period of blind panic. When this was over we
felt somewhat relieved and could actually do a bit of thinking. Immediately
seeing a solution to the crisis I mentioned it to Handel.
"Get us out of this or you're dead brainbox!!" I snarled.
GULP!!
After a few minutes of silence (other then the sound of Handel sweating) I
offered up another solution.
"How about I take over the cockpit and you throw everyone out a window?"
Handel paused a moment as he suffered intense humanity problems. After uncrossing his eyes and waiting for the throbbing to stop he offered a counter proposal. "OK Badger, how about I take over the cockpit and YOU convince everyone to leave?"
"Sounds fair enough to me, just wish I had thought of it."
Handel snuck his way into the cockpit leaving me with twenty four blood crazed and fanatical crusaders. Lets start with the easy ways. I changed my appearance to that of a crusader and picked up one of the chalices off a bench. I then promptly put the chalice down to the sound and smell of burnt flesh. OW OW OW OW OW!!!!!!!!
"Do you smell the flesh of an unbeliever being roasted as if in the pits of hell Brother?"
"I do beleive it is the sound of the evil one's being touched by the cleansing fires of our lords justice Father."
Right that's it. I swing open the door and use an arm rest to fling the chalice out into freefall.
After dropping the obfuscate I shout...
"Oh no!!! Is that the Holy Grail that just fell out the door!!!"
Twenty crusaders fight the rapid decompression and leap out the door after the chalice. The remaining four I pick up and just throw them out the door. Whooops wrong side make that a now open window.
Inside the cockpit Handel has managed to subdue the crew and has taken control of the aircraft. Rather then bother him with messy details I wait until he's distracted and throw the crew out the door.
"OK Badger, where's the pilot?" Asked Handel when I returned.
"What pilot?"
"The guy with all the rings on his sleeve. I can't land this thing you know?" Knowing that this could lead to an argument which we don't have time for I just hit him on the back of the head with that handy arm rest. Before he can regain his senses I pick him up and jump out the door.
As we fall the plane hurtles toward the city below. Come to think of it what city is it?
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Something is whistling past his ears, and Handel doesn't like it. He feels himself in a somewhat supine position and attempts to rise . . .
"Stop struggling, you daft bastard! I don't want to have to get through half the city to get to you again." The voice is familiar, and Handel sees the face to go with it - far too close for comfort. He looks away out of necessity, to see only clouds.
"What have you done, Badger? No. Please don't tell me." Eyes closed once again, Handel queries: "Did you give any thought to how we're going to get out of this little situation? I don't do anything that can save both you and me. Unless your powers of Protean or Fortitude are a little more advanced than I suspected?"
"Stop being such a nancy boy, Handel. We'll be fine. We're immortal. Nothing can kill us." Mr Badger grins against the wind, his whiskers releasing numerous gobbets of various origins to the air.
"Nancy boy? You're the one who's holding me!"
Sudden realisation and deeply ingrained homophobia focus into a brief but violent moment on Mr Badger's features. He flings Handel from him with a burst of Potence. After a little reorientation Handel sees that he has gained a little height on his erstwhile companion.
"Well, at least one of us is going to survive now!" he yells down.
"F. . .in . . h . . ty tr . . k, y . u . . . tard," comes from below.
Giving up the attempt to converse, Handel tries to get a good look at the city peeking through the gaps in the clouds. It's big, bigger than any city he's ever seen from this distance if he's any judge. A brief moment of introspection reminds him that he has never been this high before, but he ignores this for the moment. Soon enough he will be at a height he is more familiar with, although he feels a nagging doubt as to whether he wishes to be any more familiar with it just at the moment.
Gathering himself to wait for the correct moment he regards the enlarging landscape, keeping all speculation as to whether his most unused power is able to keep him from harm yet again in such a short time period. Internally he focuses: on his blood, the power there that the Fae helped him unleash. Far from his elements, the spirit as important to him as blood and the oceans as important to him as his soul, he must concentrate more intently to initiate the change.
A brief memory intrudes. His awareness being piqued by an alteration in the fabric. Reaching out. The doors sliding open. One who must be elsewhere is taken . . . and . . . the task is done. Return to beginning. Can't . . .
"Well, at least we haven't had any Rocs, Griffens or fighter jets so far," he muses. "There's the ground. What pretty lights."
Getting a little worried now, he begins the change. Slow. Bones liquify as blood expands through capillaries first, venules, arteries, veins, into and through organs, out to the skin, encompassing everything, then becoming it and it being blood. Blackened ichor. Winds waft pieces of him away before the entirety can take hold. Precious blood has been spilt . . .no use crying over spilt. . . rapture takes him and the alteration is complete.
