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Nightshade was left staring at the back of her lover. "And sometimes," she said the familiar flufy bed, "She acts so old I don't know what's going on." Nightshade chewed on a nail. "It's NOT my fault I'm not perfect enough to think of travel arrangements!"
Nightshade put her things down and curled up on Ari's bed and patiently waited, knowing that soon Ari would come back, plane tickets in hand, or something like that, and they would be on a direct flight to Toronto or San Francisco or wherever else Ari wanted to go.
Afterall, there were toystores a plenty in Toronto, and everyone wore bikerjackets! Nightshade looked for hers.
"And there's this great European place on the path,that underground thingamabobee...and we can go see phantom and sit in box 5, because we're vampires and we can do that sort of thing. And Toronto is just the kind of place Paul might have washed up."
There was china town too. Nightshade liked buying sets of "china iron boading balls" it was fun to say she was playing with balls. Or at least she found it mildly amusing anyway.
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Pushing through the morass of bodies, a dark suited individual makes his way towards Handel. Seemingly he is relaxed, but those familiar with his habits observe his hand moving to the hilt of a sword that mortal eyes cannot see. Handel's own eyes narrow. He puts down his unfinished drink.Even those unfamiliar with his habits begin to suspect that something mightbe wrong.
"Mr H.W. Care?" The voice is crisp and precise.
After a brief pause Handel and the stranger fade from view. Those with the Sight see a brief but graphic fight take place. With the newcomer staked, Handel searches his clothes and recovers a wallet and a large envelope from the man's overcoat. After checking both he returns the wallet, removes the sword and throws the form bodily out of the bar.
Fading slowly into view beside Badger, Handel brandishes the paper from the envelope. "What the blue bloody buggery hell is this?" he asks.
"I dunno," mumbles Badger. He appears rather shamefaced.
Erehwon takes the typewritten sheet as it passes his face. "Hmm. This appears to be some sort of restraining order. Perhaps you had better put that spade down Handel," he adds hurriedly. "We don't want any trouble just at the moment, and you would be in contempt of more laws than the rest of us due to this piece of legal literature."
"What?" begins Handel. Realisation strikes, but the spade does not. "You're pulling out all stops on this one, huh Badger. Doesn't this sort of thing go against the tenets of your o so wonderful Sabbat?"
"Hey, don't look at me man. I can't even spell litigation let alone pulling it on a mate," growls the angry Badger. "We've been together ever since that Easter Bunny thing so when do you think I've had the time to go see a Lawyer. While we're on the subject don't you think that if I'd been to see this lawyer the only thing you'd see in print would be his/her (PC universe afterall) obituary?"
Erehwon steps between the two, " The Taxidae taxus has a vaild point Mr Care."
"Quickly grab the Vamp before he gets away," cries Handel.
Mr Badger leaps outside and immediately trips over the still form of the lawyer. "Don't worry Ere' he's going nowhere fast. He's dead Jim," replies Mr Badger.
"I only staked him, how can be suffer the final death?" Inquires Handel.
"Take a look pal, it may have been a stake to you but Mr Human here is not going to see the dawn," counters Mr Badger.
The party search the body and come up with nothing new other than a pair of stripped white and red long-johns.
"There's your answer on how they found us," says Mr Badger answering a question that hasn't been asked yet. "Them long-johns are the trademark of 'Where's Waldo Lawyers and Chartered Accountants'. They'll find ya no matter where you are."
"Oh well Handel, you killed him so you get first dibbs."
"Huh?"
"Too slow, he's all mine," says Mr Badger as he leaps onto the body. Loud sucking and munching noises are heard as the body is devoured. A number of Kindred flee in disgust and it is only lucky that all the Kine have left by now.
"It must be a trap," says Ere', satisfying everyones paranoia. "We should leave at once. I suggest we find accomodations nearby for support during the day."
"How about right here?" Says Handel, who finding himself in a bar is reluctant to leave.
"Excellent idea, this will be easily defensible and solves the problem of everyone writing in with differing ideas about their characters' accomodations!"