Badger glances up to see a mist like form of black liquid pull away from him with increasing rapidity. "Fragging cowa . . ." he says as he hits. Hard.
Some minutes later a cloud of poison slowly settles to the earth. It quivers, reforms and a strained figure falls. Its last thought before blessed unconsciousness gifts it momentary peace: "Shit, the fiend. Where the hell was that?"
There is a definite smell of cane spirits in the air.
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- GOD DAMNED FIEND! Screams JoN, waking up the Black Spiral Dancers who again jump up, run around until they ram into each other, and fall back into unconsciousness.
- Still, I suppose you've got to thank the mate for putting Diable back into my life. He's always been a chuckle. So Alex, Ere just called me and...
Rev. Omnicynic drops his Obfuscate, and addresses the master of the house with a curt bow. "Greetings, JoN. My name is Reverend Ubermensch Omnicynic. Do you bid me welcome to your haven?"
(JoN, as quick as lightning and as paranoid as Keanu Reeves in Prison, draws his guns and points them at Omni, putting the red dot squarely in his left eye, when he notices is it his long time rival and sometimes friend, RVO, He drops his guard.)
Rev. Omnicynic nods, smiling, fangs out. "Oh, JoN, there seems to be a red dot in your eye. It does't work well with that outfit. Clashes with all the blood and gore."
"You know, I was thinking the very same thing, but I was afraid to mention it because JoN is obviously not a great fashion plate which is kinda funny isn't it? You know, how plates (something you EAT off of) somehow came to be associated with anorexic models and stuff? I think it has to do with..." Petey pokes Alex. Hard. With a stick. Alex shuts up in time to hear JoN say:
- Well well well. The traitor. The turncoat. The guy with the really spiffy name.
"Traitor," Rev. O asks, looking somewhat confused. "Oh, that Sabbat thing. Don't worry, no one got hurt in major fashion."
(JoN withdraws his weapons)
- Yeah, come in ya big lug.
"Thank you." Omnicynic advances into the haven.
-This is Alex, and that's there'S a Pooka.
"Heh," hehs Omnicynic, as the two multichromatic supernaturals regard him -- and his Fight Violence! T-shirt, along with the various pins and buttons that hang off his duster. One says, "If you can't read this, you need better Auspex" in really small letters.
"Hey there how ya doin?", Alex holds out his hand. Petey is more forward and puts his arm around the Reverend. "Yeah, I don't normally hang with vampires, its just that well, this twit needs someone to look after him. And since I'm the most responsible young buck in my motley, I get the honor. Petey at your service. Say...nice pins...." He eyes the Reverend's pins with undisguised avarice.
"Sorry, but I don't shake hands with kindred, known too many tremere, you see." Without really making any indication that he would do so, Omnicynic sort of flows around Petey's embrace, something like a redish t-1000 from the late '60's. He reforms about a foot away, leaving Petey with small burn marks on his clothing. "Oh, sorry, gotta think before I do that. Here, have a pin."
The Reverend brings forth a small metallic button that reads, "My chantry went to Dimension 2-99B and all I got was this lousy paradigm." He hands it to Petey.
(JoN points to the BSDS) THOSE, are my roomates.
Omnicynic looks over the Dancers. "They look kinda like some folks I used to know. Heh." He turns to JoN. "What kind of rent do you get out of them? I mean, when they're awake."
"Rent? Who needs rent? Watch this!" Alex walks up to the unconscious BSDs and shouts at them. The garou do the whole chicken with its head cut off things, collide, and go unconscious again. Laughing Alex says, "That would be rent enough for me!"
"I was about to say, "Yea, but you can't eat amusement," when I realized that maybe Petey here can? No too up on your type, ya know. That and we don't eat. Was a bit funny though. JoN, it that all they do?" Omnicynic looks at JoN, scanning for indications of sudden violence, just in case.
(JoN, with his hand upon his forehead, replies in a very cold manner)
-- Um, yeah. Well, sometimes they're useful, but only if you say today'S
secret super special word, wich THEY choose, and don't tell me.
I presume Ere called you? He'S coming to Toronto, that means we gotta bum a ride. If I know Diable he'll go after Ere, 'cause he's alone and has lot's o' knowledge. And between us he couldn't kick the crap out of, well, crap. But this isn't like Diable, he's more of a "Uuuh, bad Malkavian make fun of Diable, DIABLE SMASH!" I wonder why he's after...knowledge, well knowledge is power...an I'm rambling, let hit the road. Glances at the BSDs) We better let them sleep.