The party sleep a fitful sleep except for fiend who takes turns with himself on watch. The windows are covered with conveniently thick drapes which shut out all the light.
Mr Badger walks up to Handel and rudely wakes him up.
"Wha?"
"Just thinking, you were awfully quick in killing that Lawyer. Not that's a bad thing mind you but I thought I'd better check whether you're still Carmarilla or ready to be Sabbat." Mr Badger takes a swing with the spade and connects with Handel's head. SPONG! Handel staggers but doesn't go down.
"Nah. My mistake. Sleep well." With that Mr Badger wanders off behind the bar to sleep.
Dawn breaks.
* * *
The four crusaders stand in a circle. You'd think it'd look like a square with there being four of them and all but so works the power of true faith. Father Zahn is not happy. Not only have the Spawn of Demons escaped but they escaped leaving no trail. The magic mirror only led them into the changerooms of a nearby Nunnery. After making feeble exscuses the four legged it red faced but with an impressive collection of photographs even the fiend would be envious of. The crusaders retire to a local chapter of the Inquisition to re-arm and rest. At the crack of lunch time a strange man knocks on the door. He claims to be a member of the Freemasons which grants him immediate entrance to the inner sanctum. This chamber looks almost exactly like that the Tremere had, minus of course the number of dead bodies and unidentifiable body parts scattered about.
"What did he say his name was again?" Asks Father Zahn.
"Something or other Giovanni Father," replies Initiate Fodder.
Father Zahn waves the initiate away and meets the visitor himself.
Mr Giovanni possesses that strange quality only the incredibly stinking rich can manifest. He looks at Father Zahn not like an Appointed Appendage of God's Wrath but like lackey #241.
Father Zahn is not impressed.
"I know who you are looking for and where they are," says Mr Giovanni.
Father Zahn is nearly impressed.
"Here is a portfolio of each of them and a detailed simulation of their combat abilities."
Father Zahn is sort of impressed.
"Here are a selection of highly dangerous experimental weaponry We will release for you to use on the subjects."
Father Zahn is as impressed as one person can get without needing two of you.
Father Zahn collects the boys and Initiate Fodder. They leave with a packing crate a piece and Brother Semper Fi towing a minitanker labelled 'Run! For gods sake run you fool! Don't just stand there you idiot! This is a canister of REALLY flammable liquid!' The recipient on the wrong end of that stuff is certain to suffer a superprompt critical power excursion (go boom.)
* * *
Will the Inquisition catch our heros in the bar? Will the Lawyers press
murder charges against Handel? Why are the Giovanni helping the Tremere?
When are the Technocracy going to turn up? (every one else has) Who will
write the next chapter?............
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"all i can say is thank caine for fortitude.......," the fiend said to the fiend.
"shut up and let me get some sleep," he replied.
"you don't think we should rehash some scenes from red dwarf me squared do you?" asked the fiend.
"do you really want me to call you mr. gazpacho?" questioned the fiend in reply.
"no i guess not."
the fiend rolled over and tried to rest. well actually 2 minutes later he was snoring and quite content.
the fiend looked at the fiend and sighed. then he thought about what would happen if he bloodbonded himself.... he went to the bar to find the maraschino cherries to eat while he watched.
behind the bar he found a sleeping form..... he lifted the wallet and read "this wallet and all its contents are property of pare, who is unconcious at this point in time if you are reading this..... no not you dummy you are pare....."
"some how i can tell it's just gonna get worse before this is all over...," came a voice behind him.... he was sleep talking again.
soem travellers walked in and out of the bar but didn't notice anything amiss. somebody else's problem obviously. the fiend made a few cocktails while he waited.... 1:00 rolled around and he kicked himself.