Omnicynic ponders, "Diable? Real creative, those demon-type thingies. Funny I didn't know that when I first saw him...Where will Ere be coming down to, and how far is it? If we fly, we might be able to make it before he lands, then find somewhere to last the day." The reverend brushes back the duster's sleeve to reveal a watch...and a wrist knife. "We got three hours, I think. Time zones and all...This is Canada, yes?"
Alex nods, "Yeppers. Canadia, land of weiners, yaksmen, and beer. C'mon guys, if we're going to get to the airport in time to get a Welcoming Party set up we need to go now. This Diable fellows probably already on his way, and what sort of hospitality would it be to let our guest get et up?" Petey grins, "Yeah, plus we still need to get the stripper!"
Omnicynic grins, "Where will we find a marching band at this time of night?" Then he grows a bit serious. "Say, do they take US money here, or only Canadian script? If so, could I see a few rather large Canadian bills?" He shrugs, "Ack, nevermind, you guys know the way to airport better than I do, lead on."
-- Who neads money when you have a .45??? Ere SAID to draw the most
attention to ourselves! SO LET'S GO! I Have giant chicken outfits in the
back, I GOT DIBS ON THE ROOSTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(JoN scrambles to the back room, and slips on his rooster outfit)
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Don't ya love that 8-hour activity cycle?
R.O
Inconspicous? What's that?
Alex Derenkov and Petey
R.O
[sing]We are the fighting malkavs, and winning's what we do!
We are fighting malkavs, and we're coming after you!
We are roughest, we are the buffest malkavs in this hemisphere!
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Everything's black? Blacker then the night should be? The night also tastes of tarmac. Something's not right, my legs don't seem to be working. I can't move my arms much. Only up but not down or side-ways. Hmmmmm I know. I climb out of the six foot deep hole (human shaped) I find myself in. The legs still don't work but everything else seem sort of intact.
A small child runs up to my hole.
"Are you alright Mister?"
"Soon will be child, would you like a sweety?" Crooned Mr Badger.
A rip, a tear and the life giving liquid is soon transfered. I heal a bit and soon can move my legs. More people arrive and more I consequently heal. Time passes...
"How the hell did you survive the fall Badger?" Cried Handel after he FINALLY got to the scene.
"It involves shadows, Obtenebration and the sheer luck to have landed on these poor townsfolk," replied the quick thinking Badger.
Handel walks closer and sees the three or four drained bodies now lying in the hole. Not wanting to think to closely about how they got there he moves to other matters.
"I don't know where we are but we're going to need a haven before sunup."
"I know just the place," said the Badger. I led the morally disadvantaged Handel toward the house the family I dined on came out of.
"What luck! It appears to be empty!!"
Handel noticed the TV still on and the lights blazing away. He looked at me, at the hole outside and then again at me.
"You didn't did you?," said Handel in a small voice.
"Wouldn't dream of it ol'chap, all this blood is mine don'cha know." Lied Mr Badger.
With the Sabbat-Carmarilla rift widend the pair settled down to a troubled sleep.
By night fall little has been done about the murdered family. The authorities were far to busy dealing with the sudden appearence of 22 crusader shaped, blood splattered, holes and the cabin crew indentations in the motorway. The crashing plane didn't help either. Mr Badger wakes to find quite a commotion going on outside. Once Handel wakes the two of them disappear over the back fence before any one looks into the house.
"Where are we Badger man?" Asked Handel.
"Don't know but the place is full of bloody Australians!"
Putting the evidence together Handel deduces that the Malks are in Australia. Unfortunately it takes much longer to convince his slow at the uptake companion. After much argument Mr Badger agrees that there could be a possibility of being in Australia but won't admit it to anyone.
While resting in a park a black limo drives up. The passenger opens the window and gestures the two over. Handel notices that neither the passenger nor the driver are breathing. The passenger nods to Handel and turns to Mr Badger.
"I think we can come to a business arrangment...," said the stranger.
"Why you stinking fag........." screamed Mr Badger as he pulled back his arm to take a swing.
Handel stops him in time by grabbing his arm.
"Don't Badger, I know who he is. Look at that ring!"
Mr Badger hisses and looks down. The ring is impossibly huge and just drips with arcane runes and symbols. Small arcs of energy snap back and forth across its face.
With horror written across their faces the two cry out, "Australian Tremere!!!!!"
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