"your turn," he muttered before hitting the floor and falling asleep.
the fiend stood up and walked to the jukebox in the corner. he nudged it and it started to play "particle man".
he took his place behind the bar and looked at all the sleeping forms before him. he thought about bloodbonding himself. then he thought about bloodbonding the lot of 'em. then he thought about what a stupid woman rikki lake was and turned to look at the tv. CNN.... fuck. he looked for the remote but couldn't find one.... it felt so weird to be alone surrounded by these people. not to talk and pun his way around. some reports of weird going ons around the world projected themselves from the tv... he hated that... film was projected on the screen and you watched it like from afar... tv sent the picture right at your eyeballs. he always hated that. he didn't stop watching but he hated that. there was a mention of egypt in one of the reports... a lot of sandstorms lately that revealed a tablet writen in latin. something about obtaining egypts help for carthage against rome. the fiend sat and stared and wrote down an web address he had almost forgotten. bored of news he finally nudged the tv. dr.who was just starting.
he settled back and watched the tv while some other figures made their way through the door.
outside the sky was turning orange and purple as the last rays of the sun died out.
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Light from a study lamp spilled across the concrete walls of what might have been a bomb shelter at one time. The lamp was screwed tightly to a desk, in one of the room's corners. On the desk was a stack of books, paper, and pencils.
In front of it sat a short, somewhat pale hispanic child. He chewed on the eraser of his pencil as he looked over the cheerfully red and green book in his hand. "Analytical Calculus and Modern Mathematical Theory," it said, cheerfully, on the spine, cover, and inside page border. The child sighed, put the textbook down next to Gray's Anatomy, and hopped off the stool he was sitting upon. He walked past various tables displaying a fine collection of modern medical equipment, ancient artifacts, and odd ritualistic fetishes. At the other end of the concrete-lined room was a bed, and on that bed was a man.
The man was garbed in a TEAM leader outfit like any of the other kinda-cops that patrolled Mill Ave., out above the child's haven. He was unconcious.
Esteban kneeled over the man's defensely throat, extended his fangs, and pierced the flesh with one bite. He began to take in the warm blood, and all fatigue faded away. Licking the wound, he released the man's throat and stood up. Making his way back to the study desk, the young vampire paused. He felt something, something not right. Rev. Omnicynic had told him to heed these feelings, and Esteban was not one to argue. He reached under a nearby table for the shotgun that the Reverend had taped to the underside of every horizontal surface in the small underground complex. The gun was smooth and cold.
And useless. Magical wards and alarms went off as the intruder manifested in the astral space corresponding to the laboratory haven. Most of them patheticly withered against the thing's power, but the mystical sirens sounded faithfully in Esteban's (and, half a continent away, Reverend Omnicynic's) mind. Something nasty was coming. The child vampire of Malkav backed towards a corner, and focused his astral sight.
He could see it.
It was a swirling cloud of life and shadow, and it was in the center of the room. With the Sight, Esteban could tell it was restricted by the wards and circles and barriers the Reverend had set up. But it was not crippled. It was still powerful, and the barriers were failing, failed. It bled through a crack in reality to ooze into the laboratory like a London fog. Esteban had backed up fully into the corner, and used the study desk as a bit of cover against the thing. He was prepared to defend himself...he knew things about this area that the Thing might not...
It spoke to him.
"Child, vampire, your line holds great wisdom and knowledge. Knowledge I must know...what is the secret that you keep?"
"Knowledge," Esteban questioned hesitantly, "Yo no se...Try this?"
The child vampire randomly grabbed a book from the pile about the desk and tossed it towards the mist. By coincidence, it happened to be "Spiritualism and the Waking World." The mist parted as the tome sailed gracefully to the floor behind it.
"Why will you not tell me what you know, malkavian? Must I force you?"
The mist began to form, condense. It bacame a cyclone of spinning water, and it advanced upon the now-panicing malk. Esteban ran from the corner to another, darker recess of the shelter, grabbing a cloth sack from one of the tables as he did so. The sack was filled with some sand-like substance, as some of it leaked out when the youth grabbed it.
The rushing column of water changed course to intercept Esteban.
"You will tell me, or else the water shall tear the vampiric flesh from your vampiric bones!"
"Stay away," cried Esteban, as bloody tears ran down his cheeks, "Go away!" He tossed the bag at his attacker. It didn't dodge, nor part, and the bag sank into it. The column froze for a second, then began to shrink.
"What is this?"
"Dessication! Go away, leave me alone," yelled Esteban at the withering column. It is not every day that magical kitty litter is used in combat...
"I am far more than my appearance, child."
The water changed back into a mist, then into a man. A kindly old man, dressed in the garments of a preacher. A catholic preacher. In one hand he held a censure, the other weilded a cross. The preacher advanced upon Esteban.
"No, no!" Esteban threw his hand over his eyes and huddled down in the corner. If that cross touched him it would burn and the incense would scorch him like sacred flame.
"Tell me, child, and you will be free once more. What is the secret knowledge your kind possesses?"
"No, no...I know nothing, I --" Esteban was cut short in his phobiac stammerings as the full force of Reverend Ubermensch Omnicynic's Dominate slammed home into his mind. The child's eyes glazed over, and his mouth formed a word. "Gort."
"What is that you speak?"
"Klaatu," intoned Esteban's lips.
"Is this some kind of nonsense, child?" The preacher came closer.
"Niktu."
"Wait...you are given to another, what are you doing, controller?"
"Barratta!"
"What is this? No!" The preacher cringed and stumbled back as arcane energy leapt from hundreds of symbols and glyphs around the room, arcing into the figure of a man, the Thing, the mist, the water, the spirit-creature from Elsewhere. Tremere, Giovanni, Tzimisce, and mortal sorcerers the world over suddenly felt drained as the full mystical power of 30 years of enchantment and paranoia grounded into a single being.
"Noooooooooooooooooooo..............!"
An implosion sucked the raw Power of all the magic in the room into some nether void, cleansing reality like a laser buring away styrafoam. Ozone, char, a thunderclap, and silence. The thing was gone.
Esteban, freed from Omnicynic's control, shook in the corner, eyes fixed on droplets of water which pooled on the concrete floor of the underground bomb shelter below Mill Avenue.
Meanwhile, in Toronto, Rev. Omnicynic picked himself off the floor. Slowly.
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When last we saw Heron, she was climbing out from under a paving stone to go see what had to be done...all she knew was that it involved somebody looking for her, probably those damn Giovanni or Ventrue, either about Genevieve's new credit card or about Mercari's semi-weekly Chimestery outings, respectively.
"Well," she mused to herself, "Hmm." And she considered briefly. And considered slightly less briefly, and much less optimistically. "Okay, I'm doomed." That taken care of, the spring returned to her step and she headed once more in a wholly random direction and waited for something to happen.
Three hours later, nothing had happened except for the fact that she'd developed a craving for some potato products. snif snif "Hm. Fries." There was a pair of golden arches on the horizon....and Mercari thought she heard the faint strains of something in C minor coming from above...
With the determination that can come only from either a higher power or a sudden inexplicable fetish, she pointed her nose in the direction of the suspiciously dilapidated Arches and made haste.
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sounds of scrounging
"Damn! Where's I put me suits?????????" JoN inquires, as if extremely annoyed-like.
"Ummm, maybe they have it?" Says Omni, pointing to the BSDs.
"Nah, they prefer Pig suits, anyways, I got 'em. here... (tosses a chicken suit to all 3 parties.) PUT THEM ON." (I recommend putting them on btw.)
JoN slips in to his rooster suit. He grabs a set of keys, and opens a door in a dingy corner of his haven, the room revealed inside is something of a nuke shelter, filled with weapons and survival kits. JoN throws several LAW rockets to Omni, numerous high caliber rifles to Alex, and he himself grabs a gattling gun and belts of ammo.
"Petey, I know you won't like guns but Ere said we gotta have 'em. So here...(throws a semi-auto)
"Let's ride."
(long period of being trapped in a small two door sedan, with bizarre odors from the trunk)
They arrive at Toronto International airport and go to Ere's gate. Which they just happen to know. They dominate most of the people who look at 'em funny. But not all people. They stand at Ere's gate with a sign...ErE And they wait, while everyone around them flees.
"Come to think of this, why'd Ere want us to bring guns? I mean, DIABLE won't be hurt by 'em. He's like one of them damned Anime ad guys who can't die y'know? Anyways, where's Ere?"
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